Amanda Scott (19 page)

Mary took the paper and unfolded it to read,
“I need to talk to you. Come up the hill toward the pass alone when you return from kirk services. I’ll show myself when I can see that no one
i
s with you. If you don’t come, you’ll be sorry.”
He had signed it with the single initial:
A.

“Where did you get this, Sarah?”

“One of the lads from the stable brought it into the kitchen, miss. He told Martha a messenger brought it. Martha gave it to me.

“I see,” Mary said, wondering what on earth Allan Breck thought he could have to say to her.

Duncan had risen early, too, and as was his custom, he had gone out to visit the stables before breaking his fast.

One of his best mares had presented him with a promising young chestnut colt late in the summer, and fearing the colt was too young to survive the winter without special care, he kept a close eye on its welfare.

Light flakes of snow drifted down, swirling round the courtyard. They were not falling thickly yet, but they were sticking to the cobblestones, making them slippery, and Duncan wondered if the storm that had been threatening for two days now would prove to be a strong one. Through the open coach house door, he saw two lads polishing his father’s coach in preparation to harnessing the horses, and he smiled slightly at the futility of the task. On his arrival in the stable, he found Chuff brushing the colt while it munched contentedly from a bucket of oats.

“What are you doing here?” Duncan demanded. “You’re supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“Aye,” Chuff agreed, nodding without looking at him, “but the colt was hungry, and tae my eye, he needed a bit brushing. He’s a fine, braw laddie, he is.”

“He is. Look at me when I talk to you.”

Chuff turned and faced him, holding the oval curry brush with both hands. His hair was tousled, but his cheeks were pink and his eyes bright with interest.

When Duncan did not speak again at once, the boy said with a touch of indignation, “They set me tae watching the meat turn aboot. Now, I ask ye, since it can turn by itself on that hook, what need had they for me tae watch it?”

Duncan experienced unexpected difficulty in maintaining a stern look. He said evenly, “You must do as you are bid, lad, that’s all. Perhaps whoever set you to that task wanted to find out if you are dependable.”

Chuff frowned. “Seems daft tae me. They could ha’ found that out by setting me tae do something reasonable.”

“Do you like horses?”

“Aye, I like them fine.”

“Then, perhaps you can help in the stable from time to time, but only if your other chores are done. Have you had anything to eat yet this morning?”

“Aye, Cook gave me some porridge and a bit jammy bread. Bramble jam,” he added with a nod of approval.

Duncan said, “I’m glad you liked it, but you may find yourself in trouble when you return, you know.”

Chuff eyed him thoughtfully. “Not if you was tae tell them I ha’ been helping here in the stable with the wee horse.”

“Well, I’m not going to do that. If you left without permission, you will just have to face the consequences when you return. But if you behave yourself in the future, I promise I’ll let you help out here from time to time.”

Chuff grimaced, then glanced at the colt, which was still munching its oats. “Can I finish brushing him first?”

“If you make a quick job of it,” Duncan said.

Chuff grinned. “I’ll do that, right enough.”

“Where’s Wull?”

The boy gestured with his head. “Back yonder with the harness. Said he had a pile and all tae polish and that I was a good lad tae look after the colt.” Shooting Duncan a sudden worried look, he added, “Ye willna skelp Wull for letting me!”

“No, but you behave yourself.”

“Aye, then, I will.”

Hiding a smile, Duncan turned and walked back to the tack room, where he found the stable lad Wull standing at a table piled high with oddments for polishing. “I see you found yourself an extra helper,” Duncan said.

Wull was a tall, thin lad, who, like his father and brothers before him, had worked in the Balcardane stables since he was old enough to carry a water bucket. He looked up from his task with a smile and said, “Aye, the wee lad fair dotes on that colt. He seems to be a fine, good worker.”

“I told him he can help from time to time, but he’s to stay in the kitchen for now,” Duncan said. “He’ll need warmer clothing before he can work out here.”

“Aye, sir, I saw that for myself. My mam might still have an old coat o’ mine about that would fit the lad. I can ask her if ye like.”

“Tell her she’ll have my thanks if she can find one,” Duncan said, picking up a bridle and an oiled cloth and beginning to help with the polishing. “Are you the only one here just now? Where are the others?”

“Out and about,” Wull said. “What with the snow starting, they’re helping the herds bring in stock afore kirk. Jock said they could pen some of the younger sheep inside the castle walls, but they must put the cattle into yon pasture by the loch,” he went on, referring to Jock Burnett, the earl’s captain of guards. Wull shot Duncan a look, then added casually, “I took a message in earlier, Master Duncan.”

“A message? I got no message. Was it for his lordship?”

“Nay, then. ’Twas for the lass.”

Duncan’s first thought was that someone had sent Serena a message, but he realized even as the thought crossed his mind that Wull would never refer to Serena so casually. He did not know Mary Maclaine, however, only that Duncan had brought to the castle two ragged children and a wench whose clothing wasn’t much better than theirs. “Do you refer to Mistress Maclaine?”

Eyeing him now with misgiving, Wull nodded. “Aye, sir, if she’s the one ye brought in yesterday.”

“What sort of message?”

“A paper folded up. One o’ the lads bringing the young sheep in said a chappie sprung up out o’ the bushes and said he should give it tae the lass—tae Mistress Maclaine, that is. I took it in tae the kitchen and gave it tae Martha.”

“Did you read it?”

“Nay, then, why would I do such a thing? Are ye vexed wi’ me?”

“No, Wull, but I don’t like the sound of this.” Turning away, he thought of something else and turned back to say, “Don’t leave Chuff to blanket the colt alone, and make sure someone looks in on it frequently. I don’t want it ridding itself of the blanket and freezing to death.”

“I know.”

“And send the lad back to the kitchen when he’s finished. Don’t let him cozen you into letting him do more chores for you out here.”

“Aye, sir. He’s a scamp, that one.”

Leaving him, Duncan went back into the house, wondering grimly just which acquaintance of Mistress Machine’s had dared think he could slip a message to her right under her protector’s nose.

In the dining room, Mary was silently cursing the snow. Although the light blanket of white that already covered the land as far as she could see was beautiful, she knew that snow would make it difficult for her to leave Balcardane.

She had not noticed it earlier from her bedchamber, but upon entering the dining parlor, where windows overlooked the hillside and the loch, she saw at once that the world outside lay under a blanket of white. Not only would it make meeting Allan difficult, if not impossible, but her hope of leaving Balcardane for Perthshire would prove fruitless unless the snow melted soon and warmer weather followed.

“Good morning, my dear,” the countess said cheerfully. “I see that Sarah was successful. That dress becomes you better than it ever did me.”

“Lud, Mary,” Serena said, “do you have no clothing of your own?”

“I do, but it is unavailable to me at present, I’m afraid,” Mary said, smiling at her. “It is particularly kind of her ladyship to be so generous with her dresses.”

“Cast offs,” Serena said disparagingly. “I am quite certain that I have never worn a cast-off dress in all my life, certainly never to attend kirk services.”

“How fortunate you are, to be sure,” Mary said.

“Oh, indeed, she is,” Lady Balcardane said. “Why, I daresay Serena has never wanted for anything, for you must know that her father, the Earl of Caddell, is a very wealthy man. He is part of Argyll’s entourage, you see. He spent time with the duke in England last year, or was it the year before, Serena? I think it must have been then.” She went on talking, giving Serena no chance to interject more than brief comments, and Mary was grateful, for once, for the countess’s habit of chatter.

Taking a plate from the warming shelf by the fire, she selected a breakfast of sliced ham, porridge, and toast, then took her place at the table.

She was smearing bramble jam on a slice of toast when Duncan came in. Looking up, she saw at once that he was displeased about something, but he said only, “Good morning,” before crossing the room to take a plate from the warmer.

His mother said, “Bless me, Duncan, are you just now coming downstairs? You must hurry. I came down later than usual myself, and I have not yet seen your father. I hope he remembered to order the coach for us.”

“The coach will be ready, ma’am. I went out early to have a look at the colt.”

“You fret more about that colt than about me,” Serena said flirtatiously.

He glanced at her. “Why should I worry about you? You are inside, warm and well cared for. The colt spends its days in a cold stable with only a blanket and warm mash to keep it from freezing to death.”

“I protest, sir, you are too cruel! I hope you mean to mend your ways.”

“Why should I? Fetch me some ale,” he added, speaking to Jessie who came in to clear away used dishes.

Lady Balcardane said, “I’ll have some chocolate, Jessie, and perhaps Lady Serena and Miss Mary would like some as well.”

Mary disclaimed a desire for chocolate. She was still watching Duncan, although she had lowered her eyelids slightly in the hope he would think she was attending only to her toast.

He took his seat and began to attack, with visible appetite, a plateful of eggs scrambled with onions and herbs, ham, roast mutton, and potatoes. He did not seem disposed to talk, but when Serena said brightly that she wondered just how many of the countess’s dresses Mary would require, he looked up.

“Is that another one of my mother’s gowns?”

“Aye, sir,” Mary said, putting down her fork and knife. “She has been most generous, and was kind enough to send her woman with a selection this morning.”

“Excellent,” he said, “I like that shade of blue on you, but don’t let her dress you in scarlet or black, and don’t let her cut your hair, or curl it all up and about like she does. I like it better the way you usually wear it.”

Serena said with surprise, “All twisted in a knot with bits hanging all over her face and neck? You can’t mean it. Surely you prefer this more fashionable look. You purchase fashionable clothing for yourself, after all.”

“I don’t fuss about with wigs, though,” Duncan pointed out. “Never could stand them, so unless I am required to wear one, I never do.”

Lady Balcardane tilted her head to study Mary, and said, “You are quite right, Duncan. Those curls sticking out at the sides of her head don’t become her. She looks better with her hair brushed back smoothly, away from her face, but I do not know that I approve of the way it was all falling down yesterday.”

Mary set her napkin on the table and said, “You are all very kind to interest yourselves in my appearance, but I must write a letter to my aunt. I wrote one yesterday, but I left it at Maclean House, and in any event, I must inform her of my whereabouts now, and I should like to do so before we leave.” To Duncan, she said, “Is there someone who can take it to Fort William to catch the post, sir?”

“I’ll send a lad, but don’t go yet. I want to talk to you.”

Serena said with the same playful tone she had used before, “I cannot think what you could have to say to her, sir.”

“No,” Duncan said evenly, “I don’t suppose you can.”

Mary said, “I would like to write my letter as soon as possible, sir.”

“You can write it later, and I will see that it gets to Fort William tomorrow, but you will wait for me now, if you please.”

Without being rude, she could think of no way to defy him, so she sat quietly until he had finished, trying in the meantime to ignore Serena’s barbed remarks.

At last, Duncan pushed his chair back. “You may come with me now.”

“Dear me,” Serena said, “you cannot mean to be private with Mary, sir. That is not at all the thing, you know, particularly on a Sunday.”

“Don’t be foolish,” Duncan said, holding open the door for Mary.

He said nothing until they reached the library, but once he closed the door, he said bluntly, “Who sent you the message?”

She nearly gasped, for it had not occurred to her that he might learn of it. She had not decided if she would try to meet Allan, but she certainly had not intended to mention the note to Duncan. After all, Allan was a fugitive wanted for more reasons than one. She had no liking for him, and no reason to protect him, particularly since he was responsible for Ian’s death. Still, the Campbells were not noted for fairness. They had tried poor James before a jury composed solely of their own, thus assuring his conviction. Even if Allan were guilty, he did not deserve that.

“Well?”

She licked suddenly dry lips. “M-message?”

“Don’t try to lie to me. I asked Martha, and she said the lass who cleaned your room took the message to Sarah. Sarah said she gave it to you. I want to know who sent it. Was it MacCrichton?”

She shook her head. “No, sir, it was from Allan.”

“Allan Breck?” The astonishment in his tone did not surprise her, but another note in it did, for it sounded like satisfaction, or even thankfulness.

“Aye,” she said. “He wants me to meet him.”

“Where?”

She sighed, aware that the message lay in a drawer of her dressing table. He would find it in an instant if he searched, and she had no doubt that if she prevaricated, he would know and would institute a search at once. Therefore, she said, “He said to walk up the hillside toward the pass and he would find me.” When he frowned, she added hastily, “I had not decided if I would go or not, sir. I do not trust him any more than you do, and I cannot imagine what he could want with me.”