The Knight's Temptress (Lairds of the Loch) (14 page)

“You’re certain he won’t give them up?”

“Aye, sure; he says they be too valuable, the pair o’ them. But the lady Lachina tellt me that Dougal MacPharlain be for taking her away right soon.”

“Then I must reach them straightaway, Gorry. Can you get me inside?”

“Easy as breathing wi’ such a mob in this yard and servants coming and going tae attend them in the hall,” Gorry said. “What’s in yon bundle?”

“Oilskins to cover them and breeks,” Ian replied in an undertone as they wended their way toward the service-stair door.

“Oilskins be a good notion,” Gorry said. “I didna ken what tae do about their skirts, and ye couldna verra well spirit them away in them. Am I tae leave wi’ ye?”

“I should take you, because it will be gey dangerous for you here when the lasses are gone,” Ian admitted. “But if we can arrange for you to stay safe, you’ll be more valuable to me when I think of a way to force the rebels out of here.”

“Aye, sure, when ye take back the castle. But willna James Mòr ken fine that Colquhoun had summat tae do wi’ the ladies’ disappearance?”

“If you or one of your friends can help, I mean to cast
suspicion on Dougal long enough for me to get their ladyships safely to Dunglass.”

Gorry glanced at him, eyes agleam. “We can help wi’ that, for Dougal’s awa’ doon tae the harbor. What must we do?”

“I’ve scrawled a message on a scrap of vellum that I mean to drop in their ladyships’ chamber,” Ian explained. “I brought matching vellum with me, too. If you can hide it amidst Dougal’s effects and then have someone spread word of his too-frequent visits to their ladyships, even that he discomfited them…”

“Aye, sure, we’ll do that,” Gorry said. Striding up the steps to the service-stair door, now open to admit others, he muttered, “Keep your head doon,” and preceded Ian to follow them in.

Inside, Ian saw with astonishment that the stairway was alive with cloaked and uncloaked servants going up to rooms on other floors or down to a kitchen, bakehouse, or storerooms below the entry level. They carried jugs, trays, and other objects, doubtless meant for the great hall on the next level or chambers above it where James Mòr and his noble followers would have their private chambers.

The narrowness of the service stairway made passing others awkward. But the gillies and men-at-arms using it paid no heed to them. Each man clearly had his mind on his own task. And with duties taking them into and out of the weather, the majority of them wore cloaks of one sort or another over livery or mail.

Gorry kept to the narrow part of the wedge-shaped steps, near the stone center post, allowing those coming down to hug the wall as protocol demanded. He moved up with practiced ease as men coming down with empty
jugs, trays, baskets, linen, or other paraphernalia pressed past him.

Following him, Ian held his oilskins bundle close, so no one would knock it from his grip. When they were past the great hall, Gorry moved faster.

No one questioned their presence.

At the next-to-last landing, the flight above loomed dark and vacant.

“No guard?” Ian murmured.

“None needed,” Gorry replied. “I ha’ the key. Dougal keeps another in the wee purse on his belt. Since he’s the one as ordered me tae keep others away and see tae their ladyships m’self, I’ll be the first one he suspects o’ this.”

“There must be more than two keys to that chamber,” Ian said.

“Aye, sure, the castle steward had one. So did the captain o’ the guard.”

“If one or both of those keys should vanish for a wee while…”

Gorry chuckled, “Aye, and so I thought m’self,” he said. “That be how them keys did go a-missing. I dinna think their keepers ha’ missed ’em yet.”

“You’re aye a canny man, Gorry,” Ian said, grinning.

Taking advantage of the unusual activity within the castle wall to slip down to the harbor, and believing that his immediate goal was within reach, Dougal had ordered his crew to prepare to depart soon for Arrochar despite the heavy rain.

Wrapped in an oiled leather cape over his plaid and a simple saffron sark, his rawhide boots soaked through, he
was heading back to the castle, certain that Colquhoun must have arrived by now.

The lightning and crashing thunder had nearly undone his plan, because some of his men were superstitious, others terrified of lightning, especially on the water. But, unlike the fashious wench, they would obey him. He had never heard of lightning striking a vessel on the Loch of the Long Boats. It struck the nearby peaks instead. And the lightning had moved on. Only distant, growling thunder remained.

“This damnable rain,” he muttered through his teeth. The wind had dropped, but his stiff cape had provided only slight protection while it blew, so he was wet.

Their journey later would be unpleasant, but he had an unexceptional reason now for leaving. Having found it impossible to secure the Firth of Clyde, James Mòr feared a siege and had asked him to learn who amongst the west Highland clan chiefs would be most disposed to aid him if he needed an escape route.

So, Dougal would take the lady Lina as soon as he could and leave.

Lina had finished darning the shirt, so when the latest set of footsteps reached the landing, she snipped her thread free and set the garment aside.

“Someone’s coming, Liz. Two men.” She realized that the difference she had discerned in the footsteps was that they were of equal tread.

The lad’s steps had always been lighter and quicker than MacCowan’s.

Her heart was beating faster, harder. Her skin felt as if
lightning were still in the air. She fought to keep her composure, to look natural when they came in.

Lizzie was staring at her, squinting in the flickering light of the candles.

With little more noise than a few clicks, the door swung inward and Gorry MacCowan filled the doorway. By then, Lina knew who stood behind him. Her body had recognized Sir Ian’s approach with more confidence than she had.

“M’lady,” MacCowan said, “Ye should—”

“Watch the door, Gorry,” Ian said, stepping past him into the room. “I’ll explain, but we need to hurry if we’re to succeed.”

His peat-man rags, gray cloak, and stiff oilskin contrasted oddly with words spoken in the crisp tones of a noble knight accustomed to command.

Lina glanced at Lizzie, who was staring at Sir Ian with her mouth open.

Gorry shut the door and stood with an ear against it as his lad had earlier.

Collecting her wits, Lina said, “What must we do, sir?”

“I’ve breeks for each of you,” Ian said, revealing his bundle. “Put them on and stuff your skirts into the waists. Can you do that by yourselves?”

“Aye, sure,” she said, taking the leathery pair of breeks he handed her. “Quick, Liz. Put down that shirt, and do as he bids.”

“But—”

“I’m a friend of your brother Mag’s, lass,” Ian said to her. “I’ve come to get you out of here. So, be quick. We’ve nae time for debate or modesty.”

Lina donned her breeks easily, although they reeked
and were too big. Wondering who might have worn them before and what vermin they might contain, she looked at Ian, saw his eyes light with humor, felt her body respond, and hastily attended to her skirts.

Lizzie eyed with distaste the pair Ian had handed her. But after a glance at Lina and one at him, she pulled them on. When she had stuffed what she could of her skirts into them, she looked like a plump lassock in lad’s clothing.

“Turn around,” Ian said to her. When she did, he loosened her long red plaits and tied her hair at her nape with a string. “Now put this oiled cloak over you, lass.”

“Nay, sir, not yet,” Lina said. She had no need to tie back her hair, coiled rather untidily at her nape. But she removed her veil as she said, “Oiled skins will keep off rain, but they are stiff and unwieldy. Going downstairs, we would find it impossible to keep our stuffed-in skirts and our hair hidden from those coming up.”

“Her ladyship be right, master,” Gorry said. “We’ll ha’ tae go doon the way we came up. Gillies and the like will still be a-using them stairs.”

“Sakes, man, they cannot wear their own cloaks,” Ian said.

“We have others,” Lina said. Picking up her blanket-cloak and handing it to him, she said, “We fashioned hoods, and we slit fitchets in the sides to slip our hands through, so we can hold them round us as we go. They look rather monkish. But when we are outside, with your oilskins over them—”

“They should serve, aye,” he interjected, his light blue eyes brimming with amusement as he draped the cloak around her. “I thought sure you’d balk at this reckless escapade, my lady. I did
not
expect you to prepare for it.”

“Any captive should try to plan for an escape,” she said. “But this is no time to quibble, sir. We must go if we are going. Art ready, Liz?”

To Lina’s relief, Lizzie nodded without a word as she adjusted her bulky middle to more appropriately resemble a stomach than a roll that bulged all around her. Then she let Ian help her don her blanket-cloak. Its hood, like Lina’s, fit in loose folds that concealed much of her face and all of her curly tresses.

“The message, master,” Gorry said as they turned toward the door.

“Aye, sure,” Ian said. Pulling a scrap of vellum from his rags, he dropped it to the floor. You had best take the other portion now, Gorry, lest I forget later.”

Watching him hand a small roll of vellum to Gorry, Lina wondered what message he had left. Whatever it was, she just hoped they would get away. Moving to the door, she assured herself that if someone did catch them and bring them back, she and Lizzie would still be as valuable to James Mòr as when they had arrived.

Ian startled her with a light hand on her arm, a touch that stirred the tingling again. So strongly did the sensation affect her that he sounded far away when he said, “Let Lizzie go first, lass. We’ll keep you two between us. And keep your heads down. Both of you must look as meek as you can.”

“Wait, master,” Gorry said, crossing the room to pick up the noisome pail and then a tray from the table. “Let the lassie carry this pail. They’ll mistake her for me lad, and nae one will trouble her. And, m’lady, if ye’ll carry this tray, ye’ll look as if ye’re doing your chores, too. Look slippy now, master,” he added. “Four of us a-going down
may set some’un tae thinking summat we dinna want him tae think.”

“No one will heed us,” Ian said, gesturing for him to lead the way. Then he put a hand to the small of Lina’s back, sending new tremors through her.

“Move along, lass,” he said when she stiffened.

Making her way down the twisting stairway, she was glad that those coming up kept to her left, giving her the wider footing. She did not need to shift the tray to watch her feet, but even so, she had all she could do to keep everything in place when she had to pass someone. At the door to the yard, so determined was she to keep her head down that when the deluge struck her, she nearly cried out.

Ian’s hand was at her back again. Gorry kept Lizzie with him as they wended their way through the sodden crowd milling in the courtyard, but men they passed seemed too concerned with their own misery to pay them heed.

They were nearing the gates when Ian said quietly, “Stop.”

When Lina did, she saw that Gorry had vanished into the crowd.

Lizzie stood beside her.

They stood so until Ian said, “Here they come now.”

Following his gaze, Lina saw the Laird of Colquhoun striding toward them.

Chapter 7