So she had taken her preventive measures, and Colum had taken his. And here was I, caught up in the middle.
"The child, though?" I asked. "Surely…"
There was a grim chuckle in the blackness. "Accidents happen, my friend. To the best of us. And once it happened…" I felt rather than saw her shrug. "I meant to get rid of it, but then I thought it might be a way to make him marry me, once Arthur was dead."
A horrible suspicion struck me.
"But Dougal's wife was still alive, then. Geillis, did you—？"
Her dress rustled as she shook her head, and I caught a faint gleam from her hair.
"I meant to," she said. "But God saved me the trouble. I rather thought that was a sign, you know. And it might all have worked nicely, too, if not for Colum MacKenzie."
I hugged my elbows against the cold. I was talking now only for distraction.
"Was it Dougal you wanted, or only his position and money?"
"Oh, I had plenty of money," she said, with a note of satisfaction. "I knew where Arthur kept the key to all his papers and notes, ye ken. And the man wrote a fair hand, I'll say that for him—'twas simple enough to forge his signature. I'd managed to divert near on to ten thousand pound over the last two years."
"But what for?" I asked, completely startled.
"For Scotland."
"What?" For a moment, I thought I had misheard. Then I decided that one of us was possibly a trifle unbalanced. And going on the evidence to hand, it wasn't me.
"What do you mean, Scotland?" I asked cautiously, drawing away a bit. I wasn't sure just how unstable she was; perhaps pregnancy had unhinged her mind.
"Ye needna fear; I'm not mad." The cynical amusement in her voice made me flush, grateful for the darkness.
"Oh, no?" I said, stung. "By your own admission, you've committed fraud, theft, and murder. It might be charitable to consider that you're mad, because if you're not—"
"Neither mad nor depraved," she said, decisively. "I'm a patriot."
The light dawned. I let out the breath I had been holding in expectation of a deranged attack.
"A Jacobite," I said. "Holy Christ, you're a bloody Jacobite!"
She was. And that explained quite a bit. Why Dougal, generally the mirror of his brother's opinions, should have shown such initiative in raising money for the House of Stuart. And why Geillis Duncan, so well equipped to lead any man she wanted to the altar, had chosen two such dissimilar specimens as Arthur Duncan and Dougal MacKenzie. The one for his money and position, the other for his power to influence public opinion.
"Colum would have been better," she continued. "A pity. His misfortune is my own, as well. It's him would have been the one I should have had; the only man I've seen could be my proper match. Together, we could… well, no help for it. The one man I'd want, and the one man in the world I couldn't touch with the weapon I had."
"So you took Dougal, instead."
"Oh, aye," she said, deep in her own thoughts. "A strong man, and with some power. A bit of property. The ear of the people. But really, he's no more than the legs, and the cock"—she laughed briefly—"of Colum MacKenzie. It's Colum has the strength. Almost as much as I have."
Her boastful tone annoyed me.
"Colum has a few small things that you haven't, so far as I can see. Such as a sense of compassion."
"Ah, yes. 'Bowels of mercy and compassion,' is it?" She spoke ironically. "Much good it may do him. Death sits on his shoulder; ye can see it with half an eye. The man may live two years past Hogmanay; not much longer than that."
"And how much longer will you live?" I asked.
The irony turned inward, but the silver voice stayed steady.
"A bit less than that, I expect. No great matter. I've managed a good deal in the time I had; ten thousand pounds diverted to France, and the district roused for Prince Charles. Come the Rising, I shall know I helped. If I live so long."
She stood nearly under the hole in the roof. My eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the darkness that she showed as a pale shape in the murk, a premature and unlaid ghost. She turned abruptly toward me.
"Whatever happens with the examiners, I have no regrets, Claire."
"I regret only that I have but one life to give for my country?" I asked ironically.
"That's nicely put," she said.
"Isn't it, just?"
We fell silent as it grew darker. The black of the hole seemed a tangible force, pressing cold and heavy on my chest, clogging my lungs with the scent of death. At last I huddled into as close a ball as I could, put my head on my knees, and gave up the fight, lapsing into an uneasy doze on the edge between cold and panic.