“Thank ye, m’lady.”
“Yer a godsend.”
Kate sat down to her meal in deep thought and silence except for the occasional interruption of someone stopping by to give their thanks. She was puzzled about Seamus and his condition. Why did Merta and the clan accept her help and her authority? Why had they left him in such a inhumane state? Kate had watched Iain run off a man. Had he been caring for Seamus? Or was he one of men of medicine who did the patient more harm than good? This was the first time she saw for herself how truly harmful they could be. Shane and his clan were ignorant, not negligent.
Kate felt good Merta trusted her with the old laird and vowed to herself to help him heal to the best of her abilities.
With her heart lighter, she went outside to the old herb garden. She had a determination borne of necessity.
“Och, m’lady, ye have done a wonderful thing, ye have indeed,” Iain said as he approached her. “The old man was wasting away and us not able to do a thing for him,” Iain added as he spit to the ground. “I run off that worthless piece of dung Shane had caring for him. He come around claiming he could make him right as rain. Of course we all believed him.” Iain spit again. “Drossy fool.”
Kate smiled and patted Iain on the arm as she walked on. “I will do what I can,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder.
Kate reached the garden and examined it closely to see what exactly was growing there and if any of the plants could be salvaged. Studying the area, she found the first buds of chamomile, echinacea, comfrey, wild basil, and sage. She also found a corner with garlic and onions growing. She picked a few of the new comfrey leaves for the bruises on her face.
On her way back up to check on Seamus, she stopped to talk to Merta. She waited a little distance away, as Merta was engaged in conversation with a small group of minstrels and a monk. The rough, brown cowl on the monk’s robes covered his face. The group spoke in low tones and Kate saw one of the men nod as Merta pointed to a corner of the hall where a meal was being laid out for them. The men moved away.
“Merta, is it possible to have a fence erected around the herb garden? I noticed it yesterday. I believe there may be herbs I can use for Seamus.”
“Aye, ‘tis.” She grinned. “After what ye have done with Seamus, I think there won’t be complaint about that.” Merta put her hands on her hips. “Would ye care to have some lads clear the ground?”
“Thank you, Merta. Help would, indeed, be appreciated. If you wouldn’t mind, it would be better if I accompany them once they start. I want to preserve as many of the herbs as I can and the boys may pull up something other than a weed,” she said to Merta with a brief smile.
Merta nodded her understanding. “We won’t be started without ye. The garden has not been used since Shane’s mother, Elizabeth, passed on. I could barely keep up with the kitchen vegetable gardens and I had to let the flower and herb gardens go. I dinna know how to care for them.
“Elizabeth told me she would teach me. Life was busy and the days were always full. There never did seem to be enough time to do all. It hurt me to let Elizabeth’s gardens go to weed. Will be good to see it bloomin’ again.”
When they finished, Kate went up to check on Seamus. Merta followed.
“Thank ye, m’lady. Thank ye. We were all in despair as to himself. Now there is a wee bit of hope to my way of thinking. And that’s the God’s honest truth,” she said softly with tears in her eyes. “I canna tell ye the worry we’ve been through. Shane, most of all. He’ll be right pleased when he comes home.”
“Merta, I mustn't tell you for sure Seamus will recover. I can only do my best to help him. All I can tell you is he will not suffer so,” Kate said, trying once again to keep the people of the clan from getting their hopes up.
“For now, lass, ‘tis enough. ‘Tis enough.”
Chapter 10
Smithers woke slowly on the deserted road. Dawn was breaking in the eastern sky. He heard the birds singing and twittering overhead. A rather raucous jay complained above the others. Smithers groaned. He was cold and wet, and his head thumped painfully with every beat of his heart. As he sat up, light flashed across his eyes accompanying the grievous rhythm his body played. Gingerly, he rose to his knees and then to his feet. His pain forgotten, he remembered. Kate had been taken.
“Damnation.” He held his painful head in his hands.
What the hell did the brute hit me with, a club? I should have been more prepared. Prepared against what? I thought riding outside the coach was our best defense. Who were those men? Who could have possibly done this?
The new Lord Colquhoun? Surely, not Andrew. No, this is not to his advantage. The man wanted them out of his house and out of his life. Why add a complication? No, it wasn’t Andrew. “Then who?”
I have nowhere to start but at Colquhoun Manor. Smithers limped down the road, his knee popped with every step, his head pounded, his heart heavy, and worry in his gut. To what gain? He racked his brain for any indication of the identity of the men who had taken her. He had been as surprised as the driver when they had rounded the bend in the road and were surrounded by men on horseback. The riders had intercepted the coach’s lead horses, grabbing the bridles, bringing the team to a halt.
Having stopped the coach, the rough men swarmed up from the road. They climbed the coach like locust before Smithers and the driver had the chance to stop them. Eric, the driver, gave up without much of a fight, the craven. Smithers was no match for them alone. The men wore kilts and trews. He remembered nothing more.
He shuffled along the road, nursing his aches. He spotted a farmer riding in a cart filled with hay.
“Hi ho! May I trouble you for a ride?”
“Wouldn’t be a minute of trouble to me. Where ya headed?”
“Colquhoun House.”
“Hop on. I go right by there on me way.”
Smithers jumped onto the back on the wagon. Nursing his aches, he took an inventory of his injuries. His knee was sore and seemed to be out of joint. His head hurt, he had been thumped a good one. Other than scrapes and bruises he considered himself damn lucky he survived. The farmer neared the manor.
“Drop me around back, if you will. I can walk.”
The man nodded and left him off behind the stables.
“Thank you, sir.” Smithers raised an arm as the wagon trundled away.
“Sir? I’m no sir.” The farmer chuckled. He whistled a tune as he rode away.
Smithers saw servants loading Lady Colquhoun’s second carriage as he ducked into the barn. Until he knew more, he felt it best to keep Kate’s abduction from Lord Colquhoun.
When Smithers entered the stables, the morning sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky. He heard the sound of a man crying. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the dim of the stable he saw Eric, the driver of the coach. It appeared as though Eric had been weeping the night through. When he saw Smithers, he wept harder.
“Don’t beat me. I couldn’t stop ‘em. I couldn’t. I tried. Truly I did. You saw I tried, didn’t you? You saw.”
Smithers grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him up to scowl into his eyes.
“Stop your blubbering,” Smithers growled. “I saw how hard you tried,” Smithers added sarcastically. “Good God, man! Tell me what you saw. Did you see who took her?”
“Oh, no, sir. I can’t say, I didn’t see,” he wailed. “How can I tell his lordship I lost the lady? Oh, he’ll beat me for sure.”
Disgusted, Smithers threw Eric down into the hay. He fell heavily.
Smithers was sure Eric had no idea his lordship cared nothing for Kate. Lord Colquhoun told him to take Lady Colquhoun to Dumbarton, nothing more. Knowing he was not going tell Andrew Colquhoun anything of what had occurred, Smithers gritted his teeth. “Tell me what you know and I wi
ll not bother his lordship. Leave out anything, and I’ll see you thrashed.”
Eric wept harder. He wiped his nose with his grimy sleeve.
“For God’s sake, stop sniveling,” Smithers said. “I will not disturb his lordship. Tell me what you know so I can hunt for her ladyship. Lord Colquhoun shall not be the wiser. I need a good mount.”
Eric’s teary eyes grew wider. “I cannot let you take a horse. His lordship . . .”
Smithers lost what little patience he had left. He cuffed the man across the face.
“Eric! I will not abide you any longer. You are wasting my time.”
Eric picked up his hat from the ground and kneaded it with his hands.
“By the sound of ‘em, they were from the North. ‘Tis all I know.”
Smithers went over to the nearest horse and threw a saddle on him. At hearing Eric’s information, he turned and stared briefly into the man’s face.
“I deduced that particular part of the riddle for myself. Take these coins and leave. Return in one week.” Smithers narrowed his eyes. “No sooner.”
As he readied the horse, he continued. “Speak of this to no one, not even your family. Should his lordship inquire of your task, inform him Lady Colquhoun arrived, no more. Then return to your duties. I will see to her.”
Eric’s chin quivered as he agreed to Smithers’ plan.
“Now leave quickly before you are seen.”
Eric jammed his dirty hat on his head and ran through the field behind Lord Colquhoun’s property. Smithers watched him go and finished readying the horse. He led it to the back of the property and through a wooded area to avoid being seen by the servants of the house or the few loading the coach.
His plan was to arrive in Dumbarton before them to give additional instructions when they arrived. For now, it was best to let them travel in ignorance. He saw no reason to inform anyone of Kate’s disappearance. He had no clear idea what he would do once he reached Kate’s home, only he had to have a starting point. At the cottage, he could outfit himself for a further search for Kate.
Smithers made his way to Dumbarton going as fast as his horse would allow. On the third day, Smithers finally crossed over into Scotland. He made a few inquiries in the villages he passed but no one recalled the Colquhoun coach or seeing strangers pass through. As he traveled further into Scotland, to his good fortune, he came upon a man driving his pigs to market. “I had nearly been run over by a coach owning to the description. Headed north. In a hurry.”
Exalted by this bit of luck, Smithers rode north. He arrived at the cottage a day ahead of Kate’s other carriage. Nell, the plump housekeeper was in the back dooryard feeding the chickens and ducks. The birds scattered as his horse cantered in.
He quickly dismounted and explained Andrew’s inheritance and Kate’s loss.
“He demanded she leave at once.” His disgust was clear in his voice as he told her of Lord Colquhoun’s announcement and his treatment of Kate.
“Oh no, sir,” Nell cried. “Is our lady with you?”
“No.” Smithers shook his head slowly. “Nell, she has been taken.” He held up a hand as she started to speak. “I am not sure who took her.”
“Lord Colquhoun will be arriving soon to roust us from this place no doubt. He was quick to include this cottage in his assessment of what was his.
“We, however, cannot worry over what is to come. He is unaware of Lady Colquhoun’s disappearance. We may have a small amount of time. His ignorance won’t prompt him to ride here to take advantage of the situation. We must now concern ourselves with our lady and what has become of her.”
Nell listened in horror at Smithers’ tale. As her blue eyes filled with tears, Smithers gathered her into his arms.
“There, there, Nelly old girl. I will find her. I must. It would not do to have her gone, would it?”
“Nay sir, it certainly would not. What would we do without our pretty lass? Our sweet, wee lass. It just canna be,” Nell agreed, her face grave and tear streaked.
Smithers led her into the kitchen area. He sat down at the table and told her more of the details of the long, terrible story as she busied herself making tea for the two of them. Nell brought her apron to her face to catch the flow of tears.
“Lady Colquhoun is the best of them. She gave me this here job. ‘We get on,’ she said. ‘We have need of each other,’ she said.” Nell burst into fresh sobs.
Smithers stood up and took over making the pot of tea for Nell and himself. He guided Nell to the table and set her down gently.
“While riding here, I came across a man who had seen the Colquhoun coach and the men driving it. They were Scots. He saw their plaids, Nell.”
Smithers described the plaid to Nell. Nell quieted her tears and searched Smithers’ face. “Those are the MacGregors colors. They’re a fierce bunch. Feared by the clans. Ye must be wary.”
“It is a start. I leave in the morn to hunt these men down. I will find her,” Smithers declared.
Smithers began wearing monk’s robes the day after his journey north had begun. He rode quickly, inquiring as he traveled into the Highlands as to where he might locate the clan that had taken Kate. The villagers were loathe to cooperate. They were suspicious of any stranger searching for the clans. They were loyal to the Highland Scots as a whole and were unwilling to give any information. Once he donned the robes, he was less of a threat and the locals were more helpful in helping him to locate the MacGregor clan as the culprits.
He fell in with a group of minstrels traveling the countryside. As a monk, they welcomed him. Although it slowed his progress, Smithers decided to accompany them for the safety a group could provide. The roads were full of thieves and unsafe even for ‘a man of God’. The risk of traveling alone may prove to be too great.
The MacGregor tartan was well known and through careful inquiries he learned of the clan’s whereabouts. Steering the little group in the desired direction had not been difficult and they soon arrived at the outer gates. He and his companions were readily welcomed.
The leader of the group spoke to the housekeeper in search of a meal. Startled, Smithers saw Kate. He noticed the bruises on her face. Had she been beaten? She moved with ease in her surroundings, with a level of freedom he did not expect.
Smithers pulled the cowl around his face as she drew closer. He didn’t want her shock at seeing him give him away. He wanted the opportunity to assess the situation before he made a move. Relief loosened the knot that had been present in his chest since they’d been attacked. Kate did not appear to be in any immediate danger.
Chapter 11
Dressed as he was in knee breeches tucked into tall boots, a doublet made of fine cloth and a fur-lined long cloak, Shane looked ever the part of an English gentleman as he walked the avenue and adjoining park.
Giving every indication he was simply strolling, taking in the fine morning, he took in his surroundings. In particular, he watched the Colquhoun household. Strange. He had not seen a sign of anything amiss. Surely, if his wife had just been kidnapped, the man would have people searching regardless of the amount of time that passed. There were no riders dashing in to give the latest update or the sound of dogs or men searching the grounds, covering every inch with a sense of urgency. Nothing. Just the calm everyday occurrences with no hurried fear about the place. Why? He knew he wouldn’t stop looking for her. As surprising as that thought was, he knew if she were his, he’d never stop searching for her. Ever.
So what to do now? Did he walk right in as if he owned the place and demand his ransom? Or should he just sit here like a bleedin’ fool waiting for someone to notice and call the watch? Bloody hell. Shane felt disgusted with the whole situation, Lord Colquhoun’s lack of concern as well as his own indecision.
He returned to his tied horse, hoisted himself into the
saddle and made for the inn he had been staying at since his arrival into the area. Shane shook his head as he puzzled over what he had just seen. He couldn’t make any sense of it.
Shane rode to the tavern and scattered the chickens as he and others dismounted from their horses to break their late-day hunger. He walked in behind a particularly loud group of gentlemen about to enjoy what appeared to be not the first drink of the day. When they sat at a table close to the front windows, Shane moved farther into the room. He chose a place in the back next to the stairs, away from the noisy crowd.
A brown-eyed girl walked over with a mug of mead and set it on the table with an alluring smile, letting her long, brown hair graze his cheek.
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