by Adams, Alisa
And if he was to be discovered following them, he or Craig or both of them would lose their lives. He sighed, wishing he had never seen Iona McCallum. She had not been worth the money anyway, and she had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. Unfortunately, both his other wives had been disappointments, too, and neither of them had ever shown much affection for him, despite his past riches.
So, what was he to do now? He could try to kidnap McCallum, but that was fraught with risks, the biggest one being Craig’s death. He could try to kill William McCallum, but what if he had been telling the truth about the letters? He was almost sure that the letter story had been a fiction to buy time, but it was not impossible that they were real. It seemed that whichever way he turned there was an obstacle. Damn the McCallums!
The evening was windy and rainy, which always aggravated his gout, and he had a fearful headache. He decided to take a drop of milk of the poppy washed down with a tumbler full of whiskey. He could do nothing tonight, and neither could William. He decided to sleep on it and make a decision in the morning.
Alan McClure was repairing one of his spades when the Baron came riding in. He was the fattest man he had ever seen, and although his chestnut stallion was a big, strong destrier - the largest horse Alan had ever seen, in fact - he wondered how it could possibly bear his weight.
Alan stood up as Hector Laughlin approached him.
"Morning, sir," he said pleasantly.
"Good day, Mr. erm?"
"McClure, sir."
The Baron nodded. "I am looking for a party of people who may have ridden past here," he went on, "I can see that you are some way off the road, but I wondered if any of your family or laborers might have seen them. there were four women, and I think, six men. Two were dressed as monks and one had a hideous blemish on his face. One of the women may have been wearing a veil to hide her own."
Alan scratched his head, pretending to think. "No' many people come past here, sir," he replied, "an' if sich a party did come past ane o' my faimly wid hae told me. I hae nae laborers."
"I can make it worth your while," the Baron dangled a small jingling purse from his fingers. Mungo sighed.
"Sir—"
"Baron Laughlin of Portree," the fat man said, pompously.
Alan met the Baron's eyes, his gaze frank and straightforward.
"Baron, sir." He had never met a Baron before and had no idea how to address one, "I could tell ye a lie an' say we hae seen him an' tak' yer money—God knaws we could dae wi' it." He paused, as if searching for words. "But I am a good Christian man an' I couldnae live wi' masel' if I wis tae dae that. I havenae see them."
Alan had been well rewarded by Gregor's party and although every penny was precious to him and his family, he knew instinctively that this man was evil. The Baron looked displeased, but he nodded, his lips pursed in annoyance, wheeled his horse around, then trotted out of the barnyard. He wondered how many other crofts and farms he would be stopping at in his quest to find them.
Alan stood looking after them. If the Baron found them he would have to kill every one of them, but if her were to believe William's story about the letters it would not stop the secret getting out. The Baron must have decided that was a bluff, but Craig would have to be spared.
He thought for a while as he carried on mending his spade. His eldest son Francis came in with a mug of ale for him and saw that his father was preoccupied as if struggling with a problem.
"Paw," he frowned, "are no' well?"
Alan jerked his attention back to his son and shook his head. Francis was eighteen, strong, broad, and fully grown into manhood. Maybe he could give Alan his point of view. He explained the situation and Francis sat pondering on the information for a while. He had a quick, intelligent mind and was able to analyze the situation in a few moments.
"This Baron has nae choices at a', Paw," if William disappears, even if he's no deid, he's in trouble. If Craig dies, he's in trouble. The only thing he can dae is rescue Craig an' even then he has nae guarantee that William willnae spread the secret onyway. If thae letters didnae exist he could jist kill them a' except Craig." He looked into his father's eyes, "he is pinnin' his hopes on thae letters bein' a bluff, an' between you an' me, Paw I think they are. He has nae guarantee that William wid hae gied him the money onyway—if he hasnae already spent it, that is. He's got himself intae a right fankle!"
Alan still looked troubled. "D'ye think he will catch up wi' them?" he asked.
"They will likely a' end up on the boat thegither if he doesnae, so we will hae tae warn them afore they get there." Francis said. He was thinking of Iona, and how lucky Gregor was to have her as a wife. He would hate to see anything happen to any of them, but especially to her. He stood up. "I will go." He held up his hand as Alan was about to protest. "Ye're needed here an' yer face is known tae them. I can ride right past them an' the willnae knaw a thing."
"They will if they see yon hair!" Alan said grimly, "ye will hae tae put a hat on." He paused, frowning. "Is there nae other way?" he asked, "will it no' be dangerous? They are a' armed."
"A man passin' on a horse deliverin' honey an' mead will no' be considered very dangerous," he reasoned, "an hauf o' Skye has red hair."
"Aye," Alan said thoughtfully as he looked at his big, strong son. "Awa' wi ye afore I change my mind."
Twenty minutes later he watched as Francis cantered out of the farm, breasted the hill, and was gone. He had given Francis half the money Gregor's party had given them, but there would still be enough for a good few months. It would buy warm clothing, winter feed for the cattle, new farm implements, and a wonderful Yuletide feast. Alan loved Father Columba like a brother. He had baptized their children - twice - brought them food and given them enough money to survive in comfort for winter and spring. If Francis had to go on the boat to Gairloch then so be it, but it was an unpleasant trip in the winter.
Francis passed the Baron and the dozen men who were escorting him without incident. He knew better than to fly past them at a gallop, so he kept his horse to a fast trot and gave them a cheerful wave as he passed. After that he urged the mare into a canter for a while, then slowed again, keeping a fast-enough pace to lengthen the space between them, but not too fast to tire out his horse. He reached Portree on the morning of the next day, having half-slept an uncomfortable night under the stars, just in time to catch the boat. He was thankful, because it would be another two days till the next one came, and by that time he would be far ahead.
He enjoyed the trip immensely, and laughed inwardly at the thought of the baron and his men stewing in Portree while their quarry was far ahead. He spent most of the crossing making friends with Ninian O’Shaughnessy and the other sailors, learning true and not-so-true stories about life at sea. By the end of the journey he had a fund of stories to tell, maybe even enough to rival Father Columba.
Francis had paid for a slightly more expensive and therefore more comfortable berth, but there were also two private compartments which Francis had been able to afford, but would not take. Something within him baulked at the idea of so much luxury when every other passenger had to be content with the floor.
A little way into the journey Francis took pity on a bent old woman who could hardly stand up when she needed to go to the privy. His bunk was far more comfortable, so he gave it to her.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. "Whit's yer name, son?" she asked, smiling as she lay down and her daughter pulled a blanket over her.
"Francis McClure, Mother," he replied, bowing slightly. He had shown her the highest form of respect by calling her 'mother,' one that his parents had taught him.
"Thank ye, ye're a good boy," she took his hand, placed it on her cheek, then kissed it. A few moments later she was asleep.
Francis lay down on the straw-covered floor. He had slept on stone floors and hard ground before and it did not cause him any discomfort unless he was cold. Wrapped in two blankets and his cloak, he slept.
35
Drummond and Hamilton Castles
Francis was glad when the voyage was over and they alighted in Gairloch. He had arranged with the Captain that Minnie should be taken off the ship first, and she was. He felt heartened, knowing that he would have a good head start. Minnie was glad to be out in the fresh air again, and she was restless and frisky.
He asked directions from one of the local market stall owners and discovered that it was quicker to go to Castle Drummond first. There were three castles almost equidistant from one another - Drummond Castle, Hamilton Castle and Carmichael Castle, and he would visit them in that order. He set off at once, reasoning that he would get to the castle just as the sun was beginning to set, but before it became totally dark.
He knew now that he would have plenty of time to warn everyone, but that he would have to hurry before night fell. He would, he hoped, be sleeping in a comfortable bed tonight, most probably in the servants’ quarters, but that was good enough. He smiled at the thought. He was keeping Minnie to a fast trot, and wondered where the Baron and his men were at that moment, or if they had even managed to haul the Baron’s vast bulk onto the boat!
Eventually, he saw the great looming bulk of Castle Drummond in the distance. He stopped for a moment and looked at it, suddenly afraid. Which one of the party lived here? He thought for a moment, biting his lip. Of course! Auguste! He slowed Minnie down as they crossed the bridge over the moat, and approached the huge open gates on either side of which stood two hefty men-at-arms.
"I am looking for Auguste Chevalier," Francis said nervously, "I have news for him."
One of the guards nodded to him, then went inside and came back about five minutes later with a small blonde woman. She was with child, and she looked at him warily. He bowed.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"Aye, Milady," he replied. "I am looking for Mr Chevalier. Is he here? Or any of the others? Father Columba, Gregor, Iona?"
"And you are?" She was frowning and her tone was doubtful.
"I am Francis McClure, milady," he replied, smiling. "They spent a night wi' us in Skye."
Alexa put a hand on her chest. She was astonished. "Not— not the sure McClures?" she asked in tones of deep awe, "the ones who were baptized in the sea?"
"The very same, milady," he laughed, "I can still remember it!" He shivered at the thought.
"Come in," she nodded to the guards, who lifted their crossed pikes out of his way. He led Minnie in and she was immediately whisked off to the stables. He kissed Alexa's hand then straightened up and his expression became serious.
"Where is Mr. Chevalier?" He asked urgently.
"He is resting," she replied, frowning. "Is anything wrong?" She was leading him into a small parlor where a fire was burning brightly in the grate. He had not realized how cold he was.
"I need to warn the whole party that the Baron of Portree is coming wi' a dozen o' his best men. It is a lang story, but he is oot for blood. He needs tae slay the whole party except ane, an' I needed to warn everyone. If he gets here, ye may no' be able to get oot o' the castle for a while, an' anyone could be ambushed or slain. He is taking ship fae Portree, and is maybe a couple o’ days behind me."
"I will fetch Auguste," she replied and turned as quickly as a woman of her bulk could.
Auguste came downstairs with wet hair and smelling of lavender oil. He had obviously been bathing." Francis! Bienvenu! Welcome!" He smiled widely, "Alexa tells me you have something important to tell me."
"Aye, sir." Francis accepted a glass of wine from Alexa, then explained the whole situation, half of which Auguste already knew. Auguste listened carefully, then frowned.
"The trouble is that the others have gone around the long way via Mallaig," he replied thoughtfully, "to avoid them. The best we can do is shut our doors and send them to Hamilton Castle. Graham has a large dungeon there, and Baron Laughlin has never him and Lorraine. I will write a letter to gain you entrance, and the guards can stall him.
“The Baron knows me, so my presence here would give us away,” Auguste said grimly. He scribbled a note on a piece of parchment and handed it to him. “Francis - thank you."
Francis left as if the hounds of hell were after him.
When Francis arrived at Hamilton Castle, home of Lorraine and Graham Hamilton, he was exhausted. After he had got past the usual forbidding welcome at the gate, he was shown in to meet the Laird, Graham Hamilton, who was holding his letter and frowning at him. He stood up as Francis came in. "Good day, Mr. McClure," he said, looking troubled. "I am Laird Hamilton. Please sit down. This situation looks very worrying."
"Aye, m'laird," Francis agreed, "I think in a castle ye're quite safe, but I am worried aboot them gettin' ambushed on the way in here. They thought goin' roon the lang way wid be better tae avoid it, but because the Baron wis held up they will arrive at the same time. They are comin' fae different directions, ye see, but Laird Laughlin's men are very well-armed."
"I see," Graham ruminated, "how far are they behind you?"
"They were no’ on the ferry an’ the next ane is no’ fer a few dependin’ on the weather, days so I think we hae plenty o’ time tae prepare.”
"You need one of these," Graham said, smiling and handing him a glass of whiskey. "Relax now, Francis. I am going to take care of Baron Laughlin, and between you and me, it will be a pleasure!"
Just then, a woman came in with a small boy in her arms. He looked about three years old and was leaning his head against her shoulder while his eyelids were drooping sleepily. She was a very lovely woman with light brown hair and hazel eyes, but her main beauty was her air of gentleness.
"I am sorry, my love," she said, surprised, "I was unaware you had a meeting. I will come back later."
"No, Lorraine," he replied, "come and meet Francis. Francis, this is my wife, Lorraine, and our son, Gabriel."
"He looks just like my wee brither Tommy," Francis observed, smiling.
"There is a story about Gabriel," Lorraine smiled, then suddenly her face grew suspicious, sensing something in the atmosphere. "Something is going on, and I would appreciate it if someone would tell me what it is." She looked from one to the other, and there was a question in her eyes.
Very quickly, Graham explained the situation and was about to summon the chief of his guards when Lorraine said, "Wait, would it not be better to find out more about him if he has a secret?" She smiled, "invite him in. With a few glasses of whiskey - who knows?”
"I forgot tae tell ye," Francis said, "he is sick wi' the gout. An' he is the fattest man I ever saw! Ye will need a special bed if ye want him tae stay."
"You see?" Lorraine said, "we must give him some care as we would any other sick creature."
"He has a dozen armed men with him!" Graham pointed out angrily.
Lorraine gave him a dangerous look. "They surrender their arms at the gate, as always, then we will put those in the casemate," she suggested, "the men-at-arms can eat, then we will politely escort them to the dungeon. they will not be harmed in any way."
Then she smiled. "It is better to go gently with these things, Graham. Without their swords, they are helpless against our men. We must not look hostile to them, otherwise, we will never get them inside. Rather make them feel secure and welcome, especially if their leader is sick. He will not know where his men have been taken and he will get a nasty shock when the rest of our friends arrive."
Graham looked defeated. "Are you married, Francis?" he asked, standing up.
"No m'laird," he replied, "I am but eighteen."
"When you get married," he advised wryly, "marry a stupid woman, not a genius like mine!" He left them laughing as
he walked out.
36
The Baron in Pain
Graham briefly explained the situation to the chief of his guards. A letter would have to be sent to the party on the road to warn them of the Baron’s arrival. He instructed the man to send the messenger off the following day.
"I think we should look after you well, Francis," Lorraine's eyes were twinkling as she spoke. "Would you like something to eat? Then I can get one of our lads to give you a lovely hot bath."
"Milady, I am only a common working man," Francis replied, overwhelmed by the attentions of a Laird's lady, "a mattress for the night will dae me fine, and I will wash at the pump or in the river as I dae the rest o' the time."
Lorraine looked at him for a long time. "Were we not all made by the same God?" she asked softly.
Francis could think of nothing to say. The child on Lorraine's shoulder had fallen asleep, and his little face was cherubic in the soft light. Francis put out a finger to touch the little boy's soft cheek. "Is he no' a lovely wee thing?" He smiled. His face was tender as he spoke.
"He was a gift," Lorraine said, smiling and kissing the top of Gabriel's head, "I had a bad miscarriage a few years ago which made me unable to bear any more children. Then, on the way back from their last pilgrimage, Father Columba and Gregor found this wee man in a church. He had been well wrapped, but he was cold and hungry. He sent Gregor to go and get the wise woman, and by the time they got back, Father Columba had baptized him, Gabriel. I fell in love with him the first moment I saw him, and so did Graham. Father Columba is a very good man."
