At length I sat up, feeling more or less in possession of all my faculties. Dougal had resumed his seat on the stone coping, and was waiting patiently, watching to be sure that I didn't fall backward into the spring.
"There's a way out of it," he said abruptly. "The only one I can see."
"Lead me to it," I said, with an unconvincing attempt at a smile.
"Verra well, then." He sat forward, leaning toward me to explain. "Randall's the right to take ye for questioning because you're a subject of the English crown. Well, then, we must change that."
I stared at him, uncomprehending. "What do you mean? You're a subject of the crown as well, aren't you? How would you change such a thing?"
"Scots law and English law are verra similar," he said, frowning, "but no the same. And an English officer canna compel the person of a Scot, unless he's firm evidence of a crime committed, or grounds for serious suspicions. Even with suspicion, he could no remove a Scottish subject from clan lands without the permission of the laird concerned."
"You've been talking to Ned Gowan," I said, beginning to feel a little dizzy again.
He nodded. "Aye, I have. I thought it might come to this, ye ken. And what he told me is what I thought myself; the only way I can legally refuse to give ye to Randall is to change ye from an Englishwoman into a Scot."
"Into a Scot?" I said, the dazed feeling quickly being replaced by a horrible suspicion.
This was confirmed by his next words.
"Aye," he said, nodding at my expression. "Ye must marry a Scot. Young Jamie."
"I couldn't do that!"
"Weel," he frowned, considering. "I suppose ye could take Rupert, instead. He's a widower, and he's the lease of a small farm. Still, he's a good bit older, and—"
"I don't want to marry Rupert, either! That's the… the most absurd…" Words failed me. Springing to my feet in agitation, I paced around the small clearing, fallen rowan berries crunching under my feet.
"Jamie's a goodly lad," Dougal argued, still sitting on the coping. "He's not much in the way of property just now, true, but he's a kind-hearted lad. He'd not be cruel to ye. And he's a bonny fighter, with verra good reason to hate Randall. Nay, marry him, and he'll fight to his last breath to protect ye."
"But… but I can't marry anyone!" I burst out.
Dougal's eyes were suddenly sharp. "Why not, lass? Do ye have a husband living still?"
"No. It's just… it's ridiculous! Such things don't happen!"
Dougal had relaxed when I said "No." Now he glanced up at the sun and rose to go.
"Best get moving, lass. There are things we'll have to attend to. There'll have to be a special dispensation," he murmured, as though to himself; "But Ned can manage that."
He took my arm, still muttering to himself. I wrenched it away.
"I will not marry anyone," I said firmly.
He seemed undisturbed by this, merely raising his brows.
"You want me to take you to Randall?"
"No!" Something occurred to me. "So at least you believe me when I say I'm not an English spy?"
"I do now." He spoke with some emphasis.
"Why now and not before?"
He nodded at the spring, and at the worn figure etched in the rock. It must be hundreds of years old, much older even than the giant rowan tree that shaded the spring and cast its white flowers into the black water.
"St. Ninian's spring. Ye drank the water before I asked ye."
I was thoroughly bewildered by this time.
"What does that have to do with it?"
He looked surprised, then his mouth twisted in a smile. "Ye didna know? They call it the liar's spring, as well. The water smells o' the fumes of hell. Anyone who drinks the water and then tells untruth will ha' the gizzard burnt out of him."
"I see." I spoke between my teeth. "Well, my gizzard is quite intact. So you can believe me when I say I'm not a spy, English or French. And you can believe something else, Dougal MacKenzie. I'm not marrying anyone!"
He wasn't listening. In fact, he had already pushed his way through the bushes that screened the spring. Only a quivering oak branch marked his passage. Seething, I followed him.
I remonstrated at some length further on the ride back to the inn. Dougal advised me finally to save my breath to cool my parritch with, and after that we rode in silence.
Reaching the inn, I flung my reins to the ground and stamped upstairs to the refuge of my room.