by Eliza Knight
“Ho, there! Stop!” Toran called, racing after the rascal in hopes they’d be able to give him answers.
Whoever it was sprinted toward the woods, their speed increasing with every step, but Toran too could run like the devil. The kilt-wearing devil was a man, or at least appeared to be one, from the back. Tall and lithe, his hair covered by a cap, and a sword whacking against his thigh as he ran.
Toran caught up to the fugitive, tackling them to the ground, with both of them grunting at the impact.
“I’m not going to hurt ye,” Toran growled. Slowly letting up his weight on the fellow, he rolled him over, recognizing him instantly. “Mac.”
“I told ye not to come back.” Mac shoved away from Toran.
“And yet here I am.”
“Go back to where ye came from.”
“That is impossible. Besides, I only left to bring more recruits back.” He nodded toward his family.
Mac studied the three of them with narrowed eyes. “How do I know ’tis not a trap?”
“Come see for yourself. If it’ll make ye feel better, ye can hold a blade against me.”
Mac grunted and pushed himself up. “Maybe I will.”
Toran walked in front of Mac to make the man feel a little more at ease, though he was surprised to find that Mac didn’t take him up on the offer to hold a blade against him.
At the horses, Mac glanced up and demanded, “Who are ye?”
“Simon Fraser.”
“Isla Fraser.”
“Camdyn Fraser.”
Mac groaned. “Ye brought me a bunch of bloody Frasers?”
“Frasers’ll—” Toran cut off whatever threat Simon was about to spit out.
“My cousin, Simon, is son of the Fraser chief. Mistress J could use someone like that on her side. And these two are my brother and sister. Young, impressionable, and with a great interest in seeing their country restored for future generations.”
Mac hesitated, his body still tense. “I’m not the one to make the call. I’ll bring ye to Mistress J and let her decide whether to toss your arse into the dungeon. Pardon my language, Miss,” he said with a doff of his cap in Isla’s direction.
Toran nodded. “Good. I think she’ll see reason.”
“I doubt it. Ye forget I know what happened inside the croft. I’m hoping she puts your arse in the dungeon.”
“If she wishes to see me rot, I will do her bidding if only to prove my loyalty.”
“Brother,” Isla said with a gasp, but one stern look from Toran had her quieting.
“If it pleases ye, Mac, take us to Mistress J. We beg an audience.” Then, gaze locked on Simon, he said, “Dinna make me regret taking ye along.”
“Ye didna have a choice,” Simon scoffed.
“There is always a choice.”
“Quit your griping else I change my mind. And ye’ll have to wear these over your head.” Mac pulled several sackcloths from inside his saddlebag. “Dinna need ye running off to tell where we’ve gone. And trust me, in this, ye have no choice.”
Six
Every crack of thunder outside the castle had Jenny wincing. Less than a day after the massive move, a letter arrived from Hamish that he was sending a contingent of his men home to gather fresh supplies and horses.
She should be grateful that he wasn’t coming himself and that with the advance warning she could get the supplies ready and send his men on their way as quickly as possible—along with three from home whom she knew to be his staunch supporters. They’d woken up with wicked hangovers from the sleeping draught she’d had slipped into their drinks, and Dirk and several other men had pretended to wake up the same way, so as to put them off from thinking they’d been singled out. Not one of them seemed to notice the new people in attendance, which was perfect.
Jenny was trying to look at Hamish’s demands as a blessing in disguise, since they gave her an excuse to send away the men who made her nervous. The problem was that every extra pair of hose, every bullet, every ration of grain that she piled into the waiting wagons felt like a betrayal to her cause.
There was no choice. If she refused to send her brother what he requested, then he would suspect her of treason and tear the castle apart looking for evidence. Risking their entire mission and the safety of her men was not worth the price it cost to her heart to load up the wagons. So she’d make certain they worked hard to whittle down the list of her brother’s demands.
The place at the head of the table reserved for the laird sat empty, though she longed to symbolically take it for herself. Jenny sat to the right of her brother’s seat and across—for the first time in months—from her mother.
Lady Mackintosh had not come down to eat with the clan in so long that Jenny couldn’t clearly remember the last time. This time, her graying chestnut hair was swept up into a knot atop her head, with curling tendrils framing her face. She wore a plain gown but a gown nonetheless, a whale-boned bodice and full skirts over panniers. Though dark circles still graced the undersides of her green eyes, her skin was no longer sallow but held a note of life. She sipped delicately from her spoon and then tore off a hunk of bread to dip into the bowl of cold pea soup.
“Mama,” Jenny started, hoping she wasn’t asking too much of her mother too soon. “Do ye want to walk in the garden after we sup?”
Lady Mackintosh set down her spoon and glanced up at her. “Aye, that would be—”
A loud knock silenced her mother, and every head in the great hall swiveled in the direction of the archway that led to the front doors.
Her brother’s men must have come early.
“Show them in,” Jenny ordered the guards who stood sentry. They nodded, leaving the great hall along with her appetite.
Jenny set down her spoon and smiled tightly at her mother. “Hamish’s men will be on their way shortly, Mama. Go ahead and finish your meal.”
Jenny stood from the table, prepared to meet the men in the entry hall and offer them sustenance before showing them their wagons. Ideally they’d be willing to turn and leave right away, but they’d likely prefer at least a night of rest. But as she drew closer to the archway, the voices she heard did not sound like those of men, but rather…a lass. A lad. And…nay. It couldn’t be!
What the devil?
Jenny quickened her pace, concern and fear ripping into her chest. Her footsteps drew to a halt in the dimly lit entryway when she saw exactly who’d come through her door with Mac at his side. Toran MacGillivray Fraser.
Standing behind him was another stranger flanked by two adolescents. But she had no interest in those. Staring at Toran, she felt like she’d been punched in the gut. The last time they’d spoken, they’d been threatening to kill each other, and then he’d disappeared.
A day’s worth of growth peppered his cheeks, giving him that rough look she found both intimidating and intriguing. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he wanted to smile but couldn’t allow himself to do so. And his eyes…oh, the danger in those eyes as they swept over her. His look sent unwanted chills of excitement racing over her skin. This was wrong. Very wrong.
Jenny allowed herself half a moment more to study him before shifting her gaze to the individuals he’d brought inside her keep and Mac.
At Toran’s side were a lad who appeared to be his spitting image and a lass who looked very familiar but whom she was certain she’d never met.
Her gaze was drawn back to Toran’s. Blast it all, but his damned blue eyes made her melt and rallied her ire at the same time.
“Mac, what is he doing here?” The harsh words snapped out of Jenny’s mouth despite the fact that she was actually pleased to see he was still alive, if only because she wanted to be the one to kill him.
After her conversation with Dirk, the memory of those ice-blue eyes and the fear that he’d come back and bring with him a horde of dr
agoons had stolen away her sleep the past few nights.
Seeing him now, her palms slickened enough she wanted to slap herself into sanity.
“He’s brought us Simon Fraser, Mistress.”
“Ye’re in the Mackintosh castle,” Toran interrupted Mac’s explanation with a cock of his head, but before she could retort and admonish her guard for having brought the enemy into their midst, he continued, “’Tis good to see ye too…my lady.” The last bit was drawled in his scratchy brogue, as though he weren’t certain how to address her.
Och, but why did he have to do that? She was grateful for his caution and irritated all the same.
“What are ye doing here, Fraser?” she asked again. “And who are the ragamuffins ye’ve brought with ye?”
The lass pouted in turn, and the lad puffed his chest. His frown mirrored Toran’s, causing Jenny a flicker of guilt. The man beside them all who looked a wee bit out of place scowled at her. She instantly didn’t like him. He struck her as one of those fellows who saw himself worlds higher than anyone else.
“Did ye think I’d deserted ye, the cause?”
She narrowed her gaze. “I believe verra much ye would and that ye did.”
His jaw tightened. She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. He was going to have to do a whole hell of a lot better than that.
“This is my brother Camdyn and my sister Isla.” He nodded toward the man. “My cousin Simon.”
She studied the two young ones again, seeing now what she’d idly noted before and making sense of it. Though their clothes were dusty from travel, the fabric was of high quality. Camdyn wore trews and a frock coat and Isla a simple arisaid. Their leather shoes appeared sturdy and well made. Simon also wore clothes of good quality, but it was evident he didn’t care so much for his appearance, somehow coming off as bedraggled in his expensive boots.
Toran’s gaze roved over her, his brow rising, and she realized then she was dressed in a proper gown. He’d yet to see her in anything other than her trews and jacket. This was not her favorite gown, but she knew it flattered her figure. Made of soft green dyed wool, the whale-boned bodice accentuated her curves and pushed her breasts up, the fleshy parts thankfully hidden by a soft woven shawl made by a Mackintosh weaver.
When he didn’t say anything further, Jenny dismissed the two men hovering protectively behind her. To Mac, she narrowed her gaze. “Go and get Dirk.”
With her guards out of sight, Toran’s shoulders seemed to ease some. “As I said, I’d not desert ye, Mistress.” He whispered the title. “And I’ve brought ye three new recruits.”
“I dinna recruit children. Nor sons of traitors.”
Simon stepped forward, offense written all over his face. “My father is not a traitor. He has allied with the Jacobites, and has offered funding for your outfit.” He pulled a bag of coin from inside his sporran and handed it to her.
Jenny didn’t take it. “A bribe?”
Simon frowned harder. “Beggars canna be choosers.”
Jenny scoffed. “I’m not a beggar, and I’d be just as happy if the lot of ye went back where ye came from.”
Simon stiffened, and she reached for her hip, taking note that her sword was missing.
It was Toran who stepped between them in an attempt to defuse the situation. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
“Listen, I know ye wish to never see me again, especially not with more relations.” He sighed, eyes sincere as he locked his gaze on hers and said with all seriousness, “My brother and sister need protection, and my cousin, he is not only their protector but a staunch Jacobite who wishes to serve ye.”
Simon started to bluster, but Toran tapped him rather aggressively on his chest to get him to quiet.
She straightened, hugging herself tighter at the chest. “And ye brought them to me? Why?” She was unable to keep the surprise from her voice. “With a bag of coin like that Simon could start his own regiment.”
Toran seemed unfazed by her disbelief. “Aye. He could, but he’s a Fraser and son of the Fox.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And ye think because ye tricked me before I’ll fall for it again?”
“Nay. I dinna. But we’ve a mutual enemy—Captain Boyd. Isla and Camdyn are innocent in all this. Boyd willna hesitate to punish them to get to me. He is hunting me. He will hunt them too. Ye know it, lass,” he said softly. The tone of his voice had her doubling back to his gaze, searching.
That was enough of an explanation. Bile rose in Jenny’s throat as she recalled Boyd’s breath on her neck, his hands roving over her body, and her eyes shifted to Isla. Had Toran seen Boyd’s assault? Boyd would go after Camdyn and Isla without batting a lash. And the things he would do she didn’t dare imagine.
“And”—he glanced back at his cousin—“where they go, Simon goes.”
“And what of ye?” she asked.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not a caregiver of bairns, Toran, nor their governess.”
This made the trio behind Toran glower all the more. And they had every right. The lad looked ready to burst into manhood, and the lass was only a few years away from lads clamoring for her hand. She was gorgeous, with hair the color of autumn leaves and eyes the same shade as her brother’s, only lighter. She looked so damn familiar. And Simon…well, she could use the coin.
All the same, who the hell did Toran think he was dealing with? She was a leader of a rebel army and a soldier in her own right! She was raising an army to defeat the English. She couldn’t be in charge of his siblings while he—
“I won’t leave them—unless ye make me.”
Make him… She should. But the way he implored her with his eyes. Perhaps she was a fool, but for the first time since they’d met, she actually sensed a sincerity in him she’d not taken notice of before.
“What’s this?” The words were harshly spoken, coming from behind her by Dirk. “Fraser,” he fairly growled.
“Mackintosh.”
Dirk had questions, she could read it on his face, but he kept silent, thankfully deferring to her for the moment.
“Would ye take the children and their guard to get something to eat, please?” She added the please in order to soften the request.
Dirk frowned harder but nodded to the two wee Frasers and Simon. They in turn glanced at their brother to gain his permission before going off with Dirk.
“Simon?” She held out her hand, and he placed the bag of coin on her palm, the weight of it staggering.
Dirk passed her a questioning look, but she nodded for him to go. There would be time later to explain to him her motives.
As soon as she and Toran were alone, Jenny’s heart sped up, pounding so hard inside her body she was certain to crack a rib. The grand foyer felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in around her and making it hard to breathe.
“If ye run again, I’ll have my men hunt ye down, and I’ll put the bullet in your chest myself. And they…” She glanced toward the corridor where his family had disappeared, hating that she had to make threats against children. “They will suffer.”
“I dinna doubt ye, Mistress J.”
“Good.”
* * *
Toran watched the swish of her skirts as Jenny whirled, giving him her back on her way to what he presumed was the great hall. Her hips swayed gently as she walked, not in a way that some women intentionally moved to be seductive, but it seduced him nonetheless. He found himself watching, mesmerized. And then her head snapped around, emerald eyes flashing at him, as if she’d known exactly what he was doing.
“Are ye coming?” The command in her voice was full of confidence. The woman was used to giving orders, and he didn’t doubt that any man put in a position to follow would do just that.
“Aye.” He picked up his pace, still a little shocked that
she’d allowed him entry, when a large part of himself had been certain she’d put him in the stocks.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. And not because she was now in a dress that accentuated the strength of her figure, showing off her shoulders, the long column of her neck. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind if she continued to dress in trews. Hell, in those he could see the roundness of her bottom, the muscled outline of her thighs. He’d die of joy right now if she came to him naked and covered in mud. It didn’t matter. Seeing Jenny Mackintosh had been like a punch to the gut because he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see her. Damn if his body wasn’t telling him just how much. He shifted as he walked, trying to hide the evidence.
Apparently, while he’d been asleep, his mind had determined that Jenny was… Toran shook his head. He didn’t want to think about whatever it was his damned brain had decided she meant to him.
She was a rebel leader. And every time he looked at her, he pictured his mother begging for her life. Whether or not it was Jenny who was at fault, his mother had died, and somehow the rebels had been involved. He couldn’t trust her.
And yet when her pistol had been pointed at him—more than once—she’d not taken the shot. When she had the chance to toss him out the croft door at Boyd’s feet—she hadn’t. When she could have left him and Archie on the side of the road—she’d taken him up on her horse and tended Archie’s injuries instead.
He could still recall the heat of her body beneath his, the coiled anger that he wanted to tap. Mistress J was beautiful, sensual, and, he needed to remember, deadly.
“Sit.” She pointed at a seat beside the head of the table and then took the chair at the head herself.
Simon, Camdyn, and Isla had found a place between Dirk and an older woman with similar features to Jenny. Her mother, perhaps. A fresh pang hit him in the chest. If only he’d known that his mother had snuck off to side with the Jacobites. If only he could have somehow stopped her.
