The Night Side (20 page)

When the Devil would have us to sin,
he would have us to do the things which
the forlorn Witches used to do.

—
Cotton Mather,
On Witchcraft

Frances knew she should go about her daily routine just as if nothing had happened, but the morning—and the previous day—had brought her a series of shocks to the senses, and she had not had time for some much-needed quiet reflection.

Still, once she gained the privacy of her chamber, she found she was not thinking about Gilbert Balfour and what his presence at Noltland might mean, but rather about Colin. His advent into her life was a promontory memory, which stood tall even among the recent mountainous events that had befallen her.

And she was married!

She had been so focused on the present and what she needed to do to help her people survive that she had not been looking very far ahead. Nor had she been looking deeply, especially not inside, where everything had hurt for so long.

For ages, there had been a loneliness inside her, a feeling that was worse than any physical ache, a beast that suffered, coiled within her, starving and injured.
But unlike wounds to the body, this pain of loneliness never went entirely numb, and it never healed, and it never died. Sometimes it had hurt so much that she had almost—almost—been ready to accept some of the men who were offered as husbands. Fortunately, or perhaps not, there had also been a great deal of fear and wariness of men, left by her faithless father, to serve as a balance to such unadvised action. That fear of what a misstep could do to her family had kept her aloof. And for a time, fear had kept the painful loneliness quiescent.

But then Colin had come, and he had stirred the beast to new life. He had forced her to think and feel. She couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Frances sighed. She had been alienated from herself and her needs for so long that she didn’t know what she truly felt anymore, only that with Colin beside her, the beast of loneliness seemed slightly less violent. And perhaps fear and wariness were less active in their suspicions of mankind than they had been before his arrival.

Also, though it was not at all romantic, she secretly liked that he spoke to her as he might to a man, that he did not think her too stupid to understand his world. Whether she would like this world of large intrigue remained to be seen, but at least he had offered it to her. It was her choice to accept or reject it.

His
world. His
whole
world? Frances shook her head. Though it might be assumed that any interest that could seduce a man into years of service would be paramount in his life, perhaps he saw politics precisely as he had explained it: an ever-changing enemy to be watched and perhaps propitiated on occasion, while it made him both powerful and wealthy. Such
devotion to an occupation did not have to mean that intrigue was his real mistress and his greatest love, or that it always would be, whatever his past.

Ah love! How stupid of her to think of that. It would only remind the loneliness inside that it still starved for this, the most coveted of all emotional meats. And the most difficult to find.

“You are a greedy imbecile,” she told herself. “And you have a loom that needs tending.”

Frances rose and went to the narrow window. It looked out on a landscape that was even bleaker than her thoughts. The few trees near them were nearly naked now as they huddled away from the wind, and the remaining grasses and lichens had taken on the orange hues of fiery holocaust. Autumn was upon the land, and winter was coming.

Frances turned her back on the window. She was a most uncertain guide to her own feeling, but she understood that the important question facing her now was whether she had badly misjudged Colin when accusing him of having outside motives for their marriage—and whether she could trust him to keep her family safe. Lucien de Talle’s overheard words had not been forgotten. Nor were they explained. It seemed as though Colin had had the intention to send her and George away even before MacJannet had brought his news. That suggested that he had some secret stratagems he had not shared with her.

“But that does not mean he does not care for us. This is how men show their protectiveness,” she muttered, laying a hand to her chest and trying to soothe the phantom pain that lingered there. “It is only that he has not perfectly learned how to confide in me yet. He, too, has only just married. I must be patient.”

And watchful,
a small inner voice murmured.

In the meantime she had guests, and hospitality demanded that she be gracious and dignified while she saw to their wants, however tempted she was to selfishly disregard their presence and hide away with her thoughts. She would strive to be truly gracious, for it seemed to her that morning that her mother’s delicate, chiding ghost was hovering nearby and watching as her daughter began her married life. The feeling was so strong that she had almost asked Colin if he felt something, too.

A part of her wanted to defend Colin, but all she could do was silently assure her mother that she had not lost her honor when she had lost her virginity to her husband, that it was stupid to think that a woman’s character was tied up in her maidenhead and that by losing it to the wrong person she would forever be besmirched.

Yet there was also a part of her that seemed unable to stop listening to her father’s voice, which had no high opinion of women once they lost their maiden virtue. He had lured them to his bed in great numbers, and ended up despising them all. He had believed that a woman’s only honor after loss of virginity was what she could attain through her husband. He would not be happy with his daughter.

Fortunately, that angry voice was not as strident as it had once been, and Frances suspected she had Colin to thank for that. Whatever else he was, and whatever he intended by her, he had been adamant that she was capable of thinking for herself and she needn’t accept someone else’s judgments, or give them undue weight because they came with familial sentiments attached.

Frances smiled suddenly. It was likely his opinion would change if it were his judgment she began flouting.

“Shut the door carefully. That latch is stubborn. I must see to it tomorrow.”

MacJannet grunted and took a seat near the fire. Sine’s tisane was making him sleepy and his eyelids dropped lower with every blink.

“A man dies and worms eat him—that is the way of things,” Lucien said as MacJannet moved his chair nearer the hearth. The Frenchman’s clothes were somewhat muddied and he had returned with a hare, suggesting that he had indeed been hunting. Colin was not convinced that this had been his only occupation.

“Aye, so it is. And they tell us it is a worm that never dies.”

“That may be. I do not know.” Lucien shrugged. “It is the parasites who prey on the living in other ways that I find objectionable this afternoon.”

“Our mastermind must be someone who is either very greedy or very vengeful,” MacJannet agreed tiredly. His wrenched leg was stretched out toward the flickering hearth. He’d stopped trying to mask his injury once the women were not about.

“It would have to be revenge without bounds to seek the life of a boy who is not even a son of the old laird…and yet, this whole affair has been most ineptly handled. The attacks have been indirect—sending a hound that is less than fearsome, locking Frances in the dungeons. It is as though the instigator’s malice is being tempered or translated into something less harmful by someone with a weaker stomach, who is not ready to do coldhearted murder.”

“Anne Balfour?” Lucien asked.

“I believe so. The lady has made some telling missteps and let her malice show a time or two.”

“Well,
mon ami,
I am loath to depart here at such a moment. Yet if you feel that you should have your lady wife and the boy away from the creature, I can make arrangements to take them to the bishop and return forthwith.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.” A day ago, Colin had thought this best. Now he wasn’t so eager to be parted.

“And it would be easier to question Anne if there were fewer people about to object,
oui
?”

“Perhaps. The Balfour men should begin arriving on the morrow,” Colin answered. “That makes for a very short interlude for doing anything. Naturally, one doesn’t like to use rough methods with a woman.” Especially not in front of her family.

“
Oui,
unless all else has failed.” Lucien gestured languidly, then tactfully turned the subject. “The bishop shall be most interested in hearing how the men have fared while in the South.”

“I’m certain he shall be enlightened.” Colin hesitated, and then returned to the previous topic. “I know it is wisest to send Frances and George away—but I am loath to do it. This is no reflection upon your skills as a guardsman, nor is it a matter of trust. It is simply that…”

“One does not wish to begin a marriage with discord, naturally,” Lucien guessed. “And it is natural that she would wish to be here when her relatives return. George as well shall doubtless wish to see the men to whom he may be laird.”

Colin shot Lucien a glance and then met MacJannet’s slitted gaze. “So, you have heard the rumors of
Gilbert’s survival, as well? And all while out hunting? How skillful of you.”

“
Oui,
hunting takes some skill in these parts. But you wrong me,
mon ami.
This is old news—and it is in part why the bishop was so anxious for me to come to Noltland. He has also wondered, given the other tale of alliance with the English, if this might not be why you are here. King Henry’s interest in these matters has him nervous. There are quite enough persons involved already.”

It was not quite a question. Colin, slightly piqued at having possibly missed something strategically important and at Lucien’s previous reticence, refused to answer.

“All things shall be revealed in the fullness of time. Or at the king’s pleasure.”

“Or at the MacLeod’s?” Lucien suggested.

“Please! Acquit me of having more than one master. We may be of close kin as most people reckon it, but we are certainly not of close kind.”

“As you say. And so—you do not wish me to remove your wife and young George to a safer clime on the morrow, or even tonight?”

“Not tonight, and probably not tomorrow. It would cause too much talk, especially with the men returning.”

“But I shall hold myself in readiness to remove any number of people if the need should arise,” Lucien answered. “Do not thank me. To be useful is what I live for.”

There was a slight rustling outside the chamber door. A clumsy MacJannet and spryer Lucien jumped to their feet, but Colin beat them to the slightly open door.

Frances’s stiff spine was retreating down the hall, her skirts swishing like an angry broom. Colin was relieved that it had not been Anne Balfour spying on them, but that rigid back suggested he was in for another long night of explanations.

“Bloody hell.” He turned back to Lucien and MacJannet. “I truly must see to this latch.”

Lucien laughed softly. “That may not be the only thing requiring repair.”

“I know that well.” Colin frowned at Lucien. “You are not her favorite person anymore. This is the second time she has heard you offering to part us.”

“Alas! Yet I shall endure.”

“As shall I.”

“Just less cheerfully,” Lucien suggested.

“You are heartless, even for a Frenchman.”

MacJannet chuckled.

Annoyed at both companions, Colin left the room to seek out the smithy and the tools stored there. He would fix the bloody latch himself. And then he would sit down to write Frances a poem. It would not be a very good one, but mayhap it would apologize better than he could, since he wasn’t able to ask for forgiveness for arranging the things he needed to do to keep her safe. He regretted her anger—but not what he might well be required to do to protect her.

Or have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?

—
William Shakespeare,
Macbeth

The room was very nearly dark when Colin came to bed, and Frances was feigning sleep. She had managed not to have any private discussion with him the whole of the day, even at the evening meal. And Colin was not alone in his expulsion from grace. February blizzards were now more welcome than Lucien de Talle. Only MacJannet was spared, and that was probably because Frances didn’t know he had been in the room when the discussion took place.

Colin eyed the angry bundle huddled on her side of the bed and decided to let sleeping Frances lie. A night’s rest might well improve her temper, he thought hopefully.

However, Colin was unable to test his theory, for when he awoke the next morning, Frances was already gone from their chamber.

He was not a habitually heavy sleeper and therefore concluded that she must have been practicing great stealth when she stole away from him. He had not heard the bolt being drawn back or the creaking
of the door. It occurred to him that she had probably dressed herself in some other chamber, since it was unlikely she had donned clothing in the common passage.

That thought truly annoyed him, and for the first time he considered bridling his strong-willed wife and bringing her to heel. It was time she reordered her loyalties. Her first allegiance was to her husband, and her first duty was helping to present the world with a united front.

But before he set about redirecting his erring wife, it seemed wisest to check up on George. Whither Frances went, George was likely to follow—and the boy hadn’t her strength or wiliness when it came to dealing with unexpected problems. Frances was likely to cave in the skull of anyone who threatened her bodily. Colin was not certain that George was made of such ruthless material.

Colin presently discovered George in the courtyard, engaged in the laudable goal of attempting to teach Harry some of the fundamentals of obedience, a thankless task to which Colin was content to leave the boy while he finally sought out his wife.

Frances was likewise soon discovered in a storeroom, directing MacJannet in the mounting of shelves. The inconvenience of her reduced height had finally driven her to undoing her father’s work in the pantry and stillroom, and ordering the rude wooden shelves reworked so the women could more easily reach the things stored upon them. It was perhaps an unnecessary task, with the men returning to the castle. But it was a harmless one, and Colin felt safe leaving her in MacJannet’s care while he went out into the drizzle to explore the eastern beaches.

His seemingly undirected rambles took him in this new direction, previously unexplored because of the ruggedness of the coastline, but now made attractive because of this very discouraging geographical unpleasantness. The path soon disappeared and he was obliged to carry on, using both hands and feet to find his way over the slimy stone intrusions while water drooled down upon him from the sullen sky.

It seemed ridiculous to persist in this quest with the weather worsening overhead, but an inner sense, honed through years of watchfulness, told him there was still some means of egress into the castle that he had not discovered. Many ocean-side fortifications had secret passages leading to sea caves where boats could be stored, in the event that sudden and clandestine evacuation was necessary. He would not be content until he had ruled out the existence of such an architectural vulnerability at Noltland.

After a short distance, something that remotely resembled a path again appeared, and Colin was able to resume his standard bipedal stance. A few careful steps around a particularly large boulder and he came across the place Tearlach had once mentioned. It was a
drochaid,
a causeway leading to a tiny deserted islet, Eilean am Meadhan. Mostly buried under rusty seaweed and still in the grip of the fearsome white tidal waters, churned to new heights by the oncoming storm, it was slowly coming exposed as the tide reluctantly retreated the last few hand widths from the ancient gray and red stones.

Colin grunted in satisfaction: where there were causeways, there were often moorings.

He turned and examined the rocks about him. The high-water mark, barely visible with the rain coming
down, told him that at the tide’s zenith there would be plenty of room for a boat with an average draft to navigate to the shore, if it remained tucked up to the mainland until it reached the naturally occurring jetty jutting out from the cliff face.

A soft inhuman moan behind him drew Colin’s attention. Mostly invisible from the shore, and completely invisible from the sea because of overlapping boulders, was an entrance to a cave. The violent tidal retreat was causing it to exhale in an eerie manner.

“Aha!”

Hair rising along his neck, Colin followed the line of tattered seaweed up to the cavern’s dark mouth. There he paused and cursed himself for not having had the foresight to bring a lantern.

Not long deterred by this oversight, he soon recovered his temper and began thinking sensibly. He had a quick hunt around the entrance, seeking out high ledges where a lantern might be stored, and presently was rewarded with the discovery of an oilskin bag that rendered up both a lantern and flint. The lantern’s shallow well seemed nearly empty, suggesting either that the last visitor had been careless about refilling it before he came ashore, or else the passage from the castle was a long and possibly complicated one, which had consumed most of the unpleasant-smelling oil in the reservoir.

It took some doing, because the sea and wet wind were both set against cooperation, but Colin finally managed to set the wick alight. By then the ocean had surrendered as much land as it cared to and was beginning to double back on its treacherous course.

Colin muttered several more bad words but made haste into the cave’s interior. The walls were wet to
just past his head, but barren of tidal life, something he found curious. The tide must run too quickly to permit any of the usual crustaceans and limpets to make their homes there. A quick touch of the glassy smooth wall confirmed his theory and also argued for extreme caution. Any tide that could polish the walls of a stone cave smooth to the height of a man was not something to be navigated frivolously. Still, he had a few minutes yet…

He walked quickly to the back of the cave and discovered three channels opening off of the main chamber, all adequately large to serve as a passage for a man or even a pony. He began an exploration of the passage on the right, but halted when he discovered that it also branched. Both forks headed downward, putting them below the level of the cave. Water would pour through them at a breakneck rate when the sea arrived at the cavern mouth. Anything caught in the wrong passage at the incorrect time would be forced into the bowels of the cliff and drowned in the darkness. It was quite likely that no body would ever be found.

It was also more than possible that the passage had been laid with traps. Usually the Scots did not bother with such subtleties, but Noltland’s builder had obviously not been the usual, straightforward variety of man. Those horrible gibbets positioned right outside the bedchamber windows proved that. Who could guess what subtle tortures he might have indulged in while building the castle?

Colin muttered again, this time combining curses into a new and unusual pattern and adding some particularly rude Flemish phrases. He wanted to go on, but he had nothing with which he could mark the
walls to ensure his safe return if he grew disoriented underground, not even a rope to lay down a short trail. His lantern was also feeling very light now, and its flame was fading.

He couldn’t risk exploring, not with the greedy sea already on the turn and being driven by the weather. He and Lucien would have to come back at low tide tomorrow. Colin would have preferred to have MacJannet with him, but with the man’s bad leg, such rough exploration was out of the question.

The day was not a complete loss, however. Colin was certain now that there was yet some other secret entrance to the castle that he had been unable to find from the castle’s side. He could do nothing else about it today, but he would find it on the morrow and see that it was finally sealed. After that, Frances and George would be fairly safe from outside attack.

MacJannet had been correct in his prediction that the men would begin their return that day. More than a dozen arrived before the storm loosed itself on the land, and a handful more before the day ended. They came heavily laden with packs and some even with loaded ponies. They were, on the whole, rather thin, and many bore new scars, but were happy in spite of their defeat by the English, the king’s death, and a minor skirmish with a band of overbold Gunns who were hunting in the area.

There was fresh rejoicing at Noltland, but also order as Frances oversaw the tearful preparation for yet another feast. Colin watched her with pride as he greeted the returning Balfours.

The men did not know what to think. They were not inclined to welcome into their midst a man who was half English and half MacLeod, and who had
also had the temerity to marry their late laird’s daughter without asking anyone’s permission. On the other hand, they knew that they had Colin Mortlock to thank for their liberation and for looking after Noltland while they were locked in futile battles in the South.

Which wasn’t actually the case. Frances had managed the deed quite nicely on her own for many months, but Colin didn’t correct their misconceptions and neither did George. He hadn’t instructed the lad in what to say, but the boy was canny enough to sense that a united male front was what was needed to carry the day in the face of so much skepticism and, in some cases, outright hostility.

George did his part well, but it was plain that the men were dismayed at the small and rather unhealthy boy who was the new laird. They looked from Colin to George to the bishop’s men and then back again, their minds plainly busy with uneasy thoughts that would have to be sorted out once the celebration of homecoming was over. They did not make formal declarations of allegiance, and neither Colin nor George pressed for one.

Colin had explained to the boy before they went downstairs that it was possible his uncle still lived, and therefore he might not actually be the rightful heir to the title of laird. George had digested this news in thoughtful silence, not volunteering his thoughts on the matter. So sober and reflective had he been that Colin had felt moved to hastily reassure the boy that whatever happened, he—and Harry—would always have a place with Frances and him.

George had looked up and smiled fleetingly, but made no comment other than a soft-voiced thank-you.
Colin found himself agreeing with Frances’s sometime comment that the boy was too much within himself and needed more recreation. If he were left too long in his own somber company, his personality might be permanently overshadowed by gloom. It made Colin more determined than ever to rid the land of their would-be assassin, so they could safely depart from Noltland before the winter stranded them in the North.

MacJannet circulated easily among the men, as did Lucien de Talle, but the weary soldiers said, to a man, that they knew nothing of Gilbert Balfour’s whereabouts, or whether he even lived.

This was disappointing, but in other respects Colin was pleased with what he saw. The men were obviously taken aback by George’s age, and therefore it was highly unlikely that they had known anything about him. That in turn decreased the odds that any of them had had a hand in trying to eliminate him. It was something Colin had to consider carefully, for any of them made a great suspect in this piece of villainy. Anne Balfour would likely aid a family member, and they could very well know about secret passages into the castle.

Colin was used to pretense and feigning untrue emotion, but he was fairly certain that this new and inconvenient feeling of love and protectiveness would have forbidden him from breaking bread with any man he suspected of harboring lethal ill will for either George or Frances. It would probably have also forbidden him from letting any suspected villain live. And that would probably upset Frances. Most ladies did not care for bloodshed at the table.