The Black Knave (28 page)

Bethia mounted easily, noting again how much easier it was to mount a man’s saddle rather than the sidesaddle to which she was accustomed. Anne walked out with her, then out of sight of the groom, seized her hand and held it tightly. “Godspeed,” she said.

“My horse is just beyond that hill. You might take a ride that way and find her.”

“Aye, I will do that. And hold her for you.”

“Thank you.”

“No need for that. Just be careful. I do not wish to lose another MacDonell to the butcher.”

Bethia reached Buckie in late afternoon. Afraid someone might see through her disguise, she avoided one tavern that seemed to host numerous English soldiers, and stopped at a small alehouse. She sidled in, found a seat in the shadows where she could overhear without attracting attention. She hesitantly spent coin for a glass of ale, which she barely sipped. And she listened.

The coins came from her wagers with the marquis. She had resumed thinking of him that way. ‘Twas altogether too disturbing to think of him as her husband.

She dismissed thoughts of him and instead tried to listen to the several conversations going on. But after several wary glances at her, talk centered on fishing and the interference of the English. Beginning to feel that her mission was hopeless, she left the tavern.

Bethia made her way to where she had left the mare. She’d learned of another tavern, one connected to an inn. She could stable Sadie there and feed her. Then she would decide what to do next.

She led the tired horse down the street, ducking into shadows as she heard a detail of soldiers come down the road, stopping at the earlier tavern that served the English. Two went inside, apparently searching for one of its members.

“Damn me if I know where Robbie’s gone,” said one of the remaining men in the street.

“The colonel’s going to flay him. He wants every man in those hills.”

Bethia put her hand over the mare’s mouth, urging its silence as she tried to slink ever further into the shadows.

She strained to hear snatches of conversation.

“Damn me, but it appears that the colonel’s plan worked.”

“If Dan’l and Jock can keep up wi’ ‘em.”

She did not hear the answer, but she did hear another voice. “At least we know the innkeeper and another man went up into the forest. To meet Drummond, no doubt. The colonel’s blocking every path, using every mon in these parts.”

“Wha’ if it is not the Knave?”

“Do not be suggestin’ that to the colonel. He is convinced the Flying Lady is a nest of traitors. ‘E’s had them watched for days now, then two men slipped out before dawn. No doubt it is the Knave.”

“Why dinna they not arrest them?”

“The colonel wants Drummond, too. Good for a promotion.”

“And the reward. He won’t be sharing it, either.”

“What about Geordie?” Another voice, but they were moving farther away now and she could barely hear.

” ‘E was a fool to believe he’d ever get his thirty pieces of silver.”

Their voices trailed away completely as they moved down the lane.

Geordie. He must be the fisherman set to betray the Black Knave. A name. She had a name. It should be worth something.

But how could she warn the Black Knave now? The paths were obviously watched by the English, and she had no idea where they were.

An idea started to form in her head. If they thought the Black Knave was somewhere else. If they thought he was about to get Drummond out of Scotland, then they would leave the hills.

But how would anyone mistake her for the Black Knave, the tall giant on a black horse, or for an old woman, which disguise he was rumored to adopt? Or even an old man?

She needed help, and the people at the Flying Lady had to be warned. They would all be hanged if it were proven any had helped the Black Knave.

The Flying Lady.

She led her horse out into the open and walked away from the soldiers. She saw a boy spit at where they had walked. She approached him.

“Can ye tell me where the Flying Lady is?”

“Aye. Down on the waterfront. Take the road to the sea. Ye can see it from there.” He looked at Bethia curiously. “Ye ha’ business there?”

“Nay. I was told I could rest and feed my horse.”

“I would go somewhere else. The English have spies watchin’ it.”

“I ha’ no’ money. The owner is said to be kind with feed.”

He shrugged. ” ‘Tis your neck, not mine.”

Bethia led the mare down the road to the sea. It was past dusk, but the rain had stopped. A bright moon lit the sky, although an occasional heavy cloud blotted it. She peered first one way, then another. She saw a weather-beaten sign creaking in the wind. An outline of a ship perched above carved letters.

So it had been named after a ship. She looked around. If English soldiers remained to spy, she could not see any. But then the soldier had said every man had been sent to comb the roads and paths down from the forest. She could only hope.

Bethia reached for the deck of cards buried in her clothes. The jack was on the top. Then she approached the door. No sound came from within, no raucous noise as there had been at the other two establishments. She tried the door. It was open. She went inside.

One man was inside, sitting forlornly in a chair. He was of huge size. Half of his face was buried by a red, untamed beard.

“We are closed, lad,” he said.

“The door is open.”

“It is always open, but now ‘tis not wise to be here.”

She started. “Then you know?”

He rose with startling speed and in three large steps, stood next to her, clasping her arm tightly. “What do ye mean?”

Bethia held out the jack of spades with her free hand and placed it on a table next to them.

His beard wriggled and his eyes narrowed. “Wha’ does a slip of a lad know about cards?”

She drew herself up to her full height, disregarding the pain from his hold.

“You know the … Knave has many disguises.”

The man’s head jerked back. “What’s your game, lad?”

The pressure on her arm was like a vise. It was all she could do to keep from screaming.

“Are you the innkeeper?”

“My brother is. He asked me to stay here for him.”

“He is in danger. The English knows he has left with another man, one they suspect is the Knave.”

“But he is not, because you are,” the man replied sarcastically. “I ask you again, what game do you play?”

“I play none,” she said, and she knew her accent had slipped from a stable boy to the more precise diction of royalty.

“What are the words?”

She closed her eyes. She knew no words. Bethia felt sick. How could she ever have thought she might fool anyone?

“I am not the Knave,” she admitted.

“Obviously,” the man muttered.

“I am a friend in desperate need of his services. I was looking for him when I overheard some British soldiers saying that they had been watching your inn, and that two men left early this morn. They were followed into the forest but then they disappeared. But the English have every path covered.” She paused. “And anyone who comes here is in danger.”

His deep sunken eyes took on a fierce glare. “I think ye are the danger. How much are the English paying you to snoop?” His hands did not release their hold. “I think I should just drown ye.”

“Then everyone will die,” she said defiantly, glaring at him. “Do you not see? The Black Knave has to appear elsewhere. At Geordie’s house.”

His brow furrowed.

Bethia rushed on at his hesitation. “It’s a double trap. The English let it be known that a man named Geordie— I do not know the last name—would sail Drummond south. But they really want the Black Knave. They believe that if the Knave learned about the trap, he would try to reach Drummond. They must have suspected your … inn.”

“The English are no’ that clever,” he replied suspiciously.

“They are sly.” She stamped her feet anxiously. “There is no time to waste. Another Black Knave must visit Geordie, convince him that his life is no’ worth a pence if he does the crown’s bidding, then take his boat. He will go running to the English, and they will send their men to watch the beaches instead.”

“Ye are sure of tha’?”

“Nay,” she admitted. “But it was the only thing I could think of. They will believe then that your brother went on some other errand, that he had nothing to do with the Black Knave.”

The man released his hold on her arm, and scratched his beard with his other hand. “What do ye want from me?”

“Some men you trust. The English obviously think the two men are in the Grampians, not on the coast. Most of the patrols have been sent into the mountains. Geordie will be lightly guarded. We—you—can take him easily. And his boat.” She wanted him to start thinking it was his idea.

Tired, pale blue eyes stared out at her. “I ‘ave only my brother left. If you betray him, I’ll kill ye.”

“This may be the only chance he has.”

“It might be tae late,” the innkeeper said despondently, obviously reluctant to put his faith in a slip of a boy.

“The Knave is cautious,” she said. “The Brits will not easily catch him.”

“Ye know him?”

“Aye,” she lied.

“I told my brother no’ to get involved, but he dinna listen.” He released her arm. “There are a few men I trust.”

Relief flooded her. She’d won. “Do you have any black clothing? Something I can use to mask my face? The others will need them, too, but none must speak but me. Their voices might be recognized.”

His eyes were dubious as he gazed up and down her body. But then he seemed to make a decision. “My brother ‘as a black cloak. It might make you look more…” He stopped, obviously at a loss of a description.

“Substantial?” She asked helpfully.

“Aye,” he said. ” ‘Ow old are ye, lad?”

“Old enough to have lost my entire family.”

He frowned. “I canna trust—”

“You have no choice. ‘Tis your brother’s only hope.”

The man muttered that they were all doomed.

She waited, her throat tightening.

“Are ye sure there are not spies outside?”

“I did not see any, and I looked.”

He seemed to be fighting an internal battle, then he puckered his mouth. “All right,” he finally said. “But if ye are lying to me….”

She was. But only partly. And all for a good cause. She said a silent prayer for forgiveness to the Holy Mother.

“I will get ye a cloak. Ye stay here until I can find some men to help. But I doona know if they will follow ye.”

“They will follow
you
,” she said.

His face cleared slightly. He obviously felt more comfortable putting his fate in his own hands rather than those of a young unknown stranger.

He told her where to find the cloak and black material for masks. Then he slipped out the door.

“Hell and damnation.” The oath came spilling from Rory Forbes’s lips.

He’d had a plan.

He always had a plan.

They just dinna always work. And this, apparently, was one of those times.

That was exactly what he got for trying to be clever.

They had been here two days. Cooped up in a wet, cold cave like chickens awaiting the fox.

He had doubled back on the trek up into the forested hills and had spied someone following. He and Kerry, who was half Irish and had a hatred for English greater than any full-blooded Scot, had managed to lose the men trailing them. They reached Drummond in a well-hidden cave just after dawn.

But when Rory had scouted several hours later, he’d discovered English soldiers everywhere. He had barely made it back. Now they were trapped with very little food and even less water.

Rory knew where he’d made his mistake. He’d apparently missed the spies who had watched the tavern. He had not expected that the Flying Lady was suspect.

He would never be that careless again. If he had the chance.

His main regret was that he might have irreparably damaged Kerry. The innkeeper’s life could be as tenuous as young Drummond’s. At that thought, he turned his attention back to the young lord. Drummond shivered in a corner with a fever that came, Rory suspected, from both lack of food and exposure. They had to get him to safety if he were to live.

They could not even build a fire for fear that the smell of smoke might reach the searchers. Both he and Kerry had given him their cloaks, but still he shivered and still his face burned with heat. In the past few hours, their charge had been growing progressively worse.

He turned to Kerry. “If we can get past them, we can always say that I came to you as guide, that I wanted to hunt the Black Knave, to earn the five thousand pounds. ‘Tis enough of a princely sum.”

“It might be tae late for that.”

It might, indeed. It might send both of them to the gallows. And yet it was the beginning of a plausible story. That depended, however, on getting Drummond out of here and on a boat. If found with the man, all three would be swinging. He just might have the added pleasure of being drawn and quartered for committing treason.

Yet, he would never abandon Drummond. Nor, he sensed, would Kerry. The man thrived on hatred.

To save Kerry, he had to save Drummond. Right now he had absolutely no idea of how to do that. The English were as thick as the underbrush.

Rory knew he needed a miracle this time. He turned toward Kerry, who was barely visible in the dark cave. “I am sorry for involving you.”

“No one forced me,” Kerry said gruffly. “I will take a few of the bastards out wi’ us.” He patted the pistol next to him. A deadly looking knife hung from his belt, and Rory knew a second one was tied to his leg inside the trousers.

Drummond, who was no more than twenty, coughed, a succession of spasms that alarmed Rory. The sound could alert any nearby soldiers.

He took his flask and offered the lad the last of his water. Drummond took it gratefully, then sunk back on the damp floor. Rory exchanged worried looks with Kerry.

“I will go out and check again,” Rory said. “Mayhap they have given up.”

Kerry looked at him dubiously, but did not express his thoughts. Neither of them wanted Drummond to know how serious the situation really was.