Amanda Scott (34 page)

“MacDrumin said with grim approval, “Aye then, we’ll go for them, lad.”

“We’ll go for him,” Rothwell said, and his tone was as grim as MacDrumin, “but understand me, sir,” he added when Kate’s expression lightened hopefully, “I won’t be party to a massacre. The men who did this committed a loathsome crime and must be punished, but they will all stand their trial in a court of law.”

“And how will you get them to court?” Kate demanded, hands on her hips. “Do you think to arrest the whole Campbell clan?”

“When your brother recovers from his injuries, he will be able to identify Campbell and the others. When he does, we will take them to justice.”

“Justice?” Kate snapped her fingers under his nose. “’Tis that I give for your justice! When has there been justice in the Highlands since your soldiers came here? Men once knew how to deal with villains who made war on women and children. Some, I hope, still know,” she added, looking toward the three still standing in the doorway. “Rory, are you with me?”

“Aye, Kate, I’m with ye.”

Maggie saw her father exchange another look with Rothwell before the latter said, “We are all with you, Kate, but you will not go after Campbell yourself, or with your henchmen.”

Kate began to argue, but MacDrumin cut her off, saying flatly, “No one is going after anyone until we have made a proper plan, Kate MacCain, and if you think yon Rory or any other MacDrumin will dare to defy me, you’d best think again.”

When Kate still looked mutinous, Rothwell said, “You’ll want to see your little brother, so it will be best, I think, if we all return to Glen Drumin House and make our plans there.”

He looked at Maggie, and obedient to his unspoken command, she moved to Kate’s side, and this time Kate did not object when she put an arm around her shoulders.

Kate remained quiet when MacDrumin ordered two of his men to guard the bodies and arrange for women of the glen to prepare them for burial. Maggie knew Rothwell was surprised that Kate would leave such a task to others, but she knew Kate had little love left for her mother. Rose had given up living to wallow in grief when her oldest sons had been killed in battle, and as far as Kate was concerned, Rose had died then. Granny was different, and had been well loved, but the old woman’s death was presently a matter for vengeance. Kate would grieve later.

Maggie hoped they would find Ian’s condition improved when they returned, but James looked grave and said there had been little change, although the boy had regained consciousness briefly, giving James cause to think his present condition might be just a deep sleep, and not an unnatural one.

“He ought to be dosed with herbs,” Kate said anxiously, looking down at Ian, whose pale, thin face was barely visible beneath the white bandage James had wrapped around his head. “He should have all-heal at least, and roasted rhubarb to prevent fever. What have you done for him, Mr. Carsley?”

“I cleaned his wound,” James said, “and with the help of MacDrumin’s farrier, who has experience in such matters, I straightened and bandaged his broken arm. I covered him, ordered the fire built up to keep him warm, and I ordered a room prepared so he can rest more peacefully, but I’ll not dose him with anything stronger than broth or herb tea, and that only when he can swallow easily. To give him anything now would choke him.”

“Will he live?” Kate asked abruptly. James hesitated, and Maggie felt a frisson of fear.

Rothwell said, “Won’t he, James? Surely his condition is not desperate.”

With visible reluctance, James said, “I cannot be certain of that, Ned. Though he did regain consciousness, he did not speak, and when he tried to move, the exertion put him right out again. I don’t like the way he looks, and I have seen others die from lesser injuries. No, you don’t!” he exclaimed, catching Kate’s hands when she rushed at him. Holding her, he said curtly, “Attacking me will change nothing. I am trying to be truthful. I know you are frightened—”

“I fear nothing!” she cried, trying to break free. “Curse you, you English bastard, let me go!”

Still holding her with no apparent effort, James said to Rothwell, “Call me if there is a change in the boy. I mean to deal with this at once.” Giving the struggling, cursing Kate a shake, he put his face right in front of hers and snapped, “Be silent, now! You do Ian no good by shrieking at me like this, nor yourself either, so unless you want to be well-slapped, you will come with me, and we’ll talk like sensible adults.”

She stared at him in shock but made no protest when, still keeping a tight grip on one arm, he took her from the room.

MacDrumin shook his head. “Och, but that lad is daft,” he said. “He’d best take care to cover his head with a steel helmet at night, lest the wildcat takes a club to it. ’Tis a pity he cannot recognize danger when he encounters it.”

“He’ll manage her,” Rothwell said, moving nearer the table. He glanced at Maggie, and she thought he looked as worried as she felt, but all he said to her was, “Will you see if the boy’s room has been made ready for him? And perhaps you can arrange for Maria or one of the maids to sit with him once James is willing to let someone else do so. We have matters to discuss.”

She knew he meant the men had matters to discuss and that she was being dismissed, but she went without protest, because she had matters of her own to attend to, not least of which was arranging for the servants to serve the dinner they had been about to eat when Kate’s arrival had put all thought of food out of their heads. Though she had no appetite, they needed to eat.

Remembering that James had already given orders about Ian’s room, and certain they had been carried out, she nonetheless went to check as soon as she had spoken to the cook. All was in readiness, although a window had been left open, so she shut it, stirred up the fire, and went to find Maria, deciding the woman ought to make herself useful.

Both Cheltons had had a hard time adjusting to life in the Highlands, for now that Rothwell seemed to be spending less time and effort over his appearance, he required less of Chelton’s help, and although at first Maria had been willing to help with household chores, the MacDrumin servants had made it plain that they neither wanted nor needed help offered with such a superior air. Maria did what Maggie asked, but Maggie was not accustomed to being closely waited upon and found it disturbing to be constantly referred to as
your ladyship.
She had attempted to divert Maria without offending her by asking for help adding a few decorative touches to Glen Drumin House, but although Maria expressed willingness to embroider cushions and even to assist the housekeeper with such items as bed hangings and window curtains, she had done very little, and Maggie had not insisted. She thought both Cheltons were cold, unfeeling people whose sense of self-worth was much exaggerated, and she found it hard to understand why the dowager valued Maria, at least, so highly.

The tirewoman was found in Maggie’s bedchamber, shaking a green stuff gown she had taken from the wardrobe. “I was sure you would want to change your dress, your ladyship,” she said in her stiff way, with no more than an oblique glance. “It was not wise to leave the house so hastily without changing from what you wore to church. I am afraid that gown is quite ruined.”

The reproach brought words of rebuke to Maggie’s tongue, but when Maria moved toward her, she checked them at the sight of a bruise on her cheek as livid as the one on her own. She had begun to suspect from Maria’s behavior when she was with Chelton that he was a brutal man as well as a dour one. Now she was sure of it. She had not given a thought to her clothes, but looking quickly down at herself, she said, “Faith, I do look a fright. Very well, I’ll change, but make haste, Maria. Your services may soon be required elsewhere.”

When she had explained about Ian, the woman looked at her in surprise. “You expect
me
to look after that common child?”

“I do.”

“But he is no more than a street urchin,” Maria retorted, “or so he would be if this God-forsaken place
had
any streets.”

It was on the tip of Maggie’s tongue to tell her that any woman in the glen would be glad to sit with the boy, but she wanted Maria safely out of the way, because she was afraid if the woman got wind of her plan, she would go straight to Rothwell. Therefore Maggie said coldly, “Are you refusing to obey me?”

“No, your ladyship.” The woman flushed deeply, making the bruise on her cheek look worse than ever. “I just thought—”

“I don’t want to hear what you thought. You will be called if you are needed. Until then, I don’t want to see you.”

When Maria had gone, Maggie sat down and began to brush her hair. She felt nearly as guilty as Rothwell did over what had happened, for like him, she had not even imagined that Fergus Campbell might retaliate in such a dreadful way. She had feared he might make trouble for Kate for firing a pistol, and that had been frightening enough, but it was practically unheard of in the Highlands for men willfully to injure women or children. But much as she wanted to lay the blame for all that had happened at Fergus’s door, she could not rid herself of the knowledge that if she had behaved sensibly (or had obeyed Rothwell), Kate’s mother and granny would still be alive, and Ian would be telling one of his funny stories to James instead of lying at death’s door.

If Ian died, there would be no witness to accuse Fergus or any of the others, and no point in attempting to hail them before a magistrate. And if Ian recovered, what then? She tried to imagine Rothwell and her father’s men riding over the ridgetop to Fergus Campbell’s house and asking him politely to accompany them to Inverness. Her imagination boggled. They could all be killed. No doubt Fergus thought he had killed anyone who might tell what had happened, so he would be home, but a surprise attack was the only way to take him. And if her father and Rothwell would not lead it, she knew someone who would.

Dugald had not been at MacCains’ with them. He had no doubt been out searching for a place to put the new bothy, and thus had not heard her father tell Kate, and Rory, that he would not allow anyone to help her. Where Dugald led, Rory and others would follow, so it was merely a matter of getting a message to Dugald before MacDrumin or Rothwell talked to him.

Accordingly, Maggie twisted her hair into a knot, replaced her kertch, and went in search of a servant she could trust to take a message to Dugald. The servant left at once, and she went to the hall to see if their meal was ready yet. Two servants were putting food on the table. Kate stood alone by the fire.

“They’ve taken Ian up then,” Maggie said.

“Aye,” Kate said, “I sent that Maria away and was sitting with him, but James”—her cheeks reddened as she said his name—“said I must keep up my strength and sent me down to eat. He will sit with Ian till I’m done.”

Her manner was subdued, and though Maggie knew she was desperately worried about Ian, it was unlike her not to be shouting her anger and stirring storms wherever she walked. This quiet, moody Kate was someone she scarcely knew. Drawing her a little away so the servants would not hear, Maggie said, “Whatever did James say to you when he took you from the room?”

“Leave it, Mag. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Rothwell and MacDrumin came in from the yard just then, and seeing that their meal was ready, Maggie ordered a plate sent up to James and moved with Kate to join them at the table. During the meal she tried to get the two men to tell her how they planned to arrest Fergus, but they evaded her questions deftly, and Kate said nothing to help her and soon begged to be excused.

“I must get back to Ian,” she said.

Maggie got up quickly and followed her to the stairs, saying softly, “Wait, Kate. I cannot bear to see you like this. James only said Ian might die because the chance exists, not because he means to let him go.”

“I know,” Kate said, “but he says the body must heal itself, that herbs will not help. Does he really know anything, Mag?”

“What do you think?”

Kate hesitated, but new color rose to her cheeks and there was a softer look about her when she said, “I don’t know if I believe in him because I want to or just because I do, that’s all. I hope he does know.” Looking a little shaken by her own words, she did not wait for Maggie’s reply but hurried away.

The big hall was chilly, and candles were being lit against the increasing darkness, so Maggie returned to the fire, and when James joined the men a few minutes later, she tried to hear what they said, but they kept their voices too low. Thinking of what she would tell Dugald and what he would respond, she watched the crackling flames, lost in her own thoughts.

Rothwell’s hand on her elbow sometime later startled her, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw concern in them. He said, “I saw Kate go up. Is she all right?”

“She is afraid he will die,” Maggie said, hoping he would tell her everything was going to be fine.

He said, “James is afraid, too, because Ian ought to have become more responsive by now. He hopes the fact that the child breathes as if he were sleeping is a sign that the body is mending. He has been able to give him water, but that is all.”

“I thought Ian could not swallow,” Maggie said.

“James told Kate to use a wet cloth to force a few drops at a time between the boy’s lips. I thought at first he was merely giving her something to do so she would not feel so helpless, but he says the boy could die just from lack of water.” He looked closely at her and added in a lower, more gentle tone, “How are you? You have been wearing much the same expression as Kate.”

“How do you expect me to look? I have known Ian almost since the day he was born, and his grandmother since the day
I
was born, and this is all my fault!”

“Just a moment,” he said, putting a hand to her chin, making her look at him. “What makes you think the fault is yours?”

“Because it is,” she snapped, jerking her head away. “I thought you would be the first to agree with me.”

“Why should I?”

“Didn’t you tell me yourself not to walk out alone?”

“I did, but your being alone does not excuse those villains for what they did, Maggie. Your action had nothing to do with theirs. Nor did Kate’s, and if she’s going about looking like she does because she blames herself for going to your rescue, she is being foolish beyond permission.”