Amanda Scott (34 page)

An hour later, when she mentioned Katherine as they walked along the shore road, Neil said, “Leave it, Diana. I’m old enough to decide things for myself, and I don’t want anyone telling me aye or nay just now, if it’s all the same to you.”

It was not all the same to her, for she was accustomed to demanding satisfaction for her curiosity, and she wanted to know whom he was meeting. In his present mood, however, she knew he would not tell her. Moreover, he had not questioned her plans for the afternoon, and for that she was grateful.

Though she had said she might visit Bardie, what she really meant to do was to wander along the ridge toward Ballachulish in hopes of catching sight of a large gray horse and its rider. She suspected that Rory might attempt to intercept Red Colin on his way to the inn, and while it would infuriate her if he did, she nonetheless wanted to catch at least a glimpse of him.

She felt unhappy about the way she had ended things the day before. He had treated all the Macleans with unexpected kindness. He had even assured MacDrumin that he was willing to marry her. And she had encouraged him, for reasons she did not want to think about now, to believe she might agree to such a union. She did not know, for she had never asked him, how he had explained to MacDrumin the lack of any announcement. She knew, to her private sorrow, that there never could be one now, but she did not want Rory for an enemy.

Red Colin would be in no hurry, she decided, since he had told them at the inn to expect him in the late afternoon or evening. Therefore, the most likely place for the men to meet was at the inn or the ferry landing. She thought Rory would choose the latter for greater privacy, especially since the inn’s landlord was one of Colin’s prospective victims.

Parting from Neil near Inshaig, she walked up through Glen Duror in search of James, but he was not home, so she went on to Granny Jameson’s. After visiting with Granny and others nearby, and acquiring several promises to support them at the meeting with Red Colin, she walked along the ridge until she could see beyond the forest below her to the ferry landing.

The sun was low by then, and she knew she ought to turn back. But seeing no gray gelding, let alone any sign of its rider, she sat on a natural cushion of heather and grass to enjoy the view for a few minutes more before starting home.

The cerulean sky was alive with drifting, puffy white clouds. From her vantage point, the green and purple hillside fell steeply away, and she looked north over Lochaber and east the length of Loch Leven. To the north, she also had an excellent view of the upper part of Loch Linnhe, and for a time she sat thinking about their misty, rain-filled journey to Glen Drumin.

The loch waters, darker blue than the sky, looked deceptively calm. She could see the ferry moving away from North Ballachulish, and idly she watched it make its way across to Appin.

Four men disembarked and followed the margin of Loch Linnhe for about a half mile. They were soon strung out in a long line and appeared to be in no hurry. The leader was on foot, the others on horseback.

When the middle rider took off his bonnet and revealed a mop of red hair, she was certain it was Colin. They veered to their left up the narrow, rocky track through Lettermore Woods soon afterward, and she could not see them as clearly, but when she got to her feet and began to retrace her steps along the ridge, she caught occasional glimpses of them through gaps in the birches and conifers.

She had been walking for several minutes when a gunshot cracked the silence of the woods. Stopping in her tracks, she heard a man cry out, and then she was running downhill, soon crashing through the thicket, flinging branches aside, as she fought her way down toward the commotion.

“Oh, I am dead!” It was Red Colin’s voice, she thought, becoming sure when she heard, “He’ll shoot you, too, Mungo. Take care, lad!”

Through a gap in the foliage, Diana saw Mungo dismount. He rushed back to help the stricken factor off his horse, and as he laid him down to unbutton his waistcoat, Mungo looked up toward the ridge at Diana’s right. Instantly, her gaze followed his, but surrounded now by trees and shrubbery, she could see nothing.

Evidently he did, for he leapt to his feet and plunged up the hill.

Afraid he would see her, Diana shrank back, but even as she did, she heard another shout. Looking back toward Colin, she saw that the third horseman had joined him and was staring straight at her. Terrified, sure that the woods would soon be crawling with bloodthirsty Campbells, she turned and fled.

S
CRAMBLING THROUGH THE WOODS
as fast as her feet could carry her, Diana tried to think which way she should go. If she followed the ridge above Glen Duror, she would soon come to Bardie’s cottage, but she might also meet with Campbells coming from Glen Creran and Glen Ure. If they saw her running, they would be bound to think the worst.

It would be safer all around if she went home. Even if she met Campbells on the way, they could scarcely accuse her of anything more than of being out walking near the end of a fine day, unless they found her before she was clear of Lettermore Woods. That must not happen.

Collecting her scattered wits, she slowed down, picking her way with more care. After a few moments she stopped altogether, crouching behind a tree to look back the way she had come.

The woods were silent. Not a bird chirped nearby. She heard the distant cry of a gull, and the breeze whispering in the leaves, but no human voice or that of any woodland creature disturbed the silence.

She knew the one man must have seen her, but what had he seen? Could he recognize her again, or had she appeared to be no more than a rust-colored shadow? She had seen him clearly, for she had been close enough to hear Red Colin’s words, after all, and his companion had stared straight into her eyes. She realized then that she had not seen the man who had walked ahead of them earlier. Where was he?

Was Colin really dying? Was he perhaps already dead? In the event, surely, they could not seriously suspect that she had killed him. For once, she was not even carrying her pistol. After the incident with Black Duncan, she had been afraid to carry it in Appin country, fearing that if she met him he would demand that she be searched. She did carry her
skean dhu,
however, for she wanted to be able to protect herself, and had confidence that the small knife did not fall under the ban.

With a sharp eye out for movement in her vicinity, keeping to the forest and away from well-traveled tracks, she made her way slowly but much more surely toward Maclean House. The sun had disappeared behind the western mountains before she arrived, and lamplight glowed from the parlor window as she crossed the silent yard. Overhead a few early stars winked in the graying sky.

Morag was in the scullery when she let herself in at the yard door. “Where is everyone else?” Diana asked her.

“Yer mam is in the parlor. Her cough is worse, and Miss Mary’s gone to pick gorse by the roadside to brew her a composer.”

“And Neil?”

“I’ve no seen the lad since he walked off wi’ ye this afternoon.”

Diana felt a distinct chill. Where was Neil? Whom had he met? And why? Though she had suspected an assignation with Katherine, now she was not so sure.

“Diana?” Lady Maclean stood in the doorway on the far side of the kitchen. “Lord bless me, child, you look as if you’ve been dragged through a hedge backward. What have you done to yourself?”

“Mam, someone shot Red Colin,” Diana exclaimed. “I saw it!”

“You saw it?”

“Well, I heard the shot, and I saw that he was hit. He cried out that he was dying. I heard him plainly, Mam. And then Mungo saw someone—” She broke off when the yard door at the end of the scullery opened, then said with relief, “Oh, Mary, thank heaven it’s you.”

“You’re as white as chalk,” Mary said, coming in and shutting the door. She dropped the bar into place. “Who did you fear it would be?”

“Campbells,” Diana said. “Someone shot Red Colin in Lettermore Woods.”

“How dreadful! But I thought you took bread to Granny Jameson. Whatever were you doing in Lettermore Woods?”

“That doesn’t matter. I visited others after Granny, looking for people to go with us to confront Colin tomorrow. Then I just walked. I heard the shot, and when I ran and looked, I could hear Colin shouting at Mungo. Then Mungo saw someone on the hillside and ran after him.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“Not a soul, but another man who was with them looked up and saw me. At least, I am nearly certain that he did.”

“Dear God,” Lady Maclean said, clutching the door frame. “Where is Neil?”

“Mam, he didn’t do this.”

“But where is he?” She coughed.

“I don’t know,” Diana admitted. “We parted near Inshaig sometime after two o’clock, and I’ve not seen him since.”

Mary moved past Diana into the kitchen and said over her shoulder to Morag, “Fetch a large panful of water, will you, please, Morag? And I’ll want to put this over a low fire, so shift some of those coals away from the hob.” Laying the gorse she had cut on the table, she began to pluck off the yellow flowers.

Indignantly, Diana said, “How can you think about that gorse now?”

“What else should I think about?” Mary asked reasonably. “Are you afraid that Neil shot Colin? I shouldn’t think he would, myself. It’s much more the sort of thing Black Duncan would do, or Allan Breck. Or even Dugald Cameron,” she added. “He left with MacDrumin’s horses this morning, but I suppose …”

“That will do, Mary,” Lady Maclean said firmly. “We will not speculate on who might have done such a terrible thing, particularly not about our own. Allan is a Stewart and Neil a Maclean. As for Dugald … Bah! None of them would shoot a man from ambush.” She coughed again, covering her mouth with her hand.

Concerned, Diana said, “You should be sitting by the fire in the parlor, Mam. Mary, I’m sorry I snapped before. How long will that decoction take?”

“It’s got to simmer down over the fire,” Mary said. “Aunt Anne has already taken a bit of honey in whisky, though, so—”

Diana raised one eyebrow. “In whisky?”

“Andrew sent several bottles home with us,” Lady Maclean said with a little smile. “It is his belief that whisky will cure anything, including the plague, so I thought I would give it a chance to cure this little cold of mine.”

“I warrant it could, too,” Mary said, “but the gorse will do more to ease that cough, and in any event, I’ll add a glass of whisky to the brew. I generally do, you know, but there’s no sense befuddling your senses by giving you more now, ma’am. Diana, what are you doing at the window?”

Diana had been peering out into the yard, expecting to see Campbells erupt from the shrubbery. As she began to turn away, movement caught her eye from the far side of the yard. “It’s Bardie,” she said a moment later, hurrying to the scullery to let him in. “Pray God he knows something.”

“Ye’ve heard about Glenure then,” he said after a swift glance at her face.

“Aye, I was there. Come in. Mam and Mary are in the kitchen.”

Lumbering through the scullery, he said, “Did ye ken he were dead then?”

“No, is he?” Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart began to pound.

“Aye.” Twisting awkwardly, Bardie looked back at her. “Here now, are ye all right, lass?”

“Bardie, I think one of those men saw me on the hillside.”

“Aye, that would be Donald Kennedy, the sheriff’s man,” Bardie said matter-of-factly. “They do say he saw a lass run away up the brae.”

Mary said, “Take Bardie into the parlor, Diana, and make Aunt Anne sit by the fire. I’ll join you when I’ve put this on the hob, and Morag can call me when it’s ready to strain.”

By the time Diana had got Bardie settled on his favorite stool with a glass of whisky, and her mother seated by the fire with a coverlet over her knees, Mary had rejoined them.

After a sip of whisky, Bardie began his tale. “I was in Glen Duror, ye see, when a whole pack of Campbells invaded it, coming from the Kentallen road.”

“A whole pack?” Mary tilted her head and smiled at him.

“Well, three or four, at least. Big loutish ones, o’ course. Not folks a man o’ my character would choose tae break bread with, at all events.”

“Tell us what they said, Bardie,” Diana said impatiently.

“Aye, sure, if ye can believe them. Glenure and his lot had proceeded from Ballachulish ferry along the margin of the loch, they say, then onto the path through the wood. Seven or eight minutes later, the assassin’s shot put an end tae Glenure’s devilish mischief forever.”

“Yes,” Diana said slowly, “that matches what I saw and heard.”

“They say men from Glen Duror were with the body by the time any o’ them Campbells saw it,” Bardie said. “One of James’s servants was there. James himself were absent, however.”

“He was away when I stopped at his house earlier, too,” Diana said. “What else did they say?”

“Diana said she thought Mungo chased someone,” Mary said.

“Aye.” Bardie nodded. “According tae them, he saw a man in a dun-colored short coat and breeches fleeing up the brae. The man carried a gun, but the distance was so great, Mungo did not think he could ha’ fired the fatal shot.”

“Did Donald Kennedy see that man as well?” Lady Maclean asked.

“Nay. They say he were too took up wi’ Glenure and all the blood. Glenure’s man had gone ahead of the others and thought nothing o’ hearing a shot, but he soon came back tae see what were keeping them. They sent him a-running tae Kentallen Inn. Then when they knew Glenure was dead, Kennedy went back tae Ballachulish for more help, and Mungo stayed alone with Glenure.” He grinned. “That must have been fun for him, all alone wi’ a dead body in the midst o’ Stewart country.”

“You did say that Donald Kennedy saw me,” Diana reminded him.

“Aye, but I dinna ken if he knew it were you, lass.”

Morag said from the doorway, “That decoction be ready tae strain, Miss Mary. I’ve got the muslin ready, and all. Do ye want me tae do it?”

Mary got up. “I’ll come, Morag.” She walked to the doorway into the kitchen but stopped in her tracks on the threshold, stiffening. “What are you doing here?”