Authors: Ladys Choice
I
n the end, the day improved to a greater degree than Sorcha had expected, because the most threatening clouds moved on without spilling their contents. The sky remained cloudy, but she could not imagine that any mere promise of rain would delay Hugo’s return. Only a deluge might do that.
By afternoon, with no message from Edgelaw, the countess could barely contain her frustration, and by evening frustration had grown to fury. In the solar after supper, as she pretended to busy herself with her tambour frame and needlework, Sorcha sorted threads for her and Sidony sat with a moss-green kirtle of Isobel’s, ripping the hem to adjust it for her own height. In desperation, Sorcha persuaded the countess to tell them more about Roslin and its environs.
She had barely begun when the gillie Ivor came in to tend the fire. As he bent over it, Isabella was describing a nearby cave where Wallace had once hidden.
Ivor looked past her to catch Sorcha’s eye. Then, fingering a bit of what looked like paper peeping from his sleeve, he finished feeding the fire without speaking and left the chamber.
Sorcha wrapped the sorted threads carefully into the white linen cloth on which she had laid them out. Then, waiting only until Isabella paused for breath, she said, “Forgive me, madam, but will you excuse me for a short while?”
“Certainly, my dear.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Sidony asked.
“Nay, you need not disarrange your work,” Sorcha assured her with a smile, hoping her sister would not say that she also needed to visit the garderobe tower, which doubtless both of her companions assumed was her destination. She held her breath until Sidony nodded and returned to her ripping.
Emerging from the solar to the dais of the now-empty hall, Sorcha saw Ivor disappear through the archway to the northwest stair and hurried after him. She found him waiting in the corridor.
“Forgive me, me lady,” he murmured, pulling the folded paper from his sleeve and handing it to her. “I didna ken how else to approach ye, and me cousin did say to give ye this gey quick so as no to get caught wi’ it, ye ken.”
“But how came your cousin by such a thing?” she asked, fearing from his twitchy manner that he would flee at any second.
Ivor looked over his shoulder before he murmured, “He serves the master o’ Edgelaw. But he said to tell ye the lady did ask him to bring it to ye.” Looking over his
shoulder again, he fairly danced in his impatience to depart.
“You may go,” she said, fighting to conceal her astonishment at receiving such a message in such a way. “But thank you, Ivor. I shan’t forget this.”
“Sakes, mistress, I hope ye will! Did me cousin no be a man o’ fierce temper and a ready fist, I’d ha’ refused him. I dinna want to think what Sir Hugo or the master will do an they find out I did give ye that without first showing it to one o’ them. But Gil did say it be gey important ye get it tonight.”
“I won’t tell them,” she promised.
With visible relief, Ivor darted back into the hall.
Hurrying upstairs lest Sidony change her mind and come after her, and hoping that Kenna was not already awaiting her, Sorcha went to her own chamber. Finding it blessedly unoccupied, she stood by the window and unfolded the paper. By the fast-fading daylight she saw, as she had hoped, a message from Adela:
Well-beloved sister
,
I greet you well and have found a friend to aid my escape. If, God willing, you can come for me, he says we should meet near the abandoned peel tower a quarter mile northwest of this castle. You will see it as you come over the last hill. He says a private track leading south through your glen will bring you to this place.
If you can reach the tower by midday tomorrow, I will engage to meet you there, but pray, sister, do not fail me. I dare not wait
long. Nor can my savior escort me, for to do so ’twould be to risk his very life. And, for mercy’s sake, come alone!
I hope his lordship may be well occupied then, but we dare not depend on that. He believes Countess Isabella will send men to force him to submit to her summons, which arrived here yesterday to his great fury. He has ranted since and refuses to submit, swearing that his service to his true Liege Lord supplants all else!
Pray, dearest, do not fail your loving,
most wretched sister
,
A.
Sorcha read the missive twice through, then refolded it and slipped it up the tight sleeve of her kirtle. Her first reaction was relief to know that Hugo had been wrong and she had been right. Adela had not gone willingly with his evil cousin.
Her next reaction, following immediately on the first, was an impulse to call Ivor back and ask if he could describe how to get to Edgelaw from Roslin or, better yet, if he would agree to accompany her there.
Then common sense intruded along with the memory of her promise to Hugo to go nowhere from Roslin without consulting him. Aggravating as that promise was, she knew she would not be happy with herself if she broke it. Nor, she had to admit, would she be wise to set out on her own or even with Ivor, if she could persuade him to go with her. That Hugo would doubtless forbid her to go, with or without an escort, only made the situation more aggravating.
Realizing that her strongest hope still lay in the countess’s intention to call Waldron to account, and her legal control of Edgelaw, Sorcha returned thoughtfully downstairs. Perhaps Isabella might help her.
By the time she reached the solar, however, she had realized that although the countess clearly disapproved of abducting females in general, Isobel’s abduction weighed more heavily with her than Adela’s, if only because she believed Adela had gone willingly. To persuade her of anything else would take time, making it unlikely that Sorcha could do so before Hugo’s now-imminent return.
As she lifted the latch of the solar door, she heard footsteps hurrying up the stone stairway from the main entrance a half-level below. Although tempted to wait and see if it was Hugo, she opted instead to rejoin Sidony and the countess.
She wanted at least a little time to think, to decide what to say to him and whether to show him Adela’s message.
Sidony and Isabella looked up from their work and smiled as she entered and shut the door. Rather than take her seat, she crossed the room to one of the windows overlooking the courtyard, and looked out to see a gillie leading Black Thunder across the yard to the stable.
“Sir Hugo is back,” she said quietly.
“Good,” the countess said, setting aside her tambour frame. “I want to speak to him.” As she moved to stand, the door opened and Hugo entered.
Isabella settled back in her chair, saying curtly, “I’ve had no reply from Waldron. If you will not confront him tomorrow, I’ll go to Edgelaw myself.”
His searching gaze had found Sorcha returning to her
seat, and she detected a look of relief before he shifted his attention to his aunt. He said matter-of-factly, “As always, madam, you have only to command me.”
“Have you brought guests with you?” she asked.
“Nay, though several will arrive tomorrow with Michael and my father.”
“Must you wait for them before you can attend to Waldron?”
Sorcha held her breath as she reached for the cloth of silk threads, not daring to look at him lest he detect how tensely she awaited his reply.
“I need not wait,” he said. “I’ve not yet had time to consult with the men I sent to watch Edgelaw during my absence, however. Nor will I speak to them before morning. They should return soon after dawn, though, and may bring information that will help us determine our best course.”
Isabella pressed her lips together, then said, “Very well, but I will not brook his insolence, Hugo. Choose your own good time tomorrow, but you will inform him that he must present himself here to explain his actions. Tell him also that if he cannot explain them satisfactorily, I shall end his tenancy at Edgelaw and try him for his crimes. You might also remind him of the penalty they carry.”
Hugo nodded but said, “It might be wiser not to remind him of that until he does present himself, madam. I’d as lief not have to conduct a siege of Edgelaw.”
“Very well, although he must know what the penalty is.”
“Aye, but whether he accepts that it could apply to him is another matter. I would remind you that he believes God protects him in all he does.”
“Aye, well, we’ll see about that. But enough about Waldron,” she added. “I warrant our guests want to hear about the opening of the royal court.”
As Hugo described the pomp and ceremony of the occasion, and the official presentation of the second Lord of the Isles to his grandfather, the King of Scots, Sorcha listened politely, but she paid more heed to the speaker than to his account. Soon she detected signs of her own impatience in Hugo’s demeanor.
It was not long after that when he excused himself, declaring that he had business to attend with his men. Then, he said, he would retire for the night.
Excusing herself again moments later, Sorcha looked for him in the hall, but he had already disappeared.
“Sorcha, wait!” Sidony exclaimed behind her. “Are you going to bed now?”
Practically growling in her impatience, Sorcha paused where she was until her younger sister reached her, then said quietly, “I want to talk with Hugo, dearling, so pray go upstairs without me tonight. And sleep well,” she added belatedly.
Sidony shot her a curious look but, as usual, said nothing and obeyed.
When Ivor entered from the entrance stairs, doubtless to see if the hall fires required tending, Sorcha asked if he had seen Sir Hugo. Receiving a negative reply, she frowned. If Hugo had not met him, he had not gone to the courtyard, at least not by the usual way. Mayhap he visited his bedchamber first or the garderobe tower.
Turning to the archway that led to the northwest stairs, she went slowly in case he had gone up the main stairway instead of down it. But as she entered the short
corridor, she heard steps coming down, and soon Hugo appeared.
“What is it, lass?” he asked, smiling warmly at her. He had paused on the last step and thus loomed even larger over her than usual. “Is aught amiss?”
“No,” she said. “I… I was just going to bed.”
“That’s a good notion,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Sleep well.”
Adela’s message felt stiff in her sleeve, and guilt flooded through her as he passed her, heading for the archway. Then his footsteps faded in the distance as he crossed the hall. She had meant to tell him about Adela’s message, but the moment had come and gone while the information stuck tight in her throat.
Knowing he would have no cause to delay once he heard what the men watching Edgelaw could tell him, and would likely depart soon after dawn, she knew she had to tell him before then. She could not hope to persuade Michael or Sir Edward—assuming they returned in time—to help her get to Adela if they learned that she had not dared to ask Hugo. She had seen enough of both men to realize that each would demand to know why she had not, nor could she imagine either one understanding that meeting Adela in this particular circumstance could not possibly be true defiance of Hugo’s orders. He was the only one who might understand that.
Accordingly, she turned to follow him but had taken only a few steps toward the archway before she heard him returning.
She hesitated, meaning to wait for him, to avoid drawing an audience as she explained about the note. Then memory struck her of the tunnel he had mentioned to
Michael and his intention to use it for whatever secret purpose they had planned. In her concern about the message in her sleeve, she had forgotten that.
Without a thought, she turned and darted up the steps, grateful that Isobel’s silk slippers made no sound on them. Just past the first turn, she stopped to listen.
Poised to fly if she heard him coming up, she felt a rush of excitement when he went down instead. Had he been going to the courtyard or kitchen, he would not have turned back, since he could reach both more easily from the main stairway. And where, she asked herself, would one be more likely to find a tunnel in Roslin Castle than at the lowest level on its landward side?
Quickly, she followed him, glad she could still hear his footsteps and certain he could not hear hers. She was so sure that he would go all the way down that she passed the kitchen-level landing before realizing that he had left the stairway there.
Returning, she heard footsteps echoing down the dark corridor, and when she saw that he had lifted a lit torch from one of the wall holders, her confidence in his destination increased. However, she had been on the kitchen level only to take her bath, and then she had followed Kenna down the main stairway to get there.
The area through which he led her was a warren of small dark chambers, some with doors and some with open archways. Peering into the dim interior of one of the latter, she decided they must all be storage chambers of one sort or another.
The entire area was dark except for the glow of Hugo’s torch in the distance, so when he abruptly turned left and
vanished, she picked up her skirts and moved as swiftly as she dared to follow him.
Her eyes adjusted so that she could see the faint glow of the kitchen fire ahead and judge approximately where Hugo had turned. She passed two arched alcoves before she came to the door. Sending a prayer to heaven that he would not be waiting for her on the other side, she lifted the latch and eased it open. That both latch and door moved silently reassured her. And when she saw that it was not pitch dark inside, she put her head in carefully and discerned, in the fading golden glow, just before it vanished, that the tiny chamber contained rows of stacked wine casks.
She had seen a narrow pathway between them and had noted, too, that the glow of torchlight had disappeared in a narrowing line, as of a closing door.
Shutting the chamber door silently behind her, she used the fingertips of her right hand lightly to guide her along the stacked casks, and her outstretched left hand warned her before she walked into the far wall. She touched wood and some sort of heavy cloth draped back to one side.