Eighteen
“MAMIE!” DARIA SAID breathlessly, stepping forward. “What are you doing here? We were just on our way to see you.”
“I . . . I was having a walkabout,” the old woman said nervously as she eyed Jamie.
“Mrs. Moss,” he said, giving her a curt nod.
“You look to have recovered well,” she said, her gaze flicking over him.
“Aye, I have. Surprised, are you?”
“Mamie,” Daria said, moving between her and Jamie, “how do you fare? I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Me? Oh, my darling, it is I who have worried for you. Have they treated you well? Have they fed you, given you a proper place to sleep?”
A proper place? Jamie refrained from pointing out to the old witch that the accommodations at Dundavie were far superior to any she had offered.
“Yes, I have been treated very well. Did you not receive my letter?”
Mrs. Moss blinked. “I did!” she said, as if just remembering it. “Yes, yes I did.”
Daria looked perplexed. “Then why did you not send a note in reply?”
“That’s very simple, darling,” she said as she fidgeted with her cloak. “I haven’t pencil or paper. And I thought the money would come soon enough, and you’d be back. Why are you dressed in that fashion?”
Daria glanced down, apparently having forgotten she was wearing pantaloons.
The old woman glared at Jamie. “What have you done? Why is she made to go about in this manner?”
“I am dressed this way for riding,” Daria said. “It’s a treacherous path over the hills and I couldn’t manage it sidesaddle.”
But Mrs. Moss was still glaring at Jamie. He returned her look with an impatient one of his own. “Once again, Mrs. Moss, you seem to think I am the one who means harm, when all the evidence points to the contrary.”
“Shall we go on to your cottage?” Daria said quickly. “The laird has brought you some fish.”
Jamie jerked his gaze to Daria; she smiled at him, her hand subtly touching his. He could see what she was about—she would tread carefully to tease something out of the old bag of bones. But give away his fish? He looked at the basket he’d left on the river’s edge and sighed.
“I don’t need fish,” Mrs. Moss said ungratefully. “I need flour. I’ve no money for flour.”
“But . . . I brought you a banknote from my father,” Daria said.
“Times are hard, Daria. A coin doesn’t go as far as it once did.”
“Let us have some tea and talk a bit, shall we?” Daria gently suggested.
“All right, I suppose.” Mrs. Moss ran a hand over her unruly hair. She sounded unhappy at the prospect of receiving them but walked on, her old boots striking loudly against the rocks on the path. Daria exchanged a look with Jamie as she gathered her horse’s reins and walked alongside her grandmother.
Jamie returned the fishing gear to the clan’s hiding place, then whistled for Niall and followed behind them, his mood effectively darkened.
AT FIRST GLANCE the cottage appeared just as it had the week he’d been practically entombed here. But as Jamie dipped his head to step inside, something felt different. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
Daria had removed her coat and was helping the witch put a pot over the fire, asking questions. The sight of her derriere in the pantaloons distracted Jamie so much, it was a feat of mental strength to keep his thoughts on Mrs. Moss and the strange goings-on.
“Here, then, the water is hot,” Mrs. Moss said when the water had boiled. “Let’s drink up, shall we? I haven’t much time—I am to Nairn this afternoon.”
“What?” Daria said, startled. “Why?”
Mrs. Moss shrugged as she placed three biscuits on a chipped plate and set it in the middle of the table. “I have things to do.”
“But . . .” Daria leaned across the table in an effort to meet her grandmother’s gaze. “But I was taken away from here a fortnight ago against my will, Mamie. I should think you would want to spend as much time in my company as possible.”
“Well, I do, dearest, I do! But I assume he’ll want to take you back. Where is the fish?” she asked suddenly.
“Outside,” Daria said.
“I should clean it before I go,” Mrs. Moss said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Daria stared at her grandmother. So did Jamie. The old woman was strangely distracted, even more anxious than before. And something kept her from looking her granddaughter in the eye.
“I’ll get the fish,” Daria said, and stood from the table, her head down, her step heavy.
In an effort to avoid conversation, Jamie looked away from Mrs. Moss, to the seating area adjoining the kitchen, and suddenly realized what was missing: the clock. That big, overdone, incessant tick-tock of a fancy cuckoo clock she had kept.
Daria stepped back inside with the basket of fish. “The Brodie boys won’t bring the supplies you need?” she asked.
“No. They are . . . engaged in other things. Busy, busy.” Mrs. Moss suddenly looked at Jamie. “I hope you have taken the precaution of having a proper chaperone while in my granddaughter’s company.”
Jamie’s brows rose. “Do you think the presence of a chaperone will somehow mitigate the fact that she was carted out of here as ransom against the thousand pounds you stole, then?”
“Mind you keep to yourself, Daria,” Mrs. Moss said, wagging a finger at her and ignoring Jamie’s valid point. “Do not befriend the Campbells. They would as soon hang you as feed you. Don’t forget it.”
“That’s not true,” Daria said evenly.
“They’ve convinced you, have they?” Mrs. Moss scoffed. “This is the Highlands, Daria. It’s naught but a lot of hills and rocks for savages to hide in.”
Jamie felt his temper rising. He was trying to remain respectful of the woman, but she made it bloody difficult.
“If that is what you believe, then why were you talking to the man on horseback, Mamie?” Daria blurted.
The question startled the old woman badly; she turned abruptly and collided with the table, knocking a cup over and spilling tea across the surface. “Look what you have made me do!” she said angrily, and used the tip of her apron to clean the spill.
But Daria reached across and caught her hand, forcing Mrs. Moss to look at her. “I am worried unto death about you, Mamie. You don’t seem yourself. You say things that make no sense. Your conversation with the man on horseback did not seem pleasant, and you are clearly distressed. How can I not be concerned for you?”
“You have no idea what you are saying,” the woman said, jerking free of Daria’s grasp. “There is nothing wrong with me. And that man . . . he was—he was asking for directions—”
“No more falsehoods, Mamie. He wasn’t asking for directions. You were arguing with him.”
Mamie pressed her lips together for a long moment, then admitted, “All right. Yes, we were arguing.” She resumed mopping up the spill. “He is a stubborn old man. I’ve run across him before and he does not listen to reason.”
“Why must you reason with him? Who is he? What is his name?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what his name is. He’s but another savage that lives in these hills,” she said with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
The kitchen shelf, Jamie noticed, was also bare. There were no china plates, no crystal wineglasses. And on the mantel above the fireplace, no silver candlesticks. It looked as if she had packed away anything of value.
“What happened to your clock?” he asked.
Her back to him, Mrs. Moss stilled. “It broke.”
“I’ve a man who might fix it. Ned Campbell is as good with his hands as anyone I’ve known—”
“It is beyond repair,” she said shortly.
“Allow me a wee peek—”
“I sold it!” she snapped. “I sold it to a peddler for food! I don’t live in a castle, Mr. Campbell; I am forced to barter clocks for food!”
“But, Mamie, Papa sent you ample—”
Mrs. Moss suddenly whirled about and glared at both of them. “You obviously do not wish to have tea. I ask you, Campbell, do you intend to leave my granddaughter with me?”
“No’ till the ransom is paid,” he said curtly.
“Well, I don’t have it. And I should like to be on my way to Nairn, if you please, so if you don’t mind?”
Daria looked shocked and wounded, and Jamie could scarcely blame her. He put his hand on her elbow, but Daria shook him off.
“Mamie, please let me help you.”
And just like that, Mrs. Moss suddenly softened. She smiled sadly and cupped Daria’s face in her hand. “My lovely girl,” she said fondly. “I do so want you home; you must know that I do. But what I need from you now is to keep yourself well and chaste until the ransom is come. I have every faith that your father will arrive shortly and we will end this ugly business, and perhaps then, perhaps . . . well. In the meantime, I will not have you fretting about your old grandmother. I am quite all right.” She smiled as she patted Daria’s cheek, then picked up a canvas bag.
“That’s it?” Daria asked incredulously. “That’s all you will say?”
“I’ve said all there is to say, darling.” Looking much older, Mrs. Moss smiled sadly at Daria and left the cottage.
Daria was speechless. She stood staring at the open door. When she couldn’t see her grandmother anymore, she turned big brown eyes to Jamie, blinking back tears. It pained him to see her hurt, and he put his arm around her shoulders. “Donna cry.”
She sagged into his side, burying her face in his chest. “She’s lost her mind, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Aye, she has,” he agreed. “Or she is trying very hard to hide something. Here now,” he said, slipping two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Let her go to Nairn, and let us think on how we might discover what she is hiding.”
She nodded, then stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I will discover what she is about,” she said determinedly. Then she peeked up at him. “How will I do that?”
Jamie smiled. “First, I’ll have a man watch her, aye? Second, I’ll have another man find the gentleman she spoke to this morn. Perhaps he might shed some light.”
“Yes. Thank you, Jamie,” Daria said. “That was no casual encounter. Did you recognize him?”
“No.” It surprised him. He knew most men around here, and if he didn’t know them, he could identify them by their plaids. But that man was not wearing a plaid. “I’ll find him, Daria. And I will see that your grandmamma doesna come to harm.”
She smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
He offered his hand to her. “Come, lass.”
She slipped her hand into his, allowing him to lead her out of the cottage.