Amanda Scott (20 page)

“Of course I did, but I told him not to breathe a word of it to Mam.”

“Oh, Neil, you should not have told him,” Diana said. “I doubt that Dugald can keep it to himself. If MacDrumin or anyone else even suspects he’s got a secret, they’ll winkle it out of him in no time.”

“No, they won’t. He promised me he’ll keep mum. Besides, I wanted his advice. Dugald is a knowing lad, when all is said and done.”

“What sort of advice?” Diana asked with misgiving.

“Never you mind. I’ve got a notion how to keep Maclean House, that’s all, and Dugald has promised to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

“Oh, Neil, don’t get into trouble.”

“If that isn’t just like you,” he complained, “telling a man to take responsibility one minute and chafing at him about it when he does.”

She apologized, but she did not forget the conversation. Her younger brother had been feeling his bitterness more and more of late. She knew he fretted at having no power to mend things for their people, and even more at losing Craignure Castle.

She thought often of the massive black strength of Craignure. Impregnable, they had thought; yet it had fallen to the enemy without a shot fired in its defense. After Culloden, a few papers signed in London had accomplished the matter, and their people on Mull had become Crown tenants, dependent on uncaring authorities.

Lady Maclean had visited the island regularly until her imprisonment, when Diana and Mary had taken over the task. Neil took them each week in his boat, so they could visit their old tenants and be sure no one lacked the bare necessities to survive. Few admitted to troubles these days, their upset having been great at her ladyship’s arrest, but all were glad to see Diana and Mary when they visited.

These visits led to others, elsewhere, for many of their people had kin in Appin, and Diana never refused to pay a requested call, if only to reassure one kinsman that the other was well. For the fortnight following the wildcat’s attack, she kept busy with such tasks as these and put all thought of the eviction out of her head. There was nothing she could do about it, except to trust James, and trying to think of how they would survive if he failed them only made her head ache.

She tried to put Calder out of her head as well, but that proved to be more difficult. His handsome image danced in her dreams, and she saw him pass by numerous times on the road, but he did not call at Maclean House.

At the same time, she fretted about her brother. Neil had become secretive, and when she heard that Allan Breck had left Rannoch and was in Appin again, she feared that somehow Allan would convince Neil that salvation lay in joining his regiment. Her informant was Granny Jameson, an elderly woman whom she frequently visited, but Granny had laughed when Diana mentioned her fears.

“Och, nay, lass,” she said. “Allan Breck were but drinking too much whisky at the Kentallen Inn. He’ll no be recruiting our lads. But what’s this I hear tell aboot that buzzard Glenure trying tae turn ye oot o’ Maclean House?”

“So he says,” she admitted. “I don’t know what we will do if he succeeds.”

“Och, but I hear that be settled as well,” Granny said, smoothing her white apron. Her pale blue eyes twinkled. “According tae Glenure, he means ye tae serve the new Campbell family that will live in your house.”

“Does he?” Diana snapped. “Well, believe me, I’d kill myself, or him, before I’d allow him to make me any Campbell’s slave.”

The fortnight passed slowly for Rory. More than once, he found himself thinking up excuses that would take him to Maclean House, but he did not go. His sixpence had disappeared without a trace, and although Mary had warned him that it would, he did not believe wee folk had crept up in the night and stolen it.

He often heard about Diana as he made his rounds of the area. At first, few people would speak openly with him about anything, but he frequently encouraged Ian to walk with him, and the lad proved an invaluable companion. He numbered as many Macleans as Campbells among his friends, and if everyone did not greet Rory with unmixed delight, they were civil to him because of his kinship to Gentle Ian.

He was wise enough not to assert himself, for he knew he would learn more by being quiet and polite than by asking a lot of questions. It was Ian who first mentioned the wildcat, and who told of Diana taking Rory home for Mary to heal.

They had stopped at the Kentallen Inn one evening for refreshment, and Ian told the tale to entertain others in the common room. The atmosphere warmed with the telling, and although Rory endured some friendly teasing, he welcomed it. His Gaelic had improved. Much of his childhood vocabulary had returned, and he understood most of what was said to him now.

“Had his head near took off by a wee wildcat, eh,” one of the wags said, cocking his head in mock puzzlement. “Would that be the Mistress Diana as took it off, or the wee beast in the forest, I’m wondering.”

A chorus of chuckles greeted this sally, and Rory said with a friendly smile, “I do not in general speak of ladies in pubs, sir. But since I can say only good things about one who rescued me from dire peril, I do not hesitate to say that the only wildcat I have met had a great deal of fur and many sharp claws and teeth.”

The man nodded, grinning, and raised his mug. “A fine lady, is the Mistress Diana. Aye, and her mother, the Lady Anne Stewart Maclean. Mistress Mary, too. I drink a toast tae their continued good health and good works, I do.”

“Aye,” echoed numerous others, raising their mugs. Next, they toasted Rory and Ian, then the Highlands, the king (albeit not by name), and bonnie Scotland.

Rory found himself downing enough mugs full of ale to make him wonder if he would be able to keep to his road going home. Glancing at Ian, he saw the lad watching him from beneath his brows, amusement plain in his expression.

“Are they trying to put me out of my senses?” Rory asked in an undertone.

“Nay, but you do not have to drink it all at each toast,” Ian said, grinning. “They won’t take offense, for they are—most of them—sensible Macleans, Camerons, and Stewarts. You are only a weakling Campbell, after all.”

“That will be enough of your sauce, lad.”

“Oh, aye, I’m mum. We can leave now if you like.”

“I like. You’ve given me most of your day, and while I am grateful, I cannot help but think you would rather be elsewhere.”

They were getting to their feet as he spoke, and the others called out farewells and invited him to return. Tossing some coins to the landlord, Rory told him to give everyone another drink, thus assuring his welcome whenever he chose to return. Ian had gone on ahead, but he waited by a tree outside in the moonlight. They were afoot that night, but a friendly half moon rode high over Loch Linnhe, its reflection dancing on the waves, making them sparkle like a scattering of diamonds, and turning the mountains of Morven into looming black masses across the loch.

There was hesitation in Ian’s manner when he met Rory’s gaze, and in the moonlight Rory thought he could detect spots of color on the boy’s cheeks. As they began to walk along the road toward the path through Lettermore Woods, Ian said, “There was no need to thank me, sir. I don’t mind taking you about.”

“You’ve been mighty generous with your time, all the same.”

“You have been more kind than I deserve,” Ian said. “I expected you to say something to my father after you learned about Mary and me. No one could have been surprised if you had, but I ought to have known you would not.”

“Are you so certain I haven’t?” Rory asked with a smile.

“He’d have rung a harsh peal over me if you had, and Duncan would have done worse than that.” Ian sighed. “You must think me a coward. Duncan says that I’m as weak as a girl. Which is a stupid thing to say,” he added on a different note. “Only think of how strong the Maclean women are, all three of them.”

“Yes, it was a stupid thing for Duncan to say,” Rory agreed. “I don’t think you are weak, lad.”

“You don’t?”

“You have managed to make friends on both sides of a potentially explosive situation. With a host of men like you we could bring peace to the Highlands.”

“Well, I
am
something of a coward,” Ian confessed with a rueful smile. “It took me nigh onto a fortnight to raise this subject with you, and I still don’t know how the devil to tell my father about Mary.”

“Sometimes it takes a long time to think of just the right thing to say.”

The boy’s brow cleared. “That’s true,” he said. “You know, you are much easier to talk to than Duncan or Father. I’m glad you came to Appin.”

“I, too,” Rory assured him, thinking of Diana Maclean.

They walked along the moonlit road in easy companionship until they reached Balcardane, but there they met with a flurry of activity. Men shouted in the stable yard, and metal clinked against metal, giving Rory to know before he had fully taken in the scene that some of them were arming themselves.

“What goes on here?” he demanded of the first fellow he met.

“Cattle raid, my lord,” the man said. He carried a dirk and a powder horn, and the bulk of a holster showed beneath the left flap of his jacket.

“Here?”

The man chuckled. “Aye, my lord. Master Duncan heard they mean to take the herd grazing at the head of Loch Leven. We put them there because it’s near time to move them to the upper shielings. Beltane feasting’s but a sennight away.”

They found Duncan in the great hall, slinging a sword belt over his shoulder. A musket and powder horn lay on a table nearby. “I see you know about the raid,” he said. “One of my lads heard a whisper and told me.” Turning to Balcardane, who was hurrying down the stairs, he said, “You need not go with us, sir. I can manage. We’ve heard of no organized raids of late, so this group is bound to be a small one.”

“Aye, you’ll look after things,” Balcardane said, “but need you take so many men? Some of their gear is like to be damaged, and will require replacing.”

“If I take fewer men, we’re like to lose it all,” Duncan said evenly.

“I’ll go with you,” Rory said.

Duncan looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “As you wish, cousin, but I’ll not wait for you.”

“I’ll be along as soon as I’ve put on my boots. Ian, tell Thomas to saddle my horse. Do you come with us, lad?”

“He does not,” Duncan said sternly. “He’d only get in the way or get himself killed. He’ll stay here where he’s safe.”

Ian did not argue with him but hurried off to obey Rory’s command.

When Rory returned to the courtyard, Thomas had Rosinante saddled and ready for him. “Watch your back, lad,” he said tersely when Rory had mounted.

“Aye, I will, but I’m curious. Who dares to attack the Campbells?”

Thomas spread his hands, glancing around at the group of twenty or more mounted men. “Ha’ye got your pistol at hand?”

“I have, and the dirk as well.”

Duncan shouted, and they were off at a canter, riding downhill to the road, then east toward the head of the loch. A half moon hung low over Morven, its light sparkling on the water, against which the riders made ghostly dark shadows.

Rory rode next to Duncan. “Won’t the raiders hear us coming?” he asked him, pitching his voice to carry above the rumble of hoofbeats on the dirt road.

“The cattle are in a glen near the head of the loch,” Duncan said. “We have an advantage even if we don’t take them unaware, for I doubt they have horses.”

Half an hour later, Rory heard cattle lowing ahead.

“They’re there, right enough,” Duncan said. Spurring his horse, he plunged ahead, but Rory caught up quickly.

Just as he picked out the entrance to a narrow glen ahead of them, a horn sounded, its three-note melody sounding eerie in the pale moonlight.

Duncan gave a shout. “They’ve seen us and some are mounted!”

One rider made a dash for the Lochaber side. Gathering his mount, he cleared the rushing burn that fed the loch in a magnificent arc, showing that both horse and rider knew their business well.

“I’ll follow him,” Rory cried. “You take the others.”

“Take some of my men with you,” Duncan shouted at him, but Rory had already given spur to Rosinante and pretended not to hear.

In that brief moment when the moonlight shone brightly upon the escaping horse and rider, he had seen the flash of four white stockings. He remembered instantly that he had ridden such a horse in the past fortnight.

“Unless I miss my guess, Rosinante,” he muttered as the gray galloped toward the crossing, “that reiver is none other than Sir Neil bloody Maclean.”

R
ORY HAD ALL HE
could do in the next few minutes to keep Rosinante steady beneath him, for the ground turned mushy on the other side of the narrow, tumbling burn. A mist was rising, too; and to make matters worse, the moon was disappearing behind the mountains of Morven. In minutes it would be gone.

Sighting his quarry ahead, he urged Rosinante to a faster pace, and as he did, he heard the telltale sound of harder ground beneath them. The gray surged forward, proving again that it was nothing like its skinny namesake. The distance between Rory and the other rider decreased rapidly.

He saw Neil glance over his shoulder, and involuntarily did the same. No one was following them. His feelings about Neil were mixed. One moment he wanted to protect him, the next to flog him, but he dared not even shout. There was no sign of a breeze now, and the mist-clouded waters of Loch Leven lay calm and still. Voices could easily carry to the other side, less than a half mile away.

The mist changed the tones of their thudding hoofbeats, making them sound almost hollow. It drifted in patches over the land, and with Neil giving him the lead, Rory could see the ground ahead well enough to keep Rosinante at the heady pace the lad set, but soon such speed must prove dangerous. It was a miracle that one of their horses had not already missed its footing on the uneven ground.

Even as the thought entered his mind, he saw Neil draw rein and slow his pace. Rory let Rosinante close the distance before he did likewise, then saw to his astonishment that Neil was grinning. Anger surged within him, but he controlled it, waiting for the boy to speak first.