“Look behind ye, then,” her father grumbled. She heard the echoes of something being dragged across the floor near the cellar stairs.
“Here. Is this it?”
“Reckon so. What comes next?” he yelled.
“Two crates, father.”
“Aye. That’ll be the wool. Can ye see some crates?”
She raised a brow as more crashes and bangs ensued downstairs. She was busy helping her father tick off the tallies of goods currently stored in the warehouse he shared with the merchants. The list was in order of entry into the warehouse, each item shown by a line of upright strokes to indicate how many there were of each.
“There it is. Right. Two crates. Anything else on the list?”
“Four bags.”
“Mind out the way, will ye, Logan?” her father called. “You’re standing where I want to put this barrel…”
Seonaid grinned and tried to resist the urge to go down to find out what was going on. It sounded like a real performance down there – groans, slamming doors, things falling – and she restrained herself, knowing that she wouldn’t be of much use down there anyway.
“Miss?”
Seonaid turned, frowning. “Yes?”
“Miss?” It was their neighbor, a young girl called Bonnie. She looked up worriedly. “A caller.”
“A caller?” Seonaid frowned. “Where are they?” she instantly felt nervous. Something about the young woman’s manner made her worried. Why was she so afraid?
“They were at the side door,” she said. “I saw them when I came out tae empty the washing water. I asked him what he was about, and he said that he was looking for Captain McCarrick’s daughter.”
“Thank you for fetching me.” Seonaid swallowed hard. “Is he still there?”
“He would not take no for an answer,” the girl sounded worried. “I told him ye were busy, but he did not budge. Told me he’d wait until ye were finished.”
Seonaid swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll go and find him. Will ye tell my father, if I’m no’ back after half an hour?”
“Miss?” the neighbor looked alarmed.
“Just let him know, please?” Seonaid shot back. She felt a twist of annoyance in her stomach. She wasn’t about to be fussed over, especially not when she was in very real danger.
It might just be Captain Westford. Stop being foolish.
However, if it was the captain, why did he not come in? Her father would be very pleased to see him. It seemed untoward.
She lifted the hood of her cloak, hiding her hair and hoping to obscure her face somewhat – who knew if this was some sort of miscreant or brigand? Something in her heart made her feel as if it might be the man from the street.
“Nonsense,” she told herself aloud, as she looked around the dark alley round the back of the house. “He must have been run out of town yesterday night.”
She looked round the alley, shivering. It was damp and dark, and she could hear water running in the gutters, and somewhere somebody tipping water from a copper pot. She drew her cloak around her, feeling cold.
“Where is this man?” she whispered, with some impatience. She was starting to feel jumpy. She couldn’t help thinking about the gangs who had been known to break into the warehouses, tormenting anybody set to guard the place. If she had been lured out here, simply to be robbed, or worse, she had no idea what she would do.
“Milady?”
She spun round, her heart thudding with nerves. She found herself face-to-face with the one man she had feared seeing worse even than the gangs.
“You!”
The man she had rescued yesterday raised a brow. She thought he might smile, but his eyes were dark and seemed troubled.
He nodded. “Sorry I bothered ye,” he said. “I had to see you again. I meant to thank you.”
Seonaid felt all her apprehension bubble up inside her and felt rage well up in place of her fear. “You came to thank me? Wresting me out of my home, endangering yourself, disturbing my peace? What possessed ye to think that was a good idea?”
He raised a brow. She was surprised to see anger flash briefly across his face. He swallowed it swiftly and cleared his throat. “I simply wished to thank you for saving my life.”
Seonaid sighed. She felt her clenched fists unclasp and shook her head. “Well, I thank you for the sentiment. Now, if ye wish tae remain alive past noon, I reckon ye ought to do what you should have done yesterday, and leave this town as soon as ye can. What possessed ye tae remain? The townsfolk will kill ye – we don’t like traitors here.”
His anger flared. She took a step back, seeing the look on his face. “Traitor, eh?” he hissed. “I am no traitor to Scotland. Those fools who support the English puppet-king, now they’re…”
She slapped him.
Her hand fell to her side and she took a step back. The man’s cheek flared red.
She leaned her back against the wall, her heart thumping – too afraid to stay, and yet transfixed, as if she could not run. His eyes went to her face and the anger died in them, and to her amazement he smiled.
“Och, lass. I reckon I deserved that.”
Seonaid looked at her boots. She felt a strange sensation well up inside – something like she felt, sometimes, when she waited for the boats to moor. A strange feeling akin to excitement.
“Mayhap ye did,” she agreed.
They both looked up. Again, she felt a strange tingle inside her. His eyes were very brown, but clear, the way a tea of tansy leaves was colored. His smile was crooked, his nose long and surprisingly beautiful for somebody who had like as not seen his fair share of street fistfights.
“I reckon I should do as ye said yesterday, and get out of the town.”
“If ye want tae see another day,” she nodded.
He sighed. “It’s not going tae help, killing me,” he replied. “If it’s not me, saying it, then others will come and say the same thing. I only hope it will nae be too late.”
She felt her fingers lace through one another. It seemed such a depressing outlook, and yet, for all his wildness, he seemed to sincerely believe in what he preached. She sighed.
“I hope naught comes of all this trouble,” she said.
He nodded. “As do I. I wish nothing would come of it, that we could carry on as we are.”
“Mayhap we will?”
His eyes, when they met hers, seemed sad. “Aye,” he said. “Mayhap we can.”
He turned then, and went back up the alley. His tall, cloaked figure, draped in its brown-and-cream checked coat, disappeared into the misty dark.
“Goodbye,” she called, not knowing why she felt the urge to say it.
He stopped, and turned. She saw his hand lift from his side, a gesture of salutation. “Goodbye.”
Then he walked off into the mist and was gone.
Seonaid stared after him for a long moment.
“Och,” she sighed, shaking her head. “Get back indoors.”
She had been gone for a full ten minutes, at least. If their neighbor had done as she requested, her father, and Logan too probably, would be out of the cellar and looking everywhere.
She drew her shawl about her shoulders and walked the twenty paces back to the front of the house. As she entered the hallway, her father came out of the front room. He looked troubled.
“Lass!” he said. “There you are. I was afraid for ye. Where did ye go?”
“Sorry, Father,” she shrugged, feeling unsure. “I went out round the back of the house to, um…to fetch something.”
Her father frowned, but nodded. “Well, I’m glad you’re back, lass. And thanks for yer help. We’re ready with room for the next stock when I return from the Norse coastline.”
Seonaid nodded. Oddly enough, she felt awkward, having not said anything to her father about having met with the man in the alleyway. She hadn’t spoken to him of her actions the previous day, either – she felt he would be shocked by how flagrantly she’d put herself in danger.
>
And besides, I do not understand my feelings.
The man in the street aroused a strange mix of feelings in her. Infuriation, definitely. Anger, certainly. Admiration?
“I will go with Logan to check the accounts,” he said. “We deposited the takings with Mr. Burnell.”
“Very well, Father. I’ll hold the castle while you’re away.”
He laughed. “You do that, lass.” He patted her hand. He called Logan from where the man sat in the kitchen, drinking tea, and together they headed out.
She frowned. Now that they were gone, and the house was hers alone, she found her thoughts returning to the stranger. Was that what she felt for him? She wasn’t sure. She admired her father, but this feeling was different. This was a sensation that was not wholly pleasant, or wholly accepting. She had no liking of this man – none whatsoever. Yet, deep inside, she couldn’t help but feel prideful of his efforts. She might not believe in his cause, but he did. Anybody who could serve a cause with such abandon was somebody she could feel admiration for.
“In some ways, he’s like me: swift-tempered, stubborn, set in his ways.”
She grinned. Her father sometimes said she took after him in temper – something which seemed to make him laugh, though she knew it wasn’t complimentary. Her father had the sort of mind that, once made up, would keep to its road even should a fortress wall be built to shut it out. Her mind was similar, in many respects.
“And my opinion on this fellow should be fixed.”
He was a troublemaker. She should keep to her first impression. She sighed and went upstairs to tidy.
As she swept the floor in her bedchamber, she found her mind going back over the argument in the street. She recalled slapping the fellow, and felt a fierce satisfaction. The more she thought about his argument, the more she found she felt annoyed with him. The whole idea – of raising a force to withstand, or even to overthrow, King John Baliol, was inane!
“I don’t know why I saved him.”
Why had she saved him?
“I don’t know.” She swore under her breath, looked around to check nobody was there listening to her foul language, and swept under a stool. She was still busy sweeping, her anger against the man in the street whipped up into a healthy foment, when she heard her father in the doorway.
“Lass?”
“Yes?” she quickly took the cloth off her hair, which had been holding it back from her damp brow, set the broom down and hurried out.
“I wanted to ask if you are ready to join me at Captain Westford’s home? He invited us to dinner. I do think it’s in our interests to say yes.”
“Oh?” Seonaid paled. “Well, I reckon that sounds nice,” she said. Inside, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think there was much to be excited about when it came to visiting Captain Westford. All the same, why should she not go? It certainly would be more exciting than cooking their own evening meal.
Her father gave her a worried smile. “Well, Daughter, I’m glad you seem to have come around to the idea of liking him?”
She shot him a swift grin. “I didn’t say that.”
He laughed. “No,” he admitted, heading at a slow, painful rate down the steps. “But it would ease my mind if ye did.”
Seonaid followed him down, put the broom away, and then swiftly headed upstairs to check in her chest of clothes for something suitable to wear. She had only one gown that would be suitable for an evening in a more refined home – it was an ocher yellow color, with a high waist and wide sleeves. It was of a cut more fashionable last year than this year, and the color was not becoming, but it was elegant, made out of a fine silky fabric with a kirtle of woven silk threads a shade redder than the dress.
“That’ll do it.”
It was only later, as she slipped into the gown and combed out her hair that she caught herself wondering what it would be like if she was dressing to dine with the unknown man from the street, the one she had saved from the mob the other day.
She stared at her reflection, feeling annoyed at herself. “Seonaid?” she reproached harshly. “There is no call to be thinking like that.”
All the same, though, she could feel a tingle of excitement as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The thought of his seeing her in this beautiful dress was much more pleasing than the thought of stern, serious Alec seeing her.
“He’s a foolish miscreant,” she said firmly. She meant the traitorous man whose life she’d saved. “And you’re better by far without him.”
She heard her father calling her from the top of the steps.
“Coming, Father,” she called back. She brushed her hair back behind her ear and fastened a fillet of yellow linen about her forehead, as was fashionable, keeping her hair from her face. She felt a tingle of excitement inside her. If nothing else, it would be pleasant to see the surprise on Alec Westford’s face when he saw her that evening.
A RUN TO SAFETY
Everett held his hands out to the flames. He looked across the fire at his colleagues, and spat into the grass with annoyance. It was cold and rainy out, and the weather reflected his bad mood.
“Blasted good start, we had.” He said a bitter irony.
Opposite him, across the fire, Camden raised a shoulder in a shrug. “Not much anyone can do about it.”
Everett nodded. The humiliating time he had spent in the town was still chafing at his mind. He was angry and hurt, and he felt like a fool.
“So,” Lewes said from the back of the group. “We’re ready to set off tomorrow?”
The other two glared at him.
“Whist, you,” Camden grunted. “Ye dinnae have tae make things worse.” He knew that Everett blamed himself that they had to leave here before the magistrate got wind of traitors in the town’s midst.
Everett said nothing. He stared into the flames. He found himself thinking about the brown-haired lass, seeing her hair in the curling shapes the fire was weaving before him. She was beautiful in a way that fired his blood. Whatever she said, he was glad he’d gone back.
She didn’t look pleased to see me. What did I expect?
He felt angry with himself for even having thought she’d welcome him. Why would she be pleased to see him again? She had all but banned him from the town precincts yesterday!
“Lads, we need tae rest,” Lewes said.
Everett shot him a sharp glance. “Well, if ye think that, then ye can do sommat tae make stew cook in a matter of minutes. I’ll no' sleep before I’ve eaten something.”
Lewes smiled blandly. “I’ll do my best.”
Everett looked away, knowing he shouldn’t be so annoyed with Lewes, but not being able to help it. Camden had brought Lewes with him, and seemed to reckon the man was good to have with them, but Everett had never liked him. He shot him a distrusting glance. The trouble with Lewes was that he thought he should be leading their band, and made no secret of it.
“I got some bread,” Camden offered. “When we went past the stall in the quayside. We could eat that, until the stew’s hot.”
Everett nodded grimly. “It’s something tae have got,” he granted him. He was in a sour frame of mind. He hadn’t managed to recruit anybody to the cause, and had been thrown out of the town by a slip of a lass!
Not that, he thought mildly, any of the rest of them had managed any differently. By far the most useful outcome of the venture was a piece of information Camden had chanced upon while sitting in the bar: that the king was sending guards to the port.
“What do you reckon that news is about, eh?”
Everett shot him a dark look. “I reckon it’s as it says,” he said. “The king’s not daft. He kens as well as any man that any allies from France will come this way, should we send for them.”
“Aye,” Camden nodded. “But who will send for them?”
“The king?” Lewes suggested, smiling at them in that irritating way he had when he thought he was pointing out something obvious to all.
Camden glared at h
im. “We don’t want to even think of that,” he said.
“Our king would do that? Why? When it’s in France’s interest to war with England..?” Everett challenged. “We’d be far more likely to convince the French to help us! The king of France’s got no reason to love anyone who sides with England.”
Everett was pleased when Camden nodded. “Good point.”
Lewes subsided, reaching for his dagger which he began to sharpen casually. Everett checked the soup.
“Looks like it’s about done,” he said dolefully.
Camden peered in, breathed in the steam and reeled back, coughing. “What in perdition’s name is in there?” he demanded.
Everett smiled. It was the first real smile he’d given since coming back from town that afternoon. “Reckon it’s good – if ye eat enough of it, ye glow. And that’d give our enemies sommat tae be afraid of, eh?”
Camden chuckled. “I believe every word ye say about yon brew.”
They both laughed as he ladled it out into the wooden dishes and they sat about the fire to eat. With the bread Camden had bought, it wasn’t too bad. Everett felt his temper calm as his hunger receded temporarily.
“So, lads,” he said, stretching. “What do we do tomorrow, eh?”
Camden looked at him seriously. “We have tae do something,” he said.
Everett nodded glumly. “I know.”
They were here with the intent of raising an army, the strength of which they could use to storm Edinburgh, and oust the puppet-king. Who they sought to replace him with, they weren’t certain. All they knew was that they did not like the hand of England in the governance of their homeland.
“If we don’t manage tae raise an army,” Camden continued, “we’re going tae have tae go inland. See if we can corrupt the real barracks.”
Everett gave him a bland glance. “If ye like the thought of dying terribly, that’s a grand thought.”
Camden nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “That won’t help.”
“Well, it could,” Everett said mildly. “But it could also go horridly wrong. And we want something with better odds than that. I’m not having any of us risking a traitor’s death.”
The Highlander’s Passion (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 3) Page 3
