As if in answer to his words, the thunder of hoofbeats came suddenly
to their ears, approaching unexpectedly (for the British fortress lay
in the opposite direction) from the west. The widow Scott, who had
felt the danger growing as the day wore on, was the first to react.
She was up and out of her chair, and pulling back on the carpet before
her son had a chance to stand clear.
"Michael, quickly!" And she forced her trembling hands to find the
latch, and pull open the trap door.
"Michael, quickly!" And she forced her trembling hands to find the
latch, and pull open the trap door.
Michael moved toward the opening, then turned to say a last word to
his betrothed. But by chance his eyes lighted on her portrait, and for
the first time he saw the bullet-hole at her throat. In horror he
thought of Stephen Purceville, and in a flash read between the lines
of what the women had (and had not) told him. And even as his mother
tried to urge him down the steps, he reached out and took his lover by
the wrist.
"Mary, too! Until we're sure!" She nodded gratefully, not wanting to
be parted from him, and the two descended.
"Remember my words," the widow whispered through the crack, before
sealing them in darkness. "You must be willing to sacrifice me. No
arguments!"
She closed the trap and pulled the rug to, even as the snorting of
hard-driven animals mingled with men's voices and the sounds of
dismounting. Heavy boots rattled the front steps, followed by a
thumping fist upon the door.
"Open," came a heavy voice. "In the name of the King, and on peril of
your life. Open!"
Anne Scott looked quickly about her for any tell-tale signs of
company. There were none, and gratefully she recalled the other
precautions she had taken: both bedrooms had been straightened, the
dishes cleaned and put away. But for Mary's cloak, which she could
pass as her own, the two still wore all the clothing they had brought.
Mastering her fright as best she could, fiercely determined to protect
her young, she went to the door. . .and opened it.
But for all her resolve, her eyes were unprepared for the spectacle
which greeted them. The Lord Henry Purceville himself stood before
her. And beyond his hulking form, she saw the bodies of two men slung
across spare horses, one of which, dressed in ill-fitting clothes,
pale and stained with earth..... It was only by supreme exertion that
she kept herself from swooning. There were twenty riders at least, all
tainted with the smell of smoke.
"Where is she?" bellowed Lord Purceville, pushing her aside with such
force that she really did stagger. Then to her bewilderment his son,
who had followed him in, caught her up, and in the moment it took to
steady her, whispered in her ear:
"Tell him nothing. I'll do what I can to protect you." The older man
whirled angrily.
"I tell you I want
her. Ballard! Tear the place apart. Stubb! Take the rest of the men
and search the surrounding countryside. Meet me back at the barracks
with your report; and if you value your hide, don't come back empty!"
With this all but two of the men---the one called Ballard, and another
he detained by seizing his collar and shoving him forward---rode off.
These entered quickly, and began going through the rooms, opening
drawers and overturning furniture.
Of the two only Ballard, a large, swarthy man whose hands and face
were darkened with soot, seemed to enjoy the work. The other, a lad of
sixteen or thereabouts, only followed with a scared look, doing what
his Lieutenant commanded. As for Lord Purceville, he sat himself in
the chair that Mary had occupied, and stared at the woman icily,
beckoning (ordering) his son to sit across from him. The widow Scott
could only look back at him in dismay, and try not to notice his thick
black boots, resting at the very edge of the carpet.
He was heavier, and grayer than she remembered, those many long years
ago. But her first impression of him then---that of a bull about to
charge---still held true. He was a big man, both taller and more
thickly muscled than his son. Their faces were much alike, except that
the father's was fuller: more rudely carved, more deeply lined, more
savage.
But if harsh features were a mark of lesser intelligence, then the
rule was broken here. His mind was more than a match for his son's, or
even Mary's. The truly frightening thing about him, as she would soon
learn, was that this glowering beast, this physical brute, was also
sharper and shrewder than any man she had ever known. She could not
feel brave in his presence, only vulnerable and afraid.
But as the two men returned from the loft, reporting, "No sign that
anyone's been here but herself, though the upper room is undoubtedly a
young lady's," she remembered the dangerous nearness of those she had
sworn to protect, and the injuries they had already suffered at the
hands of such men. Her pride returned, along with the instinctive
cunning of a woman cornered.
"Of course," she said, feigning indignation against the search alone,
and total ignorance of what they could want from her. "It is my
niece's room, to return to if and when she chooses."
"And where is she now?" demanded the tyrant.
"She has gone to live with her mother, as I told your son not a
fortnight since. I suggest you look for her there." It occurred to her
only after she had said this that it might endanger her sister-in-law.
"It may please you to know," he said calmly, taking a sharpened
letter-knife from his coat and twirling it carelessly between his
fingers, "that we have already been to see the widow MacCain. She,
too, had the insolence to speak to me in such a manner. Would you like
to know what we did to her?
Tell her, Ballard."
"Burned her for a witch, we did---tied to a tree, right up on her own
roof." The man smiled, as if he found this detail particularly
satisfying. "My one regret, Lord, is that you hit her so hard in the
questioning, she never regained her senses to enjoy it. One would have
thought she was dead already."
"That will be all, Lieutenant. Take the bodies back to the Castle. But
first, check the neighborhood. See if you can't flush out a kilt and
jacket for our amorous red-haired friend, if you follow my meaning."
"I do at that, sir. And I don't suppose it would hurt to brand him for
a prisoner as well?"
"Number 406. Good day, Ballard." The Lieutenant pushed the younger man
forward, then followed him out, closing the door behind.
"As you see," continued Purceville, "I have ways of arranging
circumstances to meet my own ends. And I have no qualms at all about
eliminating women who oppose me. I can think of at least a dozen
pretexts to end your
life right now. Would you like to hear them?"
"I have told you already," said the woman, vainly trying to suppress
the image of her sister engulfed in flames. "I have told you that my
niece is not here, that she left me a week ago. Your son himself can
attest to that..... I do not know where she is."
"That is the second time today you have referred me to my son. The
truth is, dead woman
, that I have no strong inclination to believe him. I don't know what
it is about the MacCain girl that causes those around her to feel so
protective---the illusion of innocence, no doubt---but it seems I must
accept the fact. My own son has lied to me about the `cousin' who
saved her from assault, neglecting to mention that the man was also a
Jacobite, and one of the fugitives we sought. Fortunately, as you saw,
I take nothing for granted. I found it out for myself, and now have
the evidence I need to hang her, if I so desire."
"On what charge?"
"Harboring a fugitive!" he bellowed. "And conspiracy to murder
soldiers of the crown! One of my men was killed in this alleged
`assault', and another has disappeared entirely. All serious crimes,
punishable by death." He paused, letting this new threat sink in. "Now
do you have anything to say to me, to save the girl's life, as well as
your own?"
The widow glanced quickly at the son, wondering when, if not now, he
intended to come to her aid. But he only turned away, and she
surrendered all hope of it. Looking back at the father, who had
stopped twirling the knife, and only stared back at her with cold
murder in his eyes, she could not help but feel that the end had truly
come.
She had been prepared for the worst, and ready to sacrifice all.
Because of this, and because of the skilled aggression of the Lord
Purceville, everything she saw and heard only worked to confirm her
darkest imaginings. Her heart went cold inside her as he rose to his
feet, the knife clenched firmly in his hand. Her eyes misted and her
limbs trembled; but she never once thought of betraying her son. She
hung her head and was silent, waiting for death.
She waited in vain.
Stephen Purceville did not intervene, among other considerations,
because he knew that his father was bluffing. Even a Governor could
not kill a woman without cause, and Stephen was astute enough to know
it. The political winds, to which his father was not immune, were
shifting. A move toward reconciliation had begun, and such acts of
wanton violence, as well as the men who employed them, were rapidly
losing favor in the eyes of the Court. Also, his father had made many
enemies in his rise to power, men who would use such a thing against
him, as they had tried to use the escaped prisoners. To burn a corpse
as a scare tactic was one thing. To murder a woman in cold blood was
quite another. Not that the younger man put it to himself in this way.
He did not have to. He knew the realities, and he knew the man. His
father was bluffing.
The woman was startled out of her black study by the last sound on
earth she expected. Rather than the slow, sinister footsteps she had
tried to anticipate, she was called back instead by the sound,
infinitely more mocking than laughter, of strong male hands striking
together. She looked up, and he was clapping!
"Madame," he said, "I salute you. You have withstood the first
assault. I can afford to be magnanimous, for you will not survive
the second." And again the face turned deadly serious, though the look
of restless violence was gone. It was impossible to believe that it
had been feigned. It had not. But neither had it brought the desired
result; and he was wise enough, now, to adopt a different course.
For he had no doubt that the woman was hiding something. The hard edge
of his foil remained, but the strokes became finer, more mincing.
"A lesson for you, Stephen. Most women, indeed, almost all, can either
be bought, or threatened into giving up what is wanted. Why? Because
they lack the simple courage---to face life in the first case, and
death in the second. They use money, and men, as a shield against
life; and nothing on this earth can induce them to face death, or even
the thought of death.
"I have heard it said that if women ruled the world, there would be no
war. That is true, but hardly a compliment. The reason
there would be no war is that none of them would have the courage to
fight it. At the first shot they would all throw down their arms and
run away. Deceit, manipulation, love. These are the weapons they
employ.
"But as witnessed here, there are a few scattered instances of honest
character, of a woman standing up to death. But almost always it is
done in the defense of her immediate family: her husband, her child.
That is what puzzles me here. Having threatened her own life
unsuccessfully, I took the next step, as I taught you long ago:
threaten the thing she is trying to protect, and mean it. But even
this brought no result. Why? At such times one must draw back, look
beneath the surface, examine motive
.
"The implied motive here is to protect her niece alone, but I do not
believe it. No woman is willing to die for the bastard child---oh yes,
I know!
---of her sister-in-law, and a man she both fears and detests. Perhaps
she raised her from a child? Still not enough. We must look for some
deeper relationship.
"Did you see, when she thought I meant to kill her, the way she hung
her head, and reached down into some secret place she believes I
cannot touch? Whose image did she turn to in her moment of need? For I
tell you, Stephen, she was prepared to die. And it wasn't for any
half-breed girl."
He took a sheet of folded parchment from an inner pocket, and settling
more deeply in the chair, smoothed it open against his thigh. "I have
here a list, names and numbers. It was brought to me yesterday, along
with more detailed information, concerning the prisoners still at
large---thankfully, very few. I think you will find our information
quite thorough and up to date. Now I know not only the men who hail
from this country---and are therefore likely to return---but also the
friends they kept in the stockade, and the smaller groups they split
into after the escape.
"You heard me tell my Lieutenant to brand the number 406 on our dead
comrade's body---though I warn you, I may still use it to incriminate
your niece. Why that particular number? I will tell you. It is the
number of one of the men decidedly traced to this area: the companion,
protector, and...could it be...the cousin
of our heroic James Talbert? Are we coming nearer the mark, Mrs.
Scott? You look quiet pale; would you like to sit down?"
"I will stand," she said desperately, trying to prepare herself
against the coming blow. For now he had found the weak place in her
armor, the secret refuge of her soul. One thought only kept hammering
at her brain. Admit nothing.
At all costs she must not let this shark catch scent of her son's
blood.
And in fact the identity of the second prisoner was not known to him,
though his insight and shrewd guesses had brought him dangerously
close to the truth. Beside the number 406, the reported friend and
fellow fugitive of James Talbert, were written these words: No name
given, possible memory loss from head wound, called by fellow
prisoners `Jamie'
. This was the small victory that Michael had won during the first
brutal year of his captivity: he would not give up his true name. His
identity, and therefore his life, remained hidden.
But through the uncanny memory for persons and places which every
tyrant must possess, the Lord Purceville recalled a sturdy youth,
several years older than his son, who had once accompanied the Scotts
on a visit to Margaret MacCain, during the time of her employment at
his estate---the fierce disdain he had shown as he stepped from the
carriage, and spied its hated Master. Where was this fiery-eyed youth
now, who must surely have been of fighting age and temperament at the
time of the revolt? Had he been taken prisoner, and escaped along with
James Talbert, or merely been killed in the war? In any event the
mention of his name was bound to cause an emotional reaction in the
mother, which might lead him in turn to the girl. Like a skilled
fortune-teller he would draw her out, read the story in her face, and
follow where it led. Between pauses:
"What was this prisoner's name, you ask? Why, his last name appears to
be Scott. Could that be your son? Has he been here of late, to visit
you? Is it he
you are trying to protect? Is he in hiding along with Mary? Yes, of
course. That's it. They grew up together, did they not? Were they very
close, your strong, golden-haired son and fair, emerald-eyed niece?
They say that cousin is a dangerous relationship; surely there was an
attraction. Could they have been more than friends. . .even, lovers?"
At this Stephen's head jerked towards her, as if he had been scalded.
The woman could bear it no longer; she felt herself ready to explode.
But just as fear and rage rose irrepressibly inside her, she
instinctively channeled the outburst to lead him away from her son.
"Have you no shame, sir! My son is dead and buried these three years,
as a short walk to the gravesite of our clan will plainly show. He was
a brother and father both to my niece, and as fine a man as you could
ask. You will not speak against his honor in my house! He was willing
to die to stand up to the likes of you, and so am I. Kill
me, if you have the courage. By God, I'll listen to no more of this!"
"Careful, Mrs. Scott. You say your son lies yonder in the grave, but
that too could be a hoax. I have unearthed two bodies already. I will
not hesitate---"
This was too much for her. For the first time in her life, hatred
flared into animal violence.
"You will do no such thing! Check the funeral record at the vestry,
then take yourself to the Devil!" Seizing her husband's stout walking
stick from its place in the corner she flew at him, screaming. "You
get out of my house! Get out, you Godless bastard!"
And though she was but a woman---though her blows were blocked and the
stick taken from her---the suddenness of her fury served its purpose.
The man believed her son was dead, and saw plainly there was nothing
more to be got out of her.
Yet in his answering rage he might still have done her serious injury,
if his son had not intervened. Henry Purceville pushed her back
against the stone hearth wall, and cocked his great fist for a blow
which might well have killed her. Stephen caught his father's arm and
pulled him away from her, slowly but firmly.
"You don't want to do this," he said.
"No one speaks to me like that. I'll kill her!"
"And give Earl Arthur the weapon he needs to call an Inquest? Destroy
yourself for a moment's passion?"
"She has defied me! I will
have my daughter brought before me."
"Then leave her to me, if that is all you want. I know more of this
family than you do. Promise me now, in front of her, give me your
word, that you will do nothing to harm the girl, or put her on trial
for conspiracy." His father only struggled more fiercely, outraged
that anyone
should force on him such a condition.
But he found himself breathing too hard: his chest ached, and the
exertions of the day had begun to take their toll on him. He was
tired. He felt old.
Still, had the request not come from his son, and had he not already
been willing..... With a last sweep of his arm he broke free, and
relaxed his great limbs. Then looked his son full in the face.
"I will do it for you
, to show that I am not what you think. If you bring the girl to me,
tonight, I will drop all charges. And I never meant to harm her.....
"You accused me of many things last night. You are very naive. Since
your mother's death, it is true that I have not been kind. Kindness
gains a man nothing, nor does the illusion of love, as you will find.
Yes, I sent the MacCain woman away, as the scheming slut she was. But
I have no intention of hanging my own daughter. Perhaps you will not
believe it, but as much as anything..... I just want to see her." He
threw up his hands in disgust. "I promise, damn you all! Bring her to
me, tonight,
and the charges will be dropped."
Stephen stepped away, and to the center of the room, feeling awkward
and stiff. This was the closest thing to a confidence that his father
had shown him in many years.
"Thank you, Father. That should be agreeable..... You might as well
start back. If I may speak to Mrs. Scott alone, I think I can convince
her that it is the only way."
"See that you do!" he growled, turning on the woman once more. "If you
can't, bring her instead. I'm not over-fond of hostages, but they
usually bring the desired result. Good day
, Mrs. Scott." Without further speech he filed past and out the door,
remounted his fierce gray, and rode off.
Stephen was silent for several minutes, as if confused in his
loyalties. Then turned again to face the woman. He spoke stiffly.
"Mrs. Scott. I must apologize to you for my conduct at our last
meeting. You have no reason to believe it, I'm sure. But I am not the
same man now, that I was. Your niece, my sister, has forced me to look
at myself in a new light. I don't much like what I see. I make no
excuses, except to say that I am my father's son, and was raised
without..... Nevermind. I am sorry, too, that you had to endure his
wrath for so long. There was no other way. Had I spoken before I did,
it would simply have made matters worse."
The woman could only stare at him in disbelief.
"And now all you ask," she replied, "in exchange for my own freedom,
is that I turn an innocent young woman over to the man who burned her
mother at the stake, and threatened to violate my son's grave. To say
nothing of what you yourself have done. Why should my answer to you be
any different than the one I made your father?"
His face flushed with anger, which he then suppressed. "First, because
I am trying to protect her. And you, though you don't believe it.
Second, because he didn't kill her mother, or even strike her, as he
told his men. She was dead when we arrived..... You don't believe me.
Here. She left this note for Mary."
He handed her a single sheet, on which was written the woman's dying
message to her daughter. The hand was weak and failing, but
undoubtedly that of her sister. Anne Scott read it quickly, then
looked searchingly into the young man's face.
"The third reason, and I do not say it as my father would..... I know
she's here, Mrs. Scott. The soiled cloak on the peg, is hers. She was
wearing it yesterday when..... When I found out what kind of man I had
become. I can't forgive myself for that. I can only try to make
amends, by seeing to it that she is never again brought to such a
pass.
"But I'm afraid the first step toward that end, must be the visit to
my father. You must believe me, he will do nothing to harm her, so
long as I remain as her protector. He is angry now, and afraid that
she may pose some new threat, when his skies are already darkened for
a storm. But when he learns her true nature, as I have, he will
realize his mistake. And if I have anything to say about it, he will
make restitution as well, for the years he left her destitute.
"Mrs. Scott. I don't ask you to forgive the wrongs that were committed
in the past, only that you trust me to know the realities of the
present. If he is defied, my father will only become more ruthless. He
will scour the countryside; he will never stop. You must let me take
her to him. There is no other way."
The woman moved wearily to her chair, and sat down. Violence she had
been prepared to withstand, and treachery. But a seemingly genuine
offer of help, from the one man with any influence over their most
deadly enemy. . .confused her utterly.
Where did her responsibility lie now? For though she tried to suppress
it, another thought had occurred to her. If Lord Purceville dropped
the charges against her niece, and sent to Edinburgh (or merely
buried) the body of Mary's assailant as prisoner number 406, would
that not end the search for her son, and make him, in time, a free
man? Try as she might, she could not help but wonder at this chance,
and weigh it against the possible danger to her niece.
"Will you do something for me?" she asked him. "Will you return to me
in an hour's time? My niece, as you guessed, is close by. But I must
have time to think, and speak to her at length, before I can come to
any decision."
"You understand that I cannot go far? And that if either of you try to
escape, I merely become an extension of my father---just as hard, just
as ruthless."
"Yes," she replied. "I ask nothing more."
... "Where would you suggest I go?"
"Our ancestral gravesite lies in the wooded dell, a quarter of a mile
from here, by the back path. There you may satisfy yourself that my
son was in fact killed in the war. Nay, don't be angry. I saw the look
that crossed your face when your father said those things about him.
If you are to remain as Mary's protector..... It's important to me
that you know they were not true."
"All right. I will remain in the dell for thirty minutes, no more.
Then I will ride in wide circles
about the house, to insure that no attempt is made to escape. I must
take her back, tonight. And the day is already growing long."
"Thank you," said the woman. "If you will truly act as the friend and
benefactor of my niece..... You will not only have my forgiveness, but
my gratitude as well."
Stephen nodded with an unreadable expression, and left the house. As
soon as his horse's hooves could no longer be heard, she went to the
trap.
Despite all Michael's objections, when she learned the chance existed
to free him from the pursuit and persecution of the English, Mary too
insisted that it must be taken, the plan tried. And his mother told
him plainly:
"You are unwell, and a wanted man. If nothing else, this buys you time
to recover from the harrows of your affliction. You are the one among
us most in danger, and most in need. We are going
to do this for you; there is no time for pride and fear!"
He would never have consented, no matter how great the pressure, if he
knew that Stephen Purceville himself had assaulted Mary, and that his
father had violated the grave of James Talbert, to obtain for him this
`chance'. But he did not know. And it soon became clear that the only
way to stop the two from going---Anne Scott accompanying her as a
guardian---would be to try to restrain them physically, to the
possible undoing of them all. For at irregular intervals they heard
the hoofbeats of Stephen's horse, now nearer, now farther away. And
the hour was nearly expired.
As it was he was far from pacified, and had nearly to be forced down
the steps as Purceville drew rein, and approached the door.
And when two more hours had passed, and he forced open the trap door
beneath the added weight and resistance of the carpet..... They were
gone. The house was dark and empty. Purceville had ridden ahead to
send a carriage back to meet them, as the two women he loved more than
his own life, advanced slowly north along the road to MacPherson
Castle.