Chapter 22
Ruby wove her way through the copse until she spied a small stone building up ahead. The smell of damp clay that hit her—earthy and metallic—told her she’d found what she was looking for.
She pushed the door open and found Charlie right where she’d expected to: at the pottery wheel, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair pinned up in a careless knot.
The studio looked like it might once have been a small barn or storage shed but Charlie had transformed it into something warm and bright.
Shelves lined the walls, heavy with bowls and mugs in various stages of drying.
The kiln squatted in the corner like a toad, heat radiating from it and chasing away the September chill.
Charlie glanced at her and smiled. “Come to have a go?”
Her foot pumped steadily at the treadle, the wheel turning smoothly. Her hands coaxed the clay upward, narrowing the neck of what would soon become a jug. She made it look effortless. Charlie had always been the creative one of the family, whilst Ruby had all the artistic flair of a rock.
“Looking for you, actually. Flora told me you’d be here.”
“Came out first thing this morning. Working clay gives me something to do with my hands and stops me worrying. You should try it.”
Ruby stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her. “I have tried it, remember?”
The first time Charlie had coaxed her into a pottery studio, Ruby had tried to find something soothing in it—the rhythmic spin of the wheel, the quiet concentration—but all she had found was frustration and a wobbling lump that collapsed in on itself no matter how carefully she tried to shape it.
“Tried it?” Charlie said, arching an eyebrow. “As I recall, you sulked for twenty minutes and then declared that the clay had it in for you.”
“It did have it in for me!” Ruby replied indignantly. “It was determined to stay a useless lump no matter what I did.”
She crossed the room and perched on a low stool, tucking her hands into the folds of her skirts.
She watched the clay rise and fall beneath Charlie’s fingers and wished—desperately—that she had something like this.
Something she could shape. Something she could control.
Instead, all she had was waiting. Worrying.
“You haven’t slept?” Charlie asked.
“No. You?”
“Not really.” Charlie’s hands stilled. The clay wobbled and began to slump. She caught it, coaxing it back into shape with gentle pressure. “You’re worried he won’t come back?”
Ruby stared at the floor. “Yes.”
The wheel slowed and finally stopped. “We have to trust him,” Charlie said. “Trust that he knows what he’s doing. We can’t make this work if we don’t.”
“I know,” Ruby replied. “It’s just...” She threw up her hands. “I feel so helpless. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I...I’ve had an idea.”
Charlie wiped her hands on a rag. “Oh?”
“I want to enlist Hamish.”
“Hamish MacLaren? The headman at Evan’s village?”
“As a go-between,” Ruby said, nodding. “If Evan can’t be seen speaking to us, someone has to keep an eye on him, warn us if something goes wrong, carry word if needed.”
Charlie leaned back, considering. “Good idea. We’ll go speak to him.”
Ruby blinked. “We?”
Charlie gave her a flat look. “Of course I’m coming with you. I’m not letting you sneak off alone.”
“Sneak? How dare you? I never sneak.”
“Well, we’ll both be sneaking this time,” Charlie said. “Because we can’t tell anyone else. Not Niall. Not Bryce. If this goes wrong, the fewer people implicated the better.”
Ruby nodded. “Agreed.”
They returned to the house only long enough to get themselves a pair of long, hooded cloaks then they slipped away, cutting through the woods towards Evan’s lands, and keeping to the narrow deer tracks rather than the main road.
The forest smelled of pine and damp leaves and their boots sank softly into the earth. They walked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds their breathing and the occasional snap of twigs beneath their feet.
Charlie led them unerringly through the woods until finally they reached the low wall that marked the boundary between Niall’s and Evan’s lands. They ducked low and peered out at the village beyond.
Home, she thought. This is going to be my home.
Or, at least, it would be if they could stop MacInnes.
Ruby scanned the village. It seemed quiet, but even so, Ruby gripped Charlie’s wrist, indicating for her to wait.
If she’d learned one thing from Evan during their time traveling together, it was caution.
Only after a good chunk of time had passed and all remained quiet did she indicate that they should move.
Vaulting over the wall, she and Charlie pulled up their hoods and skirted the village edge until they reached Hamish’s cottage. Smoke curled from the chimney. Ruby lifted her hand and knocked.
She heard footsteps, and the door creaked open. Hamish blinked at the sight of two hooded figures on his threshold.
“Aye?”
Ruby pulled back her hood, and his eyes widened. “Mistress Ruby? Lady Charlotte?”
Ruby offered a tentative smile. “Hello, Hamish. May we come in?”
He hesitated only a second before stepping aside. The room they entered was warm and smelled faintly of stew.
Hamish looked between the two women. “What can I do for ye?”
Ruby took a deep breath. “We need your help.”
“What kind of help?”
Ruby glanced at Charlie, then back at Hamish. “Things have...changed. Those men you locked up in Niall’s storeroom? Evan let them out.”
Hamish’s eyebrows shot up. “He what?”
Ruby plowed on. “And they are up at the manor house right now. With Evan. He’s working with them.”
Hamish shook his head. “I dinna understand. Why would he work with ruffians who already attacked him once? He planned to leave the village in order to avoid them. This makes no sense.”
“Those men work for a man called Seoras MacInnes, an outlaw warlord who is trying to take over Evan’s lands.”
Anger flashed in Hamish’s eyes. “Wants to take over these lands? Our lands? Our home? And Evan is going to let them?”
“No,” she said, meeting the headman’s gaze.
“He’s setting a trap for MacInnes. He’s making it look like he’s working for him in order to draw him out, find out where he is so that he can be arrested.
But it’s dangerous. If MacInnes finds out he’s being played.
..” She took a deep breath. “That’s why we need your help.
We need someone close who can watch and monitor what’s going on and bring word to us if needed. We can’t let Evan face this alone.”
Silence stretched. Charlie shifted beside her but did not speak.
At last, Hamish exhaled slowly. “I have known that lad since he could barely hold a fishing rod. Watched him scrape his knees and get into fights he couldnae win. Watched him leave. And watched him come back different. I canna say that I understand half of what’s going on here, but I pledged my loyalty to the Campbells.
I willnae break that vow. I’ll do what ye ask. ”
Relief crashed through Ruby, and she met Hamish’s eyes. “Thank you.”
He gave a gruff nod. “For Evan? I’d do far more than carry messages.” He gestured to the table. “Take a seat. We’ve got some planning to do.”
THE NIGHT AIR WAS SHARP enough to bite.
Evan lay flat in the wet grass, the earth cold beneath his chest, the smell of peat and old hay drifting from the dark shape of the barn ahead.
A low mist clung to the fields, silvered by the thin sliver of moon overhead.
It was the kind of night he used to favor—quiet, watchful, made for men who preferred to move unseen.
Beside him, Fergus Key shifted his weight restlessly. He was not good at waiting. On Evan’s other side, Tam Bisset, one of his other MacInnes minders, lay with his chin on the ground, peering through the coarse grass toward the yard.
They had been there nearly an hour. Long enough for Evan’s back to start aching and his limbs to cramp.
Ahead, the barn sat squat and solid against the dark. Earlier, they’d watched the last of the farm workers leave—two young lads arguing about a dog, an older man with a lantern who paused to spit in the dirt before walking away.
Now there was nothing but the occasional lowing of cattle in the distance and the whisper of wind across the fields.
Still, Evan waited. He had to get this right.
If they moved too soon, before the people in the nearby settlement were abed, it would bring them running before they had time to get away, and then all hell would break loose.
“Ye are sure this will work?” Fergus muttered.
“Aye,” Evan replied. “It lies close to the southern track. Folk will think the neighboring laird’s trying to choke off supplies. Especially after we sabotaged their wagons yesterday.”
He had chosen this place deliberately. There had been strife between these two neighboring landowners for years, always simmering below the surface. It wouldn’t take much to inflame it, and with their sprawling clan ties and obligations, that strife would soon spread.
“All right,” Evan breathed. “Let’s go.”
They rose as one, three shadows peeling themselves from the grass. They crossed the yard quickly, boots silent on the packed dirt. Tam slipped to the rear of the barn, Key to the side nearest the hedgerow. Evan approached the main doors. He could smell the hay now—dry, sweet, waiting.
It would go up quickly.
He pulled the small flask of oil from inside his coat and splashed it along the base of the wood, careful and deliberate. Not too much, but enough to catch. Enough to look intentional.
He crouched and struck flint to steel. The spark caught. A thin tongue of flame licked upward, tentative, tasting the oil. It spread along the board, creeping like a living thing. Within seconds it had found the hay stacked just inside the door.
Heat bloomed against Evan’s face. He stepped back. Key was already circling to join him, Tam emerging from the shadows as smoke began to curl thick and black into the night. Flames crackled, low and hungry.