The night chill came on fast at this time of year, and my heavy cloak was barely enough protection against the sudden gusts of icy wind that met us in the open spaces of the clearings. I was torn between dismay at the thought of Jamie lying through the cold, wet nights of autumn without shelter, and excitement at the thought of seeing him again. A shiver ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
At last my guide pulled me to a halt, and with a precautionary squeeze of my shoulder, stepped off the path and disappeared. I stood, as patiently as could be managed, hands folded under my arms for warmth. I was sure my guide—or someone—would return; I hadn't paid him, for one thing. Still, the wind rattled through the dead brambles like the passing of a deer's ghost, still in panic-stricken flight from the hunter. And the damp was seeping through the seams of my boots; the otter-fat waterproofing had worn away, and I'd had no chance to reapply it.
My guide reappeared as suddenly as he had left, making me bite my tongue as I stifled a squeak of surprise. With a jerk of his head, he bade me follow him, and pressed aside a screen of dead alders for me to pass.
The cave entrance was narrow. There was a lantern burning on a ledge, silhouetting the tall figure that turned toward the entrance to meet me.
I flung myself forward, realizing even before I touched him that it was not Jamie. Disappointment struck me like a blow in the stomach, and I had to step back and swallow several times to choke back the heavy bile that rose in my throat.
I clenched my hands at my sides, digging my fists into my thighs until I felt calm enough to speak.
"Rather out of your territory, aren't you?" I said, in a voice that surprised me by its coolness.
Dougal MacKenzie had watched my struggle for control, not without some sympathy on his dark face. Now he took my elbow and led me farther into the cave. There were a number of bundles piled against the far side, many more than a single horse could carry. He wasn't alone, then. And whatever he and his men carried, it was something he preferred not to expose to the curious gaze of innkeepers and hostlers.
"Smuggling, I suppose?" I said, with a nod toward the bundle. Then I thought better and answered my own question. "No, not exactly smuggling—goods for Prince Charles, hm?"
He didn't bother to answer me, but sat down on a boulder opposite me, hands on his knees.
"I've news," he said abruptly.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself. News, and not good news, from the expression on his face. I took another breath, swallowed hard, and nodded.
"Tell me."
"He's alive," he said, and the largest of the ice lumps in my stomach dissolved. Dougal cocked his head to one side, watching intently. To see whether I were going to faint? I wondered dimly. It didn't matter; I wasn't.
"He was taken near Kiltorlity, two weeks ago," Dougal said, still watching me. "Not his fault; poor luck. He met six dragoons face-to-face round a turn in the path, and one recognized him."
"Was he hurt?" My voice was still calm, but my hands were beginning to shake. I pressed them flat against my legs to still them.
Dougal shook his head. "Not as I heard." He paused a moment. "He's in Wentworth Prison," he said reluctantly.
"Wentworth," I repeated mechanically. Wentworth Prison. Originally one of the mighty Border fortresses, it had been built sometime in the late sixteenth century, and added to at intervals over the next hundred and fifty years. The sprawling pile of rock now covered nearly two acres of ground, sealed behind three-foot walls of weathered granite. But even granite walls have gates, I thought. I looked up to ask a question, and saw the reluctance still stamped on Dougal's features.
"What else?" I demanded. The hazel eyes met mine, unflinching.
"He stood his trial three days ago," Dougal said. "And was condemned to hang."
The ice lump was back, with company. I closed my eyes.
"How long?" I asked. My voice seemed rather far-off to my own ears and I opened my eyes again, blinking to refocus them in the flickering lantern light. Dougal was shaking his head.
"I dinna ken. Not long, though."
My breath was coming a little easier now, and I was able to unclench my fists.
"We'd better hurry, then," I said, still calmly. "How many men are with you?"
Instead of answering, Dougal rose and came over to me. Reaching down, he took my hands and pulled me to my feet. The look of sympathy was back, and a deep grief lurking in his eyes frightened me more than anything he'd said so far. He shook his head slowly.