Amanda Scott (40 page)

“Master Duncan said only that I should not go out alone, Jock,” she reminded him, “and we are bound to meet his lordship quite soon. It’s only a half hour’s walk, after all. We should meet the coach before we reach Ballachulish.”

Jock agreed then, but although Wull did not join them as quickly as Mary had hoped, they did not meet the coach. After they had passed through the village, she increased their pace. As they strode briskly along, their feet crunching with each step, she listened for an approaching vehicle, but all she heard were occasional bird songs and the cry of a lone gull soaring overhead. Once she could see the north shore, she realized the ferry had been delayed. Not until she and the others reached the forested area just east of the narrows did it begin to drift away from the shore.

Pinkie said, “Isna that the ferry coming the noo?”

“Aye, it is,” Wull replied.

“If we walk quickly,” Mary said to the child, “we can meet his lordship when it lands and see what he brought you.” Hurrying now, she kept her eyes on the snowbound roadway, so as not to slip, and held tight to the little girl’s hand.

Suddenly, Pinkie slowed. “Mistress,” she said in an odd voice.

Wull gasped.

Mary looked at them. “What is it?”

Pinkie said, “I’m thinking that ferry looks a wee bit queerish.”

“Mercy on us,” Mary murmured, seeing at once what the child meant and feeling her heart leap to her throat. The ferry platform was listing, and it looked to her as if the coach atop it was rolling. The two ferrymen had dropped their poles, and were straining to hold the heavy vehicle, but it moved slowly, inexorably, toward the edge, its shifting weight causing the platform to list even more.

Striving to remain calm, Mary said, “Run back to the village, Wull, just as fast as you can, and tell the first person you see to bring help at once. They will need ropes, men, and horses. Don’t wait for them, but go straight on to the castle and tell the men the ferry is sinking. Tell them to hurry!”

“But his lordship—”

“He will be quite all right,” Mary said firmly. “Run now, and don’t look back. You must run faster than you have ever run in your life. Go!”

Wull did not question her order but left at a dash. Turning back toward the landing, Mary caught up her skirts and ran, too, knowing the effort was futile, that there would be little, if anything, she could do. She knew that Pinkie was right behind her and wished she could have sent her with Wull. She had not wanted to burden him, however, and hoped now only that the child would see nothing horrid.

So intently was she watching the drama unfold on the water that she nearly missed seeing movement above her on the hillside, but some instinct made her glance up, and she saw horsemen emerging from the Lettermore Woods. Recognizing their leader at once, she screamed, “Duncan, hurry!”

He had already spurred his mount and, with the other riders, plunged down the steep track at a dangerous pace. Mary reached the landing at nearly the same time they did, to find one man alone on the landing stage, twisting his hands.

She said, “Is there nothing we can do?”

“Nay, mistress, the rope did freeze right up and snap, but they was fine till the laird’s coach begun tae shift. Ay-de-mi, there she goes!”

“Give me that rope,” Duncan snapped from his saddle, indicating a coil on the landing stage. “Pinkie, get back,” he added harshly. “This is no place for you.”

“Bless ye, Master Duncan,” the man on the dock said, “that rope isna long enough tae do a lick o’ good.”

“Mary, quickly, hand it to me!”

Snatching up the coil, she handed it up to him and caught Pinkie’s hand to draw her back off the landing. “What will you do, sir?”

He did not answer, and with her heart in her mouth, she watched him urge his horse right into the water until it was swimming with him. At that moment, coach, horses, and ferry slid under water. Clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, Mary turned to the four men who had been riding with Duncan. “Don’t just stand there, you! Go with him. He will need your help.”

For the next half hour, she watched with Pinkie, her spirits sinking more with each passing minute. People came from Ballachulish village, carrying blankets and ropes, and the men did what they could to help, but many could not swim, and there was nothing they could do but shout encouragement and help with the ropes.

They saved the horses, and one of the men whom Mary had ordered to join Duncan rescued one of the ferry men, but the other disappeared after frantically splashing about for some time and she did not see him again. Pinkie remained silent.

Duncan and his men managed to tie ropes to the coach, but when Mary saw him slide off his horse into the water, she had all she could do not to scream at him to get back on. She could see what he was trying to do, but she could not believe he would succeed. A village woman tried to draw her away, but she said fiercely, “I’m staying. That is my husband out there. Take the child, though, and thank you.”

Other men arrived with more ropes, and before long, the entire top of the coach rose into view. Though she knew that a relatively short time had passed, it seemed like hours before Duncan emerged with Balcardane in his grasp. Men reached to help, and they passed the earl hand by hand to the shore. Mary rushed to him, snatching a blanket from an onlooker to wrap him in.

Balcardane’s face was blue and mottled. At first she thought he was dead, but then she saw his chest heave. A moment later, Duncan knelt at her side, dripping icy water, and she could hear his teeth chattering. “Get more blankets,” she snapped, “and one for yourself, as well. Do you want to perish of the cold?”

“Gently, lass,” he said. “I won’t freeze, but he was under a long while.”

“He still breathes.”

“Aye, there was air trapped for a time in the top of the coach, and he had the sense to breathe it, I think, but he wasn’t breathing when I first hauled him out. Can you help him?”

“Oh, Duncan, I don’t know! We
must
get him warm, and there is not so much as a hut nearby. Can your men build a fire?”

“Aye, they can, but if we can get him on a horse, we can hustle him home to his own bed, or at least to the village.”

Leaving him to make any arrangement he could, Mary turned back to Balcardane and saw that his eyes were open. “Mary, lass, I’m spent,” he muttered, gasping for air and shivering violently.

“Please, sir, stay with us,” she said, gulping as she piled blankets atop him and tried to rub warmth into his icy hands. “We’ll do everything we can for you.”

“Don’t let them leave the coach long in the water. The fabrics will spoil.”

“Don’t fret about them, sir. Please, don’t. You are far more important. Keep breathing. They are going to find a way to get you inside somewhere and warm. You’ll soon be as right as rain again.”

“You’re … wrong, lass,” he gasped. “I’m … f-for it. I c-can scarcely t-talk for this damned shaking, which I c-cannot control.”

“You will not die,” she said fiercely, flinging herself across him, trying to press warmth into him with her body. “Come, everyone,” she cried. “If you are dry, come down here with us and use your bodies to help me get him warm!”

Though some hesitated, others moved quickly to help her, and willing warm bodies soon surrounded the earl.

“There, you see,” Mary murmured close to his ear. “You will live to see your godson, and later a grandchild if we’re lucky. Please, you must live, sir.”

He murmured something, and she was sure she knew what it was. “Aye,” she said, hoping she spoke truly. “You will have a grandchild come summer, sir. Duncan does not know, only you. It’s only a strong feeling now, the sort I have learned to trust. I wanted to wait to be certain, but you should know.”

In a surprisingly firm voice, he said, “The children’s presents, Mary. They are in the coach, too, but there is something in my pocket for Duncan. He’ll know what it is. Take care that he don’t let it rust.”

“You will tell him yourself. Did you hear what I told you before?”

“Aye.” His voice was weaker. “You’re a … good lass. I wish he had f-found you long ago.” A harsh rattle sounded in his throat.

Recognizing the sound, she cried, “No, you mustn’t!” Determined not to let him die, she shook him. “Breathe! Oh, please, sir, they are coming for you now. Breathe!” She was still shaking him when Duncan pulled her gently away.

T
HE PARTY ACCOMPANYING BALCARDANE’S
body met Neil and others from the castle along the way, and by the time they reached Balcardane, the crowd had grown larger. Other people they met had turned to walk with them, many, Duncan knew, fearing in the old way that if they did not, they, too, would die soon.

Although he had stripped off what he could of his wet clothing and borrowed what garments his men had been able to spare, he was still wet and cold; but, riding at the head of the procession, he ignored the discomfort. He had taken Mary up before him, and Bannatyne, just behind them, held the silent Pinkie. The others followed.

Duncan was pleased that Mary held her head high, although she was clearly fighting back tears. Otherwise, he felt numb, as if his mind could not take in what had happened. In his free hand, he clutched the watch she had told him he was to take from the earl’s pocket. Balcardane had always said he meant to leave it to Ian.

As they passed through Ballachulish village, he put the watch in his pocket and took out money for one of his men to give the church sexton, to pay bell-ringers and defray other expenses of the funeral preparation. The passing bell was already tolling, and he knew it would toll for the funeral and again at this hour for days to come, to keep away evil spirits and ensure the earl’s safe passage to the next world.

Despite centuries of Roman and Protestant teaching, many Highlanders still believed that the devil and his minions waited to seize a man’s spirit as it set out on its last journey. Therefore, Balcardane, like many of his ilk, had hedged his bets. Despite his parsimonious nature, he had set money aside to tend both his Celtic spirit and his Christian soul, and Duncan intended to honor his wishes.

He could hear people behind them singing a hymn of sorrow and felt grateful that they, many of whom were Stewarts and Macleans, would express sadness at the death of a prominent Campbell. It was a sign, perhaps, of slowly shifting tides.

The gates of the castle stood open. Servants who had not raced to the landing had gathered in the courtyard, anxious and eager for news. He could sense their distress, and the moment they realized that his father was dead.

“Take him into the hall,” he said to Bannatyne, adding to another, “Tell someone to mix black paint for the door.”

“Aye, my lord,” the two replied in unison.

Duncan felt Mary stiffen, and he knew that he had reacted, too, for it was the first time anyone had addressed him by his new title. It reminded him sharply that he was now the fifth Earl of Balcardane. That moment to which he had once looked forward had slipped past him during the crisis and seemed now to present an awesome burden. Swinging to the ground, he caught Mary by the waist and lifted her down beside him, touching her shoulder gently to usher her inside.

Neil followed silently behind them.

In the hall, Duncan saw his mother hurrying down the stairs, holding her wide skirts high so they would not impede her. Her gaze was stark with shock. He strode halfway across the hall before her eyes focused on him.

“Duncan? They said—Oh, Duncan, what happened?”

“An accident, ma’am.” Seeing her sway, he moved quickly to meet her at the foot of the stairs, steadying her and blocking her view for that moment. There was no way to protect her from what was coming and no easy way to say the next words, so he said them baldly. “He’s dead.”

“Dead? But that’s impossible! He is too young to die.” She searched his face, clearly looking for some sign that he had made a dreadful joke. “Your hair is wet.”

He said gently, “The carriage went off the ferry, and he was trapped inside. I was near enough to see it happen, and we did all that we could, but the water was cold, and by the time I reached him, he had been under a long time. His heart just stopped beating, ma’am, but Mary was holding him. He did not die alone.”

“Oh, Mary, bless you, my poor lamb!” Lady Balcardane hurried to her, enfolding her in her arms. “What a dreadful thing for you, but how glad I am that someone who cared for him was at hand to feel his last breath.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Mary said quietly. “Many were with him.”

“Did you know before?”

Duncan saw Mary look confused for a moment. Then, slowly, she shook her head. “No. I … I should have felt something, perhaps, but I did not.” She looked at Duncan, her eyes widening, and he knew without a word what she was thinking.

“Your dream was just a nightmare, nothing more,” he said firmly. “Not only was it I who fell in it, and not my father, but if you begin reading hidden meaning into every dream you have, lass, you’ll soon go mad. Go now, and tell the servants to fetch mourning cloths to hang over looking glasses and pictures in every room. It is only a gesture, but perhaps it will comfort those who fear that his spirit might otherwise take off in the wrong direction.”

“Surely, they must believe that his spirit fled his body somewhere between here and the ferry landing,” she said.

“Those who cling tightest to the old beliefs won’t. Such simple folk believe the spirit waits until he is safe at home before it abandons him.”

“Send for Martha Loudoun and Jessie when you attend to that, my dear,” his mother said, visibly gathering herself. “They can see to it that he is properly laid out.” When Mary had gone, she said, “Duncan, did you speak to the parson when you passed through Ballachulish?”

“It seemed wrong to stop, ma’am,” he said. “I sent bellpennies to the sexton though, and I’ll speak with Parson later. He will come to us as soon as he hears.”

A clock began to chime, only to be hastily muffled. Duncan glanced over his shoulder and saw that one of his men had stopped its movement.

“Don’t let them shut the front door,” Lady Balcardane said anxiously.