“Oh? And will ye promise before God that me brother and sister yet live?”
Mhairi looked taken aback by the question, then smiled. “Oh, aye. They live. And where they live is a wondrous place. Ye’ll be quite happy, I assure ye.”
Gaspar put his arm around Isobelle’s shoulders and gave Mhairi a look he may have given many a woman accused of witchcraft. “Just where does her family reside?”
The woman started to speak, but James waved her off. “They now live where I call home,” he said.
“And where is that?”
James grinned and gave Isobelle a wink before turning back to Gaspar. “Why, in the New World.”
Gaspar choked and sputtered, but Isobelle wasn’t worried. That wink had given James away. His winks were a bit less frightening than those from the witches.
She tilted her head and stared at the big man through narrowed eyes. “Ye must be jesting, James. There is something ye havena told us.”
The big man sighed. “Aye. There is. But I dinna want you to fret as yer bound to do. Ye see, the way to Montgomery and Morna… The way leads through yer tomb, lass.”
That numbness in her limbs came up to fill her head and the stable went dark, as if someone had doused the sun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Gaspar didn’t know these people. There was little reason to trust them, especially when the person that led the rest around by their noses was a self-proclaimed witch. But he trusted James, and the big Scot vowed on his honor that he had, indeed, come to Castle Ross through this passage. And although Gaspar believed there was yet some secret with which they could not entrust him, he would be patient.
In truth, the witches were his only worry. But since the one didn’t seem to be overly concerned with him, he ceased fretting over her. He would remain vigilant, of course, but once they were away from this place where Isobelle might be recognized, they could rest their minds. Besides, it hadn’t mattered where they came to roost, as long as he and Isobelle were together. If her brother’s home did not make Isobelle happy, they would simply move on. Together.
Isobelle’s hand trembled in his as they hurried through the kitchens. The cooks and maids were far too busy to pay them much attention. Just beyond the heavy steam and the savorysmells of hot meat, there was a wide stairway that led down. The steps were lit by a lone torch at the bottom.
James stood at the top of the steps and gestured for Gaspar to precede him.
“Isobelle Ross!” The strange voice came from behind.
Gaspar urged Isobelle to go on without him, then turned to see who had spoken. A diminutive man came from the kitchens, his face red with outrage. “Let me pass!” he demanded. “I am Cinead, son of The Gordon and I demand you let me pass!”
“Oh?” James arched his brow at the little tyrant. “Only a son? And why do you spy upon The Ross’s stores?”
Cinead raised a short finger. “I saw her! Ye canna deny it! Isobelle Ross is here!”
James laughed with glee. “Of course, she is here. Her ghost is always here. And on wedding days, she makes herself seen as well as heard. In fact, she attended yer sister’s wedding to Montgomery Ross, did she not?”
The little man sneered. “There was no wedding, and ye ken it. But now I see it was not a ghost, but the woman herself who haunts the place. Now let me pass!” He was a bold man to be so small and speak to a man four times his size. He turned his finger on Gaspar. “Ye held her hand coming through the kitchens.”
Gaspar lifted his hands in mock horror, much as he had when Ewan had told him they’d been cut off while he’d slept in the hay. “She held my hand? But why would she do such a thing. I’m English!”
The little man’s eyes flashed as he glimpsed the bottom of the stairs. “And low, here she is!”
Gaspar turned and found Isobelle dancing about just beyond the last step. She hummed a dissonant tune and swung her skirts from side to side.
“The kirk will hear of this,” Gordon hissed.
“I see nothing,” said James, then he looked suspiciously at Gordon’s son. “Do ye feel quite well?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Do not pretend?—”
“Where is she?” Gaspar demanded. “What does she look like?”
The little fellow pointed and rolled his eyes. “That is Isobelle. I would ken her anywhere.”
“I see nothing,” Gaspar whispered to James. “Perhaps he has been drinking all day.”
