“Did you approach my wife’s traveling companion on market day, Blair Mackintosh?”
He used the word “wife” deliberately, hoping he’d be telling these people something they were not aware of, or confirming what they’d heard.
“Aye, that I did. Me and the lads here thought the auld woman and the doctor would want to hear news of their loved ones.”
His casual reference to Isabella as “the doctor” was unsettling, but Cinaed’s priority right now was to find out more of what they knew.
“Have you heard anything more about John Gordon?”
“That brave lad’s had a wee bit more attention than any of us would be wanting.” Blair spat in the dirt. “But he’s not told them anything, so far as we know. We hear they’re moving him soon.”
“When?”
“Can’t say, as yet. But then again, the weavers upriver have more reliable ears in Fort George than we do. Tonight, when ye see them, ye can ask what the day of the strike is. That’ll be the day Gordon is transferred. They’re thinking a dozen soldiers sent off to escort a prisoner will be a dozen less sent to town to break up their strike. And that means a handful less folk’ll be trampled and killed.”
What he said about the day of strikes made sense. The weavers had already asked for protection from Searc. They knew what had happened with every strike in the towns and cities south of here. They were trying to eliminate bloodshed, if possible.
Cinaed focused on what Blair said about the dinner. He even knew who’d been invited tonight. Then again, there were other Mackintosh men who worked inside the house, and all these people had to talk.
“And the girls, my wife’s family?”
“We moved them, just to be safe, in case John Gordon couldn’t hold fast under questioning.”
“Where are they now?”
“Dalmigavie Castle. The lasses are houseguests of the laird.”
Lachlan. Cinaed felt the hackles on his neck rise. His uncle’s actions were commendable, but why was he going to such lengths? He hated to think he would ever owe him anything.
His men showing up the day of the attack by British soldiers. Taking Isabella’s family into the mountains. They must have found out where the girls were from the folk at Stoneyfield House. That was what Isabella had wanted to do that day, but they’d had no time.
Lachlan’s letter to him had been an invitation, but the steps he’d taken since made it seem much more serious. Cinaed didn’t know what his uncle wanted. The thought occurred to him that perhaps the old gargoyle was feeling a bit burdened with guilt in his advancing years. Maybe he was dying.
“Why is Lachlan doing this?”
“Why?” Blair squinted slightly, confused by the question. “The laird’s doing what’s right, I should think. What he sees as his duty. That blue-backed cavalry officer we run off, Hudson, he’s been tearing through every village in the countryside, looking for ye and for her … and for us. And he’s not been too gentle about it, the devil take him. So we’re here to watch that ye stay safe and well.”
Lachlan hadn’t given a straw about him when he was nine years old. Why did he care about him now?
“Your laird sits at Dalmigavie Castle. He’s the one who needs protecting.”
The Highlander waited until two naval officers passed them on their way toward town, then ushered Cinaed down the quiet lane a ways. “No one can touch the laird there in the mountains. But yer here. And yer the one we been waiting for. Come out, lads.”
Blair motioned, and a dozen men appeared from the shadows of the buildings, the alleyways, crumbling cottages, and warehouses. The two who’d been sitting on the wall crossed the road and joined them. More of them were watching the house than he’d seen.
A nod, a tip of the hat, a bow, and a greeting. A few of the faces struck Cinaed as familiar, perhaps from the days of his youth. They were friends and not a threat. One of them had a way of looking at you sideways. Cinaed wondered if this could be the same lad who’d been caught poaching rabbits with him from the laird’s private warren. They’d both taken a hiding for that little escapade.
Other memories flowed back, of Dalmigavie, and even of a time before. Images he could make no sense of. Warm summer afternoons. The smell of flowers in a garden. Melodies sung in French. But he fixed his thoughts on the present. “I still don’t know why you came after me. Before, I mean.”
“We come down from the glen and waited, as Lachlan told us,” Blair replied. A few heads nodded in agreement.
Cinaed wasn’t getting a straight answer. He gave up and decided to let the man talk.
“When the bells rang that day at Stoneyfield House, we weren’t far off, so we came.”
“How did you know it was me? No one at the inn knew my name. How could you know I was even there?”
Blair grinned. “Lachlan and a goodly number of other lairds have been waiting—none too patient, neither—for the return of the son of Scotland and the Highland Crown. Expecting ye any day. A rider come up from Aberdeen with the message that ye’d sailed for Inverness, so we knew ye were coming. That’s when he sent us down.”
“Before the storm hit,” another Mackintosh man added. “A nasty blow, to be sure.”
“Aye,” Blair agreed. “We spread out along the shore, looking to spy some sign of ye. One of the lads caught word of a ship running aground, so we set out, combing every village, looking. Just hoping ye’d made it ashore.”
Cinaed ran a hand across his brow. How fortunate they’d been that these men had been close enough to that blasted inn to hear the bells.
“My crew,” he said. “Searc told me two longboats made it into Nairn. Another boat, with my second mate, is still missing.”
Blair gestured to the pair who had been sitting across the road. They nodded and went off.
“Those lads’ll find them. Dead or alive, if they come ashore, we’ll bring ye word,” he assured him. “Whatever ye need from us, just say the word and it’s done.”
Ever since he’d been cast out from their midst, Cinaed had always harbored feelings of resentment. But now, surrounded by his kin, he realized his anger had never really been directed toward clan folk. It was Lachlan whom he’d hoped would one day feel his wrath. The fellows around him now were here in Inverness, risking their lives for him under the watchful eye of their British overlords. He owed them his loyalty in return.
All eyes were on Cinaed. They stood in a circle with him at the center.
“Know this. We’re yer arm and yer blade when ye need us. And we plan to take back what is rightfully ours.”
Cinaed looked from one to the next. Over this past decade, legends had grown up, tales had been exaggerated about his exploits. But the truth was that he’d been blessed with an ability to lead men. It was one thing that made his crews at sea perform their duties with exceptional prowess. Standing here, however, with these Highlanders around him, he was stunned by the sense of unreserved commitment emanating from them.
He took a deep breath, grateful for their support. But he still couldn’t understand why they were so willing to provide it. Or why Lachlan was so eager to do anything for him.
The truth suddenly slapped him in the face. The weapons. They were waiting for the arms he’d been smuggling into the Highlands. If they were to fight for their land and their rights, they needed muskets and powder and shot. Cinaed was giving them what they needed to carry on. This was why he was valuable to them.
The Highlanders were waiting, but he didn’t know what to say to them. He’d buy another ship. He’d make more crossings and bring more weapons. But none of that was carved in stone at this moment.
For now, he thought, perhaps he could engage them the day he went after John Gordon.
“You’re planning to stay here in the Maggot?”
“For as long as ye stay. Lachlan was clear. Be here for when ye need us and protect ye if the need arises.”
Isabella. Cinaed needed no protection, but knowing these men lined the s
treets made him feel better that no British soldiers would be paying any surprise visits to the house. So long as he kept her close to him, and his clan was watching out for him, she was safer here than anywhere, at least until they were ready to sail away from these shores.
“What about Searc? What does he know about my wife and her family?”
Blair shrugged. “He’s heard not a word from us. Our ways of doing business ain’t quite the same. There’s respect both ways, to be sure, but we each keep our own counsel.”
Cinaed was relieved. He didn’t want to be explaining anything more about Isabella. She was his, and that was all Searc needed to know.
“Will Lachlan send my wife’s family to me when it’s time?”
Blair frowned. “I wouldn’t say that’s exactly what the laird has in his head. Them lassies are honored guests and treated as such. Whenever ye want them, ye can come and get them. Not for me to speak for him, of course, but I believe that’s Lachlan’s thinking.”
It was all becoming clearer. Cinaed had to go to Dalmigavie to get Isabella’s sister and daughter. That was why Lachlan took them. And he would go, for her, when the time was right. But there would be no dealing. No waiting about there.
First, he needed to free Jean’s nephew. He’d seen these men in action. He knew they were a match for twice as many British soldiers.
“It’s a few days off, but I have something to do and I could use your help with it.”
“We’ll be here, Cinaed. Just say the word.”
With a curt farewell nod, he started to turn back toward the house, but Blair stopped him.
“The Mackintoshes of Dalmigavie celebrate yer return. And we’re not the only ones who’ve been waiting for ye.”
He knew. He knew. If all went as planned, he’d be buying a ship tonight and get back to the business of smuggling arms.
CHAPTER 17
Hospitality to the exile, and broken bones to the tyrant.
— Sir Walter Scott, Waverley
Isabella never moved from the window. Though she was at first concerned, fascination quickly set in as she watched Cinaed’s interaction with the Highlanders outside.
At one point he was surrounded, and she feared he would hardly be able to defend himself against them. Watching from above, however, she quickly realized no one meant to do Cinaed harm. She thought they were actually forming a protective wall around him. They sent attentive looks in every direction, like watchmen safeguarding a valuable jewel.
Still, she breathed easier when Cinaed was done talking and moved back toward the gate. He paused beneath their window and looked up. Their gazes locked. It might have been her imagination, perhaps not, but she sensed he was pleased with whatever he’d heard outside.
Isabella turned from the window, ready to go down, but she stopped. Her intentions were forgotten when she saw Jean sitting in a chair with her eyes closed. Her lips were moving, as if she were saying a prayer or whispering to herself. Her trembling hand was rubbing a token of some sort, a gift from her nephew. What the token represented, Isabella didn’t know. Jean never allowed her or anyone else to see it or touch it. The treasure was kept in a pouch around her neck. During the long days and nights when Isabella was caring for Cinaed, she’d seen Jean doing this exact same thing.
Her heart ached when she thought of how her troubles had disrupted the lives of John Gordon and his aunt. Whatever Sir Walter Scott had offered the young man to convince him to help her, it was not enough to compensate for all he and Jean had given up. And even though she had faith that Cinaed would somehow free John from the clutches of the British, the fact remained the life the young lawyer had built for himself in Edinburgh was gone forever. In the eyes of the authorities, if not the law, he would always be a marked man.
She moved quietly across to Jean and crouched before her. The wrinkles fanning out from the grey eyes were damp. The old woman’s hand trembled as she kissed the token and dropped it into the pouch. She put the ribbon around her neck and tucked it into the neckline of her dress.
She waited until Jean opened her eyes before she spoke.
“I owe you my life.” Isabella placed a hand on top of hers, softly caressing the weathered skin left by the years and the hard life she’d lived. “You’ve become the mother that I lost when I was young. I’ve never known another woman I could call ‘friend’ until you came into my life. You’ve been my keeper since the day John dropped me on your doorstep.”
The trembling fingers entwined with Isabella’s.
“I belong to you now, as you belong to me,” she continued as a rush of emotion threatened to choke off her throat. “We’ll find John. And we’ll bring him back to you.”
The old woman nodded as a tear escaped her wizened eyes. Bending her head, she pressed a kiss on Isabella’s fingers and touched the ring Cinaed had given her to wear. Drawing their hands to her lips, Isabella returned the loving gesture, kissing her friend’s hand.
“Go and fix yer face,” Jean said as gruffly as she could manage, patting away a tear from Isabella’s cheek. “Ye don’t want to be shaming me now.”
She smiled and went back to the mirror, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear and straightening her shawl. She took a deep breath and thought about all that could go wrong during this dinner.
Jean came and fussed with the dress and arranged the shawl around her shoulders. Finally, she stood back with her hands on her hips. “Not that I’ve ever seen one afore, nor am I likely to, but damn me if ye don’t look like a queen.”
Isabella shook her head. “Well, I don’t want to be shaming you,” she said, smiling. “I should go down.”
The older woman went back to the window. “I saw ye watching yer husband talking to them Highlanders in the lane. Kindly find out for me what trouble he’s planning now. I’m thinking it’d be comforting to know beforehand, unlike that last time.”
Isabella nodded and went out, pausing at the top of the stairs. She ran a hand down the front of her dress and thought of Mr. Carmichael’s warnings about Mondays. This was Searc’s day for entertaining the British commander in charge of the port, as well as his staff. But the surgeon said not to trust that schedule. And surely their host wouldn’t entertain leaders of the weavers at the same table with so-called gentlemen representing the occupying forces in the Highlands. Besides, Searc had already told Cinaed whom to expect at dinner. And no officers were mentioned.
Still, she took a few breaths to calm her nerves. She wasn’t doing this alone, she told herself. Cinaed was waiting for her, and with that bolstering thought, she put one foot in front of the other and descended.
At the bottom of the stairs, Isabella found she was facing a choice of two doors and a corridor. Since the day they’d arrived, she’d never once ventured from the tower chamber. Not remembering that they’d passed through any door as they carried Cinaed up, she directed her steps along the corridor.
She soon realized she’d made a mistake. One passageway led to another. Illuminated only by slivers of light coming through shuttered and barred windows, the corridors seemed to lead in circles. Twice, she was certain she’d passed the same closed door, only to find the passage end at a blank wall. There was no logic to any of this. When she realized one wall of a corridor was the exterior of a building, she decided Searc’s house was actually a number of buildings joined together higgledy-piggledy.
Jean had warned her, but now she saw for herself that the house was much larger than it seemed from the outside.
Finally, Isabella came to a door that opened onto a corridor lit by candles in sconces on the wall. Following the smell of food and voices, she found herself looking into the kitchens, which were bustling with cooks and scullery maids and an army of servants.
Isabella had hosted enough dinners to know this was too much preparation for the number of guests she’d been told were coming.
A footman came out, carrying a tray of food, so she trailed him. Within moments, he turned off, but she heard pe
ople talking ahead. Before she could follow the voices, someone behind her took hold of her wrist. Cinaed.
“Come with me.”
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief. He’d found her. Pulling her behind him, he opened the door into a nearby room and led her in.
“I’m afraid there’s been a change in the dinner arrangements.” He glanced into the hallway before closing the door. From the far end of the room, twilight slipped past a pair of tall, heavily draped windows and cast a golden glow over him. “I apologize I didn’t come in time to escort you down.”
Her ability to focus on Cinaed’s urgent tone was hindered by the sound of her own heart hammering against the walls of her chest. No ship captain had the right to look as handsome as this man. Even cloaked in the staid attire of a gentleman, he conjured images of pirates and highwaymen. But he was dashing, regardless of what he wore. And the color black suited him perfectly.
He stopped, his gaze moving down her body. “You look beautiful.”
She blushed, unable to respond. Her own mind was on him.
His clean-shaven face made the lines and angles of his cheekbones and jaw more pronounced, more handsome, more youthful. Isabella didn’t want to guess at his age but imagined he was far younger than she.
Isabella had been considered a spinster when she married Archibald at the age of eight and twenty. Now, six years later, she was mature enough to think clearly and not allow herself to be caught up in foolish dreams or handsome distractions.
But Cinaed Mackintosh was more than a distraction.
She turned away and gaped. They were standing in the most unusual room. Even in this light, she knew she’d never seen anything like it.
“What is this place?”
“My least favorite room anywhere.” Cinaed stared at the decorations on the walls. “Searc is getting worse as he ages. He had only about half of these things here when I was a lad.”
Outlawed weapons adorned the walls in startling designs. Muskets and swords and pistols laid out in concentric circles, like huge starbursts emanating out from a central buckler or a shield. Rows of crossed swords led upward to wheels of daggers or circular framed portraits. Lines of spears with wicked hooks and axe blades flanked a huge fireplace.
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