'It could,' Alexander said. 'Mother was not one to play games. She meant what she said.'
I thought again of my gallant captain. 'How often have you been tempted to open the paper and peek?'
Alexander shook his head. 'Never.' He said. 'I can only open it once.'
I thought about that for a few moments. 'I've never heard of anything like that before.'
'Neither have I,' Alexander said.
We were silent again. I could have asked more but, frankly, I did not consider Alexander's lack of a sweetheart to be any of my business. I had more than enough problems of my own.
As we sat there, we heard the voices once more.
'There they are again,' Alexander said.
'We might see more outside,' I suggested. 'Perhaps there is another cave or a secret passage from Huntlaw House.'
'Perhaps,' Alexander said. 'Although I've never heard of one.'
'Nor have I.'
A spatter of unseasonably early sleet greeted us as we left Wallace's Cave, forcing me to huddle deeper into my travelling cloak. 'Here,' Alexander passed over his comforter. 'Take this.'
'I don't need it.'
'You're cold,' Alexander pulled me into the shelter of a rock, opened my cloak and tied the comforter around my neck. I stood still and allowed him to care for me. Other men, even gentlemen, may have taken liberties. I knew Alexander would not. I hid my smile; I doubted Alexander had any inclinations towards women. Unless it had roots and green leaves, Alexander would have no interest at all. I was not surprised, after hearing about his queer mother.
'Thank you,' I said when I was tucked up to Alexander's satisfaction. 'That is very kind of you. Please don't get cold yourself, now.'
'I won't.' Alexander's smile was weak. 'I seldom feel the cold.'
About to ask why he wore a comforter then, I decided it was best to keep quiet. I waited until Alexander turned his back before I loosened the comforter sufficiently to allow me to breathe.
'Stand still!' Alexander's normally quiet voice cracked like the bark of a pistol. 'Listen!'
I could hear nothing except the spatter of sleet and whistle of wind on the rocks. 'What is it?'
'Something creaked.'
I listened for a creaking sound. 'Look!' I pointed. An entire section of the side of Craigie Hill lifted from the ground. 'What's that?'
'It's where the voices came from,' Alexander said at once.
It's where Captain Ferintosh disappeared to, I told myself. At the thought of that bold man, I felt my heart beat increase. I wondered if he was still there, under the ground only a few dozen yards from where I stood.
'Come on,' Alexander took hold of my arm. 'People who hide generally don't wish to be seen.' He guided me back to Wallace's Cave. 'It must be a trap-door to another cave. Maybe whisky smugglers use it.'
'Maybe they do.' I did not mention Captain Ferintosh. I hugged that secret to myself.
We crouched behind the rocks, scanning the hillside in case anything else untoward happened. Although I felt Alexander's body heat close by me, I thought of Captain Ferintosh and of John Aitken.
The ground opened again. Ready for it this time, I could see that there was a large wooden door so covered in turf that it merged with the surface of the hill. Inside the door, steps led downward. One man emerged, with grass spread over his green cloak. The second he appeared, the trap door closed again. I looked at the man in hope, but when I saw it was not Captain Ferintosh, I lost interest. Nearly invisible against the grey-green of the field, the man reached the road, brushed off the grass and walked away as if he had not a care in the world.
'Now that I have told you my story,' Alexander interrupted my observations. 'You can tell me yours.'
'My story?'
'Why you are wandering these hills all alone, watching that particular stretch of slope and studying every man who comes out.'
I sighed. The guilt was tearing at me. People say that a problem shared is a problem halved. I looked at Alexander with his laughing eyes; could I trust him? He had trusted me.
'I am looking for a man,' I said.
'Your sweetheart?' Alexander's question came quickly.
'I would like to think of him as such.'
'Ah.' Alexander smiled. 'You are not sure, then.'
Was I sure? 'No. I am not sure.'
Alexander looked away for a while. 'Am I correct in thinking your mysterious man may be hiding under the ground?'
'I think he may be.'
'There are only two reasons for doing that,' Alexander spoke slowly. 'Either he is hiding from authority, or he is authority, searching for a law-breaker.'
'Yes,' I said.
Alexander smiled. 'I think the secret I told you is safe with you, Mary. You don't give much away, do you?'
I took another deep breath. 'I don't know how much I can say,' I said. I was growing to like this man. I did not wish him to despise me for what I had done to my father.
'I won't force you to say anything,' Alexander lay back in our rocky lair. 'Let me tell you a story.'
'This is no time for stories,' I snapped, revealing the stretched state of my nerves.
'There is always time for a story,' Alexander said. 'You sit there, watch your wee bit ground in case your might-be-sweetheart appears and as you do so, listen to my golden voice.'
'You don't have a golden voice!'
'Silver, then.' Alexander was not in the least put off by my sharp response. If I had a brother, I would have treated him the same way, with familiarity and cutting words that were not intended to hurt. I looked at this strange man and hid my smile.
'Are you listening?'
'I don't appear to have much choice,' I said.
'You could leave the cave and walk away,' Alexander said.
I sighed. 'I'm listening.'
'Once there was a prince of thieves,' Alexander said. 'He was the most handsome of princes and the most charming of men. He roamed the countryside, doing illegal deeds and smiling his way out. Then one day he saw the most beautiful woman imaginable. Oh, but she was a peach, with her red hair and silky skin. He fell in love with her right away. What red-blooded man would not fall in love with her?'
I stirred slightly. 'I am a bit old for fairy stories.'
'You are never too old for fairy stories,' Alexander chided gently. 'No sooner had the prince given his heart to his lady love than the evil sheriff captured him and threw him into the deepest darkest dungeon of his shire. The beautiful woman was distraught. What could she do?'
'What could she do?' I recognised the theme of Alexander's story. The pig was either guessing too much or knew me too well. 'I don't like this story very much.'
'Don't you? Then stand up and walk away,' Alexander said. 'I shall continue telling my tale to the bare stones in case the ghost of William Wallace is listening.'
'William Wallace has his own tales to tell.'
'He has indeed,' Alexander said. 'Shall I continue?'
'You will continue whether I wish you to or not.'
'That is true. What made the beautiful woman's dilemma even worse was that the evil sheriff was her father.'
'My father is not evil,' I said, hotly.
Alexander's smile broadened. 'So the beautiful woman had a terrible choice: she could go against her evil father by freeing the prince of thieves, or leave her sweetheart to rot in the darkest of dark dungeons. What a hard choice for a beautiful young woman.'
'I'm not beautiful.'
'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' Alexander said. 'Shall I leave the story there, or shall I continue.'
'Oh, continue, do.' I looked away. 'It's all stuff and nonsense, of course.'
'Of course, it is.' Alexander agreed. 'After agonising over her decision, the beautiful young woman with the auburn-red hair decided she must try to help her prince of thieves.'
'Did she indeed,' I put bitterness in my voice.
'Indeed she did,' Alexander's tone did not alter. 'Stealing a key…'
'Borrowing a key,' I amended. 'Stealing means to keep forever. Borrowing means to take and return.'
'Stealing a key, for stealing means to take without the owner's permission, the beautiful young woman freed the prince of thieves and helped him escape to a range of wild hills. She left him there, and the beautiful young woman was soon in trouble when a bunch of sorners arrived.'
'How do you know all this?' I demanded as my temper took control.
'Fortunately, a mysterious stranger saved her,' Alexander ignored my interruption. 'However, as soon as she returned to her cold-nosed castle, the beautiful young woman wondered if she had done the wrong thing. She wondered if her prince was as pure as she had thought. Yet she still wished to see him.'
I sat in silence, fuming as Alexander the pig unravelled me, strand by embarrassing strand.
'So she travelled to the place she had left him. There she met an ogre, a most ugly man with the face of a bear,'
'A pig more like. The face of a pig!' I emphasised my last word.
'A most ugly man with the face of a bear-pig who kept her trapped in his lair in the rocks.'
'That part is true, anyway,' I said.
'True? It is only a story!' Alexander smiled again.
'It is only a story,' I agreed. 'There is no auburn-haired beauty; there is no evil sheriff and no prince of thieves.'
'What there is,' Alexander's light tone deepened. He took hold of my arm, 'is a medley of voices.'
Chapter Ten
The voices were quite distinct, raised in animated discussion, perhaps even argument.
'Move to the back of the cave,' Alexander ordered, 'if you want to hear better.'
I scrambled over the rough rock with as little noise as possible. It was not far. I did not hear Alexander move, yet he was right beside me.
'Here,' he pointed to a deep cleft in the back of the cave. I eased in, gasping as the rock scraped against the tender skin of my thigh.
The voices were even more distinct now. There were three male voices and one female, with the occasional word drifting through like rocks in a swift Lammermuir stream. I listened.
'He's there!' I felt a surge of delight when I recognised Captain Ferintosh's tones. 'I can hear him speaking!'
Alexander did not reply. His gaze was fixed on my face. I could not read his thoughts.
I pressed my ear as close to the rock as I could. More words came through. One of the other men was talking. 'Highway.' 'Big House.' 'Coach.' 'Son.'
Individually the words meant nothing. I tried to make sense of them. Was Captain Ferintosh planning to drive his coach to a big house? Who was this son?
I placed my ear against the rock once more.
'Here,' Alexander was at my side, pressing against me as he worked at the edge of the rock with a knife. His lantern revealed a sight fissure, covered with earth. He scraped quietly to deepen the hole. I gasped as a pinprick of light shone through.
'Listen here,' Alexander whispered. 'But for goodness sake, don't make a noise.'
Unable to prevent myself, I pressed my eye to the tiny hole. At first, I could see nothing, and then gradually I worked out what was happening. The trapdoor must have led into quite a sizeable chamber under the hill, either natural or created by man at some time in the past. Two lanterns hung on hooks in the wall, pooling yellow light into an interior that looked surprisingly comfortable.
My limited view showed me two chairs and what might have been a shake-down bed, while the occasional person passed my line of sight.
There were four men, not three, and with a thrill of delight, I saw my Captain Ferintosh. He limped across in front of me, not as dapper as he once had been, but every bit as handsome and seemingly in control. The captain was speaking, moving his right hand in that characteristic way he had.
After a few moments of watching Captain Ferintosh, I adjusted my stance so I could hear what he was saying.
'Thursday morning.' Captain Ferintosh completed a sentence.
'Thursday morning,' one of the others said. I could almost taste the atmosphere within that queer little place.
I withdrew from the spyhole. That one sight of Captain Ferintosh had set my pulse racing. I did not know what it was about him that affected me in such a violent manner. It was not his poise: I had seen any number of the nobility on the streets of Edinburgh. They had equal dignity without disturbing my equanimity in the slightest. It was not the fact that he dressed immaculately: so did scores of other men to whom I would not give a second glance. No, I think it was the air of excitement, of daring, that clung to him.
I had to see him. Whatever happened, however much of a rogue he was, I had to see him. It is a measure of the trust I had for Alexander that I told him everything. I left out nothing. Alexander listened, nodding when I paused.
'It could be dangerous,' Alexander said at last. He neither criticised my judgement nor mentioned my misdemeanours.
'He won't hurt me,' I knew my captain. 'I will be perfectly safe with him.'
'What are you going to try to do?' Alexander looked concerned.
'I'm going to persuade him to come back into custody,' I told the whole truth. 'Father is the fairest man imaginable. He won't condemn anybody on the word of somebody else. I don't believe Captain Ferintosh is bad. I think he has got a bad reputation because of the company he keeps.'
Alexander raised his eyebrows. 'Would you like me to accompany you?'
I nearly fell off the rock on which I sat. 'No, thank you. I am quite capable of talking to Captain Ferintosh by myself.' The last thing I wanted was for another man to be present when I spoke to the captain.
'How will you contact him?' Alexander asked the next obvious question. 'You can hardly knock on the door and say: “Excuse me. I've been watching you in your secret hidey hole and want to meet you again.” '
'No,' I said with a smile. 'There must be another way.'
'You said that Ferintosh met you in a coach,' Alexander said.
'A dark coach with gold trimmings,' I remembered. 'It was exquisite.'
'I'm sure it would be.' Alexander showed no jealousy over the captain's coach. 'We know that Ferintosh is living in a hole in the ground, so either his coach was hired, or somebody looks after it for him, or it is hidden away somewhere. He cannot ferret it away in his cave.'
I agreed although I was not sure where Alexander was leading me.
'Did it appear to be a hired coach?'
'No.' I said. 'It was beautiful. I've never known a stable to hire a coach of that quality.'
'From what you told me, I would agree.' Alexander said. 'That leaves us with two options. Either somebody is looking after his coach, or he has hidden it somewhere.'
'I think you are correct.' I was quite enjoying listening to Alexander's reasoning.
'Do we agree that Ferintosh is a rogue?' Alexander looked at me for confirmation.
'I think he must be,' I said with only a little reluctance.
'Then no respectable person would willingly hide his carriage. It will be close by so he can use it. You have great local knowledge, Mary. Do you know of anybody local who would allow Ferintosh to stable his coach and horses?'
'No.' I had no hesitation in replying. None of our neighbours would do such a thing.
'That leaves the last option,' Alexander said. 'He has his coach hidden somewhere.'
I had followed Alexander's reasoning with fascination. 'East Lothian is a big county; there are many places he can hide a coach.'
'It will be close by,' Alexander's constant smile was broadening as he spoke.
'Where close by? There is only Huntlaw House and Garleton Castle. I can't see Lady Emily agreeing to hide Captain Ferintosh's coach.' I smiled at the idea. 'That leaves the old castle.'
'Garleton Castle!' Alexander slapped his thigh resoundingly. 'Well now! It just happens that there is a coach in one of the ruined old buildings there.'
'What?' I stared at Alexander, unsure whether to be amused, irritated or just plain
angry. 'You pig, Alexander Colligere! You knew all the time!'
'I did not,' Alexander denied hotly, grinning from ear to ear. 'I knew there was a carriage stowed away in Garleton Castle, but I did not know it belonged to Ferintosh.' He leaned back, evidently well pleased with himself. 'I would wager he stole it anyway, Mary.'
About to defend Captain Ferintosh in the strongest possible terms, I saw the sudden seriousness in Alexander's face and snapped shut my mouth. Perhaps my roguish captain had stolen the coach.
'Are you sure you wish to meet this fellow?' Alexander asked. 'He does not seem to sail with the right wind. I mean, he could lead you into serious trouble.'
I knew that. I knew that I was putting myself into grave danger. Perhaps it was the thrill of excitement that encouraged me, or the comparison between the rogue and the staid, balding John Aitken.
'I'm sure I want to meet him.'
'Well then, why not leave a note on his carriage? The last time he decided where to meet you. This time you choose. Make him come to you.'
I nodded. 'I rather like the idea.' I would choose a place I knew well. 'Alexander; why are you helping me?'
Alexander looked away. 'We are friends I hope.'
'I hope so too,' I said.
I felt the strangest sensation as I said that. Here I was, telling a virtual stranger about my planned assignation with a fugitive. Yet, I knew I could trust Alexander with my secret. Perhaps because he had been honest with me, I felt I could tell him anything.
'Thank you, Alexander.'
I swear that he blushed. 'There's nothing to thank me for. That's what friends do, I think.'
'It is,' I said. That last phrase, I think, had told me more about this man. I had a sudden vision of his life, a man who thought different from his peers, a man who would undoubtedly be tormented at school because of his eccentricities. From what I knew of people, they banded together and delighted to torment anybody that dared to be different.
'You are more than a friend, Alexander. You are a true friend.' I said.
'You'll need a pen and paper.' Alexander ignored my last words. 'Here.' Reaching inside his cloak, he produced a small rosewood box, which, when opened, proved to be a writing set complete with pen, ink, blotter and a pad of paper.
The Name Of Love (Lowland Romance Book 4) Page 10
