Amanda Scott (21 page)

With a glance back at the others to reassure himself that no one was near enough to overhear unless she shrieked at him, he said, “First, I am certain Waldron has no intention of riding through the streets of Edinburgh with your sister. I think his men told folks that just so we would know what direction to follow them.”

“Then where is he going?”

“Most likely, to Edgelaw,” Hugo said. “It lies three miles south of Roslin. Its walls are strong and his men well trained, so he can hold out there for some time.”

“But if Ratho lies south of Edinburgh, and we go to Ratho, then we’ll still be following him, will we not? Even if he continues past Ratho to Edgelaw?”

The time had come. He could see no acceptable way to avoid it any longer.

“
We
are not going to follow him after today,” he said with gentle emphasis. “Now that we are closing in on him, I mean to take you and Sidony to Roslin and leave you in the care of my aunt, the countess Isabella. Tomorrow, at Torfinn’s Crossing, a mile this side of the royal burgh, we’ll turn southeast toward Roslin. Recall that I’ve sent ahead for reinforcements. They should meet us in—”

“I
won’t
go to Roslin without Adela,” she interjected fiercely.

He gave her a look, and although she met it bravely, her cheeks drained of color. He knew he need say no more. She understood him, and she understood, too, that she could do nothing to avoid obeying him.

Hoping to ease the sudden tension between them, he said quietly, “Try to understand, lass. My men and I cannot attend to rescuing your sister if we must also protect you and the lady Sidony. You do want us to set Adela free, do you not?”

“Aye, sure, I do,” she said. “But she’s going to need us! Why cannot we—?”

“As I told you, Edgelaw is only three miles south of Roslin. Whether we find him there or at Ratho, we can get her safely to you in a trice.”

“If you are not killed, and if she is not harmed!”

“I shan’t be killed,” he said. “As to any harm that may have befallen her, I cannot speak to that yet. But Waldron does have his own sense of honor.”

“Aye, he’s so honorable that Isobel pushed him off the ramparts of Roslin Castle to teach him manners,” she retorted scornfully.

There being nothing to say to that that she would accept, he kept silent.

A moment later, she said, “What made him as he is, if he is your cousin?”

Welcoming a change of subject, he said, “As I told you, he is the baseborn son of a deceased French Sinclair cousin. Michael’s father did not learn of his existence until he was five, and saw no reason then to remove him from France. But he had my father collect
him when he took Henry, Michael, and me to study in France years later. That is when we learned the kinsmen who’d provided his early training had passed on some regrettable notions from forebears who took part in the Crusades.”

“What sort of notions?”

“They believed that a soldier of God answers only to God and that God will forgive anything that man does in His name. Many factions at the time believed as much,” he added. “But Waldron’s instructors taught him that God not only forgives but rewards each of His soldiers when the man enters heaven.”

“Sakes, do you mean to say that your cousin believes he will receive his reward no matter what horrors he perpetrates in the meantime?”

“That is just what I mean,” he said. “That is what makes him so dangerous.”

“But if he believes he can do anything he likes to Adela with impunity, how can you say that he has
any
notion of honor?”

“Because he can claim an even greater reward if he does
not
touch her,” he explained. “He once told us the reward in heaven for a soldier of God who stayed celibate would be all the pleasure he’d sacrificed in holy service, and more.”

She gaped at him. “So such a man would forever have women to pleasure him? What of those women, though? That does not sound like heaven for them!”

With a wry smile, he said, “He would assure you that they’d enjoy it. Indeed, when Michael asked the same question, Waldron said that the maidens—for so he promised that all of them would be—would know what an
honor such a position was for them and would glory in serving such brave and noble men.”

Wrinkling her nose, she said scornfully, “Those maidens would none of them be Scotswomen then. That’s certain!”

As he stifled a nearly overwhelming urge to laugh, it occurred to Hugo that the discussion was a highly improper one. But he had never known a woman he could talk with as easily and openly as he talked with her. She was so forthright that even when she annoyed, nay, infuriated him, he felt as if he had known her and discussed such forbidden subjects with her all his life.

His three sisters had rarely had a real conversation with him, certainly never on any topic such as this one. His sister Eliza was three years older than he, Kate and Meg seven and eight years younger, and all had fostered with kinsmen after his mother died. If he thought of them at all, he thought them all rather silly.

But Lady Sorcha, as maddening as she could be, was never silly. Nor did she put on airs to be interesting, and if she realized now that their conversation was unseemly, she did not care a whit. Nevertheless, he decided he’d be wiser not to reply to her comment about Scottish women.

They rode in thoughtful silence until she said abruptly, “How on earth does a man come by such a notion even in such odd places as Crusaders must have seen?”

So easy did he feel with her that he nearly told her, but knowing that further explanation would lead only to more questions, including some that he could not in good conscience answer, he said only, “There are many places in the world where people believe things we do not believe,
lass. My father did what he could to put such outrageous notions out of Waldron’s head, but I’m afraid he failed.”

Wanting to divert her, he added ruefully, “I can tell you that we all smarted after he overheard one member of Waldron’s fascinated audience exclaim that a bevy of maidens at one’s command sounded like a prime reward for any man.”

“Which one of you said it?”

“I’d prefer not to answer that.”

“I see. Well, I hope you had to take your meals standing for a fortnight.”

Chuckling, he said, “I don’t think it was quite as long as that.”

The chuckle had a warming effect on Sorcha and stirred an urge to see if she could make him laugh again. He had a most attractive smile, too. And so, as much as she would have liked to argue further with him about his absurd decision to send her and her sister to the countess at Roslin, she did not.

It had become clear in the short time she had known him that once he made up his mind to a course of action, persuading him to do otherwise was difficult. However, delighted as she was to have stirred his sense of humor, she had no intention of sitting helplessly at Roslin while Adela remained in danger.

Accordingly, when he asked her to tell him what she liked to do to entertain herself at home, she said she loved riding about, exploring the countryside.

“Do you make a habit of riding alone?”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Pray, do not be so tiresome as to say I should not. ’Tis exactly why men lead more interesting lives than women. If a man wants to go somewhere, he goes. He does not have to beg permission or have escorts. He simply orders someone to prepare a horse or a boat for him and he goes.”

“It is not always as easy as that,” he said.

“Bah,” she said scornfully. “You know it is. Moreover, if one asks a man a question, he is more likely to say the topic is not suitable for a lady to discuss than he is to answer the question. I detest that! If I ask a question, I want to know the answer. Adela says curiosity is unbecoming to females, but Isobel is the most curious person I know, so I do not think it can be odd that I should want to know about things. Do you think it is odd?”

“I do not,” he said, smiling almost as if he understood. “But it is a fact that one cannot discuss some topics as openly as others.”

Making a rude noise, she said, “Secrets! I loathe them.”

He laughed. But he said, “I’ve told you there are things I cannot discuss because they are not my tales to tell. But I will answer any question you ask that I’m free to answer if you ask me privately. What would you like to know?”

A host of things
, she thought, but settled for asking him about Roslin and his own home at Dunclathy in Strathearn. He described them for her, apparently having forgotten that it was unsafe for her to be riding in the lead with him.

“Is Dunclathy near Roslin?” she asked. “I own, I do not know Strathearn.”

“ ’Tis a day’s ride to the north,” he said. “Dunclathy is
my father’s seat, but for many years, I’ve generally spent more time at Roslin and Hawthornden.”

“Hawthornden?”

“ ’Tis another Sinclair castle about a mile down the glen from Roslin. It is little more than a stone keep on a high crag rising from the east bank of the river North Esk, but I liked to ride there often when I was a lad, so years ago Henry named me its constable. He did so in jest, but ’tis a picturesque spot, and I like it. For one thing, when Roslin becomes overcrowded with visitors, as it frequently does, Hawthornden affords me an occasional peaceful retreat.”

If Sorcha recalled that Sidony still rode beside Einar Logan and Rory, she did not dwell on that. Instead she encouraged Hugo to continue and listened carefully to all he could tell her about the roads leading to and from Roslin. And if her thoughts drifted at all from their conversation, they drifted only to Ratho and her nagging frustration that he would not take her with him.

But it was not until that evening, as the setting sun painted distant puffy clouds to the west pink, gold, and orange, that it came to her what she must do.

By the time the sun slipped below the horizon, Adela could hardly keep her eyes open. They had got a late start again that morning, waiting for five stragglers, so his lordship pressed them hard all day. And since the road they followed passed through one town or village after another, they spent more time than usual riding around and about, rather than straight through them.

They traveled east for much of the day, then changed direction before stopping for the night. She knew they had turned south, because the setting sun was on her right, rather than behind them. So sleepy that she had all she could do to cling to his lordship and not fall off, she paid no attention to their surroundings until he drew rein at last and said, “Look yonder, lass. See the surprise I’ve brought you.”

A chill of fear stirred, but she leaned obediently forward and peered into the shadows ahead. To her shock, her sister Isobel, great with her expected child, stood in the ambient glow of a cook fire between two men Adela had not seen before.

Isobel clearly had not seen her. She stared at his lordship, her expression reflecting Adela’s own horror.

“Waldron,” Isobel exclaimed, “I thought you were dead!”

“Greet your sister, Lady Adela,” he said sardonically. “Then go to your own tent and stay there. I’ll see to her comfort.”

Sir Hugo’s party had pressed hard all afternoon, too, even through crowded streets in the royal burghs of Stirling and Linlithgow. But Sorcha did not suggest slowing their pace. She wanted as badly as he did to shorten the distance between them and their quarry.