Blue Bells of Scotland: Book One of the Blue Bells Trilogy (18 page)

He studied the script at the top of the painting. S-H-A-W-N. The car lurched forward again.

Glenmirril Castle, Scotland, 1314

Iohn, waiting outside the hall, whisked him to his bedchamber after the meeting, gripping his elbow. He gave Shawn no time to charm women in the bailey, or talk to Allene. Iohn followed him into his room, with the massive four poster bed and the arched stone window showing glimpses of the loch, and pulled the door shut. "Niall, I've asked ye before not to make this trip."

"Have you," said Shawn noncommittally.

"You've a reason not to go, now. You're injured. No good can come of it. 'Twas a fool's errand to start. Now, in your condition, 'tis madness. Tell me how to find Hugh. I'll go in your stead."

This mission they were all fired up about was Shawn's only chance to get out of the castle and get to Inverness. "I'll be fine," he said.

"At least let me go with you. You've an arrow wound and are disoriented. There are those who would see you dead. I can fight at your side."

And have his escape back to the orchestra thwarted? "I'll be fine," Shawn said again. "Things are coming back to me. The arrow wound.…" He had no idea where the arrow wound was supposed to be. He gestured vaguely. "Can't even feel it. I'm great."

Iohn stood awkwardly for a few moments. "Sleep well, then. You leave after the moon is high?"

The Laird's words, trust no one, leapt to mind. "Much after that," Shawn agreed. "Way past. You sure you can't scare up some coffee?"

"Sure 'tis your sense of jest, this caw-fee," Iohn said. "Is it really time for jesting? Ye're no acting like my friend who trusted me with everything."

"The head," Shawn reminded him. "Sorry. Nothing personal."

"Godspeed, then. Would you would let me help you." When Shawn didn't answer, Iohn took one last look around the room, and left, pulling the door softly behind him.

Shawn looked around the room, following the path of Iohn's gaze. The Laird's orders had been followed promptly. Clothes for his night's journey lay on the bed: a monk's habit. He chuckled at the irony, but put it on, along with thick, warm leggings and sandals, and lay down, grateful to sink back into bed. It was not yet noon, but it had been a long day. He closed his eyes, planning his return to Inverness. Wouldn't the orchestra get a kick out of seeing him show up in a monk's robe! Caroline would like that!

Inverness, Scotland, Present

Niall's stomach swirled with nausea as the car approached the castle that served as an inn, suitable for the likes of whoever Shawn had been. Niall studied each detail, memorizing. Stone walls rose high. Flags fluttered on the towers, reminding Niall that castles had not really crumbled and fallen. Here was one, strong for all the world to see. They must have taken him to a very old castle, or one torn down by enemy weapons. He must believe that. He must believe there was still an explanation which had not yet occurred to him.

They drove through a tunnel of trees dappling the road. Beyond the boulevard of trees, sweeping lawns surrounded the castle. Someone shouted from an upper window. As they pulled through the massive arched gate and onto a curving path, a crowd of colorful people erupted from the wide doors, and flooded down broad stone stairs: a dozen women or more in their undergarments; a knot of men in trews chopped off above the knee, and shirts in minstrel colors with hardly any sleeves. They surrounded the car, shouting. With adrenaline racing, pumping him with the calm, clear head needed for battle, Niall searched them for weapons. He saw none.

Rob threw open his door fearlessly. Niall spun his head, barely catching the motion of his hand. He flexed his own fingers, copying.

"Back off!" Rob yelled. "The man's had a rough night!" He marched around the car, waving his arms at them, as at a flock of sheep. He spoke with humor, and Niall realized these people were friends. His heart rate slowed; the adrenaline subsided. Feeling safer, he studied the faces again, noting each detail. They had backed a bit away from the car.

"Are you getting out, Shawn?" Amy asked, from the seat behind him.

"Aye," he said, resolutely, and fumbled with the door, imitating Rob's motion. It sprang open. He climbed out gingerly, resisting the urge to rub his aching posterior.

The group surged in. A waif-like girl, with short red hair jutting from her head like a ruffled grouse, eyed him with concern, before going to Amy. A busty woman, wearing even less than Amy, edged out the others and threw her arms around him. Her blonde hair tickled his nose and eyes. "Oh, Shawn!" she cried. "I was so worried! Poor Shawn! How awful for you!"

"Aye," he agreed, barely able to breathe, and carefully disentangled himself from her web of arms and hair. She seemed oblivious to having been dismissed, and hovered behind him chattering about her fear for him. He studied the other faces. He saw naked curiosity, excitement, admiration. One young woman, with hair as pale as Rob's, hung back, throwing shy glances his way.

Men pressed forward.
Tell us what happened!
Women hung on his arms.
Are you hurt, Shawn?
and everybody spoke at once.
Did you see Nessie?
His heart pounded uncomfortably.
Conrad scheduled the concert for Saturday morning. He couldn't wait for your decision.
He studied each face in turn, making assessments.

"What are you wearing?" someone demanded.

"A hot bath! I'll run you a hot bath, you poor baby!" the bosomy woman chattered behind him.

"Dress-up day at the castle?" asked a man.

A young man, with jet black hair, stood apart from the rest, back by the castle door. He alone paid Niall no attention. Niall followed his eyes and saw that he stared steadily, sadly, at the platinum-haired girl casting shy, hopeful glances toward Niall.

A man grabbed Niall's hand, and pumped it.
Good to have you back!
Niall fought the desire to grab his dirk. They pressed too close for him to reach it, inside his boot. "Amy!" he snapped. "Taeke me to my room!"

"Why's he talking like that?" came out of the crowd.

"That's Shawn, all right!" someone else said. A hand slapped him on the back. The crowd parted before him, and he followed Amy up the stone stairs.

Behind him, the blonde woman huffed.

"Rob!" Niall added. "Send for Conrad. Now!"

* * *

The conductor proved to be a short and very furious man, his face brick red, arms flailing, and white hair crackling upright with irritation of its own. "What do you mean by disappearing like that!" He stamped across the sitting room of Shawn's huge suite, narrowly avoiding a mahogany table and overstuffed divan. Niall tried not to stare at the blue-papered walls and frescoed ceiling. He started as Conrad turned back suddenly, pounding a fist in his palm. "You knew I was waiting for your answer!" A vein throbbed purple in his neck. "The whole orchestra was waiting for you."

"I'm the one who left him there," Amy said.

"If you left him, he gave you darn good reason," Conrad snorted.

"This is all my fault," Amy whispered, turning as pink as Conrad was red.

"'Twas nothing to do with her." Niall pulled his attention from the box with a black glossy front. He wondered what it held.

At the same time, Conrad turned to her in almost equal outrage, yelling, "I will not have you taking blame for his stupid, irresponsible, thoughtless, selfish, pig-headed behavior!" The vein pulsed dangerously. "And where in the world did you get that outfit?" He looked up and down Niall's full-sleeved shirt, tunic, and trews. "Those boots!" he added with a harrumph. His eyebrows quivered.

Niall looked down at his boots. He rather thought the cordwainer had outdone himself on this pair. Conrad hammered out another lap up and down the chamber. Thank goodness it was so large, Niall thought, concerned for the poor man's health. "This takes the cake!" Conrad thundered. While Conrad ranted, Niall returned to his study of the room. Its size rivaled the Laird's. He tried to imagine MacDonald's chambers being used by someone like the person this Shawn seemed to be. "Of all the things you've done, this tops it!"

Niall stared in fascination as the angry torrent washed over him. Amy said there was no laird, but obviously he'd do better in this man's good graces.

"Nobody else is hurt," Amy said. She sat in the window seat, rubbing her right hand back and forth on one finger of her left hand. Her hair fell over her shoulder, brushing her leg. "No hotels are damaged."

"I guess that's an improvement," Conrad grumbled.

Niall gazed through the doorway into the bedroom, to a massive four-poster with dark blue hangings. Matching drapes framed the leaded glass windows in the sitting room. Turning from the bedroom, Niall wandered to one of the windows to look down, Conrad's angry words wafting over him unheard. A lawn stretched for acres below, smooth and green, with a few scattered trees. It begged for young children to run across it. At the far end was a stone wall, beyond which lay a garden awash in color. He'd heard the English had such things. Imagine. Walling in flowers. He thought he saw fruit trees, and vowed, forgetting Hugh for a moment, that he'd take a walk in this garden and have a piece of fruit.

"Arrows!" Conrad spit out behind him. "How do you do it, Shawn! How do you attract so much trouble?"

"This is different," Amy said, trying to calm Conrad. "He didn't do it this time."

"No, thank goodness! After lassoing the waitress in Edinburgh, I guess I should be grateful he isn't the one who did the shooting!"

"Lassoing?" Niall turned from his survey of the distant gardens.

"You don't remember?" Conrad pounded his fist in his hand. "You don't remember that?" The vein throbbed. He drew a deep breath and added, "Maybe that's just as well if it means you've turned over a new leaf."

"I know nothing of who I was," Niall lied, carefully flattening his vowels.

"He's not exactly himself," Amy reminded him.

"Causing trouble is exactly like him! How could you do this?" Conrad shouted again.

"I beg your forgiveness, sir." Niall bowed his head low. "I wish to assure you, it will not happen again. I need to ask…."

"What's this?" roared Conrad, his white mustache quivering. He stared in shock at Niall, then turned a demanding look to Amy, who shrugged helplessly.

"I told you he's acting—different."

Niall darted a furtive look at the heavy, golden torch holders on the wall. The torches in them looked nothing like the torches he knew. They gave steady light, with no flame. Amazing! "It won't happen again," Niall repeated. Conrad stared, dumbfounded. Niall stared back, equally perplexed. Why did the man seem so baffled and angry to be given the assurance he clearly wanted?

"Well, I'll be...." Conrad let the sentence hang unfinished. He squinted, just barely, studying Niall from a slightly tilted head. "You're actually apologizing?"

"Indeed I am, my Lord," Niall said. Clearly, this Shawn had not a reputation for showing proper respect to authority, given their reactions to an apology.

Conrad's face turned slowly red again. Amy hurried over, taking Niall’s arm. "I think 'sir' would have been better," she said. To Conrad, she added, "I don't think he's trying to be facetious."

"He's got a history that would suggest otherwise," grumbled Conrad. "Shawn, this is one stunt too many. Let me be blunt. Regardless of the impact on the orchestra, you're half a step from being fired. The cost of your behavior has gotten too high. I couldn't wait on your answer. We scheduled a late morning concert for Saturday. Same music."

"Yes, my—yes, sir," Niall said. He didn't know what a concert might be, but it sounded as if he'd be burned at the stake if he failed. If it involved music, surely he could pull something off, if, of course, he was still caught here five days hence. Music, he could do. "But I must ask...."

"He really is behaving strangely, isn't he?" Conrad peered more closely.

"I'm fine, sir. I need...."

"There's a horrible bruise, and cuts," Amy said. "Shawn, show him." She pushed his hair back from his temple. Her intimate touch jolted him, tingling.

Conrad stared, fingering his mustache, and muttering. "Not that courtesy and co-operation aren't a welcome change, but this seems too good to be true."

"Sir." Niall stepped into the brief silence. "I must ask...."

"The doctor says you're fine," Conrad interrupted, leaping with vengeance back to his pacing. "The concert, then. Anything you want, ask when you've given me a good concert. Otherwise, you're fired. Rehearsal tomorrow at nine. Same music."

Niall shook his head sadly, wondering how he was going to reach Hugh. Had he realized he was going to get trapped in these people's lives, threatened with firing, he'd have demanded to be taken back to the castle to work it out on his own. He imagined co-operating now would give him the greatest freedom to get help and leave when he must. "I'm sorry. I doon't remember the music."

"Don't remember! We played it two nights ago!"

"Just tell him," Amy said. "It'll come back."

"
Annie Laurie
."

"
Blue Bells of Scotland
," Amy added.

"Och! I knoo
Blue Bells
!" Niall said excitedly.

They stared at him. He wondered, uneasily, what he'd said wrong. His goal, he reminded himself, was to gain this man's favor and help.

Conrad studied him silently, doubt dawning in his eyes. "Get out your trombone!" Suspicion lined his voice like soft cotton batting.

"My...." Niall searched his brain, shifted vowels around, trying to guess what this word meant. Rob had used it, too. "My what?" He wondered, at that moment, if he was capable of earning this man's favor. Might it not be better to run now and figure out a way to help himself? But it would take a full day to walk back to the castle, if they didn't catch him and lock him up or set him ablaze.

Amy was already pulling a long, narrow case, bulging at one end, from the corner of the room. She laid it on the bed next to him. He studied it, ran his hands over a fawn-colored covering, dark brown leather around the edges, and brass studs, till he realized they were, with equal intensity, studying him.