by Muir, L. L.
Neither he nor Martin would say it aloud, but they were lost, and hopelessly so. The devil of it was, they shouldn’t be lost at all.
They’d paused at the foot of the mountain and looked directly at the elusive Witch’s Vale. They’d watched the mist roll across the face of the cliffs. They’d seen exactly the route they should take to get there, and they’d followed that route.
And they’d ended up on another mountain entirely, staring across a chasm at those damnable, mist-covered cliffs.
If he didn’t know better, he would deduce the moniker of Witch’s Vale was derived from the fact that actual witches had put some spell on the place to keep men like him away. But he did know better. He was nearly certain he knew better.
In the event young Finn had travelled the same route, they bellowed his name from time to time, for Martin was confident Finn did not know the secret to finding the hide-out of the infamous Reaper. What lad of ten could have kept such a secret from his older brother who had, in essence, been his closest friend since he’d returned from France?
Ash hadn’t disavowed Martin of his belief, though he might have; Finn had successfully kept his sister’s secret, even after she’d been locked in the larder of the same household. The lad had never given up her name and had managed to avoid his brother. A brave and clever lad if ever there was one.
Brave and clever.
Finn would have found a way to the Vale. They needed only be as clever as he.
Their path suddenly ended. Whatever ground had once continued for the next twenty feet had toppled away.
“We must start again,” Ash said. “And before night falls in an hour.”
They were halfway down the mountain, hoping they didn’t end up on the wrong side of it, when Ash noticed a strange shadow in a stretch of rocks. It so intrigued him, he dismounted for a closer look. He bent over the spot, and the shadow disappeared.
He straightened immediately, then glanced at Martin to see if the young man was paying any attention.
“What is that?” Martin asked, pointing to the spot where the shadow had been. But it had disappeared. Martin pointed at nothing.
A chill slowly snaked its way up Ash’s spine. He could not suppress a shiver as it raked him over.
“What is it you see?”
Martin frowned at him. “What do you mean?” He got off his horse and joined Ash in the rocks, then pointed again. “That’s odd. It’s gone.”
They both remounted and looked at the spot again. Right where they expected it to be, there was a distinct arrow made of small rocks, sitting like a chameleon atop a sea of small rocks. It was the shadow that gave it away. Once they dismounted and leaned over the spot, there was no longer a shadow to see.
Fiendish and inspired—and it pointed away from the vale. In fact, it pointed a clear pathway over the cliff! Was it a lie? Was The Reaper’s hideout not in the Vale at all?
She’d mentioned markers. This had to be one of them. And they were not to be trusted. If they’d been surrounded by mist themselves, they might have followed that deadly path!
One thing was certain. If they didn’t make a decision soon, they’d have to spend the night where they stood, in the rocks. Either that, or they’d end up back at Brigadunn without Finn, and he refused to fail her.
“Martin,” he said, “let me hear that riddle again.”
~ ~ ~
Blair was not one to whine about the rain, nor for lack of a horse. But with Finn in danger, she couldn’t help grumbling over Stanley’s clever move.
“Remove all the horses? Was he mad?”
It was a good thing Tolly had thought to have the carthorse spared, or even the day help would have been pent up at Brigadunn manor for the night.
“Blasted man. Not trusting. . .”
She wrinkled her nose. Just because he was wise not to trust her didn’t mean she had to respect him for it.
“See if I ever address him as Yer Grace again.”
She struck out for the top of a high hill, certain she could find a clearer path to Mary Dowd’s croft. There, she would find dry clothes and send word for Jarvill and Coll to come fetch her. No doubt Cameron Dowds would welcome a few coins for his trouble and Blair could have a chance to speak with Mary, to make certain the woman harbored no guilt over leaving the Vale. Of course, Blair’s feelings had been hurt when Mary had not bid her farewell, but she understood. The Reaper was a protector, sure. But he remained a shadowy figure, even among his own. Few in the Vale had reason to deal directly with him, and it was likely Mary would never have come to the Reaper’s own cottage to seek out Blair, even had she wished to.
Blair could only guess what Mary and the rest supposed about her sharing a bed with their leader. But when she imagined sinning with a man, it was not Jarvill or Coll who came to mind, or even the phantom of a mysterious man in a cape—it was Ash.
She summoned a memory of that morning, when she’d awakened next to him in the larder. She on her pallet, he just behind her on the bare wood floor. His fingers had twitched, then relaxed. His breathing sped, but he made no move to rise. After a moment, his hand pressed against her, pulling her closer to his chest, no longer pretending to sleep.
She’d said nothing, her silence an agreement of sorts, to allow the moment to go on.
If only Tolly hadn’t come.
If only Finn hadn’t run off.
Might Ash have turned her? Kissed her? What sweet things might he have said?
Without her attention on the wet and rock-strewn path before her, she stumbled and cried out, but caught herself before her ankle could twist. Nearly at the top of the rise now, she paused to look behind her. No one emerged from the trees below. There was no sound of horse or cart in the distance.
She turned and finished her climb. Cresting the hill, she stopped short. Not ten feet away, a half-circle of men awaited her. In the center stood the constable, his horrible hat dripping water only inches from his nose.
She lunged to her right, then shot to her left and back down the hill. After three steps, a man was there to block her way.
It was Everhardt! Ash’s man—the one who had fought with her at Givet Faux!
He gave her a subtle shake of his head. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “They would have caught you in any case. And he knows about the beauty mark, knows who you are.” Others ran to join them. “I’ve got her,” he announced over her shoulder. “Do not give me away.” he whispered near her ear.
Stunned, she offered no resistance when he took her by the elbow and led her back over the crest. He gave her arm an extra squeeze. “I told her you have her young brother. She won’t give us any trouble.”
She stifled her gasp.
Finn? The constable had Finn?
After the initial panic eased, she was relieved the lad wasn’t half way to The Witch’s Vale and the dangers along the way. She had quick feet and with a little luck, she could likely get away from the lot of them, but there was something about Everhardt that made her pause. Had he been trying to warn her? Had he known it would be better for Finn if she came along? Or had it been the other way around—would Finn be harmed if she was to get away?
Whatever the truth might be, she decided to simply trust the man in light of her past experience with him. Everhardt wouldn’t lead her into danger, even though he seemed to be working for the enemy at the moment. Knowing Ash, even as little as she did, he’d planted the man among Wotherspoon’s ranks before he’d ever arrived at Brigadunn.
“The Reaper’s Whore.” The constable spat at her feet. “I gave ye fair warnin’. Ye should have stayed with yer lover at the manor.”
Even before Cornelius Wotherspoon had become constable of her town, Blair had avoided the man. Her father had grown up with him and warned her and her brothers to never trust the man. Therefore, they didn’t. Of course Father had attributed the man’s dislike to a jealousy over their royal name, but he blamed many a misunderstanding on the same. Blair believed they’d been at odds s
ince they were boys. Perhaps a lucky punch, a bloody nose, or an embarrassment of some sort.
But now the man had turned his nastiness on her Englishman and she could not help but rise to his defense.
“Come now, constable,” she said cheerfully. “Ye make it sound as if Ashmoore is The Highland Reaper.”
“Do I?” The constable grinned.
Of course that was exactly what he wished his men to believe. So she thought it best to lead the mob away from such thoughts before Ashmoore ended up in a noose for being his own enemy.
“If my lover, The Reaper, resides at the manor,” she paused and grinned herself, “what makes ye suppose it isn’t Tolly?”
Any retort Wotherspoon might make was drown out by the raucous laughter of his men. Everyone knew Tolly.
She sought to add wood to the fire. “Perhaps that is why the man is so tired all the time—stealing sheep at night, but ever so slowly.”
Their now-merry band tromped through a birch forest for a few minutes before they came upon the horses. Everhardt helped her mount since her hands were tied together, then he climbed up behind her. For a moment, they were ignored while the others gained their own animals.
“I’ll keep yer secret,” she whispered, “if ye’ll keep mine.”
“And what secret is that, milady?”
“Doona tell Ash and Stanley I walked right up to the constable and as good as announced myself. I’d hate to have them say it.”
“To say what?”
“I told ye so.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Sarah was inconsolable.
She’d all but thrown herself across Ash’s desk when she heard he’d returned. It was the middle of the night. His boots were full of rain. But he would not be surprised to find even more water on his desk from the flood of tears and. . .other fluids. . .escaping the girl’s face—that was, if she ever removed herself.
Fantine arrived in her nightclothes and pushed her way through the bodies crowding the doorway to his study.
“Thank you, mademoiselle, for coming straight away,” he told her. “Sarah, here, seems unable to accept my forgiveness. Perhaps you can convince her—in another room, of course.”
“Of course, monsieur.” The Frenchwoman took a firm hold of the girl’s shoulders and hefted her to her feet, something none of them would have dared to do for the simple fear of getting themselves wet.
As the wailing faded down the hall, Ash peered closely at those waiting for an audience. All appeared equally as repentant as Sarah, and all just as guilty.
He addressed the mob at large while leveling them with his darkest look.
“Since you cannot possibly fit in this room all at once, I shall simply express my disappointment in the lot of you. You allowed a single woman to destroy what trust we had built here at Brigadunn and in so doing, you share responsibility for her fate. As soon as the sun is up. . .” He let the anticipation simmer a bit. No doubt they all feared a sacking. “As soon as the sun is up, we shall start again. But this time, my trust will be hard won. Do I make myself clear?”
Ten heads nodded in the doorway. Countless others nodded in the hall. He was tired, disgusted, and in no mood to have their various sins recounted, since Stanley had found Martin and him on the road and already told him the gist.
“I suggest you get some sleep,” Ash added. “In a few hours, we shall have a woman and a child to find. Now, go.”
All bodies cleared out but one.
Stanley sat in the African chair, his head bowed, his hands braced on the arms as if he expect the lash to strike his back at any moment.
“Come, now, Stanley. You cannot believe I included you in all this. You never lent her your mob cap and apron. Nor did you help her into that cart. You are the victim here.”
Stan shook his head. “Truth be told, it surely feels as if I did.”
“Yes. She has a way of turning us all inside out. Brandy?” Ash poured two glasses, then took a sniff of the bottle before replacing the stopper.
Stan raised a brow.
“I’m afraid it has become a habit, old sock. Have you forgotten this innocent lass who slipped your net is the same woman who poisoned me recently?”
“Ah. I supposed I had.” Finally, the man smiled, if only a little.
“Of all the women in the world, you cannot consider yourself unworthy simply because Scotia escaped you. It is hardly a small club.”
Stan took his drink and raised it. “To catching her.”
Ash shook his head. “To being free of her.”
His heart lurched to a stop.
He’d said the words in jest, but was it possible he truly felt that way? Or was he simply trying to prepare himself for the inevitable, when he realized his Scotia truly belonged to another.
It took a second brandy to get his heart started again.
~ ~ ~
Thunder crashed, and Ash woke on the couch to find Tolly hovering with a glowing candelabra. He didn’t remember lying down. And since the brandy was still with him, he couldn’t have slept long.
“The constable has her,” Tolly announced as soon as Ash was upright. “And he has our lad, yer lairship.” He stepped back and gestured toward the door. “Yer man is here.”
Everhardt stepped through the door and frowned at Stanley, who was draped sideways across the African chair as if he’d been sacrificed upon it.
“Stanley, wake up,” Ash growled. His friend had imbibed no more than himself, so the man should rouse easily enough.
The viscount had to roll off the arms of the contraption in order to dismount it, then he took another chair before his eyes were completely open. “Carry on,” he mumbled.
Everhardt shook his head in disapproval.
Ash frowned. “We are not drunk, Everhardt, so you can stow that glare.”
The man looked neither convinced nor repentant for his quick judgment, but considering his wet clothes, he’d likely been up all night, so Ash excused him and pointed to an empty chair. “Sit. Tolly will fetch you some food while we talk.”
Everhardt shrugged off his damp jacket and did as he was bid. “It’s true, my lord. I’ve been sent to tell you, secretly, that the constable has your. . .woman. They have the lad as well.” He lowered his voice. “Someone from the manor must have let slip about her beauty mark; the constable knew she was Finn’s sister before we caught up with her. The boy was used to gain her cooperation, of course.”
Ash voiced his next concern. “She recognized you?”
“Yes, but she said nothing. He’s locked her in a cell. No one is to touch her.”
Ash nodded, relieved. If they believed her to be a whore, they might have treated her like one.
“Wotherspoon has directed me to ingratiate myself to you, convince you my services can be purchased, that I can spy for you.”
Ash raised a hand in a bid for a moment of silence, admitting he may in fact have had too tall a brandy. His mind was caught in a storm not unlike the one currently trying to destroy the manor.
Finn was not freezing to death on the edge of a cliff—a possibility that nearly drove him insane. Scotia had not returned to the arms of The Reaper. At least not yet. But both were in the constable’s keeping. The very dangerous, easily angered, highly insulted buffoon had her. But surely, if the man were using her as bait, she was safe enough.
If she were behind bars, she was safe from herself at least. And what was more, Ash could collect both Balliols from the same location. But first, he needed to know what Cornelius Wotherspoon had in store—or rather, what he wished Ash to believe.
He lowered his hand, ready for more.
“Why you?” he asked. “Why not one of the others, someone he has known longer.”
Everhardt shrugged. “Because I am also English, I suppose.”
Ash’s head began to shake before he’d even finished his thought. “No. Something is amiss. You are not to return to him. I hate to give the man much credit, but I think he knows I sent
you to him for the same purpose. He is taunting me. I will not put you within his reach again.”
Everhardt nodded. “I will tell you, some bloke was lamenting the farthest he had ever been from Scotland was Charleville and the River Meuse. I let slip that I had been there as well. We talked about the Place Ducal for a piece, then I realized the constable was giving me a wicked eye. His manner toward me changed. Then, after the woman was brought to him, he acted as if we were chums. When he suggested I spy here, he acted as if the idea had suddenly struck him, but I believe he’d been considering it for a while, sir.”
Ash’s stomach felt as if it were suddenly filling with cold ashes, and those ashes were working their way up his throat.
“Charleville?” Stanley sat forward. “What does the constable know of Charleville? And so close to Givet Faux?”
Ash nodded. “The constable is sending me a message, but I’ll be damned if I know what that message is.” He turned to Everhardt. “After you are rested and fed, of course, how long would it take for you to get to Charleville and back again?”
“Too long, I’m afraid, my lord. Miss Balliol and her brother are to be tried in four days. Or rather, three days, once the sun is up.”
~ ~ ~
Tolly sent footmen about the glen to invite any who dared, to join the Earl of Ashmoore and take up arms against the constable. No mention was made of Blair Balliol’s capture, in deference to the secret she kept from her father, but Ash hoped many a Scot would come to the aid of young Finn.
The rains remained heavy throughout the day and by mid-afternoon, it looked as if the sun had already set. Just before five o’clock, shadows appeared in the distance and slowly became a solid army of crofters as they neared the manor. Wet from the mist, bearing plaids of one color or another, and armed with a host of blades, they looked more like a thirteenth century army come to run an Englishman out of their country, not to fight beside one. He only wished Finn and Scotia were there to see it.
He shook away the thought. Scotia would never be returning. And he had to stop thinking of her as Scotia. Scotia was a ghost, from his past. That was all.
