Chapter 17
The Prisoner
Diana counted four doors between the yard and the room they locked her in.
The third creaked. The fourth had a new lock and a guard who breathed through his mouth.
Given a choice, she preferred the man.
The room took up the back of the hunting lodge. The walls were faced with darkened wood, and the only comfortable piece of furniture stood in front of the dead fire, out of her reach. Malcolm had her tied to a plain chair, wrists behind the back of it and a cord around her ankles.
Her right hand burned.
During the fight in Penelope's house, Diana had taken hold of a broken glass to keep one of the men off her. The glass cut her palm before it fell. The wound bled inside the carriage when she tried to reach the door catch.
She hoped Alistair found the stain.
She hoped as well that he did not read it as proof of something worse.
The ribbon had been clearer. Diana had managed to cut it with the edge of a broken clasp, mark the direction, and catch it in the wood during the change of vehicles. Eliza would know the stitch.
If the wind had not moved it.
If Malcolm had not found the silk.
If the MacLeods reached the first carriage.
Diana stopped the sequence. Hypotheses would not loosen the cord.
Under the hem of the gown, against the side seam, there was a small metal hook. Eliza had hidden it there when they went back to Penelope's house, on the principle that any woman serving tea to traitors ought to carry a suitable tool.
Diana had to reach it.
The chair had a narrow back. Her fingers could touch the side of the skirt; the hem stayed several inches below them. She worked the cloth up a little at a time with the toes of her shoes and the pressure of her knees.
Steps sounded in the corridor.
She let the skirt drop.
The door opened, and Malcolm came in with the guard who breathed through his mouth. The man carried a lamp and had a fresh scratch on his cheek, a memento of Diana's resistance in the hall.
Malcolm took off his gloves.
"Leave us."
The guard set the light on a table.
"She tried to cut Fergus."
"And failed."
"She cut her own hand."
Diana looked at the makeshift binding around her palm.
"The night is not over. We may both improve our performance."
The guard took a step toward her.
Malcolm raised two fingers.
"Outside."
The man went out and shut the door hard.
Diana heard the key turn. One full turn, then half a movement back. A new lock, fitted in a hurry or badly set.
Malcolm pulled the comfortable chair around in front of her and sat down.
"Where is the MacLeod shelter?"
"In the Highlands."
"I require a location."
"Scotland remains where it was. That should assist you."
He rested his hands on one knee.
"Do you believe that irritating me will improve your chances?"
"It increases the duration of this conversation."
His mouth hardened.
Diana kept her breathing even. Malcolm looked for signs of fear the way he looked for faults in a route: small deviations able to indicate the whole path.
"You were six days with them," he said. "You must have seen the direction taken from the mill."
"We were taken at night."
"The sun rose at some point."
"It generally does."
"You saw slopes, watercourses, buildings."
"I saw trees. A great many."
"What kind?"
"The kind that grow in the ground."
Malcolm stood.
The chair scraped the boards. He walked to the window and moved part of the curtain aside. Diana could not see out, and she heard a horse in the yard and voices near the stable.
At least two men outside.
The guard stayed in the corridor. Another crossed the floor below at regular intervals; his boots had a worn heel that scraped the wood on each return.
Four men confirmed, besides Malcolm.
"How many fighting men are left?" he asked.
"Fewer than before the attack."
"How many?"
"I was not introduced to all of them."
"Ten?"
Diana tipped her head.
"If you have already chosen a number, my participation appears unnecessary."
"Twenty?"
"You continue to demonstrate independence."
Malcolm let the curtain fall.
"Are there men enough to defend the shelter?"
"The attempt to find it suggests that you do not yet know."
"I know the MacLeods."
"You did."
His eyes came back to her.
The word had landed in the right place.
"Does Alistair permit an Englishwoman to speak for the clan now?"
"I am Scottish, according to the inquiry you made into my family."
"You were raised among the English."
"Even so, I recognize a Scottish traitor without difficulty."
Malcolm crossed the room.
Diana waited for the blow. He stopped near enough for the light to show a vein beating at his temple, and he did not touch her.
"How is Alistair's wound?"
"Better."
"Can he ride?"
She thought of the pallor on him beside the coal cart. Of the stiffness with which he held himself to hide the pain. Of the small mark of blood that probably appeared on the binding every time he decided not to obey Iain.
"He can make poor decisions on horseback."
"Then he was in Inverness."
Diana kept her eyes on his face.
"Most poor decisions occur near other people. Inverness offers a great many opportunities."
Malcolm bent down with his hands on the arms of the chair.
"He was outside Penelope's house."
It was not a question.
"You should speak with your own watchers."
"Penelope controlled the watchers."
"That explains a number of failures."
He moved away.
The irritation had come from the same source all along: Malcolm had been used. He did not yet know how far.
"She has gone," Diana said.
"You are trying to make me talk."
"It requires no great effort. The house was prepared for travel, and Penelope did not remain to witness my capture."
"Lady Hawthorne does not matter."
"She took the map."
The silence answered before he did.
Blood beat under the binding on her hand.
"You did not know," she said.
Malcolm walked to the table and poured himself a drink from an open bottle. The liquid struck the glass harder than it needed to.
"The parchment was under my protection."
"Penelope held a different opinion."
"She does not understand what she is carrying."
"She understands the value."
"Value to whom?"
"To a woman who has just left Scotland with money, documents, and a route to the coast."
Malcolm drank.
"She will not reach the port."
"Do you intend to stop her after you finish interrogating a bound companion?"
He set the glass down.
"My men are already looking."
"How many?"
Malcolm caught the question too late.
Diana watched the small change in his face.
Few men remained at the lodge. The rest were following Penelope or patrolling false roads to confuse the MacLeods.
"You need not concern yourself with Lady Hawthorne," he said.
"I am attempting to determine which of you has the greater chance of escaping this night."
"You have none."
"Then Penelope remains ahead."
Malcolm held the glass until his fingers lost their color.
"She left for the coast shortly before you were taken out of the house. Boyd had the horses made ready without my authorization. That does not mean she will arrive."
The confirmation came whole.
Penelope had the map. She meant to reach the coast. Malcolm had sent men after her, which thinned the defense of the lodge.
Diana pressed her feet against the chair rail again, working the hem up another inch or two while she kept his attention elsewhere.
"Will Tobias help her?"
Malcolm let out a laugh with nothing in it.
"Redmayne left the region yesterday."
"Without the map?"
"Tobias never believed the parchment justified remaining here. He had orders to go south."
Diana put the information away.
Tobias would take no part in a rescue, a transfer, or any confrontation. Penelope worked alone, protected by the map and the time Malcolm had lost.
"Then what remains is you and Lady Hawthorne disputing an object neither of you can read in full."
"I can read enough."
"Enough to burn a castle."
The glass hit the table.
"The castle fell because Alistair refused to understand that the clan was already condemned."
"Is that why you had to betray the line of retreat?"
Malcolm turned.
"I saved men who would have died defending stones."
"You gave up the wounded and the children."
"Alistair put them at risk."
"Blaming the laird must be more comfortable than remembering who opened the way."
He crossed the distance and took her chin.
The pressure of his fingers was firm, calculated to hurt without leaving a visible mark.
Diana did not look away.
"You believe you know him," Malcolm said. "You saw a wounded man and decided that revealed character."
"I knew him before."
The answer escaped before she could hold it back.
Malcolm loosened his fingers.
"Before what?"
"Before you learned to sell routes."
"From where?"
Diana said nothing.
Curiosity had changed the interrogation. Malcolm leaned closer.
"Did Andrew Fraser treat the MacLeods?"
"My father treated anyone who needed it."
"You knew Alistair as a child."
She did not answer.
"That is why you saved him."
"I saved him because he was bleeding."
"You went back to the wall, lied to Penelope, and spent six days among enemies out of duty to a patient?"
"My father was demanding."
Malcolm let go of her face.
"Old loyalty. That explains the risk."
Diana lowered her chin only as far as she needed to ease the ache.
It did not explain the kiss in the chapel. Nor the way she had searched every window for him during the reception.
Malcolm did not need to know.
Below, a door banged. Someone called his name.
Malcolm opened the door.
"What is it?"
"We found the coach empty on the coast road," a voice answered. "Lady Hawthorne changed vehicles."
"Boyd?"
"Gone with her."
Malcolm swore and went out into the corridor.
Diana used it.
With the toe of her shoe she drew the hem up until it reached the metal hook. Her bound fingers found the small ridge under the seam. She worked at it until the stitching gave.
The metal dropped into her palm.
The door stayed open. The guard was a few steps along, following the argument at the head of the stairs.
Diana put the hook between the cord and her left wrist. The position required twisting her fingers until the thumb joint objected.
Malcolm spoke too low for her to make out all the words.
She caught three words: the west road, horses, MacLeod.
Alistair was near.
Perhaps the tracks had brought him to the house. Perhaps Malcolm only feared that they had.
Diana worked the hook against the knot.
The fiber gave a little.
Steps came back.
She closed her fingers over the metal and let her hands go still.
Malcolm came in with a colder face than before.
"Your friends found the first carriage."
"Then I left an adequate mark."
He stopped.
"The ribbon."
Diana let her mouth curve.
"You should search your prisoners more thoroughly."
Malcolm walked to the door and called the guard.
The man came in.
"Have the light vehicle made ready," Malcolm said. "Two rested horses. Take the south road and change direction after the river."
"And the men in the wood?"
"Leave them waiting for the MacLeods."
The guard looked at Diana.
"Are we taking her now?"
Malcolm checked the clock on the mantel.
"Not yet. I want distance enough before they see the deception."
Malcolm settled the cuffs of his coat.
"Move her before dawn."