Page 136 of A Rogue in Firelight

“Damned circus,” Jameson muttered. “Damned gypsy fair, the whole blasted city. Let them in. Let them all in! Open the windows and let the whole noisy horse fair in here! Bring the damned pipers in too!”

“Sir, sorry, sir.” The clerk stood back to let others file into the room.

What the devil? Ronan stared as Ellison entered, followed by Sorcha, Corbie, and then Pitlinnie. He glanced at Hugh, who shook his head, frowning. Sir Hector turned an interesting shade of purple.

“Do you know these people, Sir Hector?” Jameson demanded.

“Yes, my lord. This is my daughter, Miss Ellison Graham, and her friend, who is indeed Justice Beaton’s sister. That gentleman is my secretary, Adam Corbie, with Sir Neill Pitlinnie, who has been a generous donor to our civil expenses.”

“Sit over there and be quiet,” Jameson ordered, sending the newcomers to chairs in the back of the room.

Ronan caught Ellison’s eye and frowned. She glanced away, shaking her head slightly. Beautiful in blue and plaid, she looked delicate yet determined, lifting his pride—but he narrowed his eyes as Corbie sat beside her.

Outside, the noise of the crowded streets mingled with the peal of the bronze bells of Saint Giles, the melody followed by three booming strikes for the hour.

“Three already! I see I will have no blasted tea today,” Jameson said. “Go on, Darrach. We do this fast or not at all.”

Ellison leaned awayfrom Adam Corbie, who sat all too near, as she strived to hear Ronan at the justice’s desk.

“Your Honor, we are petitioning due to the length of time these two men have been incarcerated without trial,” he said.

“Sixty days?” The justice turned the pages. “Ah. I see. Since the first of May?” He looked up. “When was the sixtieth day?”

“The twenty-ninth of June. Weeks ago, my lord. A letter of intimation was issued as required the day after the initial arrest,” Hugh explained. “I notified the Court of Justiciary and the prisoners were brought to Edinburgh. The indictment was preliminary, but as there was no murder involved, it did not go to the high court from the sheriff court. But the final papers were not signed, as the petition notes.”

Jameson glanced up sharply. “You are certain of this?”

“Yes, my lord, as detailed in our petition.”

“The law requires indictment or trial within sixty days. That was the twenty-ninth of June,” Jameson said.

“A trial should have been set within forty days,” Ronan said. “The time expired without a trial date on eight August, as you see there. Today is eleven August. One hundred and three days, my lord.”

“Huh,” Jameson grunted as he read. “No signature on the original indictment?”

“None, my lord,” Hugh said. “It appears to be missing. Done in a rush.”

“Huh,” Jameson said again.

“The Scottish Habeas Corpus Act of 1701 expanded a law established in 1695 and has not been altered under English rule,” Ronan said. “It allows any prisoner incarcerated in Scotland for one hundred days without trial to apply for a warrant of liberation.”

“You act on behalf of your fellow prisoners?” Jameson rustled through the pages.

“Mr. Cameron and myself, my lord.”

Listening rapt, Ellison was thrilled as she comprehended what Ronan intended here—and had been intending all along. She recalled how he had pored over law volumes at Strathnive, keeping late hours, taking notes. All that time, he had been researching old laws, counting the days, and shoring up his argument. He had taken that those facts to Hugh Cameron in Kinross.

All this time, he had never forgotten the plight of his friends. Bringing the matter before a justice was a risk that could expose him to scrutiny. He stood here now arguing for their freedom at the risk of his.

Corbie leaned toward her. “There’s falsity in this somewhere.”

She rolled her eyes. “Be quiet.”

“Issued in Culross,” Jameson was saying, studying another page. “Sir Hector, as chief of the constabulary, what do you know of this?”

“My lord.” Graham cleared his throat. “This case came through my office as a routine case of accused smuggling.”

“Hardly routine. These were the Whisky Rogues—the notorious fellows whose capture caused a spectacle. Annoying! Crowds clamoring to see them. And now we have another spectacle on our streets,” he added. “Go on, Graham. What else?”