Amanda Scott (44 page)

At one point, frustrated by the fact that his uncle appeared already to have tried and condemned James Stewart, Rory interrupted their discussion to remind the three that James had not yet received the benefit of counsel.

“To let James Stewart talk with a lawyer before we have completed the indictment against him would be damned foolishness,” Balcardane declared flatly. “Why make trouble before we’ve even completed our investigation?”

“Perhaps because the law requires it,” Rory suggested mildly.

With a grimace, Balcardane said to Argyll, “You see what comes of elevating a youngster to high position, your grace. He gets above himself. ’Tis damned fortunate this case won’t go before the Barons’ Court.”

“James Stewart will be tried at Inveraray,” the duke said firmly.

“You can’t do that, sir,” Rory protested. “How can the man get a fair trial when the jury will be packed with Campbells? He should be tried at Edinburgh.”

Just then one of the duke’s men burst into the alehouse, crying, “Murder, your grace! The villain has killed again!”

All four men jumped to their feet, but Stonefield was the first to speak. “Who died? Did they catch the killer this time?”

“Nay, your worship.” The man hesitated, looking from man to man, his gaze settling at last on Rory. He said quietly, “’Tis the lad, my lord, young Master Ian. Halfway betwixt here and Maclean House. He … he was beaten tae death.”

Balcardane stiffened, his face turning ashen. “Where is Master Duncan?”

Scarcely breathing, Rory waited for the reply. His thoughts had flown to Mary Maclaine and Diana, but the henchman’s next words snatched them back.

“’Twas Black Duncan found the lad, your lordship. When we came upon them, he was shaking him, shouting at him to wake up, but he couldna bring him back from the dead, o’ course. Two o’ my men stayed wi’ the body. Master Duncan, not knowing you was here, sent me tae tell Sheriff Stonefield, whilst he hurried back tae Balcardane. He said he would give them the news there, and fetch men to tend the body. Said he didna want any Stewart or Maclean mucking wi’ it.”

“Had he none of his own men with him?” Rory asked.

“Nay, my lord. He was alone. There is one more thing.” He shot an uncomfortable look at Balcardane, then added reluctantly, “Master Ian had a powder horn in his pocket, a cracked one repaired wi’ red sealing wax.”

“I don’t believe it,” Diana said when the men had gone and she was alone with her mother and Mary in the parlor. “They seem to think they’ve found some sort of evidence against Ian, but someone must have put that powder horn in his pocket, or he found it quite innocently.”

“I agree,” Lady Maclean said. Having been away most of the day, she had returned minutes after they had received the tragic news. Taking Mary’s shawl and draping it over the settle as she worked to make the girl more comfortable, she said, “I worry less about what they think now than about what they will think later. It will not be long before someone comes looking for Neil, you know.”

“Aye, Duncan will blame him if no one else does.” Diana glanced out the window, realizing as she did that she was hoping to see Rory. She had kept an eye out for him most of the day, although she had heard that Argyll was at Balcardane, and she knew that most likely Rory was with him.

Neil still had not shown his face when they sat down to their supper. The breeze had stiffened, rattling windows and doors, and stirring shrubs so that branches and leaves hushed against the sides of the house. Throughout the meal, every time a tree branch tapped against shingle or clapboard, Diana started, thinking it might be her brother returning, or someone looking for him.

Mary had taken her usual place at the table, but she moved as if she were in a trance, and did not eat or speak. Sympathetic to her grief, neither Diana nor Lady Maclean tried to draw her from her silence, although both watched her closely.

Morag served their meal, but when it became clear that none of the three was hungry, Diana said, “You go on to bed if you like, Morag. We’ll clear up. That is, if you don’t mind, Mam. If I just sit here, waiting, I think I’ll go mad.”

Lady Maclean sighed. “I don’t mind. We may all be forced to earn our bread soon, so it’s as well to keep our hand in. I’ll clear these dishes if you will attend to the hot water and suds. Mary, dear, perhaps you should go to bed, too.”

Mary looked up as if she had just recalled that she was not alone, but she did not speak. The only sign that she had heard was a flickering, empty gaze and new tears that trickled down her pale cheeks.

“I’ll look after her, Mam,” Diana said. Fetching the wool shawl that Lady Maclean had left on the settle earlier, she draped it over the younger girl’s shoulders, gave her a fresh handkerchief, and said quietly, “Come with us into the kitchen, love. You should not be alone just now.”

Mary hesitated, resisting silently.

“I promise we won’t press you to talk, Mary, but neither will we allow you to disappear into your thoughts. Ian would not like that.”

“Why did I not know beforehand?” The question came so quietly that if the wind had not fallen at that moment Diana would not have heard.

She replied in the same matter-of-fact tone she had used before, “You cannot control the gift. You never have. It just happens, or it doesn’t.”

The only reply was another sob.

“So much has happened that no one could expect you to understand the odd feelings you kept having.”

“But if I’d understood them, I would have been able to warn Ian. We must have been talking about him whenever I had them. I just didn’t realize.”

“You cannot see more than the gift allows,” Diana said. “You have explained that to us many times. Wishing it were different will not make it so. Now, come into the kitchen where you will keep warm.”

Mary did not speak again, but neither did she resist now when Diana drew her from the sofa and urged her toward the kitchen.

Diana’s thoughts were in a jumble, for Ian’s death turned everything upside down yet again, and a sudden temptation to run screaming into the night nearly overpowered her. How lovely it would be, she thought, to find herself in a cheerful, sunlit world where everyone was happy and no one fought wars or killed gentle, innocent, loving people.

Her throat tightened, aching again, and the prickling of tears in her eyes made it hard to see, but for Mary’s sake, she kept a stern grasp on her emotions.

A pot clattered against the iron stove and then, like an eerie echo, a rattle at the window nearest her almost startled her out of her skin. The breeze had stiffened to a strong wind from the north, punctuated by frequent harsh gusts.

Lady Maclean said, “We cannot both work in the scullery, Diana. It is too small and cold in this wind, so I’ll just put a pan on the kitchen table to wash up what remains. Morag did the pots while we were eating.”

No sooner had Diana got Mary seated in the inglenook than a stronger rattle came from the door leading to the yard at the end of the scullery.

Lady Maclean froze where she stood by the table. She had taken down a big pan for the dishes, and she stood now with her hand resting on its rim, staring toward the scullery. She glanced at Diana, then took a step toward the door.

“Wait, Mam,” Diana said. “Let me.” The huge kettle Morag had left on the hob was belching steam up the flue when she took the poker from its hook on the stone mantelpiece. Pausing just long enough to swing the kettle off the flame, she hid the poker in the folds of her skirt and moved swiftly across the flagstone floor into the scullery, pushing the kitchen door to with her foot. Three more steps took her to the outer door. “Who is there?”

“Bardie,” came the harsh response. “Open up quick, lass. There be Campbells in the wind.”

She reached for the bar, looking back to be sure the other door had shut so no light would spill into the yard. Then, lifting the bar as silently as she could, she pulled the door open and let Bardie slip in.

“Ha’ ye food, lassie?” he demanded. “I been lying on me belly under a bush these two hours past, to be certain yon stupid Campbell oafs wouldna see me come down tae ye. Nearly stepped on me more than once, they did, but they canna find their ain toes at the ends o’ their great flat feet, them.”

“Come into the kitchen,” Diana said. “You know about Ian, then. Mam, it’s Bardie, and he’s hungry,” she added, as he followed her into the kitchen.

“He’s always hungry,” Lady Maclean said with a smile. She sliced bread and put it with a platter of meat on the table, then pulled a stool up for him. He swung himself up easily, and as he slapped beef between two slices of bread, she said, “Have you seen Neil?”

“Och, aye.” He took a large bite, chewing with obvious satisfaction.

Diana said urgently as she hung the poker back on its hook, “He must stay away from here. Some of them are bound to think he had a part in Ian’s death.”

“Some do, some don’t,” Bardie said. “This is good.” He was stuffing food into his mouth as if he had not eaten properly in a week, talking around it. When Lady Maclean put a flagon of ale down before him, he grunted his thanks, then downed a third of it in a gulp.

Diana said, “Have you really seen him?”

He nodded.

“Then he is safe for now.”

“Aye sure,” Bardie muttered. “Safe enough if he keeps his head down, and if Allan Breck don’t trip over him.”

“Don’t tell me Allan is still trying to convince Neil to join Ogilvy’s French regiment,” Lady Maclean said with annoyance.

“I’m no sure what he’s trying tae do.” Bardie grimaced. “Young Neil didna want tae come in straightaway for fear some idiot Campbell would shoot him first, then ask afterward if Neil happened tae kill Ian. Still and all, remembering last time, Neil wanted tae be certain ye all were safe afore he takes tae the hills again.”

Staring at him, digesting the meaning of his words, both women were silent. Diana recovered first. “Do you mean to tell us that Neil is nearby?”

“Aye, hiding up in the brush. I slipped down tae see that all was clear.”

Indignantly, Lady Maclean said, “Do you mean to tell us you have been sitting there stuffing food down your gullet whilst my Neil lies under a bush, starving and chilled to the bone?”

Bardie blinked at her. “It isna so cold as that, and I were fair hungersome.”

Though Rory did his best to get away from Inshaig at once, it proved impossible to do so. Both Balcardane and the duke insisted that he accompany them to where Ian had died.

The lad lay stretched out just off the shore road, near where the River Duror emerged from the glen into the loch. He had clearly taken a beating, but it was not long before they learned that his death had most likely come from hitting his head on a boulder. Rory found blood on the boulder, and a cursory examination told him Ian’s head was broken. “It was a fight then,” he said, straightening from his examination. He watched his uncle, knowing what the man feared most.

“There’s no sign he was shot, then,” Balcardane said, his voice tense and filled with sorrow.

Rory shook his head, and one of the men standing guard over the body said, “Master Duncan heard no shot fired, my lords.”

Balcardane muttered under his breath, then said he had seen enough. “Some of you men, find something to put my son’s body on, and take it home. The rest of you, go about your business. There is nothing more to see here.”

Stonefield disagreed at once, volubly, but Argyll supported Balcardane, and Rory had no doubt that the pair of them would prevail. He left all three men deep in conversation and rode hard for the castle. Near Kentallen village, he met a group of riders whose leader said Master Duncan had sent them to look after Ian.

Waving them on, he continued to Balcardane, where he found Duncan sprawled in a chair in the bookroom, looking pale and exhausted. He held a half-empty glass of whisky in his hand, but clearly he had not been relaxing, for books, knickknacks, and other articles lay strewn across the room, and glass fragments littered the hearthstones.

“What happened?” Rory asked bluntly, shutting the door.

“The young fool is dead, that’s what happened. What else has happened is that I’ve spent the past hour or more dealing with my mother. I warrant it won’t surprise you to hear that she is hysterical. She is not responsible for the mess in here, however. I did all this myself.” He sipped his whisky.

Two steps took Rory across the room. Grabbing Duncan by his coat, he yanked him upright. Although the two were the same size, Duncan offered no resistance. “Damn you,” Rory snapped, shaking him, “why did you kill him?”

To his shock, Duncan’s eyes filled with tears. “That’s what they thought when they found me with him. I could see it in their faces.”

“You threatened him more than once, and I saw him. Someone beat him, but the blow that killed him came when he fell. Was it an accident, Duncan?”

Tears streaming down his face, Duncan drew a ragged breath, looked at him and said in a firmer tone, “I don’t know, Rory. It may have been someone’s accident, but I swear to you, I never laid a hand on him. I was looking for him, that’s true, because he had as much as said he meant to defy me. But when I got to him, he was dead.” He covered his face with both hands then and sank back into his chair. “Why didn’t he listen to me? I warned him over and over of the danger, but he would rarely even take a horse. A horse might have saved him!”

“What about the powder horn in his pocket?” Rory asked evenly.

Duncan’s hands fell. He stared at Rory. “What powder horn? Ian never carried a powder horn in his life. He wouldn’t ever shoot a gun!”

As Lady Maclean stood glaring at Bardie, a steady, light tapping at the yard door drew Diana’s attention, and she flew toward the scullery. “There’s Neil now, poor laddie. Oh, I hope Duncan’s men are not watching the yard again.”

She thought she heard Bardie call to her, but she had already shut the door to the kitchen and thought only of getting Neil inside quickly. Unbarring the yard door, she snatched it open, holding it against the wind as she said, “Quick, come in. Oh, how foolish of you to come back so soon!”

“What, are they watching the place again? I swear, I didn’t see a soul.”