Logan stood at his study window, staring out. He had forgotten just how glorious Ardvarrick could be in August. The sun was making the purple heather glow on the hills and, on the blue waters of the loch, fishing boats were returning with the tide. The tall masts of a larger vessel were visible, too. It would be one of the merchant ships, offloading iron ore for smelting at the nearby furnaces. A second ship was anchored in the loch, waiting for its turn to dock. By next summer he hoped the new jetty would be in place and his plans to increase trade could really begin.
If he was still here next summer.
He glanced down at the paper in his hand. His aunt’s letters from Hampshire were infrequent, gossipy affairs and he usually gave them no more than a cursory glance, but this one carried information that had stopped him in his tracks. The Earl of Fritchley was dead and his aunt suggested that his widow might now look favourably upon his suit.
All the old feelings he had suppressed for so long resurfaced. He was sorely tempted to try his luck again. Mary had been married to the old Earl for five years and, according to his aunt, there were no children from the match. A distant cousin had inherited the title and the young widow had returned to her father’s house. His eyes came to rest upon a phrase that his aunt had underscored.
No one expects Lady Fritchley to remain in mourning for very long.
Was it worth risking another disappointment? She might refuse him again. But on the other hand, he argued with himself, she might not.
The sunny view from the window faded. He was no longer seeing the loch and mountains and sunshine. He was in a grand house in London and dancing beneath glittering chandeliers, whisking Mary around the floor. He had just returned from his Grand Tour and it was the first time they had met since her marriage to the Earl of Fritchley. She was as beautiful as ever and looked every inch a countess, jewels winking at her throat and nestled in her golden curls. She greeted him with unalloyed pleasure, they danced twice together and afterwards remained talking for a full half an hour. She even flirted with her fan, their eyes meeting over its lacy edge. Was she regretting her marriage to the aged earl? She did not say and he could hardly ask her.
For the rest of the evening Logan had watched her, his heart sore with longing, as she moved from one adoring partner to the next. But at the end of the evening she sailed out of the ballroom on the arm of her husband with never a backward glance. Logan had decided then that in future he would avoid parties where they might meet. He had no intention of joining the coterie of her besotted admirers, preferring to nurse his broken heart in private.
And he had done so, for five long years, but now there was the possibility that he might achieve his heart’s desire. The woman who had filled his dreams was free to marry again and his aunt had written that Lady Fritchley had already made it clear that her next husband would be a younger man.
In birth Logan knew he was not ineligible and his estates at Ardvarrick were sufficient to provide him with a comfortable income. If she did not wish to live in Scotland, then that was possible, too. He would not be the first Laird to make his home in England. And a wife might be what was needed to ease the restlessness that had been growing on him since his return to Ardvarrick.
He looked again towards the loch. Tomorrow the merchant ship would be reloaded with pig iron and sail off to the markets in the south. It could take him as far as Bristol and from there he could get a passage to Portsmouth. He sat down at the desk and drew a fresh sheet of paper towards him. With luck and a fair wind, he could be in Hampshire in little more than a se’ennight.
He had not written more than a few lines before he was interrupted by a servant at the door.
‘Your pardon, master.’
He looked up impatiently. ‘Well, what is it, William?’
Before the man could answer, he was pushed aside and Fingal Contullach strode in, two burly henchmen at his shoulders. Logan got to his feet, his brows raised at such a precipitous entrance. Contullach was scowling, one hand resting on the hilt of his broadsword.
‘Where is she?’
‘She?’ Logan regarded him coldly. ‘To whom do you refer?’
Contullach moved closer, his chin jutting pugnaciously. ‘Ailsa McInnis. My harper!’
‘I have no idea. The last time I saw her was in May, at the shieling.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘If you do not believe me, Contullach, feel free to search the house.’
They locked glances, then Fingal grunted, as if satisfied with something, and he relaxed a little.
‘We’ll talk alone.’
‘I am at your service.’ Logan’s bow was all icy courtesy.
Fingal jerked his head and his companions turned to leave the room. Logan addressed William, who was still hovering anxiously in the open doorway.
‘Take them to the kitchen and find them some refreshment. And send Tamhas in with ale for us.’
Logan waited until the others had withdrawn.
‘Trouble, Contullach?’ He waved his guest towards a chair.
The other man nodded, but remained on his feet. ‘Ailsa is gone. I heard of it this very morning.’ He kept his eyes on Logan. ‘I was told that you had taken her, Ardvarrick.’
‘You do not wholly believe that, or you would not be standing here talking to me.’
‘True. I should have come here with an army and torn this house apart!’
‘That I can well believe.’
There was a scratching at the door and Tamhas came in with a jug of ale. He served the two men silently, then withdrew again. Logan took a draught of ale, watching his guest. The man had slumped on to the chair, frowning into his tankard.
‘Tell me what you know,’ said Logan. ‘Mayhap I can help.’
Contullach sat forward, the tankard clasped between his hands. ‘Jeanie Barr came down from the shieling to tell me Ailsa had gone to fetch water at dusk and did not return.’
‘When was this?’
‘Two days’ since. Jeanie had gone to bed and did not notice she was missing until yester morning.’
Two days! Logan hid his dismay.
‘And why did you think I had a hand in her disappearance?’
‘They found this by the burn, near the abandoned buckets.’
Fingal held out his hand. Resting in the palm was a small round button, grubby now, but its covering of yellow satin was unmistakable.
Logan said carefully, ‘I lost that when I was fighting with Ewan Cowie.’
‘Aye, I heard you say so at the time.’
‘I have not worn the waistcoat since. It is still missing the button, if you would like to see it?’
‘No, no, I believe ye, Ardvarrick.’
Logan frowned. ‘Someone is trying to foist the blame for this on to me and I’d wager it’s Cowie, although you may not wish to believe that.’
‘Of course I do not wish to believe it!’
‘But you cannot be sure he is innocent.’
‘No, I cannot be sure.’ Contullach scowled into his tankard. ‘That is the reason I did not come here to hang ye today and say to the devil with our agreement!’ He broke off, his jaw working as he wrestled with some internal struggle. When at last he spoke again, it was with a visible effort. ‘Cowie has taken agin’ you, Ardvarrick. I think he might have made off with Ailsa to spite ye.’
‘I know he hates me, but to use the lady in such a manner—! Would he harm her?’
‘I cannot think so.’
‘You do not want to think so.’
‘Damnation, Ardvarrick, he is engaged to marry my daughter!’
‘Tell me what worries you,’ Logan pressed him.
‘Last autumn, Ailsa accused Ewan of trying to force his way into her bed. He denied it, said she was jealous. I accepted his word, but—och, ’tis not unusual in a young man to try his luck with a pretty woman. That is in part why we sent the lass away to the shieling. Kirstin was mad for Cowie and we thought she would fare better with him if Ailsa was out of the way for a while.’
‘That did not work, then.’
‘It would seem not.’ Contullach’s shoulders sagged. ‘Ewan left a week ago. He told us he was going to visit friends in the Black Isle.’
‘And have you sent someone after him, to confirm that he is there?’
‘No. I came first to see you. I would much prefer to believe it was you who has done this, rather than my own kin.’
‘I’m obliged to you,’ Logan retorted, his impatience growing with every heartbeat. ‘But this will not get her back. Cowie has land of his own, does he not?’
‘Aye, Castle Creag.’
‘And have you sent men to search for them there?’
‘Not yet. Confound it, what if I am wrong? Ewan Cowie is my heir. He already has the loyalty of many of the younger men, some of whom think the peace between our lands is a mistake. If I accuse him unjustly, they may well take his side against me.’
Staring at Fingal Contullach, Logan thought the man suddenly looked very tired.
‘Very well.’ Logan drained his tankard and put it down. ‘If you are reluctant to tackle him, then let me. Where is he most likely to be?’
‘He might have made up the story of the Black Isle to cover his tracks, because that is the opposite direction to his own land. Castle Creag is at the head of Loch Tarin, some fifty miles to the south. Kirstin has been asking Ewan to show her the castle, but he keeps putting her off. It is isolated and remote, little chance of anyone happening upon the place.’
‘Then that is where I shall go.’ Logan pushed himself to his feet, eager to be moving. ‘Go home, Contullach. Send your men to search elsewhere and leave me to ride to Castle Creag.’
He went to the door and held it open for his guest, but before passing through, Contullach stopped and looked up at him.
‘If you bring me proof that Cowie is behind this, Ardvarrick, then I will act.’
‘That might not be necessary,’ barked Logan. ‘If he has taken Ailsa, then I may well bring you his corpse!’
Ailsa stirred. She was lying on a hard board and covered in rough blankets. Opening her eyes, she gazed at the bare stone walls with dismay. This was no nightmare, it was all too real, and when she stirred, her bruised body confirmed it. There was no mattress on the bed, only a rough blanket beneath her and an old and noisome plaid, thrice folded, to cover her.
She was still in the kersey gown she had been wearing when Ewan had snatched her up from the side of the burn and ridden off with her across his saddle bow. How long ago was it, how long had she been here? She tried to think. They had travelled from dusk until dawn for two nights, making the most of the moonlight and stopping to sleep in the woods during the day to avoid being seen. She frowned, trying to concentrate. They had arrived at this fortified house yesterday, so she had been missing for three full days.
Her wrists were chafed and sore where Ewan had bound them. The only reason they were not tied now was because she was a prisoner in this room. A shudder ran through her. Ewan had not forced himself upon her yet, but she had no doubt he would do so, as soon as he was rested. He had told her as much before he left her yesterday, when he had dragged her close for a goodnight kiss.
Ailsa climbed off the hard bed and began to pace the stone floor, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. The room was bare, save for the wooden platform bed she had slept upon, a chair and an old table pushed into one corner. At least she had been provided with a chamber pot to relieve herself. It was cold, too. There was an arched window, but it was not glazed, although the remains of metal hinges in the walls suggested there had been shutters across the opening at one time.
When she had been locked into the room last night, she had noted that the window was unbarred and large enough for her to climb through, but any hopes of escaping that way were soon dashed. The walls descended in a sheer drop of twenty feet or more to a narrow grassy ledge, from which jagged rocks disappeared into the dark waters of the loch.
‘Scream as much as you wish, Ailsa,’ Ewan had told her, as he left the room. ‘The walls are so thick no one inside this place will hear you. And outside, there is no one to come to your aid. The village is abandoned and no one fishes the loch now.’
He had told her there was no one to hear, but still she had stood by the opening, shouting until she was hoarse, but to no avail. The long summer twilight had faded to dark, but no one responded to her calls and at last she collapsed, exhausted, on to the hard bed, where she fell into a troubled sleep.
Ailsa heard the scuff of leather on the stone steps outside her room and quickly moved to the window. Remembering how her skin had crawled yesterday when Ewan kissed her, she was determined to hurl herself out on to the rocks before she allowed him to touch her again. The key turned in the lock and Ewan came in. She glared at him.
‘How long do you mean to keep me a prisoner?’
Her furious demand elicited little more than a sneer. ‘As long as it suits me to do so.’
‘It has been three days already,’ she retorted. ‘My uncle will be searching for me and when he discovers what you have done—’
‘He won’t. I have seen to it that Fingal believes it was Ardvarrick that took you from the shieling.’
‘Why should he think that?’
‘I have left proof of it. And knowing Fingal, he will be swift to exact his revenge.’ His cruel laugh made her blood run cold. ‘I would not be surprised to find he has razed Ardvarrick to the ground by this time.’
‘But they signed a pact. What of that?’
‘Fingal should have torn it to shreds by this time. But if he hasn’t done so already, if he is growing fainthearted in his old age, I will soon persuade him. That is why I must return to Contullach today, to make sure that foolish peace my uncle brokered with Logan Rathmore is over. Ardvarrick is not Laird of our clan and I’ll be damned before I will bow to that cowardly Sassenach.’
Ailsa was shocked at the venom in Ewan’s words. There was a wild, maniacal gleam in his eyes that frightened her.
‘Is it so wrong to want to live in peace with your neighbour?’ she asked him, trying to speak rationally. ‘You cannot go back to the old ways of our grandfathers, always fighting. It is madness to think it. Since the Rising in fifteen, the government has been sending more troops to the north.’
‘Hold your tongue, woman, you know nothing about it!’
‘I know a great deal,’ she flung back at him. ‘I know the government plans to subdue the Highlands. Even now they are building new roads and new barracks for the soldiers. They will not go away, Ewan. You know that as well as I. The King is determined to enforce the law here.’
‘King!’ He gave a savage laugh. ‘That Hanoverian usurper is not my king, nor ever will be! But enough of this! I must go.’
‘So, you are going back to Contullach where you’ll pretend you know nothing of what has happened to me.’ Her lip curled. ‘Fingal believes you are his loyal heir.’
He grinned. ‘Aye, that he does, the old fool. I shall go back and help him to search for you. And if he hasn’t murdered Logan Rathmore yet I will help him with that, too!’
‘And you are leaving me here, a prisoner.’
‘I have not finished with you yet.’ Ailsa’s blood ran cold at the look he gave her. ‘You will be perfectly safe. I am leaving two women here to take care of you. There is a well in the undercroft and they have food enough for more than a week, so there will be no necessity for either of them to leave the castle while I am gone, just in case you are thinking you might escape.’
‘And what of Kirstin? Do you think she or Fingal will forgive you, once they know what you have done?’
‘How will they ever know? Who is going to tell them? No one knows you are here, save the women downstairs and they will not speak against me. Everyone at Contullach will think Ardvarrick has taken you for his pleasure.’ Ewan gave her a sneering smile. ‘No need to look so anxious, my dear, you are safe enough here, as long as you please me.’
‘And if I do not please you?’
‘Then your body will be found on Ardvarrick land. More proof that that preening fool of a laird is guilty.’ He reached out and gripped her chin. ‘So, you would do well to keep me sweet, Ailsa, and I will teach you what is required of a mistress.’
She slapped his hand away. With a laugh he caught her wrists and forced them behind her back. Ailsa turned her head as his mouth descended and it fell on her neck. A shudder of pure revulsion ran through her and she closed her eyes tightly, bracing herself for what was to come.
The shock and surprise when he let her go made her stagger and she clutched at a chairback for support.
‘If I had time, I’d teach you not to be afraid of me.’
‘It is not fear,’ she flashed back. ‘It is disgust.’
He shrugged. ‘You will get over that.’
‘Why?’ she asked him. ‘Why are you doing this to me, Ewan?’
‘Because you have grown into a beautiful woman, Ailsa McInnis, and if I do not take you, Ardvarrick will.’
‘Fingal would never allow—’
‘He cannot stop it! I have seen the way Ardvarrick looks at you. In time he would take you, whatever Fingal says, and I won’t have that. I’ll not have Logan Rathmore bedding a Contullach woman, especially not one that I have not yet enjoyed.’ She saw the lustful gleam in his eyes, then it faded. He shook his head as if to clear it and sucked in a breath. ‘I must go. I have waited a long time for you, sweeting, and I can wait a little longer for our coupling. I want to savour the moment when I take your maidenhood.’ He went to the door. ‘Consider that, Ailsa McInnis, while I am away.’
He went out and she heard the key turn in the lock. Suddenly her limbs were shaking too much to support her and she sank down on to the bed. He could never let her go, he could not risk her telling their uncle what had occurred. Her only chance was to escape, and quickly, before Ewan returned. Once he had bedded her she would be ruined. It would not only be her virginity that was lost. Fingal would have no use for her if she could no longer play the clàrsach. She was nothing without her music.
Logan moved quickly. He gathered six trusted men and set off for Castle Creag within an hour of Contullach’s departure. Tamhas had looked at Logan in surprise when he emerged from the house.
‘So you still have your plaid,’ he remarked as Logan strapped the roll of woollen cloth to his saddle.
‘What of it? I thought it would be useful if we sleep out of doors.’
The old Laird had given it to Logan for his sixteenth birthday, but he had left it at Ardvarrick when he had gone to England. He had discovered the plaid stored away in the oak chest in his room, along with the rest of his Highland clothing, including a jacket and trews that he had never worn because they had been far too large for him at the time. Now, however, they fitted him perfectly and were well suited to this venture. He braced himself for some remark upon his choice of clothing, and Tamhas did not fail him.
‘So, we are making a Highlander of ye again!’ he declared, a gleam of satisfaction lighting his eyes. ‘And about time, Cousin.’
With a growl Logan climbed into the saddle. ‘Stop your talking and let us get on!’
They travelled fast, stopping only to snatch a few hours’ rest when it was too dark to continue. They found a sheltered spot in the lee of a rocky outcrop where they tethered the horses securely and made themselves comfortable on the heather, which grew thick and fragrant. Then they settled down to wait for the moon to rise.
‘Well, I am thankful ’tis a clear night for sleeping under the stars,’ remarked Tamhas, dropping down beside Logan. His teeth flashed in a grin and he looked as if he might say more, but Logan stopped him.
‘Hold your tongue,’ he commanded. ‘I’ll not have you mention my Highland clothes again!’
‘What?’ Tamhas spread his hands, feigning innocence. ‘I was merely going to say you are well prepared for the weather.’
Not only the weather, thought Logan, wrapping himself in his plaid. The jacket had a sheath sewn into the lining and Logan had slipped into it the sgian dubh, the small dagger with its black handle that his father had carried at all times. He felt the hardness of the dagger now against his ribs as he rolled on to his side. He might have need of it as well as his sword, before too long. Ewan Cowie was unlikely to give Ailsa up without a fight.
He pulled the plaid tighter about him. He thought sleepily that being Laird of Ardvarrick was never going to be easy, but swordfights and abductions—it was a far cry from Hampshire.
Lady Mary, as she then was, had called it a savage land, when he had tried to describe it to her. They had been at Lady Templesham’s rout, where the gentlemen were dressed as peacocks and the ladies in their frills and furbelows were patched, powdered and pomaded until they resembled nothing more than waxed effigies.
‘La, sir,’ she had trilled, plying her fan, ‘I cannot imagine how any gentleman can live in such an outlandish place. From what you tell me, there are no roads and carriages, and little good society, certainly not enough to sit down to an elegant dinner!’
At the time he had accepted her strictures meekly enough, but he should have made more effort to defend his homeland. Here in the Highlands life was much harsher, it was true, but there was so much less pretence. Here, a woman did not hide from the sun. Instead she turned her freckled face to it and let her red hair hang loose around her shoulders, where it rippled in the breeze in a shining curtain.
His tiredness disappeared with a jolt. This was not just any woman he was imagining, nor was it Lady Mary Wendlebury. It was Ailsa. The sudden desire that gripped him was quickly replaced by a sickening apprehension. She had been missing for three days. Who knew what might have happened to her in that time? If Ewan Cowie had harmed her, he would tear him limb from limb.
Fear such as he had never known before gnawed at Logan. He did not doubt for one moment that Cowie had abducted her, but what if Fingal was wrong, what if he had not taken her to Castle Creag? A moment’s reflection told him it was unlikely he had gone elsewhere. Cowie would not risk carrying Ailsa away over Ardvarrick land, nor could he keep her anywhere near Contullach. Unless he was prepared to carry her to the Isles, then the old home of the Cowies was his only refuge.
Logan closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply, slowly. He must sleep. As soon as the moon rose, they would set off again. Tomorrow they would reach Castle Creag and then he would need all his wits about him.
Unable to come up with a plan of escape, Ailsa slept most of the day, waking in the afternoon when the two women left to guard her brought in a small bowl of stewed bones and oatmeal and put it on the table. It looked unappetising, the fat already congealed on the surface.
Ailsa glanced at it in distaste. ‘I thought you might leave me to starve.’ They stared at her with dull, uncaring eyes. She tried again. ‘You might as well have done, rather than serve me cold stew.’
‘We cannot light a fire until after dark,’ said one of the women.
Ailsa glanced towards the window. ‘You could have waited another few hours, then, and brought me a hot meal!’
‘Ewan Cowie said no lights,’ retorted the woman. ‘How would you see to eat it?’
‘Aye,’ said her companion. ‘No one is to know there is anyone here.’
‘You expect someone to come looking for me, then?’
‘No! Why should they seek you here?’
Ailsa did not miss the quick, furtive glance that passed between the women and the little seed of hope inside her was not quite extinguished. As soon as the women had left the room she ran to the window. There was no one in sight, nothing moving. She tried shouting, screaming, but apart from sending several crows flapping from the roof there was no other response. Sighing, she went back to the table. The stew looked no more appetising, but she knew she should try to eat it.
Surprisingly, the food put more heart into Ailsa. Instead of taking to her bed, she went back to the window, an idea forming in her head. The sun had dropped behind the hills, putting them into deep shadow, and she could see little save the restless waters of the loch, ruffled by the fresh breeze. Quickly she struggled out of one of her petticoats and tied it to the remains of the hinge that protruded from the wall. When she pushed the white linen out of the window, the breeze caught it and it flapped merrily against the stone. It was a small thing, but it was all that she could do.
She paced up and down the room, listening to the snap of her makeshift flag outside the window. Anger and frustration welled up, but also fear of what would happen to her. Ewan could not let her go. He would take his pleasure, but then he would dispose of her and lay the blame on the Laird of Ardvarrick.
The thought of Logan Rathmore was like a physical pain. He could not come looking for her, she should not expect it. He would be too busy defending himself against Fingal’s wrath. Dejected, she threw herself on to her bed and stared into the growing darkness until finally, she fell into the blessed oblivion of sleep.
The day was far advanced by the time Logan and his men reached the rocky track that wound its way through the ruins of old houses, long abandoned, to the shores of Loch Tarin. Tamhas, riding beside him, responded to his questioning look.
‘Aye, this was a thriving township until a few years back.’
‘What happened?’
‘Too many poor harvests and harsh winters.’ He pointed to a bothy on the edge of a small inlet. Its walls were intact, although the heather roof had almost disappeared. ‘No doubt some managed to cling on for a while. That old fishing hut looks as if it was occupied until recently.’
Looking around him, Logan could still see the outline of a cattle fold and signs of the old lazy beds on the slopes of the hill, where a few vegetables would have been coaxed to grow.
‘And this is Cowie’s land?’ he asked. ‘What did his family do to help the people?’
‘They were happy enough to take the rents, but when the cottars could no longer pay, they threw them out.’ Tamhas turned his head to spit. ‘In the end there were no rents to collect.’
Logan’s mouth tightened. His contempt for Ewan Cowie grew.
The old track meandered along beside the water and at last Logan had his first view of Castle Creag. It was built upon a small promontory and surrounded on three sides by jagged rocks that protruded like monstrous black teeth from the waters of the loch. A formidable dwelling, he thought, watching the crows wheeling and circling around the roof. Easy to defend, although there were signs of dilapidation, even from here.
Their path swung inland, away from the loch shore and through rocky woodland until at last they were approaching the castle from the landward side. Logan could see the curtain wall had mostly collapsed, exposing the small courtyard and ruined outbuildings. The walls of the house itself showed signs of repair and the roof above the stepped gables was in place, but as they approached, the air of neglect about the building intensified.
The ground was covered in stones, marking the outline of old black houses that had long since rotted away. Inside what was left of the curtain wall, grass and weeds pushed up between the stones of what had once been a courtyard. The house itself was built so close to the edges of the rock that it was impossible to walk around three of the walls and the fourth, facing the courtyard, had been built for defence, with several arrow slit windows high up in the walls and the only entrance a sturdy oak door set several feet above the ground and reached by a flight of stone steps.
‘It would seem they do not encourage visitors,’ murmured Logan. He handed the reins to Tamhas and jumped down to inspect the remains of the outbuildings. ‘But there are signs that at least one horse has been kept here recently.’
He ran up the steps and hammered on the door.
‘There is no one here,’ declared Tamhas, after they had strained their ears for any sounds within the castle.
‘It would appear not.’ Logan climbed back into the saddle and looked up at the castle walls. No smoke issued from the chimneys. Nothing moved. The sun was so low now that they were in the long shadow of the hills and the chill did nothing to improve his mood. ‘I hate to admit it, but mayhap Fingal Contullach was wrong. If Ewan did take her, he did not bring her here.’
He turned and rode away from the castle with Tamhas riding at his shoulder. Neither of them spoke until they were emerging from the woods and back out on to the loch.
‘What next?’ asked Tamhas. ‘Do we return to Ardvarrick?’
‘I am not going to give up yet,’ said Logan. ‘We will go back to the abandoned village and bed down for the night. If there is anyone in the castle, we will see the lights in the windows. If not—’ a black cloud was descending upon his spirits, but he was not yet ready to acknowledge it ‘—we will search the area. Enquire of anyone we can find.’ He glanced at Tamhas’s grim face and sighed. ‘I know, it is unlikely we shall discover Cowie or the lady by such means, but we must try. After that, I must speak to Fingal Contullach before—’
He broke off when one of his men shouted out to him.
‘Ardvarrick, look. Look back!’
He swivelled in the saddle to look back at Castle Creag, standing squat above the loch. It was little more than a grey shadow in the failing light, but something fluttered from the walls, like a white pennant.
When Ailsa woke again the moon was rising and relieving the darkness with a grey-blue light. The scratchy plaid that acted as her blanket was pulled up around her face and smelled even more malodorous. Her nose wrinkled. These plaids were worn by men for days on end. During the day, half of it was fastened with a belt around the waist as a kilt and the rest thrown over the shoulder, to be used as a cape in bad weather. At night it could be wrapped around its owner if they were obliged to sleep in the open. No wonder, then, that it smelt so bad.
She sat up suddenly, her mind racing. Dragging the makeshift blanket from the bed, she pulled the edge of it through her fingers, counting the lengths. It was what, four, five yards long? She tugged at the woven material. Could she trust it?
Ailsa dragged the plaid across to the window, where she took one of the ends and forced it several times over the spike where she had tied her petticoat. Then she bundled up the rest and threw it out of the window. The plaid dangled down, shifting slightly in the breeze. It stopped several feet short of the narrow grassy verge. It was impossible in the gloom to work out just how far from the ground it ended. She would have to let go and hope she did not break a bone when she landed.
A sudden laugh shook her. What was she thinking? It was most likely she would lose her grip while climbing down and tumble to her death. She should worry about the final drop if and when she reached it. And even if she did survive the fall, she could not swim. She would have to make her way over the jagged rocks and hope the water was not too deep for her to wade through it and reach land. Another problem that must wait until it arose.
Hitching up her skirts, she scrambled on to the window ledge.