The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  She had learned more along the way, because the men in his tail talked among themselves about it. Apparently, the sheriff had been riding from Sheriff’s House to Bothyn Castle, the Dalcross family seat near the village of Beauly on the Beauly Firth, when he was attacked and stabbed to death.

  What caused discussion, aside from the discovery near the body of that telltale silver coin, was that the sheriff had apparently been alone, his customary tail of six men-at-arms having been diverted at the critical time to give chase to a man on a large black horse. The men escorting Bab assumed the rider to have been a decoy, allowing the true Fox to lie in wait and murder the sheriff.

  To Bab, on the other hand, that decoy was proof that the Fox had had nothing to do with the murder. If he were going to kill someone, she was sure he would face his opponent man-to-man and doubtless with a grim smile on his face beneath his mask. But she listened to all that they said and said nothing herself.

  As dusk fell, they crossed the wooden bridge over the River Ness to enter Inverness, and shortly afterward they reached the gates of Sheriff’s House in the High Street. Although Bab looked about her with interest and even admired the great stone castle on Castle Hill to the south, she sighed with disappointment that she had seen no sign of the Fox along the way.

  Giorsal said, “I warrant his lordship will ha’ ye out o’ this place in a trice.”

  Bab nodded silently, not having the heart to tell her that his lordship believed in the rule of law and had already admitted that in this case the law was on Francis Dalcross’s side. Her strongest hope had lain with the Fox.

  When they drew rein and Dalcross dismounted, he made no attempt to approach her, signing to two of his men to assist both women in dismounting and then commanding those same men to take them to the cells. These proved to be small, dank chambers below the house, where there was little light by which to see.

  “There be a pail in yon corner, my lady,” one of the men said as the other used a tinderbox to light a cresset on the wall. “Sheriff Dalcross ordered the bench and bed removed, but I warrant someone will be bringing ye food afore long.”

  She had not thought about food, but she did now, for she had had little but a crust of bread and some water since leaving Dundreggan, and she was hungry.

  The men left, and Giorsal said, “This be a dreadful place, Mistress Bab.”

  “Aye, and I’ll not be surprised if it grows more dreadful before dawn.”

  “D’ye no think they’ll feed us, then?”

  Bab did not know, but they were soon to find out, for not ten minutes had passed since the two men had left them to themselves, when a key sounded in the lock and Francis himself thrust the door open, filling the doorway.

  “Welcome to Sheriff’s House, my lady.”

  “It will avail you little to have me here,” Bab said. “I know nothing that will aid you in your search, and even if I did I would not tell you.”

  “We’ll see soon enough what you know, my sweet, because before this time tomorrow, I promise you, you will be begging me to let you speak.”

  “Do you mean to torture me then? Even that cannot aid you, since I cannot tell you what I do not know.”

  “Just think of the possibilities, though,” he said, smiling in a way that made her wish she could smack him. “I am a creative man, and I will bend my abilities to the task of making you tell me everything you know. If necessary, pressure can be brought to bear on your woman here whilst you watch to see how she enjoys it.”

  A chill shot up Bab’s spine at the thought that they might hurt Giorsal, but she forced herself to remain silent. Common sense told her she might well be begging him before long, but she would not begin now.

  His smile widened. “I suppose you expect the Fox to rescue you,” he said. “He won’t succeed, of course, but I certainly hope he tries. Sheriff’s House is closely guarded in ways he would never suspect. However, if he does come to me, at least you will be spared the ordeal of my questioning.”

  “You will not catch him,” she said. “Better men than you have tried.”

  He chuckled. “I will leave you to contemplate the future, lass. It would be a shame to spoil your beauty, but one way or another, I will soon know all you can tell me about the man who murdered my father. That cresset on the wall contains enough fat for another hour or so. You’ll not get more. Nor will you have food, although I may, out of mercy, allow you water tomorrow before we begin.” With that, he stepped back and shut the door, and again they heard the key in the lock.

  Bab turned to find Giorsal regarding her grimly, and said, “I’ll not let them hurt you, Giorsal. Francis and his men will do as they like with me, but if they threaten you, be sure that I’ll tell them what little I know.”

  “I thank ye for that, Mistress Bab, though I doubt it will avail us much. That villain doesna look as if he’d believe ye’d told him all ye ken even when ye had.”

  That was not Bab’s fear. Hers was that he would continue to threaten Giorsal until she told him she had visited the Fox’s cave and promised to do all she could to lead him there. Surely, though, if he took her out to hunt for the cave, the Fox would rescue her then. She decided that she should give that matter more thought.

  “ ’Tis a pity Sir Alex is no the avenging sort,” Giorsal said with another sigh. “He and his lordship, between them, should be able to gather men to storm this place and set us free.”

  “His lordship would not allow that,” Bab said. “He believes in the law, Giorsal, and if this comes to a trial, he believes the law will set me free.” She had a nagging suspicion that Alex was not so sanguine as his father. Amiable though he was, she did not think he would be content to leave her in Francis Dalcross’s clutches But what he could do to alter the situation, she could not imagine.

  “Ye’d think a gentleman would provide a seat for a lady in a place like this,” Giorsal said. “Yon Dalcross does pretend to be a gentleman, does he not?”

  “We’ll just have to sit on the floor, Giorsal,” Bab said. “At least, the weather has warmed, so we can use your cloak to put under us and mine to put over us, and perhaps we’ll be able to get some sleep. At least, if means to let me ponder his methods of torture until morning, it is unlikely that he will disturb us tonight.”

  “Aye, if we can trust his word,” Giorsal said darkly. But she took off her cloak and folded it so they could sit upon it now and lean against the wall.

  They talked for a time, and when the cresset sputtered and died, and the chamber grew colder, they spread the cloak on the hard stone floor and wrapped Bab’s heavy crimson one around them as well as they could. The floor was cold.

  Bab was sleeping fitfully when the rattle of a key in the lock awoke her. Sitting up, she shook Giorsal, whispering her name. “Someone’s coming!”

  “It’ll be that villain,” Giorsal said. “I wish we had a good, stout club.”

  Bab wished it, too, for the thought of what Francis might do terrified her. The chamber was pitch dark now, but she could not stand the thought of him finding her on the floor, so she stood up and clutched her cloak around her. Giorsal stood beside her, gripping her arm.

  Bab sensed rather than saw the door swing open. Whoever stood there had no light, but even so, she felt herself relax.

  “We’re here,” she said softly.

  “Aye, well, ye’re quiet as mice in a mill, so I did wonder,” he said in his deep, authoritative voice. “Would ye no like to leave now?”

  “We would,” Bab said, smiling for the first time since she had left Dundreggan.

  “But who is that, my lady?” Giorsal muttered. “Likely, he’ll be one o’ that Dalcross’s men, trying to trick us.”

  “It is no trick, Giorsal, for I recognize his voice. ’Tis Sionnach Dubh, and he will not harm us. He aids people in trouble, and we certainly need his help.”

  “The Fox!”

  “We’ve nae time for chatter,” he said. “Come now at once. Take my hand, lass, and ye, Mistress
Giorsal, take her ladyship’s hand. I canna show a light down here, for they’d see it sure, through those wee windows near the ceiling.”

  They stepped out of the chamber and waited while he relocked the door.

  “However did you come by that key?” Bab asked.

  He chuckled. “I thought ye knew by now that I ha’ my ways, lass.”

  His commoner’s accent seemed thicker tonight, and she wondered if he was affecting it for Giorsal’s sake. At first, she had believed he aped her own manner of speech, but she had come to wonder if he might not be of gentler birth, aping common folk as a way to disguise himself.

  When he tugged her hand, she moved to follow but remembered what Francis had said. “He’s set guards to watch for you. He hoped you would come!”

  “Dinna fret, lass. I ken well how the man thinks. He’ll no catch me tonight.”

  Reassured, she followed where he led, holding tightly to his hand and to Giorsal’s. She could see only shadows and denser shadows. There were no windows in the corridor outside the chambers, only a small one high in the wall at the end of it. What light strayed through that one came from the stars, for she saw no sign of a moon. At all events, they were moving from dimmest light into blackness.

  He paused, released her hand, and without the sound of another door opening, she felt a sense of space where there had been none before. He continued to move forward a few steps with confidence, but a moment later, he paused again and urged her and Giorsal to pass him.

  “I’ll just shut it again,” he murmured.

  They were in a passageway now that smelled of earth, and when Bab reached out she touched a rough-hewn post. Feeling around it, she found a dirt wall. “We’re in a tunnel,” she whispered.

  “Aye,” he said. “ ’Tis gey convenient, that, I say.”

  “But how did you—”

  His finger touched her lips, silencing her. “Nae questions. We still ha’ to get shut o’ this place.”

  His finger stayed right where it was, so she muttered against it, “How do you always know exactly where my—”

  Chuckling this time, he slid the finger down to tilt her chin up as he said, “D’ye never obey, lass? Hush now, and follow me.”

  He clasped her hand in his, and she followed with Giorsal trailing silently behind her, clinging to her skirt. The tunnel was long, but at last, Bab smelled fresh air ahead, and soon after that, the dense darkness lightened, and then they were outside, breathing cold night air, tangy with salt from the Moray Firth.

  The Fox paused, and Bab knew he listened as intently as she did. She had no exact idea where they were, but from their relationship to Castle Hill and the sound of the River Ness nearby, they were at the perimeter of the town somewhere near the bridge. Windows still showed lights, and torchlight from the Hill revealed the shapes of houses in the town, but there was rustling shrubbery nearby as well.

  “Here, master.”

  The words came from their right, and the Fox quickly led them toward the speaker. Bab could not see the man’s features or judge his shape, for he wore a long cloak like his master’s, but she heard whuffling sounds and pawing of impatient horses. A moment later, she saw them, five of them.

  Realizing that he must have at least two companions, she looked for the second one and discerned a much smaller figure close to the horses. Even as she saw him, however, the Fox caught her around the waist and swung her onto one of the horses. A moment later, Giorsal too was mounted.

  “Let’s go, lads,” he muttered. “Not a sound now until we’re well away.”

  He waited until they had crossed the bridge before he said in a normal tone, “Ye lads ride on ahead wi’ Mistress Giorsal. I want a private word wi’ her ladyship.”

  Without comment, they obeyed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I feared you would not come. I’m glad you did.”

  “Ye do recall that I warned ye this would happen,” he said.

  “Aye, but I could not stop it. Francis Dalcross—”

  “Ye need not explain Francis Dalcross to me,” he said.

  “You do not ask me if I told him anything.”

  “I know ye did not.”

  A warm feeling spread through her at hearing that he had trusted her so. Nonetheless, she said frankly, “It was as you said though, for he promised to do whatever he had to, to make me talk. He… he threatened to hurt Giorsal.”

  “I hope you would have had the good sense to tell him anything you knew long before it came to that point,” he said roughly.

  “I am afraid I would have,” she admitted.

  “There is no shame in that, lass.”

  They were silent for some moments, and then he said more calmly, “I warned ye, too, that any sort of relationship with me might be hazardous, but the situation is a wee bit different now, is it not?”

  “How so?” she asked.

  “Ye be a married lady.”

  “Aye, and you said you approved of the marriage, if you will recall.”

  “I did, and I do. Things can be gey different now, lass. Ye love adventure, and I—if I may say so—represent adventure as nae one else could. Moreover, I think I ha’ fallen in love wi’ ye, and I think perhaps ye love me a wee bit, too.”

  He paused, but when she could not bring herself to say the words he so clearly hoped she would say, he went on. “Although ye could scarcely marry Sionnach Dubh or live safely wi’ him, now that ye have a gey safe husband in Sir Alex Chisholm, we can certainly see more o’ each other and perhaps become even more intimately acquainted.”

  Chapter 19

  Bab did not speak. Delighted as she was to hear the Fox admit that he loved her, she was disappointed that he would make such a proposition.

  At last, quietly, she said, “I take my marriage vows seriously, sir. I took them before God and before a priest of the Scottish Kirk. I could never betray my husband in the manner you suggest, not even for you.”

  “No one need know,” he said.

  “I would know. Indeed, your suggesting this makes me wonder if you encouraged me to marry Sir Alex in the hope that I would then become your mistress. If you did, I can only say that you were mistaken in me. The sort of clandestine relationship you propose is not an adventure but a mortal sin, and so you should know.” As she said the words, the memory of her wedding dream stirred, but it quickly faded and she felt no guilt. It had been only a dream.

  “I ha’ disappointed ye,” he said. “I hope ye can forgive me.”

  Something in his voice sounded out of place under the circumstances, but she could not put her finger on what it was. Then she realized that although he had expressed concern, he did not sound upset. In fact, he sounded almost cheerful.

  Nonetheless, the proposition shadowed her opinion of him a little more. Each time he had criticized Alex or condemned his lack of action, she had felt obliged to defend him. At first, she had thought it was merely what one did when a friend was criticized, but each time it happened she had disliked it more.

  At the same time, she was as sensually aware of the Fox’s nearness as she ever had been, and she was grateful that they were on horseback. Had they been standing face-to-face, had he put his arms around her or kissed her, she was not certain she would have had the strength to deny him.

  They were such different men, the two of them. Alex was wealthy, well traveled, and accustomed to having whatever he wanted without having to exert himself much to get it. The Fox apparently did as he pleased and took what he wanted, but he did not seem to mind exertion in the least. He was quick to fight, had all the qualities of a born rebel, and believed in both violence and humiliation as means by which to punish his enemies. She would never forget his punishment of Francis Dalcross, when he had sent the man scurrying naked into the shrubbery.

  Just the thought of that scene made her glance at him. Clearly aware of her attention, he turned toward her, but he did not speak. He had been silent since her rejection of his proposition. Remembering now what he ha
d done to Francis made her glad she had refused to answer Francis’s questions about him. If Francis ever got his hands on the Fox, he would hang him for that incident if for nothing else.

  She thought of Alex, charming and kind. He wore beautiful clothes and was an excellent dancer. She could not imagine the Fox gracing the King’s court, let alone dancing a galliard. And although Alex had been known to travel in his silly chair borne by servants, and was more apt to react to outrage with a limp “dear me” than to strap on his sword and seek vengeance, he forgave her faults easily and casually, and had not lost his temper even when she had flung things at him. His eyes had flashed briefly on occasion, to be sure, and she had feared for a moment that he might retaliate. That he had not had proven a bit of a disappointment at the time, but at least Alex had never threatened to beat her, as the Fox had.

  He wondered what she was thinking. Doubtless, she was condemning his stupid proposition almost as severely as he was himself. Although he had been silently berating himself since making it, he knew that what had impelled him to test her in such a fashion was the same imp in him that had stirred him to attempt his imposture in the first place, and that was his own self-doubt. But he had not expected to feel such overwhelming guilt at the result.

  Bab was true. She was discreet, courageous, and wholly trustworthy. She was a pearl among women, and he was a swine not to be truthful with her. But he had already put her in danger and he would put her in much more if he revealed the truth about the man she had married. Regardless of what that odd little woman, Maggie Malloch, had advised, that danger was real now, and it would remain real for as long as Francis Dalcross lived and the Fox remained active. He heard no voice arguing with him in his head now about that.

  Nonetheless, deceit was and had always been contrary to his nature. For months, it had seemed necessary, but with Bab in his life, it seemed only dishonest. He had long believed that he was protecting himself and his family the best way he knew, but he was rapidly coming to realize that, instead, he had merely been testing himself, his father, and now, most recently, testing the woman he had come to love.