Page 20 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

“I will too,” he assured her. He sighed deeply, went outside, and began to pace up and down the courtyard. Sunset was just beginning, but the sky, which had been overcast all day, had cleared, leaving only a few wispy tendrils of clouds floating across a deep orange background that was shading gently through light green to teal blue. The first of the stars had come peeking out, and it was glorious, but Lyall hardly noticed it. He could only think of Ailith.

Presently, one of the guards came to him bearing a piece of parchment, which he handed to Lyall. The seal was McCauley’s, and Lyall wondered why Jock should be sending him another message. This must be about Ailith!

He had never prayed so hard in his life as he did when he ripped the letter open, but as he began to read, his eyes widened in disbelief. The letter was about Ailith, but it was not from Jock.

Laird Stevenson

Pardon the lateness of the hour, but this is a very important matter that requires your immediate attention. Please do not ignore this, since it concerns Ailith Galloway, your sweetheart. I am an acquaintance of Laird McCauley and I can tell you where he is keeping her. You may not trust me, and I cannot blame you for that, but can you take the chance? Please meet me at the signpost that points towards Inverlieth, Kinlochan, and Inverness, and please maintain the utmost secrecy. I will be alone and unarmed.

A friend

“Who brought this?” he asked the guard. “Is he still here?”

“Naw, M'Laird, he ran as if the deil hisself was chasin’ him,” he replied. “A’ I can tell ye is that he wis a tall man, I couldnae see his face. It wis dark an’ he had a hood ower his heid.”

Lyall stood gazing at the letter for a full two minutes, weighing his options carefully. Why was the writer using the McCauley crest? Why the secrecy? How did Lyall know if he could trust him? It might be an ambush. On the other hand, what if he really did know where Ailith was? Was it worth putting his life in danger?

He looked up at the stairs to Fenella’s bedroom. If anything happened to him she would be crushed. On the other hand, now that he knew that his darling was alive, how could he leave her to whatever abominable fate Jock McCauley had in store for her?

The decision was made. He penned a letter for Fenella telling her to wait and not to worry if possible. He was glad she was bathing, since it gave him an opportunity to leave without fuss.

The place the writer had mentioned was about half a mile away from the castle, at a distinctive junction where three roads met and formed a Y shape. It was out in the open, which surprised him, but it was almost dark and Lyall could barely see the hooded figure who had just turned to look at him.

He stopped his horse a hundred yards away and ventured no closer.

The two figures looked at each other over the short distance, but neither wanted to be the first to make a move. Finally, Lyall, his heart banging furiously in his chest, took a step forward, and so did the other man. After five steps they halted.

“You know my name!” Lyall called. “What is yours?”

At that, the man began to walk towards him at a normal pace, but Lyall laid his hand on the hilt of the dagger he was carrying. He never trusted people who said they were unarmed, because most of the time they were lying, and he had no wish to take chances at this critical moment. The man stopped five paces away from him and stood still, then he pushed back his hood. There was only a sliver of a moon, and Lyall could not make out the stranger’s features, but he recognized his distinctive voice, since he had heard it many times before.

“I am Findlay MacBlain,” he replied, and there was a smile in his voice.

“Not Daft Finn?” Lyall asked incredulously.

“The very same,” McBlain laughed.

“But I thought you were—” Lyle began.

“Backward? Simple?” McBlain asked. Lyall could not see his face, but he sounded amused. “Good. I am glad to hear it, because that is what I want everyone to think, especially the Laird.”

“Never mind all that now!” Lyall said impatiently. “You told me you knew where Ailith was. I need to know.”

“Wait a minute.” Findlay took Lyall’s arm and began to lead him to a nearby stand of trees. “I have a fire laid, and there are many things I have to tell you.”

They sat down under fir trees where Findlay had laid a fire of the trees’ fallen boughs. “There is nothing we can do until morning, M'Laird,” he said calmly. “I will tell you where she is, but we can do nothing tonight.”

He set fire to the wood with his tinderbox, and as the wood caught fire he could see the other man’s face more clearly. It was a handsome, rugged face, and looked extremely attractive without the vacant expression or constant silly smile on it. He had swept his hair back to keep its long fringe out of his eyes, and he was not dressed in his usual secondhand rags, but in normal working man’s clothing of a linen shirt and hose, with a homespun woolen cloak on top. He produced a little flask and two small goblets and poured them a tot of whisky each.

“Sláinte mhath,” he said, and tossed the whisky back.

Lyall looked at him with a threatening scowl. His desperation was giving way to anger. “Are you going to tell me where she is?” he asked. “Or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”

“You can try!” Findlay laughed, then his face grew serious. “She is in the cottage by Braefoot Burn, guarded by four heavily armed men in the employ of Laird McCauley.”

“Is she being taken care of? Is she well?” he asked in desperation. “Please tell me!”

“I can only tell you where she is,” he replied sadly. “I have no information on her welfare.”