The Scottish Prisoner

Jamie felt an angry spasm of kinship at the sight; he’d known such small cruelties when he’d worn fetters. He murmured a deliberate curse toward the constable and walked out onto the drive, where the servants were clustered accusingly round Tom Byrd.

They all fell silent at sight of Jamie, falling back a little. He ignored the lot of them and jerked his head at Tom, saying merely, “Come with me, Mr. Byrd,” as he turned away down the drive.

Tom followed promptly, and while there was a hostile muttering behind them, no one hindered their departure.

“I’m that glad you come up when you did, sir,” Tom said, hurrying a little to come even with him and glancing back over his shoulder. “I thought they were a-going to take me to pieces—and so did they.”

“Aye, well, they’re like dogs whose master’s died,” Jamie said, not unkindly. “They di

Tom was pale and excited but had control of himself. He rubbed his sleeve across his face to wipe away the rain and settled himself to recite Lord John’s message.

“Right, sir. To begin with, the constable—that was the constable, the loud fat man—is taking his lordship to Castle Athlone.”

“Aye? Well, that’s good—it’s not?” Jamie asked, seeing Tom shake his head.

“No, sir. He says the justiciar has gone to France, and whoever’s in charge will either keep him locked up or make him give his parole, and that won’t do.”

“It won’t? Did he say why not?”

“No, sir, there wasn’t time. He says you must come and get him out, quick as ever you can.”

Jamie rubbed a hand over his face, brushing water out of his eyebrows.

“Does he, then,” he said dryly. “Did he suggest how I was to do that?”

Tom half-smiled, despite his worry.

“No, sir. He says to tell you that he trusts in your native wit and ferocity to accomplish this. I’m to help you,” he added modestly, with a sideways look up at Jamie. He put a hand to his middle, looking portentous. “His lordship gave me his dagger to keep for him.”

“That will be a great help,” Jamie assured him gravely. “Di

The rain was coming down harder now, but as they were already wet through, there was little point in hurry, and they strode along without talking, the rain pattering on their heads and shoulders.

25

Escape from Athlone

QUINN HAD NOT GONE BACK TO GLASTUIG WITH THEM; they found him crouched by the fire with a glass of arrack in his hands, still shivering. He got up when he saw Jamie, though, and came outside at the jerk of Jamie’s head.

The rain had stopped, at least for a bit, and Jamie led the way down the road so they might talk unheard. In a few words, he acquainted Qui

He’d known pretty much what Qui

“Ye still want that cup, aye?” Jamie asked Qui

Qui

“Ye’ll never mean ye’ve got it, man?”

“No, I have not.” Jamie detached his arm, though without violence.

“But ye know where it is.” Qui

“Aye, I know. It’s well beyond anyone’s reach, is where it is. I told the abbot to put it back where it came from, and to the best of my knowledge”— which is considerable, he added silently to himself—“he did.”

Qui

“Aye. Well, ye want to go and ask them, do that—but ye’re no going until we get John Grey out of Athlone.”

Qui

“Out of Athlone Castle? Man, are ye demented?”

“Aye, I am,” Jamie said crossly. “But I mean to do it, anyway.”

“Why? The man’s not only English, not only your captor—he’s a fecking murderer!”

“No, that he’s not,” Jamie said, with decision. “He may be a good many disagreeable things, but not that.”

“But they found him standin’ over Siverly’s body, and the blood fresh on his boots!”

“I saw, aye?”

Qui

There was no point in telling Qui

“He didn’t,” Jamie repeated stubbornly.

There was also no way to explain to Qui

He wasn’t going to argue the point, though, and not only because it would be futile. There was also the consideration that if Grey hadn’t killed Siverly, someone else had. And there were relatively few persons known to have been nearby, one of whom was Qui

“I’m going to Athlone, and ye’re goin’ with me.”

“What? Why?” Qui

“Where did you get off, dragging me into your bloody crack-brained scheme? You go with me, and I’ll take ye to Abbot Michael—ye can make your own case to him about the Cupбn.”

“Crackbrained?!” Qui

“Aye, crackbrained. And ye’re goin’ with me to Athlone because ye can sail a boat, and I can’t.”

“A boat?” Qui

“How do I know what boat?” Jamie said, very irritated. “We’ll find one when we get there.”

“But—”

“If ye think I’m going to abscond from an English prison with his lordship and try to escape through a countryside that’s nay more than a monstrous bog with the occasional pig to stumble over—think again,” he advised Qui

“But—”

“Athlone Castle is nearby the River Sha

HE’D GIVEN HIS INSTRUCTIONS to Tom Byrd on the way back from Glastuig, and the valet had managed accordingly, not packing up all their belongings, as Jamie wished to cause no more stir than there was already, but acquiring what he could for an instant journey.

They found Tom Byrd waiting impatiently by the road with horses, a little way from the ordinary. Tom gave both men a narrow look, glancing from face to face, but said nothing. He had procured a cabbage, and a few potatoes, which he modestly displayed.

“That’ll do us fine for a supper,” Qui