by Amanda Scott
“Why should you not?” he retorted. “We need keep no secrets from Molly.”
Bewildered, Molly stared from one to the other, surreptitiously trying to hold her bodice front together without Donald noticing.
He was paying no heed to her, however, for he watched his visitor narrowly.
Lady Percy gazed back at him in dawning astonishment. “Molly? Truly?” She clasped her hands to her bosom, glanced at Molly, then back at him. “Pray, tell me that you would never jest about such a thing, sir, I implore you!”
He shook his head, still watching her closely.
She turned back to Molly then, and tears welled into her eyes. With a watery smile, she held her arms wide and said, “Molly? My darling girl, you cannot know how I’ve longed to hold my beautiful daughter again.”
Shocked, still not understanding, Molly stared at her.
“Precious one, do not deny me the moment I’ve waited so long for. Oh, darling girl, embrace me, do! Know you not your own mother?”
Molly’s knees threatened to fail her. She did not move.
Not far away, Fin lay stretched on his stomach on a hillside with Tam beside him. Thanks to favorable winds, they had made excellent time, and they had learned soon after making landfall that Sleat had beaten them to the west march by only hours. Lady Percy had done as she promised, too, procuring horses and a guide for them from a solemn Douglas kinsman who had asked no questions.
Fin had fifty men with him, but he knew that Sleat had more, and by the solid look of the castle, it was shut tight and guarded well. He had told Lady Percy that he meant to attack as soon as she could bring him information about Sleat’s defenses, but he could see no way that an attack would do him much good. The castle, although supposedly abandoned for years, looked formidable. It occupied the crest of a low hill, and although his present hilltop was nearby and he lay concealed, anyone on Dunsithe’s battlements commanded every approach and would see him and his men if they moved any nearer.
Like Eilean Donan, Dunsithe’s well sat safely inside the curtain wall, and he knew that if Sleat had left men to guard the place, they would be well provisioned. Therefore, a siege was unlikely to succeed, because Fin had few friends in the west march even if Lady Percy’s kinsmen should continue to be helpful. It was more likely that the Kintail men would stand alone, and if Sleat simply kept Lady Percy inside, Fin would not benefit by anything she might learn.
Movement stirred at the edge of his vision, but as usual, when he turned his head sharply he saw no one. At least… He narrowed his eyes. There was still some sort of movement, hazy, uncertain, as if a breeze swirled dust about. The wind had died, though. Not so much as a hint of a breeze stirred.
His men waited silently behind him, below the crest, confident that he would find a way to free their mistress and defeat Sleat. Little did they suspect his uncertainty. He wished Patrick were there. Patrick always had ideas, and although most of them seemed daft, they often worked. Fin started to smile, but the image of Patrick’s grinning face faded, replaced in his mind by Molly’s serious one.
Where was she? What was she thinking? She would not be as confident as his men were that he would rescue her, and even though the lass had heart, she was likely frightened. He had to get to her. The thought that Sleat might harm her terrified him, and why else would the villain have seized her and brought her to Dunsithe but in the hope that she could lead him to her fortune? Even if she could, how could Sleat keep it unless he stole it and murdered her to cover his theft?
Again, movement stirred just beyond sight. Again, he turned and saw…
“Tam, look yonder,” he muttered, pointing. “Do you see anyone near that thicket of trees? A figure, mayhap a countrywoman?”
Tam glanced obediently toward the trees but shook his head, saying quietly, “Nay, laird. We came that route ourselves, and we ken fine that nae one were there then. I’ve been keeping a sharp eye out since.”
“Good man,” Fin said, frustrated. He could still see movement. Indeed, he could make out a figure in the shadows beneath the trees, childlike in size but looking more like a woman old enough to be his long-deceased mother. Was she gesturing to him? He squinted, trying to see her more clearly.
Beside him, Tam muttered, “Be aught amiss, laird?”
“Are you certain you see no one yonder?”
“Dead sure. What d’ye see?”
“We’ve got to get to the mistress,” Fin said harshly, still watching the thicket. It was a woman. He could see her more clearly and wondered why Tam did not, for she appeared to be jumping up and down now and waving her arms madly. Surely, she was some odd hallucination.
He had scarcely slept since learning that Sleat had taken Molly. Doubtless his mind was playing tricks. She was clearer than ever now, still waving and dancing. Her mouth was open. Was she shouting at him? Why could he not hear her? He had heard voices when he did not want to. Why could he not…
What was it that Molly had said to him that night at the inlet when she had asked him if he believed in spirits? Something about just listening, just allowing himself to see and hear what was before him. He was willing enough, but how?
“Wait here,” he said to Tam.
“Where be ye going?”
“Yonder, to the woods. If someone wants to help us, I must learn what she can tell us.”
“But there be no one there,” Tam protested.
“Be silent and wait,” Fin snapped.
Keeping low, he moved swiftly toward the thicket of trees and shrubbery that crowned that part of the hilltop. The rest of his men waited beyond it. No one could have sneaked past them, so how could any woman possibly…
Molly needed him.
He should be studying Dunsithe, learning all that he could learn abut it, perhaps moving to the far side, using what vantage he could from nearby hilltops, although he could not count on all of them to be as empty as this one. Had Dunsithe been his to defend, he would have kept watchers on every nearby hilltop.
Had Sleat kept watchers here? Was it possible that they had fled when they saw him and his men coming? Did Sleat know they were here? Was he just waiting for Fin to make his move?
Realizing that he had lost sight of the little woman, Fin hesitated. He had reached the trees, and they provided sufficient cover for him to stand upright, so he did. Doubtless, she had been only a figment of a wishful imagination.
He needed help. “Where are you?” he muttered desperately.
“Over here.”
He nearly didn’t hear her, and hearing her, he nearly didn’t see her. When he did, he had an urge to shut his eyes. She looked furious.
“Who are you?” he asked.
Without answering—or answering so softly that he did not hear—she turned and walked away. She was much smaller than she had seemed before, like a small child, and he was afraid he would lose sight of her if he did not hurry, although that seemed ridiculous, because one stride of his equaled six of hers. Still, she moved swiftly, not having to duck and bend as often as he did.
“Wait,” he said urgently, keeping his voice down and hoping she would hear. “Where are we going?”
She stopped and turned, hands on generous hips, scowling at him.
“Ye’re a one for chatter, and nae mistake, but we’ve nae time for it. Ye ha’ work tae be done. Can ye whistle up your lads, or d’ye need tae fetch them?”
“Aye, of course, I can whistle them up, but why should I?”
She glowered at him. Could she be leading him into a trap?
Hands still on her hips, brows knitted, she said, “I were going tae take ye by yourself, but I ha’ thought better. Ye’ll need more swords than your own, and that be plain fact.”
“But where—?”
“Whisst now, will ye whisst! I never saw such a one for talking when he should listen. Our Maid be in dire straits, so if ye want tae help her, ye’ll do as I bid ye and nae more backchat.”
“But who are you?”
“I be Maggie Malloch, nobbut that’s tellin’ ye anything. Now then, will ye call your men, or will ye no?”
“Not until you tell me where you are taking me,” Fin said.
“Into Dunsithe,” she said. “Will that suit ye, d’ye think?”
Putting two fingers to his lips, he gave a low, trilling whistle. He could see Tam from where he stood, but he could not see the others. Gesturing to Tam to follow him, he followed the tiny woman. The name Malloch meant nothing to him. He had never heard it before, so he could not judge her allegiances, but she seemed to know Molly. For the moment, that was enough.
“What d’ye want o’ me, laird?” Tam said, coming up with him.
“We’re following her,” Fin said, pointing to his guide. “Who?”
Realizing that Tam still could not see her, Fin hesitated. When he did, the small, plump figure ahead seemed to fade. That was enough to persuade him.
“Just follow me,” he ordered, “and be sure that the others do, too.”
“But where are we going?”
“Into the castle. I’ve found a secret way in. Don’t ask questions,” he added harshly. “Just do as I command.”
Eyes widening, Tam nodded, and soon fifty men were hurrying along behind the little woman. Fin had not realized that the thicket extended so far. It seemed to follow the curve of the hill, but instead of moving up toward the top again, to head toward the castle, they traveled steadily downward.
He wanted to ask more questions, but as the thought crossed his mind, her figure dimmed. Hastily, he decided just to go where she took him. Her figure sharpened then, letting him follow easily. If he had to duck under branches, he was unaware of it. So, too, was he unaware of the men behind him. He had eyes only for the hurrying figure ahead.
They crossed a bubbling burn, and just beyond it, the little woman disappeared into the hillside.
Breaking into a run, Fin followed, and he nearly ran right into a rock slab before he realized there was an opening behind it. The opening looked too narrow for him, but hearing her voice beyond, urging him on, he walked into it, and to his surprise, it seemed to widen to accommodate him. He walked into a tunnel.
He heard the men muttering behind him now and turned to tell Tam to quiet them. They had to be a considerable distance from the castle, but without knowing what lay ahead, he wanted them quiet. It would not do for Sleat or any guards he had set at the other end to hear them.
It occurred to him then that he could see more clearly than one ought to see in a tunnel. He could still see the tiny woman ahead of him, but more than that, he could see the walls, ceiling, and floor. Something glowed in the dirt, some sort of low, ethereal light. That someone had used the tunnel often at some time was clear. Passing an alcove with a pair of rusty trunks of a type that generally contained weapons, he realized that the Gordons probably had built it as a precaution against siege. The question was whether Donald the Grim knew of it. Lady Percy probably knew, Fin realized. And if she knew, it was possible that Sleat did, too.
Hesitating, wondering again if they were running into ambush, he glanced back to see his worry mirrored on Tam’s face. Looking forward again, he discovered that he had lost sight of his guide.
He stopped. What now? It was possible that she had just disappeared around a bend in the tunnel or perhaps into another alcove like the one containing the weapons chests, but it was also possible that danger lurked ahead, and his men’s lives depended on his making the right decision.
As that thought crossed his mind, an image of Molly banished it. What Sleat might be doing to her did not bear thinking about, and with no way into the castle but this one, it would be folly to leave the men behind. They would go forward. He would put his trust in the tiny woman, but he would keep his wits about him.
Fin drew his sword.
Chapter 22
Molly had allowed the tearful Lady Percy to embrace her, but she felt no sense of familiarity. She had no recollection of her mother hugging her during her childhood. The memories she did retain of Eleanor Gordon were of a bright creature, flitting hither and yon, never lighting anywhere, and certainly never sitting still long enough to hold her or her tiny sister, Bess.
Donald said dryly, “Your daughter does not appear to be overjoyed by this reunion, madam.”
Releasing Molly, Lady Percy stepped back and said ruefully, “She has little cause to greet me with joy, I fear. I did not know what good fortune I enjoyed until Angus took it all from me. He stole my life,” she added bitterly.
“That would imply that you have been dead for some dozen years, madam, yet here you stand alive before us,” Donald retorted.
“Faith, sir, I lost my husband and both of my children in a matter of days. What more is there to a woman’s life?”
“You scarcely can blame Angus for Gordon’s death. Your husband died at the hands of one of his own tenants! As for the rest, it appears to me that Angus paid you well for your loss by marrying you to the powerful Percy family.”
“An English family, I would remind you, and certainly that stale marriage was not enough to make up for wee Bessie’s death, which, I would also remind you, occurred whilst she was in Angus’s custody, mayhap to assure that Molly became Dunsithe’s sole heiress. Nor could anything have made up for losing Molly,” she added with a wistful, damp-eyed look that stirred Molly’s quick sympathy.
Donald said sharply, “You said at the outset of this conversation that you had brought something for me. What is it, and where is it?”
“Aye,” Lady Percy said. “That is to say, I bring word of—”
“So you have brought nothing but more words. Seize her, Colson.”
“No! Henry is sending the money you requested. Angus promised that I shall have it tomorrow!”
“Aye, and we all know how much we trust Angus,” he said sarcastically.
Lady Percy flushed. “Please, sir. Upon my honor, I will see that—”
“Your honor is worth no more than his,” he said. “Did you not tell me you suspect him of having stolen your daughter’s inheritance?”
“I do believe that,” she said forcefully. “What else could have happened to it? You did not see Dunsithe in those days, but the night Angus came to take away my daughters, this hall was resplendent with silver and gold, fine furnishings, and colorful banners. Every room boasted such things. And there was money, chests full of it. I never asked for anything that Gordon did not provide—dresses and jewels. Oh, the jewels, sir! One would have to see them to believe their magnificence.”
Her eyes shone at the memory.
Glancing at Donald, Molly saw him frown. “Enough,” he said curtly. “When Angus left with your daughters, you were still here. Do you expect me to believe he took so much without your knowing?”
Lady Percy nodded. “He locked me in my bedchamber, because I grew hysterical when I realized he was taking both of my daughters, and when I won free again, everything had disappeared, including the servants, although he had left his men to watch the place. They must have stolen it all that night. Angus came for me two days later and carried me off to Tantallon, his castle by the sea. I stayed there, within arm’s reach of my daughter but never allowed to see her, until he had his final falling out with the King and we escaped to England. I never saw Dunsithe again until today.”
“A pretty tale,” Donald snarled, “but a false one, I’ll wager. One frequently hears that Angus is but a pensioner at Henry’s table, forced to do Henry’s bidding. How can that be if he possesses as much wealth as you say he stole from here?”
“I do not know,” she replied. “It is true that one hears such things, but perhaps Henry took all Angus had and gave him just enough to let him keep up appearances. That would be ironic, would it not?”
Donald looked long at her. “Madam,” he said at last, “I do not believe that Dunsithe’s treasure ever left Dunsithe, for as long as Angus controlled the Maid, he controlled her fortune. After all, he could not have known that his roya
l regency would end only a few months later, forcing him to flee Scotland.”
“But—”
“Silence,” Donald snapped. “It is clear that Gordon or some of his minions managed somehow to hide her inheritance, but he must have intended her to claim it. Therefore, she must know how to do so.”
Lady Percy looked speculatively at Molly. “I do not see how she could know more than I do,” she said thoughtfully. “She was not yet six, after all, when Angus took her. And her father died suddenly. It is not as if he had known he would die and took opportunity to whisper some secret in her ear, or that she would remember it now, even if he had. Do you recall any such thing, Molly?”
“I have already told him that I do not,” Molly said, still trying to digest the notion that the beautiful Lady Percy was her mother. “I barely remember Dunsithe. I have lived the greater part of my life on Skye, after all.”
“There, you see?”
“Nevertheless, madam,” Donald said, “she is the key to Dunsithe’s fortune, and if she does not know more than she has told me, it will go badly for her, because one way or another I mean to learn all she knows. I’m told she bears a mark on her breast in the shape of a key and that you put that mark on her yourself.”
“Aye, I did, to my shame,” Lady Percy said with a look of deep remorse. Avoiding Molly’s gaze, she added, “Her nurse and I discussed the likelihood that her appearance would change over the years, and I feared someone might try to put a false Maid in her place. The mark was meant to keep that from happening.”
“What key did you use? What did it open?”
“Faith, I do not know! ’Twas years ago, and the key was just one her nurse found when I asked her to fetch one.”
“I do not believe you,” Donald said. “It is too great a coincidence that we search for a hiding place whilst the lass bears the mark of a key.” He glanced from one to the other. “Believe me, one of you will tell me what I want to know.”
