Bride of the Solway. Joanna Maitland

      Ross calmly unfolded the sheet and gave it to him. The provost read it through quickly, glanced suspiciously at Ross, and then read the letter again. He frowned. And he was beginning to look a little worried, too. Good.

      ‘It is a very straightforward letter, as you see, sir. I have asked my friend to find some persons of standing—Scotsmen—who may intercede on my behalf. You cannot object to that, I dare say?’

      ‘Er…no. No, I suppose not. But who is to say that your friend, er—’ he looked again at the letter ‘—your friend, Max, can persuade a Scottish gentleman of standing to perform such a service for you?’ He was looking down his nose at Ross as he spoke.

      Ross twitched the sheet out of the provost’s hand and rose to his feet so that the little man had to look up at him instead. ‘I can rely on my friend,’ he said with a smile, turning the sheet over and putting it almost under the provost’s nose. There, in Ross’s firm hand, was the address: The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Penrose.

      The provost goggled and began to stammer something unintelligible.

      ‘Provost Scobie.’ The door had opened at the provost’s back to admit an ancient manservant. ‘The colonel has arrived, sir. Shall I show him into the parlour, or—?’

      The provost turned to the door with obvious relief. ‘No, indeed. I’ll come myself this minute.’ Without sparing even a glance for Ross, the provost scuttled out into the hallway. The servant closed the door behind him.

      ‘Sorry, sir,’ said the gaoler with a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘Looks like I’ll be taking ye back.’

      Ross swallowed an oath. He was not beaten yet. The provost had clearly thought his prisoner was a nobody. Now that he’d discovered Ross had high-ranking connections, the little man would be racking his brains for a way of placating both Ross and the Elliott laird. He was playing for time. But he would not be given it.

      Ross strode across to the door and flung it open.

      The provost was bowing to a tall, dignified man who was just on the point of handing his hat and cane to the servant. Grimly, Ross clenched his jaw and waited for the right moment to intervene. The visitor was clearly a gentleman.

      ‘My apologies, Colonel, for keeping you waiting.’ The provost bowed again to his visitor. ‘Legal business, you understand, with this…er…this prisoner.’ He indicated Ross with a vague hand gesture. The look that accompanied it held more than a hint of uncertainty. ‘If you would like to come into the parlour, I have a very fine Madeira that I should—’

      ‘A moment, Provost,’ said the colonel sharply. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to explain what the devil is going on here? This is Captain Graham, is it not? I must ask you to explain why you have this gentleman in custody.’

      Ross frowned in surprise. This colonel knew him. But how? Ross scrutinised the unknown officer carefully, but could not place him. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but that was all. And yet—

      Seeing Ross’s uncertainty, the colonel stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘You won’t remember me, Captain Graham. I’m Colonel Anstruther. I was invalided home after Badajoz. We did not run across each other much in the Peninsula. But I remember you well enough. General Picton spoke very highly of you.’

      The two men shook hands, totally ignoring the provost and the hovering gaoler. ‘Thank you, sir,’ Ross said. ‘It was an honour to serve with him. You know, I suppose, that he fell at Waterloo?’

      ‘Aye. I heard. A sad loss.’ He shook his head regretfully.

      The silence was broken by the provost. ‘Colonel,’ he began, stepping forward, ‘if you—’

      ‘You have not told me why this officer is being held, Provost.’

      ‘I…er…’ The provost had turned very red. ‘Well, Colonel, he is facing a very serious charge. Abduction. Brought by James Elliott, the victim’s brother. I would not have confined the captain, you understand, but Elliott insisted. Said he was bound to try to escape. And that he was dangerous, too. Much as I’d be minded to—’ he smiled weakly at Ross ‘—I cannot just release him.’

      Ross ignored the provost completely. ‘Colonel,’ he said warmly, ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have someone to speak on my behalf. In a country with no habeas corpus, it seems I can simply be left to rot and—’

      ‘Nonsense. Who told you that?’

      ‘I—’

      ‘I told the Captain we have no habeas corpus, Colonel,’ interrupted the provost. ‘And it’s true enough, as you know. I was just about to tell him about the Scots law equivalent when you arrived, so he may have misunderstood the situation. Scotland is a civilised country, Captain. Prisoners are not left to rot here, any more than in England.’

      ‘And now that I am prepared to vouch for Captain Graham, there need be no delay about releasing him, Provost. The Captain will give you his parole and you will release him into my custody.’

      The provost hesitated. He was shuffling his feet nervously. ‘James Elliott insisted—’

      ‘James Elliott may be assured that Captain Graham will make no attempt to escape. Unless you doubt my word in this, Provost?’

      The provost almost cowered before the colonel’s ferocious frown. Rubbing his hands together in his agitation, the little man looked from the colonel to Ross and back again. There was no hint of weakness in either of them. ‘I must know where the prisoner is to be found, sir,’ he said lamely.

      ‘I shall be in residence here in Dumfries for some weeks now. Captain Graham will be my guest. You may rest assured that I shall not take him out of your jurisdiction.’ The colonel turned to Ross and smiled. ‘If you are ready, sir, I will take you to my house now. My business with the provost can wait. It was not really important.’ He ignored the provost’s sharp intake of breath and turned for the door.

      ‘A moment, Colonel, if you please,’ Ross said quickly. ‘While I will certainly give my parole to the provost, I cannot possibly accept your generous offer of hospitality when I am in such a dreadful state. I am not fit to enter a gentleman’s house. And I do not even have a change of clothes.’ He looked down at his filthy breeches and boots, and his shrunken coat. He had not been able to wash for the best part of three days and he had been lying on rotting straw in a stinking gaol. He must smell like something dredged from the quicksands of the Solway. ‘Provost, what has become of my mare and my travelling baggage?’

      The provost would not meet Ross’s eye. ‘Your horse is stabled at the George. There’ll be livery to pay. There was no baggage as I’m aware of. Just a horse and a greatcoat. And ye’ve found that, I see,’ he added sarcastically.

      The colonel paid no heed at all. He himself opened the street door, without waiting for the servant. ‘Don’t worry, Graham. Your baggage will turn up, I’m sure. And in the meantime, I imagine you would welcome a hot bath and a good meal.’

      ‘Well, yes, sir, but—’

      ‘Good. Then come along. It’s but a step to my house. My wife will be delighted to meet you.’

      Ross grimaced at the embarrassing prospect, but stepped forward to join the colonel on the threshold.

      ‘On second thoughts,’ said the colonel with a small, wry smile, ‘I might delay the introductions until after you’ve had a chance to make yourself a little more…er…presentable.’

      In the circumstances, Ross found himself grinning at the older man’s gentle jibe. The poor colonel had obviously just had a lungful of gaol odours.

      ‘I’ll send a man to see Elliott, to find out what happened to your baggage,’ the colonel went on, as soon as they reached the street. ‘I imagine there must have been a mistake of some kind.’

      Ross nodded automatically, as politeness demanded. But he