Amanda Scott (23 page)

“Then what?”

“I truly cannot explain. It may be only the sort of feeling anyone gets when they think things are too good to be true. It just niffles at me, making it impossible to feel good about what we did …. Oh, look,” she added in much lighter tone, “violets are blooming in the woods, and a whole field of bluebells.”

They had left Glen Ure to follow the path up Glen Creran, and Diana had been watching the rushing river, still swollen with run-off from snow fields higher up. They had walked from sloping, sunlit granite into a shady wood, and she looked obediently beyond the velvety moss-covered bank into dimly lit fern-filled spaces under the trees until her gaze fell upon a cloud of blue covering the ground. Bluebells in countless thousands, each with its soft leaves and single spray of slender bells, made a vast blue lake amidst the greenery.

“Oh, I wish we could take some home,” Mary said. “Everything will be particularly tidy today, and a bouquet of bluebells would add a touch of lovely color to festival time.”

“They would wilt long before we could get them home.”

“I know, and they belong in the woods. Still, they are beautiful.”

They walked for some distance through cool greenery before Diana drew her cousin’s thoughts back to the first topic of conversation. “If not death, then what?”

“I don’t know. I wish I hadn’t spoken. Something will go wrong, that’s all.”

Diana frowned. “There is one thing that could go wrong. Red Colin did not question the document at all. I don’t think he read past the part barring the evictions, but James said everyone must swear the oath. What if Colin declares that since Mam has not taken it, we cannot stay? How could we fight him then?”

Having bent down to peer into a snow pond near the path, Mary glanced back over her shoulder to say, “If Aunt Anne could arrange to take the oath properly before Term Day, he would have nothing to declare. Would she do it?”

“I don’t know, but that would be better than my making promises for her,” Diana said. “Perhaps she could even return to us. Calder said he can protect her if she will swear the oath.”

“Do you trust him?” Mary turned back to the pond.

Diana hesitated. “Instinct tells me to trust him, but experience warns me that I’d be a fool to trust any Campbell, especially a Campbell male.”

“They say he is Argyll’s man.”

“Aye, well, they are close kinsmen, aren’t they? But that means he can draw on the duke’s influence to protect her. I have seen how men respond to him.”

Mary looked back again and smiled. “You know that niffling I told you about?” When Diana nodded, she said, “It goes away when you talk of trusting his lordship. I think he is much like Ian. Come look at all the pollywags, Diana. This pond is teeming with them. I hope it doesn’t dry up before they can hop away.”

“Calder is not like Ian,” Diana said indignantly.

Mary laughed. “Oh, not in the way you mean, but he can be kind. He is not always ruthless like Black Duncan or Balcardane, or Allan Breck.”

Accustomed though she was to defending Allan, Diana did not want to bicker. “We should hurry,” she said, moving on. “We haven’t time to dawdle if we are going to help Morag prepare for the festival. She will be trying to clean hearths and bake Beltane bannocks at one and the same time, if I know her.”

“Yes, of course,” Mary said, straightening at once and hurrying to catch up.

The May first festival of Beltane was one of four ancient fire festivals celebrated in the Highlands, and although it was no longer as grand an occasion as Yule, All Hallows, or the Midsummer festival, many still enjoyed its traditions and festivities. For Highlanders whose sustenance depended upon their flocks and herds, Beltane coincided with the move to summer pastures, and since protection of their stock was of basic importance, they invoked both Christian saints and pagan deities to provide every protection imaginable.

“I know Morag wants to go into Kentallen for the fun tonight,” Mary said a short time later. “Her brother Gordy is helping with the bonfire.”

“Do you think anyone will try to herd cattle through it this year to purge them of evil spirits?” Diana said with a chuckle.

“No, though I daresay some of the more agile lads will leap over it,” Mary said, leading the way across a stone bridge to the other side of the river, so they could begin the walk up and over the low ridge into Glen Duror. “They enjoy the sport, but do you think the folks who break up their bannocks and fling them to the gulls really think it protects their cattle from eagles and wolves?”

“I should think you would be fascinated by the more magical rites of Beltane,” Diana said.

“Why, because of the Sight? There is nothing magical about that. At least, I don’t think of it as magical. It is frightening, Diana. I’m glad it doesn’t happen often, or I’d go mad. I’m glad, too, that I cannot see the future, although I have learned to trust certain feelings,” she added with a speaking look.

“I know,” Diana said, “and I mean to do something about the one you had today. I shall leave for Glen Drumin tomorrow to speak to Mam.”

Mary frowned. “Do you think you must convince her to take the oath?”

“I don’t know, but I want to look her in the eye when I tell her what I have done,” Diana said. “I am sure Red Colin will be on our doorstep the moment he realizes an oath is required. Before that happens, I want to be out of his reach. And before I promise for Mam, I want to know she will not object. Then, too, if I can arrange for her actually to swear the oath before Term Day …”

“She will honor any promise you make in her name, Diana. You know that.”

“I know, but to force her … Do you understand how I feel about that?”

“Aye.” Mary hesitated, frowning again. “I don’t like you going to Glen Drumin though. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up when you said that.”

“Well, I’m going, so tell them to lie down again,” Diana said. “These odd feelings are of no use to anyone if you cannot explain or interpret them. Things happen or they don’t, Mary, but one cannot complain about what does happen if one has done nothing to prevent it. And I don’t mean to waste time tonight attending a village festival, either. I’ll need to pack some things, and I’ll need a manservant to go with me, I expect, so I shall have to arrange about him as well.”

“I think Dugald Cameron is still in Appin,” Mary said absently.

Three yellow butterflies darted ahead of them, one with orange-tipped wings, and Diana knew Mary’s thoughts were darting with them, so she did not respond at once. If Dugald were still about, he would provide better protection for her than a manservant, but if she asked Neil to find him, Neil would want to go. By the time Mary realized that Diana had not answered, she had thought of another topic of conversation, and they talked in a desultory way until they reached Maclean House.

Neil was in the kitchen when they arrived, munching one of Morag’s freshly baked bannocks, and although he had wanted no part of the deputation, he was eager to know what had occurred. While they described their visit, Diana and Mary began to polish grates so Morag could tend to her baking.

Tradition demanded that enough bannocks be baked for everyone in the house, and to hand out to guests and workers. It was time to replenish the home fires, as well, and so freshly cut wood and peat lay neatly piled in baskets beside each hearth, waiting for the new fires to be laid.

When Mary went to replace the parlor grate, Diana drew Neil aside. “I want you to find Dugald and bring him here,” she said quietly. “I must speak with him.”

“Dugald? Don’t be daft.”

“Don’t tell me he’s gone home already!”

“No, he’s still about, but if you mean to mix him into another of your mad schemes, Diana, forget it. The only reason he hasn’t gone back to Glen Drumin is that he felt he ought to put a good show on his visit here, lest the damned Campbells suspect he took part in that cattle raid.”

“Did any Campbell see him that night, do you think?”

“No, but they have been everywhere. If it’s not Black Duncan and his men harrying folks and asking fool questions, it’s Patrick Campbell and his soldiers from Stalker, still searching for Allan. Dugald tells everyone he is just visiting kinfolk, and to that end, he’s been rethatching his old auntie’s cottage, all innocent like.”

“Well, I want him,” Diana said. “I suppose I shall have to explain.” She did, and as she had expected, Neil said not only that Dugald would leap at the chance to go with her but that he must go, too. “I don’t think that’s wise,” she said.

“Don’t argue with me, Diana. I am not going to let my sister ride into the remotest part of the Highlands with only one chap—even if it’s Dugald—to protect her. It ain’t seemly, and Mam wouldn’t like it.”

“Then I’ll take one of our menservants along as well, and my pistol, too.”

“You’ll take me,” he said stubbornly.

“Neil, don’t be foolish. What if Black Duncan or one of Patrick Campbell’s men is watching you? They did see you riding away from that raid, after all.”

“We’ll leave before first light. By the time anyone knows we’ve gone, we’ll be well on our way. I’ll tell Dugald to meet us at some point well beyond Fort William. That way no one will see us all together.”

“What if they see you speaking to him?”

“They won’t. He’s bound to attend the festivities in Kentallen tonight. Everyone will. I’ve only to find an opportunity to slip a word into his ear.”

She hesitated. “We’ll all go to the village then. I had not meant to go, but if you go alone, they will watch you more closely. Morag,” she added, raising her voice, “will we need more bannocks if we take a basketful with us to Kentallen?”

“Nay, mistress, I’ve plenty for all and to spare,” the maid said placidly.

“That’s settled then,” Diana said, wondering if Calder would attend the Beltane festival, and trying to ignore the thrill of anticipation she felt at the thought.

The sun slipped behind the western mountains as the party from Balcardane approached the Lettermore Woods track that evening.

“I’m glad you decided to come with us, Cousin Rory,” Ian said, riding beside him. Lord and Lady Balcardane and Duncan rode ahead, while a number of servants from the castle, including Thomas MacKellar, walked behind.

“You’ll be leaving us soon, I expect, lad,” Balcardane said over his shoulder.

“I’ve still a few things I want to do, sir,” Rory said. “If I have not worn out my welcome, I’d like to stay a week or two longer.”

Lady Balcardane said placidly, “You are welcome to stay as long as you like, my dear. It is no trouble to us, no trouble at all.”

Duncan said bluntly, “Haven’t you got business in Edinburgh, cousin?”

“Not presently. The duke is still at Inveraray, for I had a letter from him yesterday. They’ve begun to rebuild the west wing, and he approved some refurbishing of Castle Stalker, too, which will please Patrick Campbell.”

“I was referring to the court,” Duncan said. “Don’t they meet soon?”

“Not until June,” Rory said. “I’ll return before then.”

“I heard about the sist, you know,” Duncan said.

“Did you, indeed?” He wondered if Duncan was hinting that he knew James of the Glen had failed to present his case to the Barons’ Court because they had lacked a quorum. He did not know himself whether he was glad or sorry about that, for without hearing the evidence he could not say how he would have voted (had he somehow learned of James’s intent and managed to be present). He did know how he would have wanted to vote, but duty demanded that he give fair hearing to all the evidence, and he did not know if he could have listened without prejudice.

All in all, he decided, it was as well that he had not known of James’s intent. He was certain that James had purposely not told him. James would most likely not have expected to encounter a problem raising a quorum, and the fewer Campbells he had to contend with on the court, the better he would have thought his chances. Campbell members held the majority, after all. The others, like James, would expect Rory to vote with them against any Stewart claim. Argyll would expect that, too.

Duncan said no more about it, and Rory turned his thoughts to the evening ahead. They passed others on the road, and long before they reached the village, he found himself eyeing each new group as if he expected to see a familiar figure among them. He knew it was absurd to watch for her this side of the village, since Maclean House lay beyond it, but he could not help himself. Each time he saw a head of glossy black curls, his heart beat faster, and the sense of disappointment that followed, when he saw that the face belonged to someone else, was most unsettling.

The festivities, he soon learned, took place not in the village proper but in a large adjoining field bounded on the west by the loch, its waters looking gray and chilly in the light of dusk. The tide was running, stirring currents on the surface, and from nearby rocks jutting above the receding water, sea lions barked, their cries muffled by the chatter of the increasing crowd and lively music from fiddles and other stringed instruments. Rory found himself listening for the familiar skirling of bagpipes, though he knew he would hear none. Like the Highlanders’ weapons, bagpipes had been banned as instruments of war.

Dusk had dimmed nearly to darkness before he saw her, for Ian and some other men had demanded his help with the bonfire. Turning to scan the crowd again, he saw that children, dozens of them, had congregated in one corner of the field.

Curious, he drifted nearer, to find them gathered around Bardie Gillonie, who had perched on a boulder, his short legs folded beneath him, knees pointed outward, his big hands resting lightly atop them. The dwarf was telling a story in the Gaelic, and Rory was pleased to discover that he could follow it. His command of the language had improved over the weeks so that he could understand most of what was said to him, although he could not always say what he wanted to say.

Soon he found himself as fascinated by the tale as the children were, and before long, other adults joined them. A jug of whisky made the rounds, and others soon followed. Some folks had brought mugs. Others merely took a swig when the jug came to them.