Eilean Dubh
22 February 1757
The creak of her bedroom door pulled Sarah from sleep. Rolling over, she opened her eyes, blinked, and watched Isla creep into the room; Bandit greeted her with a thump of his tail on the hearthrug but the maid ignored him as she stirred up the coals and threw a few logs into the grate.
Sarah pushed herself up against the fat, feather-down pillows and pushed her tangled hair from her eyes. Judging by how cold and dark the room was, she guessed it was either early, or the weather was inclement, or both. When Isla pulled back the curtains, weak grey light filtered in through the diamond panes. The morning appeared to be perfectly matched to her gloomy mood.
‘Is Black here?’ she asked in a voice hoarse with sleep and too much weeping. She didn’t expect him to be. After their disastrous tryst, she’d heard him slam the door when he left.
Isla approached the tester bed. ‘Nae, miss. He spent the night at Black—I mean, he isna here.’ Her gaze wandered over Sarah and her brow knitted. ‘Are ye all right, miss? Can I get ye anything?’
Sarah tugged up her sagging, crumpled shift; she hadn’t bothered to change into a night-rail last night. ‘Just some hot water and a robe to begin with. And then maybe a little breakfast.’
‘Aye, miss.’
When Sarah slipped from the bed and crossed to the washstand, she caught sight of her face in the looking glass and grimaced. No wonder Isla had looked concerned; her eyes were puffy with exhaustion and tears, her cheeks as pale as milk. Thankfully, Isla helped her with her toilette without further comment and it wasn’t long before Sarah was ensconced before the blazing fire in her room with a plate of freshly buttered toast and a cup of tea.
As she fed the crusts of her toast to Bandit, Isla emerged from behind the silk screen with a bundle of clothes—her ruined red velvet gown and to her horror, Black’s dark blue frockcoat.
A furious blush scalded Sarah’s cheeks. She’d completely forgotten that Black had discarded it last night. What must Isla think?
Clearly the worst, judging by the girl’s severe expression. Her mouth had flattened into a disapproving line and the look she shot Sarah was nothing short of accusatory as she crossed the chamber.
‘Isla—’
‘’Tis none of my business, miss.’ Isla disappeared into the kitchen and Sarah let out a shaky sigh. It seemed the rest of her day was going to be filled with uncomfortable, drawn-out silences and censorious glances.
‘At least I have you, Bandit,’ she murmured, caressing the unruly mane around the dog’s neck. ‘Perhaps you can help me come up with another way to escape.’
Letting out a soft snuffle, the collie subsided onto the hearthrug and Sarah twisted the ribbon ties of her velvet robe as she stared into the leaping flames of the fire. Her plan to make Black care for her had failed, dismally. Not only had he worked out what she’d been up to, he’d all but called her a whore.
Closing her eyes against the prick of tears, a wave of shame and anguish washed over her as she recalled his words and the anger in his eyes. The harsh bitterness in his voice as he’d rejected her yet again.
It made the memory of his glorious kisses hurt all the more. Black might want her in a physical sense, but it was abundantly clear he despised her for how she’d debased herself and attempted to manipulate him.
But then, wasn’t it his fault that he’d pushed her into such an intolerable position? He’d said as much himself. However, when all was said and done, dwelling on who was to blame wasn’t going to help her get away from Eilean Dubh. And considering the due date for the ransom was drawing ever closer, the imperative to escape was more urgent than ever.
But how?
The answer to her seemingly insurmountable problem came from an unexpected quarter but an hour later.
After she’d dressed, Sarah retired to the solar, looking for something to do besides sitting in her bedchamber and fretting the day away. Sewing was not sufficiently engaging—it gave her too much time to brood—and she was not in the mood to play the spinet, so she perused the titles in the glass-fronted bookcase as she’d done a thousand times before. A thick book covered in tooled, dark green leather with distinctive gold lettering caught her eye: Architectural Antiquities of Scotland by J.M. Arbuthnot.
How odd she hadn’t noticed it before. Pulling it from the shelf, Sarah took it to the window seat and began to peruse the musty, yellowed pages. There were fine, detailed etchings of many of the former royal residences of the deposed Scottish monarchy—the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh Castle, Linlithgow Palace, Falkland Palace, and Stirling Castle—as well as lesser known manor houses and castles. And that’s when she saw it, a few pages past a section on the tower house of Balmoral… a small lithograph entitled Blackloch Castle on the shores of Loch Rannoch, Perthshire. Above the forest, behind the castle, a distinctive sharp peak jutted into the sky. It was the very same peak that could be viewed from all of Eilean Dubh’s west facing windows, including the solar.
Her heart pounding, Sarah rushed over to the window to compare the vista to the one in the book. And her breath froze in her chest.
Oh, my God. I know where I am.
With trembling fingers, Sarah turned the page and read a short paragraph on the history of Blackloch Castle. Phrases jumped out at her: the Lairds of Blackloch… seat of the Chief of Clan MacIvor… Baron Rannoch… vast holdings in and around Loch Rannoch and Rannoch Moor.
And further on: Eilean Dubh, a ruined medieval tower house situated on an island at the western end of Loch Rannoch… Sacked by Fergus Campbell, the first Earl of Tay, in the fourteenth century…
Taymoor Castle was in Perthshire too.
Her knees like water, Sarah collapsed onto the window seat. Alexander Black was really Alexander MacIvor, she’d stake her life on it. Perhaps he was even Baron Rannoch. Hadn’t Isla called him ‘lord’ on her first morning here?
And the MacIvors and the Campbells of Tay had been feuding for centuries. However, that didn’t explain why Alexander had such a personal grudge against Malcolm. It was the one last piece of the puzzle she was burning to discover.
Sarah stared at the picture of Blackloch Castle again for another full minute to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. And then, with the book in one hand and her skirts in the other, she rushed down the stairs to question Isla.
The maid was in the kitchen, kneading a large mound of soft, white dough on the oak table. She didn’t even look up when Sarah entered the room, just kept on pushing and folding and pummelling the dough as if her life depended on it. Perhaps Isla imagined she was pummelling her.
Sarah cleared her throat. ‘Isla, I need to speak with you about something most urgent.’
Isla turned the dough over and dusted it with a handful of flour. ‘What is it?’ she asked in a tone as sour as the weather outside.
Sarah thrust the book in front of her nose and pointed to the picture of Blackloch Castle. ‘I found this. Your master is Alexander MacIvor, the Laird of Blackloch, isn’t he, Isla? And Eilean Dubh belongs to him too.’
Isla’s cheeks turned bright red and she stopped kneading the dough. ‘Where did you find that, miss?’ she whispered.
‘In the bookcase upstairs.’
‘Och, no.’ The maid closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘I dinna ken what to say.’
‘Just tell me, Isla,’ Sarah demanded. ‘Am I correct?’ Her voice cracked as she added, ‘Please. I have to know.’
Isla’s thin shoulders rose and fell with a shaky sigh as she sank onto a chair. ‘Aye, miss. Ye are.’
The relief that washed over Sarah was so great, she nearly burst into tears. At long last she’d found out the name of her captor and where she was. She dropped into a chair beside the maid and took one of her flour-dusted hands in hers. ‘Thank you.’
Isla shook her head. ‘I shouldna’ve said anything, miss. Lord Rannoch will be most displeased. But I canna…’
‘You can’t what, Isla?’
‘I canna do this anymore. Watch the master keep you here, knowing tha’ in less than two weeks he’s going to—’ Isla bit her lip and twisted her apron with white-knuckled fingers. Fear flickered in her eyes before she looked away.
A sharp spike of alarm shot through Sarah. ‘What is Lord Rannoch going to do in two weeks, Isla?’
The maid lifted her gaze to Sarah’s face. ‘When Lord Tay doesna pay the ransom, because he cannot, Lord Rannoch is going to…’ Isla’s face crumpled. ‘Ye are not safe here, miss. And now tha’ you know who the master really is, things are even worse. If he finds out you know the truth aboot him…’ Isla reached out and gripped her hand. ‘I’m scairt he will try to silence you.’
‘Silence me? Do you mean he would—’ Sarah couldn’t complete the thought.
‘Aye, miss. I know where he keeps his flask of laudanum. And he knows ye canna swim…’ Twould be easy enough for him to… Oh, I canna say it!’
Oh, dear God. Would Alexander really render her unconscious and then drown her? He’d promised over and over again that he’d never hurt her. Despite his harsh words and rejection last night, she’d even come to believe he cared for her.
But that was before I knew his true identity…
Sarah swallowed past a throat tight with fear. She must not panic. Whether she believed Alexander really was a wolf in sheep’s clothing who was capable of murder was almost immaterial at this point. Because now she had an ally. And an opportunity.
‘Isla, please help me escape.’ Sarah squeezed her hand. ‘I promise not to tell anyone what I have learned about your master. I do not want retribution either. Just my freedom.’
Beneath her linen and lace cap, Isla’s brow furrowed with uncertainty. ‘What aboot Lord Tay? He is a powerful man.’
‘I can assure you, I do not wish to marry Lord Tay anymore and I will never divulge who was behind my kidnapping. I know the earl is not a good man. In fact, I never want to see him again. I just want to return to Linden Hall, my home in Northumberland. I can pay you—’
Isla shook her head. ‘Och, I dinna want yer money, miss. But yes, I will help you.’
Oh, thank God. Unbidden tears welled in Sarah’s eyes, blurring her vision. ‘Thank you.’
‘Och, dinna cry, miss. Ye dinna have time fer that.’ Isla stood and dusted off her hands. ‘I have a plan and the sooner we begin, the better. First, we must get ye into more suitable clothes. Ye have a long way to travel.’
‘Of course.’ Fear and excitement thrumming through her veins, Sarah returned to her bedchamber where Isla helped her change out of the apricot silk gown and matching embroidered pumps into her blue woollen riding habit, thick woollen stockings, and sturdy black boots. Black kid gloves and her black cloak completed the ensemble.
‘Now, miss. Ye must take some food with ye,’ said Isla, ushering her back into the kitchen. ‘There’s bread and cheese on the table. And apples in the bowl on the dresser. And while you are readying tha’, I need to take care of MacLagan.’
Sarah took a clean linen napkin to wrap her food in from the dresser. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, he willna let ye go, so I think he might be needin’ a wee nap.’ Isla disappeared into the small chamber Black—or rather, Lord Rannoch—slept in and emerged a minute later with a silver flask.
Sarah recognised it at once and shivered. ‘You’re going to dose him with laudanum?’
‘Aye.’ Isla filled up a tankard with small beer then measured out a large spoonful before stirring it into the ale.
‘That seems like rather a lot.’ Aunt Judith sometimes took laudanum for her megrims but never more than a teaspoonful.
Isla shrugged. ‘MacLagan is a fair-sized man. And we want to make sure he goes to sleep quickly, and for a while. Ye need to be well away from here before Lord Rannoch returns.’
Good Lord. Isla was right. Sarah cut off a hunk of bread and wrapped it up in the napkin. ‘And then you will row me over to the shore?’
Isla shook her head. ‘Nae, ye will have to row yerself.’
Sarah’s stomach tumbled over with panic. ‘But… I don’t know how to.’
‘I will show you.’ Tankard in hand, Isla unlocked the door with the key she kept at her waist. ’Tis not verra hard. Ye will manage.’
The door closed and then Sarah looked about the room. Bandit sat by the fire, watching her with sad brown eyes. Did he sense she was leaving? ‘I’m afraid it’s time for us to say goodbye, my friend.’
The collie whined and sidled over to her, his bushy tail swishing back and forth. Tears in her eyes, and a hard lump in her throat, Sarah ruffled his soft fur. ‘Thank you for keeping me company. I will never forget you.’
When Isla appeared in the doorway again, Sarah was ready. She’d packed her food rations into a small willow basket, along with a number of items she hoped to barter in exchange for a horse somewhere along the way: the silver-backed mirror and matching brush; the ornate embroidery scissors and thimble from the sewing box; and a pretty comb decorated with seed pearls. Lord Rannoch would hardly miss them.
‘MacLagan was beginning to nod off, miss.’ Isla beckoned her over. ‘So it’s best ye leave now.’
Her pulse racing, Sarah followed the maid down the stairs and sure enough, the footman was slumped on the ground in a relatively sheltered alcove in one of the courtyards ruined walls, empty tankard in hand and his chin on his chest, snoring away. Nevertheless, they both tiptoed across the flagstones, heading for the garden gate.
‘Do you have the key?’ murmured Sarah as they drew close.
‘Aye.’
Within seconds, the gate was unlocked and Sarah was outside, following Isla along the barely discernible pathway towards the stony shore. However, trepidation quickly replaced exhilaration when she saw how far she needed to row.
‘I don’t know if I can do this, Isla,’ she said, staring with longing at the far bank. A bitterly cold wind carrying the scent of rain ruffled the surface of the loch’s dark waters. ‘Won’t you reconsider?’
Isla shook her head. ‘Nae, I canna. It needs to look like ye escaped withoot any help. If I take ye, I will be on the wrong side.’
‘But couldn’t you row back?’
‘Yes, but then the boat would be on Eilean Dubh, which means Lord Rannoch will know I helped ye. And I dinna want him to suspect I was involved.’
Sarah frowned. Isla spoke sense and of course she didn’t want the girl to get into any trouble. But why did a prickle of apprehension suddenly creep down her spine? Isla had clearly put some thought into all of this.
Sarah studied the serving girl’s face. She seemed earnest enough. Perhaps she simply wanted Black all to herself and that’s why she was helping. Regardless of Isla’s motive, this was her first real chance to escape and she’d be foolish to throw away the opportunity. ‘Very well. Before you show me what to do, you must tell me where to go once I get to the other side.’
Isla pointed to the east. ‘Blackloch Castle is that way, miss, and farther on is the village of Kinloch. The folk there are loyal to the master so dinna head that way, whatever you do. Ye must head west, in the other direction. Go into the woods and follow the shore until ye get to the end of the loch. Then just go straight across Rannoch Moor. There’s a small river that flows west so if you follow it, you canna go wrong. Ye only need to travel aboot three or four miles to get to the next village. There’s an inn where I am sure ye will be able to borrow a horse and get directions that will take ye back to Edinburgh.’
‘Are… are Lord Tay’s lands that way?’
‘Nae, miss. ’Tis Clan Robertson land. The Earl of Tay’s lands are over twenty miles away or more. Over the mountains to the south-east.’
Isla showed her how to work the oars and after Sarah placed her basket in the boat, they both pushed it down the shingle into the water. Picking up her skirts and cloak so they wouldn’t get soaked, Sarah climbed in and once she was seated, Isla gave the boat another shove and she was away.
The icy water lapped at the sides of the boat and Sarah had to close her eyes for a moment to tamp down a surge of panic. You won’t fall in. You’re not going to drown. The shore is not far. You can do this, Sarah Lambert.
Sarah gripped the oars tightly, leaned forward, then pulled them back towards her chest. The boat moved forward and she released the breath she’d been holding. The going was slow and more than once, one of the oars slipped and splashed in the water ineffectually, but within the space of a quarter hour, she’d reached the other side. When the prow of the boat glided onto the shingle, she almost cried with relief.
At long last, she was free.
As Sarah turned back to take one last look at Eilean Dubh, a squall of freezing rain hit so she dashed into the trees to take cover. It was only after she’d reached the end of the wood and gazed out upon the vast stretch of desolate moorland that she realised she’d never see Alexander MacIvor again. Pulling her cloak tightly about her body, she trudged along the rough ground along the river’s edge, her vision blurred by mizzling rain.
Not tears.
At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself anyway.
***
Blackloch Castle, Loch Rannoch, Perthshire
Alex cracked open his eyes and groaned when his valet, Duncan, drew back the heavy damask curtains, revealing a miserable day.
‘Forgive me, milord. But you said ye did no’ wish to sleep too late. And it’s already ten o’clock.’
‘Aye, I did.’ Alex dragged himself upright out of the tangled sheets and burgundy silk quilt, ruing the fact he’d drunk too much whisky last night. His right temple throbbed dully and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. However the guilt roiling in his gut was the worst sensation of all. ‘Might I have some coffee, Duncan?’
‘Of course, milord. I hope you dinna mind but I took the liberty of bringing up a tray.’
‘Excellent, man. Thank you.’
As Alex washed down his eggs, haggis, and toast with bitter black coffee, he mulled over how he would approach Sarah. He’d pushed her to the brink of desperation and had then grievously insulted her by suggesting she was prostituting herself. She had very good reason to hate him.
He prayed that she didn’t.
He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but he had truly begun to care for Sarah Lambert. Deeply. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part, but his gut told him that despite everything he’d done, she had begun to develop feelings for him too. Feelings that went beyond mere physical attraction. During the dark hours of the night, as he’d steadily worked his way through the bottle of whisky, he’d gone over everything she’d said to him during those fraught, passionate minutes in her bedchamber. Hadn’t she told him her heart raced just for him…? That she no longer cared for Tay?
He hadn’t believed her last night because his own guilt had made him blind to everything else. But oh, he did so want to believe her.
He had to make things right between them.
He had to say he was truly sorry.
He had to take a leap of faith and tell her the truth.
Those three thoughts were uppermost in his mind an hour later as he rode the short mile from Blackloch to Eilean Dubh. After he’d tethered his mount to an ancient Scots pine, he made his way through the trees to the shore.
And then his heart lurched for there, on the shingle, was the rowboat.
He frantically scanned the surrounding shoreline and retreated into the woods again but there was no sign of MacLagan or Isla. And he hadn’t seen either of them on the route from the castle to Eilean Dubh.
So why, in God’s name, was the boat on the wrong side of the loch?
He examined the ground at the edge of the woods—even though sleet and rain had been falling on and off all morning, there were still large patches of snow lying between the trees—and within the space of a few minutes, he found what he’d been looking for. A footprint in the muddy snow.
A small woman’s footprint made by a boot. And there were several more farther on.
Shit. They had to be Sarah’s footprints and she was heading west, straight towards Rannoch Moor.
But how had she managed to escape? And how long had she been gone? She couldn’t have run off last night, as MacLagan and Isla would have come back to the castle early this morning to alert him. Not only that, Sarah hadn’t a key to the garden gate and he’d taken the rowboat.
His heart in his mouth, Alex pushed the rowboat out, leapt in, then rowed himself across to the island. Sprinting through the trees he could see that the gate was open and on entering the courtyard, he discovered MacLagan, out cold and virtually insensible. An empty tankard lay beside him.
Alex bolted up the stairs and as he’d expected, the door was wide open. Isla lay slumped on the table, a half-drunk cup of small beer beside her. He took a sip and grimaced. There was a distinct bitter after-taste. Laudanum. Christ, Sarah must have got her hands on his silver flask and laced the beer.
‘Isla, wake up, lass.’ Alex shook her gently; she moaned a little and her eyelids flickered but that was all.
Damn. He couldn’t waste time trying to rouse her and MacLagan. Or fetch extra help from Blackloch Castle.
Bandit nudged his leg with his nose, his tail wagging. ‘You’re going to have to help me find her, lad.’ Alex started for the door. ‘Come.’
Another freezing shower of rain gusted across the loch as Alex rowed with all his might for the shore. As soon as he mounted his horse, he kicked it into a canter. Bandit would keep up. He had no idea how much of a head start Sarah had, but he had to find her. Rannoch Moor was treacherous even in high summer. In this kind of weather, it was deadly.
If anything happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself.