She gave a whimper of anguish. Her mother had bought the shawl in Brussels. The prices had been so reasonable there, though Mama had to be persuaded to buy something for herself… "Mama can't be dead! She followed the drum her whole life. How could she fall off a silly cliff?"
"It was misty and she was very tired," Haldoran said gently. "A slip on damp grass, a gust of wind… the island can be very dangerous to newcomers." He laid a hand on her shoulder.
Amy froze. There was something wrong with the way he touched her. His hand was heavy, possessive. And in spite of what he said, she couldn't believe her mother could be so stupid as to fall off a cliff. She looked up at Lord Haldoran, wanting to protest further, then bit back the words. If there was something wrong, his lordship was part of it.
"There, there, my dear." He tried to put his arms around her. "You mustn't worry, Amy. You're family. I promise that you will always be provided for."
She shoved him away. "I'm going to my room. I… I need to be alone." She allowed her agonized tears to spill out.
"Of course," he said in that same soft, solicitous, false voice. "Such a tragedy. Your mother was a wonderful woman. Just remember that I'll always take care of you."
She bolted from the room, deliberately acting more like seven than eleven, and didn't stop until she reached her room two floors above. As she ran, she noticed one of his lordship's men following her. There were several of them, all tough and sullen and so similar that she called them the trolls. Unlike the common soldiers she'd known in the army, the trolls were silent and unfriendly. For the first time, she realized that one was always nearby. Guarding her?
She slammed the door to the room and turned the key, locking out the world. Then she threw herself onto the bed and buried her face in her hands as she tried to stifle her sobs. After she succeeded, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
She had never questioned Lord Haldoran's honesty. After all, he was a friend and cousin of her mother's. But he hadn't really been that close a friend, not like Colonel Kenyon or Captain Wilding. What if his lordship had lied about being sent by Mama? Aunt Anne had almost refused to let her go because his lordship didn't have a note.
But why would Lord Haldoran bother to kidnap her? He didn't even like children.
She thought hard. Maybe he wanted to force Mama into marriage, like in a Gothic romance. Real life wasn't supposed to be like that, but Mama was the most beautiful woman in the world. Men often became strange around her.
Whatever the reason, one thing was clear. She must get away from that man and this house, and she must do it soon.
Amy rose and went to the window. Gusts of wind and rain were rattling the panes, and it was a long way to the ground. However, she could make a rope from her bed-sheets. Luckily, the house was built in a style that included lots of ledges where she could rest if necessary. She would escape when the storm died down. Then she would find her way to the laird's house. Maybe her mother would be there.
She closed her eyes, trying to block fresh tears. Phase, Mama, be alive.
Chapter 38
They left the cave as soon as the tide dropped enough to get the boat through the entrance tunnel. Catherine and Michael lay flat in the boat while he pushed at the irregular roof to propel the vessel forward. They scraped against stone with every swell of water, but eventually they emerged into the pitch-black night.
The back of her neck prickled as she sat up. She felt like a mouse emerging from a hole that was being watched by a hungry cat. But there were no shouts or shots; Haldoran and his men had either returned to Skoal or taken shelter for the night.
As Michael had predicted, the storm had passed, but before he could set the oars in the locks, a wave struck them broadside. Inches of water splashed into the boat, saturating their recently dried clothing. Michael hastily began rowing. As the boat stabilized and moved away from the shore, he said, "Keep a good lookout. This bay is full of rocks."
Catherine nodded and knelt in the bow to watch for low-lying hazards. With his back to the bow, Michael could not see what lay ahead, but she was acutely aware that she lacked his superior night vision. Scudding clouds covered most of the sky and she could see very little. She squinted. There was a paleness just ahead to the left, an irregularity that looked like foam. "Pull right. I think there's a reef on the left."
"Right," he repeated. The boat angled to the side and a half dozen oar strokes took them by a partially submerged rock.
The water ahead appeared clear, so Catherine spared a moment to turn and bail. Thank God the smugglers had left the bucket.
As soon as they left the bay for the open ocean, conditions worsened. The storm had left huge waves in its wake, and they pushed ferociously at the small boat. She wondered grimly if Michael would be able to hold a course among the waves and currents. The chase on Bone had shown that he had a phenomenal sense of direction and a feeling for terrain, but this was water, a channel he had crossed only once, and that in the daylight. They might easily miss Skoal and become lost on the open sea.
She cut off her thoughts. All she could do was watch and bail, and by God, she would do that well.
Amy dozed a little, leaving the window of her room partially open so she could monitor the weather. The stillness after the storm awakened her. She had left a candle burning, and the mantel clock showed that it was almost two in the morning. Perfect. She padded to the window and looked out. There was still a brisk wind, but the rain had stopped. There was no sign of movement anywhere around Ragnarok.
She peeled off her nightgown and donned the boy's clothing she had worn for long rides on the Peninsula. She'd brought the garments in case she went climbing on the cliffs in Skoal. The breeches were a little tight; she'd grown. But they would do.
When she was dressed, she cautiously opened the door and peered into the corridor. As she expected, one of the trolls was dozing in the corridor a dozen feet away. To leave, she would have to step right over him. It would have to be the window.
She relocked the door and retrieved the rope she had made from sheets. After tying one end around a bedpost, she threw the other end out the window. It just reached the ground.
She climbed out the window and started down. The clawing wind made her swing from side to side across the cold granite facade. She'd never been afraid of riding, or of French troops, but she didn't like heights one bit. Determinedly she stared at the wall as she lowered herself. As long as she didn't look down, she would be all right.
Then the sheet began to rip. As she felt the vibration in her hands, her heart spasmed. A fall from this height would kill her. She looked down. One of the ledges was several feet below.
The last fibers of the sheet separated with a horrid rasping sound. Using all her tomboy strength, she jumped toward the narrow ledge, praying that she would be able to keep her footing when she landed.
The journey across the channel was a nightmare without end. Catherine's arms ached from bailing, and her eyes burned from the strain of her vigil. Luckily, a stiff wind was breaking up the clouds. The quarter moon appeared, the cool light revealing a small islet to the right. It was too far away to be a danger, but her gaze sharpened. Islets were often surrounded by vicious little companions. From the corner of her eye, she saw a boiling of water. "Hard left now!"