Amanda Scott (13 page)

“Nay, sir,” the man replied. “I only wish it were good news I bring.”

“Then what?” Hugo demanded as they entered the hall to see Macleod striding into the chamber from the other side.

Clearly, he had been awake and had learned for himself that his boats had come early, for he greeted his man with a blustery demand to know what was amiss.

“It be the lady Sorcha, laird,” the unhappy helmsman told him. “She took sick on the way to Glenelg Monday afternoon, so we put ashore at Glenancross, meaning for Bess MacIver to look after her.”

“Indeed,” Macleod said, apparently reserving judgment about such an arrangement. “Bess would ken fine what to do for her—if the lass really was sick.”

“Aye, and so I thought,” the helmsman said, looking miserable. “The lady Sorcha did say we ought to go on to
Glenelg without her, there being nae good place nearby to provide for so many men. I didna like it, so I said I’d come right back wi’ one boat to be sure all were well wi’ her. Which I did, laird, only to learn that she and the lady Sidony had left Glenancross soon after they got there.”

“A pox on the wicked lass! Gone where?”

“I dinna ken, laird. I came straight on here to tell ye they’d gone. The winds failed us, or I’d ha’ been here yestereve.” He hesitated, then added bravely, “Bess MacIver did say they was wearing lads’ clothing, and they took Colin MacIver’s boat, laird, to Shielfoot. Bess said that when she saw her ladyship had got her mind made up in her old way, she knew there’d be nae stopping her.”

“Bless me, she should ha’ tied her to a bedpost,” Macleod declared angrily.

“Likely, they dinna ha’ bedposts in yon cottage, laird, nor do I think Bess could hold her ladyship long enough to tie her to anything. She’s a temper on her, her ladyship does. Bess did say, though, that she’d persuaded them to take her Rory wi’ them, and he’s a lad wi’ a good head, that one. He’ll look after them.”

Hugo grimaced and exchanged a look with Michael.

Macleod said, “If they went by way o’ Shielfoot, ’tis because the wicked lass believes the men who took Adela be making for the Great Glen and Edinburgh.” He looked bleakly at Hugo. “I’m told ye mean to look for Adela yourself.”

“I’m leaving straightaway for Oban, sir, with a score of men. I’ll find them.”

“I’d be that grateful to ye,” Macleod said. “Take a good stout strap wi’ ye.”

Hugo nearly said he would not need a strap but instead
just assured the older man that he would find his daughters and do his best to bring them all back safely.

Taking leave of the others and walking with Michael to the harbor, Hugo said irritably, “That lass needs a firmer hand. Just what do you suppose she thinks she can accomplish, riding about like a heathen, not to mention subjecting her younger sister to such a dangerous enterprise. I’d wager all I own that it would never have entered the lady Sidony’s head to do such a thing.”

“Nay,” Michael said. “Isobel told me it is always Sorcha who leads and Sidony who follows. But she said, too, that although Sorcha often landed them in the suds, she always got them out again.” He grinned. “I doubt the lass is as intrepid as my lady, but at this point I’m just hoping she isn’t as curious. I swear, in the same situation, Isobel would follow Waldron to his lair just to see what it looks like.”

“And I wager that you’d just tell her to mind her head,” Hugo said dryly. “I’ve yet to see you shorten rein when she takes the bit between her teeth.”

Michael smiled. “You won’t see it, either. I don’t do so when others are about, nor do I need to do so often. She’s a sensible woman, my Isobel.”

“Well, her wretched sister is not,” Hugo said grimly. “When I find her, I’ll send her right back to her father, most likely with a sore backside—at least, I will if she hasn’t run into Waldron before I can catch her. If he has her, I’ll have three to rescue instead of one. And, believe me, if I have to do that, I’ll make her even sorrier for putting me to the trouble.”

Laughing, Michael said, “Aye, well, I wish you joy, cousin. But my experience with Macleod sisters is that
they are not as predictable as one might hope. Take care that she does not end up having to rescue you.”

“She won’t,” Hugo said. “Nor should I have to rescue her, come to that. Just tracking her down will considerably delay my efforts to rescue Adela, though.”

“Aye, but pray recall that you’re tracking Sidony, too, not just Sorcha,” Michael said, still grinning. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble finding them, either, because by now, if everyone in the area is not talking about the abductors and Adela, they will certainly be gossiping about the two pretty lads who are following them.”

Hugo groaned.

When Sorcha saw darkening clouds in the west late Wednesday afternoon, she cast a measuring glance at Sidony, knowing well that her sister had bargained even less for bad weather than for carrying thatch or long hours of riding.

Sorcha was certain they still followed Adela and her abductors, because they had passed only local tracks that seemed to lead to farms and tiny clachans. She thought the riders must still be two days ahead, perhaps more if they had means to change horses and could thus ride faster than she and her companions could.

Therefore, it was with mixed feelings of surprise, relief, and dismay that she discovered when they came to a clachan of four cottages an hour later that a group of some twenty riders had made camp the night before in a nearby forest clearing.

The elderly, rather deaf man who relayed that
information admitted in answer to Rory’s shouted questions that he had not seen any of them himself, but assured them that one of the lads had caught a glimpse of a large tent and well-accoutered men striding about the site. No mention was made of a woman, he said, but Sorcha was sure by then that no other men of such description were in the area.

That the group really had enlarged so much was daunting, but she could not be surprised that someone daring enough to steal a bride from her wedding might have a large force at his command. The surprise was that she, Sidony, and Rory were catching up despite traveling at a speed dictated by having only the three horses Rory’s cousin had provided and no means to hire more.

They could no longer ignore the piling black clouds, some of which started spitting at them as Sorcha was saying in a voice low enough that she hoped the old man would not hear that they must lose no time in pursuing the riders.

Sidony instantly protested. “You cannot mean to ride into the teeth of a storm without having the least notion where we can find shelter ahead. Where will we sleep? How will we build a fire to keep warm?”

“Don’t fret,” Sorcha said, casting a warning look in the old man’s direction. “We’ll build our own shelter, and I’m sure Rory knows how to make a fire in the woods even in the rain. Men do it all the time when they hunt or fish or go to war.”

“But—”

“We’ll be fine, Siddy. We don’t want them to get too far ahead of us. Had I known they were so close, I’d have urged a faster pace.”

Sidony cast a pleading look at Rory.

He was already shaking his head. “It won’t answer, m’lady,” he said to Sorcha. “A spring storm wi’ clouds like them black ones yonder could fair drown all three o’ us
and
the ponies. We’d do better to take shelter here.”

The spitting turned to drizzle, and lightning crackled in the distance as Sorcha opened her mouth to protest. She shut it again, knowing that although Sidony was the most biddable of sisters, she was afraid of thunderstorms.

Highland rules of hospitality being what they were, the clachan’s residents welcomed them as guests for the night. Indeed, so welcome were they that, despite thunder, lightning, and pelting rain, two large families who did not live there showed up at suppertime with baskets of food, resulting in an impromptu ceilidh.

With people crowded into the largest of the four cottages to sing, eat, drink, and tell bard’s tales around its small central cook fire, Sorcha found it impossible to sustain her masculine guise. She was sure Sidony fooled no one, and a sudden silent hope leaped to her mind that word of what they were doing would never get back to her father or to any other unspecified person before they had rescued Adela.

No one was so impolite as to question them, however, and when the visiting families departed during a lull in the storm, and the rest of the company dispersed among the four cottages, she reassured herself that no one thought them anything but what they appeared to be. She was able to enjoy a good night’s sleep on her pallet in a snug byre and to waken to a bright morning, the air smelling crisply clean and fresh after the rain. However, the sun was higher than she had expected.

Startled to realize that they had slept hours longer than she had intended, she hastily woke the other two, straightened her clothing, and went with Rory to collect their horses from the clachan’s enclosure, leaving Sidony to see to her own needs and make sure that they left nothing behind.

After helping Rory saddle their mounts outside the byre, she went to find the housewife to request food to break their fast, only to stop short when she saw what looked to be at least twenty riders approaching the clachan, the last leading a string of six or seven extra horses and at least four sumpter ponies.

Even at that distance and with the bright morning sun glaring at her, she had no difficulty recognizing their leader as Sir Hugo Robison.

H
ugo saw Sorcha standing near the byre end of the largest of four crofts that made up the clachan. To his outrage, she wore a tattered cap, dusty brown leggings, a mid-thigh-length saffron shirt, a dirty padded-cloth jerkin, and common hide boots with the hair still on them. When he saw that she had not ended her perfidy there but had hacked off her lovely amber-golden hair to no more than chin length, a strong desire possessed him to swoop down on her in the same fashion that the villains had swooped down on the wedding party, and beat some sense into her.

At the same time, seeing her safe, he experienced profound relief.

Whether in reaction to the former feeling or the latter, he held up a hand in command to his men to draw rein, then rode on to confront her alone.

Noting the grim look on Sir Hugo’s face as he approached her on the big black horse he rode, and realizing that he had recognized her despite her disguise, Sorcha felt sudden, unexpected alarm. At the same time, knowing she was close on the heels of the villains who had taken Adela, she was glad to see him and annoyed that he had brought so few men with him. Surely, he ought to have brought twice as many to be sure of defeating the villains and rescuing Adela.

She greeted him, glowering and arms akimbo. “Where are the rest of your men?” she demanded. “For that matter, where are my father and Hector?”

In response, he reined in and dismounted.

She had forgotten how tall he was, how broad his shoulders were, and how powerful he looked. He dropped the reins to the ground, evidently expecting the huge beast to stand quietly. Irritatingly, it did. And since she was as certain as she could be that it was not his horse but one he had hired in Oban or borrowed from Hector or the Admiral of the Isles, the sight stirred her temper again.