Chapter 12
Isabail took young Jamie with her into the tunnels. In part it was because the very thought of returning to the narrow and dark confines terrified her. But it was also because she had need of a strong helper and the lad was solidly built.
“Which of the men is your da?” she asked the boy as they entered the dimly lit passage.
“None,” Jamie replied. “My da disappeared the night the laird was arrested by the earl of Lochurkie.”
“Oh.” If he had disappeared, was it not possible he was the thief Aiden sought? The man in black? Not that she would dare suggest such to Jamie.
“My da is the finest of the MacCurran’s warriors,” Jamie offered as they picked their way along. “No one can best him with a sword, not even the laird himself.”
She smiled. A very proud son. “Your mother must miss him sorely.”
“Nay. She’s passed on. She was poisoned by the thief, as was my wee brother, Hugh.”
Isabail halted and turned to face the lad. “Och, I’m so sorry, Jamie. I’ve no sense at all, stirring those memories for you.”
His gaze dropped to his feet. “My da is off searching for the madman as we speak. He’ll not return until he finds him.”
The truth, or just a wishful thought? She put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “Then I’m certain he’ll return anon.”
He nodded. “What is it we are seeking in the storeroom?”
“A small chest,” she said, continuing down the tunnel until she reached the open space of the storeroom. She immediately breathed easier. “I saw it here a number of days ago.”
“What’s inside?” he asked curiously.
“A gift for the laird,” she said, holding the torch high. “It’s a small brown chest banded with brass. I think it’s behind those flour sacks.”
He scrambled over the sacks in question and climbed down the other side. “I think I see it.”
“Good. Can you lift it out?”
She heard him grunt. “‘Tis heavier than it looks. Is it filled with gold?”
Isabail laughed. “Nay, but something nearly as precious to the laird, if I’m not mistaken.”
He heaved the chest atop the flour sacks, then climbed over. When he had both feet planted firmly on the tunnel floor, he lifted the wooden box with a grunt and clasped it to his chest.
Seeing the gritted teeth and taut muscles in his arms, Isabail quickly led the way back out. When they reached daylight, Jamie called for a halt and set the box on the ground. “What’s in here?” he asked, out of breath.
“It’s a secret.”
“Can I be there when he opens it?” the lad asked as he bent and reclaimed the box.
Isabail nodded. “Of course.”
They marched across the close to where MacCurran and his brother were eating their midday meal. Isabail tossed a short glare at Gorm, who was lying contentedly at MacCurran’s feet. Traitor. She waved Jamie forward with the chest, and the lad lowered the box to the ground next to the dog.
MacCurran offered her an arched brow.
His stare was intent, and Isabail blushed. “You may recall that I offered you a prize,” she said, suddenly very aware that Niall was listening with avid attention. “I keep my word. Here it is.”
MacCurran looked at the chest, then back up to her face. “I assumed it was a jest. You’ve no need to gift me anything.”
“You assume many things, I’ve noted,” she said briskly. “In truth, the item is already yours. I found it in the caves. Open it.”
MacCurran gave the last of his bread to Gorm, then bent and unlatched the chest. He opened the lid and stared at the contents for a long moment.
“What is it?” asked Jamie. “May I see?”
MacCurran nodded, and the boy leapt forward to look in the chest. He frowned, clearly disappointed. “Arrowheads?”
Niall dove for the box. “Truly?” He grinned as he lifted a steel broadhead and studied it. “Where did you find these?”
Isabail’s eyes met MacCurran’s. “In the cave. Had you a seneschal, you’d likely have found them yourselves some time ago.”
He smiled faintly. “I seem to recall someone suggesting that very same notion a few days past.”
“There you have it, then,” she said. “My debt is paid.”
“Nay,” he said. “You still owe me the names of your guests at Lochurkie.”
A cold lump dropped into Isabail’s belly. How eager he was to see her gone now. It was as if the night of bliss they’d shared had never been. She wrapped her arms about her waist, feeling a little nauseous.
“Fetch me a quill, a pot of ink, and some parchment, and I will give you the names,” she said quietly. Then she spun about and headed back to the hut she’d once shared with Muirne.
* * *
Niall dropped the arrowhead back into the chest with a soft clatter. “She seems a wee bit angry.”
“She is not pleased with me at the moment,” Aiden admitted.
“But you’ve got what you desired. She’s going to give you the names.”
Aiden frowned. So she had said. But why now? Why give him the names today when he had pressed her repeatedly for them to no avail? If anything, he had expected her to be more stubborn than ever, after their discussion of this morning. Anger, yes. Compliance? That seemed out of place.
And why did the knowledge that he would soon have the names he sought not fill him with joy? Those names were the very reason he had risked everything to capture her. “In truth,” he admitted, “I had not thought much beyond gaining the names. I’ve no plan for how to coax the truth from these men.”
“Ask them each to don a hooded cloak,” Niall offered. “Perhaps you’ll recognize the thief simply by the way he holds himself.”
“Perhaps.”
“The camp will certainly be a quiet place once Lady Macintosh has departed,” Niall said. “And your mother may venture out of her rooms more often, God help us. She seems to be avoiding the lady for some reason.”
Aiden was no longer listening. His thoughts had come to a crashing halt with the words once Lady Macintosh has departed. She had been in his camp only a sennight, and already he could not imagine the place—especially his own hut—without her.
“Who among the older men can count?” Aiden asked his brother.
“Hamish, I believe . . . and perhaps Gordon.”
“Tell Hamish he’s now the seneschal,” Aiden said, handing his brother the chest of arrowheads. “And have these made into arrows.”
Niall’s eyebrows soared. “Where are you going?”
“To speak with Lady Macintosh.”
“Are you certain that’s a wise idea? Perhaps it would be best to wait until she’s written the names of her guests.”
Aiden quelled his brother’s suggestion with a hard stare, then marched across the close to his hut.
* * *
Daniel was standing near the back of the hut when Isabail entered.
He was dressed in a cream-colored lèine and laced leather boots.
For the first time since MacCurran’s men dragged his bleeding body into the close, he looked tall and self-assured—every bit the handsome Frenchman who had drawn her brother’s attention.
“Where’s Muirne?” she asked, glancing about.
He turned to face her. “Beathag had need of her services.”
“I have need of her, as well. We need to pack up our belongings.”
Daniel frowned. “Why?”
“I’ve promised MacCurran the information he seeks,” Isabail said. “Once he has the names, he will set us free.”
“Don’t be a fool. We know the location of his camp. He cannot set us free without compromising the safety of his people.”
Isabail paused. She did not know the camp’s location—because she had been blindfolded. But the same could not be said for Daniel. Nor had MacCurran said he would free Daniel. She had simply assumed . . . “In truth, he said nothing of setting you free,” she admitted.
“Because he intends to slay me,” Daniel said grimly.
“Nay,” she protested. “You were insensible when they dragged you into camp. You are no more certain of its exact location than I.”
“Gorm led me near enough to cause MacCurran worry.” He grabbed her arm, his grip painfully tight. “He cannot risk setting me free. Not if he is truly committed to protecting his kin. We must leave of our own accord. Now, while he believes you acquiescent.”
“MacCurran is not the villain you believe him to be.”
Daniel’s expression softened. “I know you think well of him, but put yourself in his boots, Isabail. What if he set me free and I revealed what I know? What if MacPherson made sense of my ramblings and was able to derive the location of the camp?”
A chill slid down Isabail’s spine. The outcome of such events would be horrific. “But to kill a man simply for what he knows . . . that’s barbaric.”
“A chief must be willing to do what other men cannot.”
Isabail stared at Daniel. His words rang true.
MacCurran was first and foremost a Highland chieftain, responsible for the men, women, and children of his clan.
He would do anything to protect them, including sacrificing his own life.
She knew that without a doubt. Was he capable of slaying a good man to accomplish his aims?
Aye, he was. Sir Robert had been a good man, and MacCurran had slain him to capture her.
“But how can we escape?” she asked. “There’s a guard outside the door.”
He took her hand and drew her toward the back of the hut.
“While you’ve been out and about the camp, I’ve been busy.
” He unsheathed his small eating dirk and cut the last tongue of wood holding a panel in the wall.
The square of wall fell onto the grass outside, and the crisp winter breeze blew across Isabail’s toes.
Not entirely certain she was doing the right thing, she followed Daniel through the hole.
As Daniel led her quickly behind one of the other huts, keeping to the shadows, Isabail glanced over her shoulder. “Where are we going?” she whispered. “The horses are staked at the opposite end of the fort.”
“We cannot leave without the necklace.”
She dug her feet in, coming to an abrupt halt. “Are you mad? I’ve searched the camp thoroughly. The necklace is not here.”
He faced her. “It’s here.”
“If you truly desire to leave, we must go now,” she urged. “Once MacCurran discovers me absent, escape will be near impossible.”
“I will not leave without the necklace,” he said stubbornly. “It’s the reason I am here.”