by Amanda Scott
Giff chuckled. “That’s our least concern, lad. Can you mind the helm?”
“Aye, sure, but ye’ll never look after that great sail on your ownsome.”
“Don’t you fret about me,” Giff said. He had not enjoyed himself so much for weeks. Energy surged through him. If he spared any thought for Sidony, it was only to wish briefly that he could share such a moment with her.
Ordering Hob to the stern, he returned his attention to the sail, which boasted good stout braces, the so-useful lines at the ends of a yardarm with which one could shift it to different angles and thus take full advantage of the wind. The Serpent’s yard also boasted a wooden spar to hold the lead edge of the sail when running close to the wind. Although it lay along the deck now, Giff knew from experience that it would prove useful in the treacherous Pentland Firth north of Caithness.
Manning the braces by himself was a task requiring strength and agility, but he enjoyed it. The task was not as easy as with two, but he was never happier than with a wind blowing hard and a good boat beneath him.
He knew no feeling in the world like skimming over waves at speed, and once on the open waters of the Firth of Forth, with the wind behind them, he had only to set the sail and pray that he did not run too close to shore before he found the spot on Lestalric’s eastern coast where the Nidrie burn spilled into the firth.
Even then, the difficulty would be getting the sail down before he was too near for safety yet near enough for the others to reach them quickly and get loaded. He wanted to be well away before Fife came after him.
By no stretch of imagination could Giff make himself believe that the earl would not learn shortly after daylight that his precious ship had vanished from the harbor. Once he did, he would raise a hue and cry. Most ships now in the harbor were foreign, but Giff knew that the wily earl was capable of commandeering one or another to his use, nonetheless.
“I set the rudder, sir, and tied her off,” Hob said, freeing one brace as Giff held the other to adjust the sail. “D’ye think our Geordie made it safe to shore?”
“Aye, sure,” Giff said. “That lad is a gey strong swimmer.”
“Then, will he no’ ha’ told the others that we’re away? Even an he drowned, d’ye no’ think our lads ashore might ha’ seen we’d gone and followed us?”
“I don’t think they saw a thing,” Giff said. “One sees little on a night as black as this one. Even when the clouds part, we’ve no moon above, only stars.”
“Aye, sure, but I can make out the shore yonder,” Hob said, gesturing.
“We see better on the water,” Giff explained. “If they look from the harbor, they’ll see the opposite coast more easily than the ships right in front of them, and what they do see there will be a jumble of masts. No lanterns were lit. I noted that particularly, and if the lad who was set to watch for ours is still awake—which I’d doubt—he’ll look for the lantern, not a moving ship. Your friend Geordie will have a tale to tell, right enough, but I wager the tale will stir most men to nowt but laughter. You said yourself, Hob Grant, ’tis impossible to do what we have done.”
“Aye, sir, but we did it,” Hob pointed out.
“Just so,” Giff said. “So don’t be so quick next time to believe something is impossible. Chances are that if you just seize your opportunity and make up your mind that you can do it, you will. But if you never act, you’ll never succeed.”
“Aye, perhaps,” Hob said. “But me da’ would say that what ye did were plain daft, sir. See you, I’d no’ say it m’self,” he added. “No’ till I learn t’ swim.”
Giff laughed, clapped him on the back, then peered into the distance, trying to decide just where the devil the wee burn he sought emptied into the sea.
Fife had contained his patience and sipped claret, watching his guest through hooded eyes, until de Gredin pushed away the remains of his supper and drank deeply enough to assure Fife that he sought bolstering as much as to slake his thirst.
“Feeling better?” Fife said then.
“You have been quiet, my lord.”
“I feel sure that in your own good time you will provide the information I have requested,” Fife said coolly.
De Gredin flushed. “I did not mean to be rude. I was famished.”
“And now you are no longer so.”
“Yes, my lord. So I’ll tell you what you want to know, and then we shall go to bed and arise not too early to go have a little talk with her ladyship.”
Fife approved that plan, and when he heard what de Gredin had to say, he was glad—as, indeed, he nearly always was—that he had not revealed his irritation. Not that his ire was entirely soothed, for the papal ships had not yet come, and he did not like anyone, let alone those who served him, to be unpredictable.
Bidding his guest good night, he retired, confident that all would go as he wished. But although he slept well, his rest ended abruptly an hour earlier than usual when a trembling page brought him an urgent message from the harbor.
Discovering that the force of the wind lessened considerably when the land mass of eastern Lestalric interposed itself as they rounded the Black Rocks and Eastern Crags to head southeast, Giff decided to tack back and forth along the coast while staying far enough out to run no risk of grounding.
He knew where he wanted to be, but he had not seen the shoreline from the water, and he realized belatedly that he ought to have made opportunity to do so.
As he peered into the distance off the steerboard side, Hob said, “Where be we a-going, sir?”
“’Tis called the Nidrie burn,” Giff said. “Do you know it?”
“Nay, sir, but there be dunamany wee burns trickling into the firth right along hereabouts. Will ye ken the one ye want when ye see it?”
“I will, but by the time I find it, our friend Fife may be looking for us.”
“The tide will turn again soon,” Hob said. “Out here, ye can feel it.”
Giff nodded. “Aye, and the sky is growing lighter, so I’m thinking Captain Maxwell may waken soon. ’Tis a pity you’ve no towboat aboard.”
“Aye, well, we do keep one, but ye left it ashore wi’ our lads, did ye no’?”
“You keep a civil tongue in your head,” Giff advised him dryly.
The two were grinning at each other when a bewildered young voice from the aft cabin doorway said, “Where are we? Me da’s still a-snorin’ and he looks gey cross, so I didna wake ’im. Where is everyone?”
“Good morning, Jake,” Giff said. “We’re heading toward Portobello, which you can just begin to see in the distance yonder. And I mean to wake your father myself, so why don’t you see what you can find for us to eat for breakfast.”
“I dinna want to go below,” Jake said. “It be black as death down there, and me da’ won’t let me light a torch or carry a candle wi’ me, lest I set the boat afire. And, too, there’ll be a worricow or a boggart down there, ’cause I heard ’im.”
“You heard nobbut the wind whistling over the strakes,” Giff assured him.
“Mayhap ye’ll be right, sir, but it fair shoogled up me internals.”
“I’ve heard that eerie sound myself many times,” Giff said, suppressing a smile. “But, sithee, you need not go below. Have you and your father no provisions in that wee forward cabin of yours?”
“Aye, we’ve bread and ale, but ye’ll be wanting more than what we’ve got.”
“Not me,” Giff said. “You go and fetch that loaf. It will do us all just fine and your da’ will be glad of the ale.” To Hob, he said, “Shout if you want me. We’ll go as far as that black pile of rocks yonder and turn back. I’m thinking the burn we want lies in the bay just there”—he pointed—“but we’ll want more light to be sure.”
“Aye, then, I’ll keep watch,” Hob said, nodding.
“Where’s our Geordie?” Jake asked as Giff turned toward the stern cabin.
“He went ashore earlier,” Giff told him. “Are you going to fetch that bread, or do you want to wa
it until your father tells you to do it?”
“Nay, I’m going. Just seems odd, is all.”
Aware that the situation was odd, indeed, Giff did not look forward to his forthcoming interview with Captain Wat Maxwell. For that matter, he did not look forward to hearing what Hugo and the others would say, although he was confident that once he explained his reasons, they’d accept them. Sakes, they had no choice.
Having sent the page to wake his personal manservant and fetch de Gredin, Fife dressed quickly, then paced while he waited for the chevalier to appear. The minute he walked in, Fife said, “The Serpent is gone! What the devil can have happened to it? By God, if you had anything to do with this . . .”
“Gently, my lord,” de Gredin said, smothering a yawn. “Neither I, nor those who sent me, would have aught to gain by stealing your ship. Nor would any sane person do so. For one thing, unless your captain is a traitor with no regard for his own mortality, whoever took it had to find a crew. Thus, I’d surmise that the man who sought to hire the Dutch ship somehow guessed we’d got rid of her and thinks he’s got even by taking the Serpent. I wonder if he knew we had the lady Sidony.”
“Or knew where you stowed her,” Fife snapped.
“As you say,” de Gredin agreed. “But, still, someone had to row an entire crew to her in last night’s wind and black darkness to sail off with her. I’d say they loaded the goods elsewhere, but I wager they’ll be miles to the north by now.”
“How many ships do you expect to come here?” Fife demanded.
“At least six or eight, sir, but I don’t expect them all for days yet. I suspect you want to stay in Edinburgh long enough to greet his grace when he arrives, anyway.”
Angrily, Fife retorted, “Don’t be daft. I’m going after those malignant traitors as soon as I can arrange to do so. And when I catch them, the Serpent’s own yardarm shall serve to hang every last one of them!”
Sometime in the night, Sidony had stirred, moaned at the pain of cramped muscles and a pounding headache, and opened her eyes. Discerning no difference in the blackness that enveloped her, she decided she was dreaming and shut them.
When she opened them again hours later with the same result, she nearly closed them then, too, before she became aware of her growling, unsettled stomach and a certain rhythmic movement of the world around her.
Memory swept back and with it a fear unlike any she had ever known.
The interview with an angry Maxwell suffering the aftereffects of too much brogac having gone as expected, Giff could only be grateful that the good captain proved sufficiently resigned not to rant more at him about what he had done.
Afterward Maxwell remained silent until they had broken their fast and Giff had with gratifying ease found his inlet in the increasing, if gloomy, daylight.
“What d’ye mean to do wi’ the lad and me?” Maxwell asked as they set the sail to take them in at a pace that would not run them aground with the incoming tide.
Giff said soberly, “I ken fine what your fate would be, sir, if I were so daft as to put you ashore after making off with Fife’s ship. I’ve no wish to do that, but neither will I keep an enemy aboard with me. My task is too vital to risk it. But I believe you are an honest man. If you agree to go with me and swear an oath to aid me with your matchless knowledge of this ship, I’ll willingly take you both along.”
Maxwell hesitated long enough to count to ten, then looked at him. “Ye’ve left me wi’ little choice, for I’d no’ be able to explain this satisfactorily to his lordship. What’s more, we both ken fine that he’d hang the lad alongside o’ me and make me watch him swing. But how d’ye ken ye can trust me word?”
“Can I?” Giff asked.
“Aye, sure, but ye’ve only me Borderer’s word for that.”
Giff held out his hand. “I’ll accept that, but the lad stays with us.”
“I’d no’ do it, did I ha’ to leave him behind. Fife would snatch him up in an eye-blink. Look, sir,” he added, pointing. “Someone’s launching a boat yonder.”
Giff looked and drew a long breath. He’d know soon enough just how much his impulsive decisions about the ship and Maxwell would irk Hugo. The thought brought a reminiscent smile to his lips, but although Hugo was in the first boat that rowed out to meet them as they dropped anchor, he did not ask any questions.
Instead, he said gruffly, “We think Fife has Sidony.”
Chapter 13
Giff felt as if Hugo had knocked him flat again.
He could scarcely breathe but fought to subdue his fear as Hugo climbed aboard and drew him away from the others. Although he had not spared more than two thoughts for the lass since leaving Lestalric, he realized seconds after hearing the news that it was because he had settled it in his mind that she was safe where she was until he was ready to find her, persuade her to become his wife, and produce the family he would then be of an age to appreciate. That, he decided, had to explain why he felt now as if Fife had taken someone who belonged to him.
“We’ve organized men to search for her,” Hugo said. “But we’ve learned little other than that she and Ealga Clendenen rode to meet Isabella’s cavalcade, and their journey took them much farther than they’d expected.”
“Why was that?” Giff asked, feeling his temper stir. Who had let her go?
“We’d split Isabella’s cavalcade in two. Her own party and one heavily laden oxcart took the river path. The other, with the rest of the carts and wagons, took the track atop the ridge. As we’d hoped, Fife split his force and searched both.”
“So he was well informed. Have you identified his man at Roslin?”
“We have. We’d suspected Rolf Stow and two others, so we gave each of them a significant but unique piece of information. Stow was the only one who knew Isabella would ride through the gorge. Fife stopped her himself, so he knew.”
“Not proof positive,” Giff said. “But enough. What will you do with Stow?”
“Nothing yet,” Hugo said with a grim smile. “He may be more useful if he goes on believing himself secure, especially now that they have Sidony.”
“You still haven’t said how that happened.”
“Because of the oxcart, Isabella’s progress was even slower than expected,” Hugo said. “We’d added it to give Fife reason to search her party for large items, but Ealga and Sidony, failing to meet her as expected, began to worry.”
“So the lass rode on alone to see where they were.”
“Not entirely alone,” Hugo said, grimacing. “She took two armed men with her. We found them last night on the eastern slope of the ridge . . . both dead.”
A cold chill swept through Giff, but he kept his voice even as he said, “So Fife himself did not capture her. Not if he was busy searching Isabella’s oxcart.”
“That’s right. The leader of Fife’s party on the ridge was de Gredin. Rob and I rode with Isabella, but my lads with the ridge party recognized him.”
“He’s the chevalier who spent this past year at Girnigoe with Henry, is he not—the fellow Rob does not think much of.”
“None of us does,” Hugo said. “As we told you, he is part of a group that is on some sort of a holy crusade to return the treasure to the Roman Kirk. Their warriors are as skilled as any from Dunclathy, and one of them, Waldron of Edgelaw, died last year in his second attempt to seize the treasure. De Gredin admitted to Rob that Waldron was his cousin and that the same group had sent them both, but in believing de Gredin no more than a pale image of Waldron, we clearly misjudged him.”
“If he abducted the lady Sidony, he’s a villain like any other,” Giff said.
“Aye, but a clever one,” Hugo said. “He must have given Fife irresistible cause to accept his return, because Fife does not tolerate traitors. However, Waldron claimed to speak for the Pope, and Rob learned that the group sent de Gredin to Fife in the first place because they knew Fife wanted to enhance his power and undermine that of other nobles. So, we believe de Gredin survives now becau
se he’s persuaded Fife that the Pope will support his claim to the crown. Despite that, the one thing we know is that de Gredin is worthy of no man’s trust, least of all Fife’s.”
“Why did you decide to split the countess’s party?” Giff asked to get back to the point. It was always good to know one’s enemy, but he wanted to find Sidony.
“Because Isabella can hold her own against Fife. We wanted him to bring as many of his men as possible to search her cavalcade. The oxcart held a big cupboard that Rob has long admired. Its cubbies were full of small items, well wrapped.”
“I take it the object of Fife’s search was elsewhere.”
“It was already on its way here, neatly tucked into a strong cart, beneath a warm coverlet of wool, in a train of similar carts. Although Fife’s men do search every cart on the Leith road, they pay no heed to any heading to Portobello, because no merchant ships can harbor there. And, because of his belief that we were moving it through Roslin Gorge, he’d called in many of those other searchers to help him.”
“How did you remove it from its place of concealment?”
“Likewise under wool, which many shepherds transport in huge bales with two poles stuck through. Such loads weigh about two hundred fifty pounds, which is more than a hundred fifty less than our cargo, but our lads are strong and had to carry it so for only a short way before setting it on its cart. It’s ready to load now.”
“But look here, Hugo, first we’ve got to find her lady-ship!”
“Not you, my lad. You cannot delay, which is why, against every inclination, I have not demanded to know what the devil you meant by stealing this ship and how the devil you managed to do it.”
Giff grimaced. “I think Fife got to the Dutch captain, because he sailed yesterday. I needed another ship, so I fed Fife’s captain brogac until he passed out, then took his. Doubtless Fife has learned of his loss by now, but . . .” He shrugged.
