Page 39 of Highland Guard

“And right into a grave,” muttered Geordie.

“Shut up!”

Biddy glared at the man but Harcourt could see the glint of fear in her eyes. He could not be certain if it was because she knew she had lost what she sought or if she feared Geordie was right. Her confidence in Clyde’s promises might not be as strong as she wanted them to believe. Shaking his head, he decided he actually had enough information to hang her but he wanted something else. He wanted information on Sir Adam.

“How did ye come and go to your trysts with no one kenning when and where ye went?” Harcourt asked.

“The bolt-hole.”

“That is locked.”

“The one they made for us peasants, aye. But I got a lock maker to make me a new key. I also looked about for other places where I could come and go but ye have already found most of those.”

“It will make it easier if ye tell me where they all are.”

“And why should I do that?”

“Did your lover promise to nay hurt your sisters when he and his men sneak in here to slaughter us?” Her look of unease gave him his answer. “Where are the bolt-holes ye used, the ones aside from the two your laird made?”

Biddy hesitated and then reluctantly told him. As Harcourt left, he had the feeling she may have kept one secret. Since she would have done that for her own purposes, he would have to consider what the best approach would be for getting that piece of information from her.

He hunted down Gybbon and told him where Biddy said her other bolt-holes were, not all of them tunnels. It annoyed him that he had missed those places in his work to strengthen Glencullaich’s defenses. Gybbon promised he and the others would leave no stone unturned. The fact that Biddy would try to keep one hidden despite how it could be used against Glencullaich angered him. The woman was far more selfish than anyone had guessed. She might be a bit witless, but she was also cunning and cold. Even the concern for her sisters had not fully deterred Biddy from what was her most important concern—herself.

Deciding he needed to have his questions well planned out when he next visited Biddy, Harcourt chose to exercise his leg a little with a careful stroll around the inside of the wall. He also intended to keep a close eye out for any sign of that bolt-hole Biddy was keeping secret. Every instinct he had told him that it was important to get Glencullaich as tightly sealed and secured as he could, as soon as he could.

War was marching their way. Sir Adam MacQueen had tried to take Annys, tried to get hold of Benet, tried to destroy the village, and had played a long game of trying to make life so miserable many of the people fled. None of those things had gained him the prize he thought he was owed. There really were only two choices left to him—fight to take it or give up. Harcourt did not believe they would be so fortunate as to have the man walk away and leave them alone. That left them with a battle to take Glencullaich. Harcourt just hoped the man would wait until his leg healed completely.

Chapter Twelve

Harcourt wondered what the punishment was for beating a sheriff. The man seated at the table eating and drinking too much from Glencullaich’s larder was not going to be any help. It had been a waste of time to even send for the man. Sir Thomas MacQueen was not actually interested in doing his job. That he was kin to Sir Adam should have warned him that the man would do nothing, but other sheriffs dealt justice out to their kinsmen all the time and without hesitation when it was deserved. It was possible, he thought, that Sir Adam had bribed the oaf in some way.

“The mon kidnapped the laird of Glencullaich and twice tried to take Lady Annys as weel,” said Harcourt. “Ye cannae just ignore that.”

“I am nay ignoring it but ye have no proof any of that was done by Sir Adam.”

“They were his men. Ye spoke to the mon we hold, the one who stampeded the cattle. He told ye he was hired by Sir Adam MacQueen.”

“Aye”—the sheriff sat back and rubbed his rounded belly—“but Sir Adam wasnae the one who told him to do that, was he. And that lass? Weel, she wasnae talking to Sir Adam, either, was she. Best ye have is the right to accuse Sir Adam’s man Clyde and t’will still be that mon’s word against some witless kitchen maid.”

“Get out,” Harcourt said, wanting the man out of his sight as quickly as possible.

“What?” The sheriff lumbered to his feet looking a strange mixture of shocked and afraid.

“Ye heard me. Get out.”

“Why so harsh? Because I willnae let ye falsely accuse a mon who has been cheated of what is rightfully his by some wee bastard?”

Harcourt was not surprised when the sheriff paled for he suspected the glare he sent the man revealed just how murderous he was feeling. “Nay, because ye have no respect for the law. I suspicion Sir Adam has bought ye, although I hope he didnae pay verra much. Sir Adam has no claim here, nay by any law, for Sir David MacQueen, the laird, clearly declared Benet his son, born within the bounds of marriage to Lady Annys. And, Sir Adam will lose this game. Ye will have disgraced your office and your name for naught. Now, leave.”

After the man hurried away, Harcourt poured himself a tankard of ale. He had almost finished it all before his fury receded. He sighed when Nicolas and Callum arrived and joined him at the table.

“No help at all, was he,” said Callum as he helped himself to some cider.

“Nay. He sits firmly in Sir Adam’s pocket,” replied Harcourt.

“Then we will deal out justice on our own.”

“I was trying to avoid that tangle.”