Capturing The Highlander's Heart (Lasses 0f The Kinnaird Castle Book 1)

by Kenna Kendrick

  Together they made their way back through the graveyard and walked the wooded lanes above the town back toward the castle. Alice had shown Emily a little-used doorway at the side of the castle near the kitchens where it was possible to slip in and out unseen. Emily looked in growing admiration at her adventurous new friend, touched by Alice’s trust.

  “What do you think about the war, Alice?”

  The young girl was silent for a long time.

  “War brings nae good tae anybody Miss, and that’s the truth. And the Duke o’ Inveraray, Laird Campbell, has never been anything but kind tae me and my family. But I hae a brother whae took up wi’ the rebels when the news came that the army was gathering, and he went tae fight for Scotland tae be its ain ruler once again as it was in aulden times. He is still oot there wi’ the rebels. He escaped the battle o’ Culloden and fled tae the hills wi’ the remnants o’ the clansmen whae escaped the slaughter. He sent me a message here tae tell me he had survived, and tae tell me tae have hope. ‘Tis freedom the rebels fight for – freedom frae tyranny and frae poverty, and tae be masters o’ their ain destiny. And I cannae but feel that is right.”

  * * *

  The next morning Alice was standing behind Emily, hairbrush in her hand and carefully combing the night-time tangles from her mistress’ flaming red curls. They gazed at their reflections in the glass.

  “Yer hair is as red and as wild any Scotswoman’s. Hae ye Scots blood at a’ Miss?”

  “Aye.” She laughed, trying to put on a Scottish accent and failing badly. “My mother’s father was from Edinburgh, but my mother’s hair was dark, and my father’s family are English as far as I know, but I know little of the family history. My grandparents on both sides were poor, obscure people.”

  “Yer mither.” Alice hesitated. “She is lang deid?”

  “Just over five years ago. It was at Christmas and so stupid. She was caught in a rainstorm and took a chill but thought nothing of it and carried on as normal. Then she began to cough. The next day she took to her bed, and three days later she was dead. Pneumonia, the doctors called it. There was nothing they could do.”

  “My mither is deid, tae,” Alice confided, working the last of the tangles out of Emily’s red mane. “Though I ne’er kent her. She died gieing birth tae her second child twa years after I was born. The child deed too.”

  Emily winced as the hair pulled at her scalp. “How did you come to work at the castle?”

  “Oh, my faither is the cook. Has been a’ his days. When I was a lassie, I used tae work wi’ him in the kitchen and run messages for the soldiers or what haee ye. The Duke was aroond mair then, and the castle was busier, but the Duke hasnae been seen here for ower a year, no’ since he went doon tae London efter the great rebellion. They are building a new castle for him now ower by the river, but it’ll be a lang time until that’s finished and until then this auld fortress is hame.”

  Alice finished dressing Emily’s hair and stood back to admire her work. Emily regarded herself critically in the mirror. She was perhaps not classically beautiful. Her nose was a little too broad perhaps and her jaw just a little too strong and jutting. She hated the scatter of freckles across her nose and brow. But her eyes were attractive: a fascinating shade of green and rather large. Her mouth was her best feature, though. It was full and sensuous. She opened her mouth a little and ran her tongue across her lips. Alice giggled.

  “Oh, Miss,” she said, smiling. “Let us get ye dressed and prepared for the day.”

  They were choosing a dress when a commotion outside drew their attention. This room was one of the few in the castle which boasted a window of any size and looked out onto the courtyard. It was covered with heavy wooden shutters and a heavy black curtain, but the two women pulled the curtain back and opened the shutter to see what the disturbance was. Emily’s low-cut nightgown concealed very little of her figure, and she huddled her shawl close around her as she peeped around the corner of the shutter. Alice hung back, keeping to the shadows of the room.

  In the courtyard below, the bright morning sun cast a sharp line of shadow across the cobbled courtyard, lighting the wide gateway. The tall wooden doors had been flung open and cast the back of the courtyard into deep shadow.

  Emily’s father stood in shadows with Mortimer, Lieutenant Roberts, and old Mr. Campbell, the castle steward. They stood in silence, facing the wide gateway. Hooves clattered on the cobbles as a small troop rode into the courtyard at a canter, two by two through the gate: their heavy woolen coats glowing scarlet in the bright light of the sun. They wore the ubiquitous black tricorne hat except for the leader who was bareheaded.

  This man pulled up his horse, holding up a fist as his followers formed a line behind him. He was a striking-looking man. In height, he passed any other man in the courtyard. He was lean with a long face, a sharp nose, high cheekbones and very bright, penetrating blue eyes. His hair was black and cropped close to his skull and pointed over his brow in a pronounced widow’s peak. The high forehead rose over the dark, scowling eyebrows of a tyrant. On his hands, he wore black leather gloves and sat on his great brown warhorse with the practiced ease of a man born to the saddle.

  There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the shifting and blowing of the sweating horses as the newcomer looked carefully around the courtyard. He looked at the men standing in the shade, awaiting him before suddenly glancing up to the window where Emily stared down at him. Their eyes locked.

  She could not have felt more exposed if she had been standing naked in front of him. The ice-blue eyes looked deep into her soul, and she could not breathe. His face remained unchanged, save for the tiny upward flicker of one eyebrow. As he looked away, the spell was broken. Emily fell back from the window.

  “What is it, Miss?” Alice was full of concern.

  “It must be the new Major. I don’t know, he looked up and saw me in the window. I... I didn’t like the look of him.”

  Hand in hand, they approached the window again and peeped once more into the courtyard. The tall man was speaking. His voice had a nasal twang, the pitch higher than expected.

  “You had my orders?”

  Captain Nasmith nodded. “You are Major Henry Clairmont?”

  “Yes, and I have ridden ahead to see that all is prepared for me and my men. Who is the ranking officer here?”

  Emily’s father stepped forward. “I am Captain Edward Nasmith, sir.”

  “Captain? Well, sir, I have fifty men of the 48th Regiment on foot marching at my back and a hand-picked squadron of dragoon cavalry waiting outside. I am your ranking officer Captain, but I am not here to take command of this castle. My men and I are here to reinforce this garrison and root out the rebels reported in the hills to the north of here. I will place half my infantry under your command. You shall keep command of the castle and the reinforced garrison. I shall keep my dragoons and the other half of the infantry for the purposes of my mission. We will be billeted here in the castle, and while billeted we shall defer to your orders. Understood?”

  Agreeing he turned to Mortimer and the castle steward to give them orders to see to Major Clairmont’s men and horses.

  With nothing left to see, Emily and Alice moved away from the window.

  “I don’t know why Alice, but I shall be very glad when that man has finished his mission and is well on his way. Did you hear what he said about the rebels in the hills?”

  Alice nodded. “Aye, Mistress, I heard. And the rumour is abroad in the toon, tae. It’s nae secret that James MacPherson and his son Murdo were seen at Glen Etive, not twa weeks back.”

  “Murdo MacPherson,” Emily mused to herself, thinking of the dark-eyed man in the hills. “And where is Gen Etive?”

  “No’ five day’s walk north o’ here by road Miss, and those outlaw rebels are known tae move fast through the wild country, such as it is between here and there.”

  “But why would they come here?”

  “Alice shrugged. “Mibbe they hear
d that there are twa bonnie lassies at the castle whae may be hoping for strapping Highland husbands?”

  She laughed lightly, and Emily laughed along with her. Arm-in-arm, they left the room and set off for the great hall.

  As they entered, Captain Nasmith rose from the table.

  “Major Clairmont, allow me to present my daughter, Emily Nasmith, and her maid Alice.”

  “Charmed.”

  Clairmont spoke without feeling, inclining his head in Emily’s direction and ignoring Alice. The two women sat down, some distance from the men, and as Alice served them food, they could hear clearly as Clairmont spoke to the Captain.

  “You bring your daughter on campaign with you, Captain? That seems a little unusual.”

  “My poor wife is dead Major, and it is my wish to keep an eye on my daughter for the moment. She can be headstrong although she is a good girl at heart. I thought it best to keep her by me. She is not married...”

  He raised an eyebrow at the Major, his meaning so obvious that Emily flushed red.

  Major Clairmont turned slowly towards her once again. It was only Alice’s firm grip on her hand under the table that kept Emily from squirming under the relentless, cold gaze. She was horrified.

  “Indeed,” said the Major turning slowly back to the Captain. “And neither am I...”

  Chapter Three

  “Murdo!”

  Murdo MacPherson lowered his sword and turned toward the sound of his father’s voice. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he was breathing hard. Ewan, his regular sparring partner, also lowered his blade to the ground before leaning over on his thighs to catch his breath. They stood in a little dell below a pinewood, and the rich smell of the forest filled the air. Upon the slope, several men sat engaged in various tasks; fletching arrows, cleaning swords and mending shoes. The smell of wood smoke from a cooking fire mingled with the warm scent of the pine trees.

  Murdo’s father approached the spot where they had been sparring. His brows were knitted, and he held a handful of papers at his side. Reaching them, he nodded a brief greeting to Ewan before speaking to his son.

  “I need ye tae gie me yer thoughts, Murdo. Will ye come doon tae my tent and take a wee bite tae eat wi’ us?”

  “Aye, faither.”

  Murdo wiped his brow, clasped hands with Ewan and sheathed his broadsword. Ewan watched father and son for a moment before turning away.

  James MacPherson had been a powerful man in his youth. Age had robbed him of the reckless energy that had marked his early years, but wisdom and prudence had taken its place. Physically he was still strong though care now bowed his shoulders. James was the chief of the clan, but the men deferred to Murdo as often as they did to James, and the older man was content to see his son take the lead.

  Side by side, they walked across the clearing toward the command tents in the centre of the camp. By night most of the fifty or so clansmen slept bundled in their plaids beside the fire, but the chief had the privilege of his own tent. A wooden table had been set up in the tent where a small, grizzled, black-clad gentleman sat. He stood as Murdo and James approached.

  “Good morning Faither Colum.” Murdo greeted the man gravely.

  “Good morning, Murdo. I hae heard o’ yer adventures by the road, and I’m right glad tae see ye weel. That was a near thing by a’ accounts, and I thank God that we hae ye back, safe and sound amongst us once mair.”

  On the table were several maps, a bottle and the remains of breakfast in wooden bowls and cups. James leaned over the table, picked up a hunk of bread and bit into it. With his mouth full, he gestured to the map with the bread.

  “Here is Inveraray, and here is where we are now, mair or less.” He shuffled the papers and brought out another map, this time a more detailed representation of the town and its surroundings.

  “Here is the toon and here is the kirk. Now Faither Colum, tell Murdo what ye telt me.”

  The old priest turned to Murdo. “Weel as ye ken Murdo, I fled the toon o’ Inveraray, and my parish when I heard the news that the rebel army had been defeated at Culloden last year. As a Catholic priest and a known rebel sympathiser, I would hae had sma’ chance o’ a peaceful life when the Duke returned tae his castle efter the war. Anyway, I hadnae wish tae live a peaceful life under English rule and so I came oot tae find ye and yer faither, my clansmen and my kin. But afore I left the toon I hid the treasure that your kinsman Andrew – God rest his soul – had entrusted tae me ‘afore leaving for the war. It lies in a heavy wooden chest in a wee stone chamber round the back o’ the chapel, covered over wi’ turves. But the truth is Murdo, that in the last year my memory has grown dim and I cannae just mind where exactly it is. There are four buttresses at the back o’ the kirk, and it lies hard by one o’ them, but which one I just cannae tell ye.”

  James McPherson sighed. “So ye see, Murdo, it’ll nae be easy to get ahold of yon treasure. We’ll need a wee bit o’ time tae dae the looking. Now I’m for the quick, quiet approach – send ye and a couple o’ good men in undercover o’ night tae find it and retrieve it, but Faither Colum here has his doubts.”

  Colum agreed. “Ye see it’s a very great treasure and very heavy, and there’s nae guarantee that the box hasnae rotted in the months it’s been hidden. If ye are tae get it oot ye’ll need horses, and ye’ll attract too much attention tae sneak in alone. If ye were caught and someone else got wind o’ the treasure’s hiding place, weel... there wouldnae be another chance.”

  Murdo nodded as he looked carefully at the map, indicating a point near the loch-side.

  “See Faither, if we attack them here, it will draw a’ attention away frae the toon and the Kirk. It’s far enough awa’ that we will hae time tae load the treasure up. We can come doon upon them frae the hillside by the road and make such a noise that they will look naewhere else. That will be best. Anyway, the lads are spoiling for a fight after lang days o’ marching and camping. It will be good for them.”

  James smiled fiercely. “Aye, very well son. It shall be so. Will ye tak’ Ewan wi’ ye and scout oot our route ‘afore we move?”

  “I shall. For this tae work, the element o’ surprise is crucial. I will leave now and be back by nightfall. Hae the men ready tae break camp and march as soon as I return.”

  * * *

  Murdo and Ewan knew how to cover ground quickly. They avoided the open areas, sticking to the cover of the trees or the heather and watching closely for any sign of an enemy scout. It was true that Inveraray was easily two full days away for a party of fifty men with gear and horses in tow, but for a fast man unburdened it was little more than a day. Both men had resolved to get as close to the town as possible, following the route the larger force would follow before turning back. They made good progress but were still further than they would have liked when they came upon a patrol.

  “Ye see the redcoats?” Ewan whispered close to his companion as they lay on their bellies at the edge of the woods.

  “Aye, I dae so; four o’ them and wi’ little enough skill in scouting by the looks o’ it.”

  Below them, four uniformed soldiers were moving without care through the knee-high undergrowth. Rifles were in their hands and bayonets glinted in the pale sunlight. Murdo would have been willing to bet that the guns were primed and loaded. He had only his broadsword and a dirk at his side, but Ewan had brought a pair of pistols.

  “Ye tak’ and prime yer pistols, Ewan. We’ll move tae yon high bank ower there an’ wait ‘til they come under it, then ye can fire on them frae one side. When they turn tae face yer fire, I’ll come at them from behind wi’ my sword, and ye can join me.”

  It came off perfectly. Ewan discharged his pistols one after the other just as the soldiers reached the high bank. The first shot caught one of the soldiers, and he dropped to one knee with a grunt, but bravely raised his rifle and prepared to fire into the woods where Ewan sat sheltered behind a boulder. Ewan fired his second pistol, and the man slumped to the ground without returning fire
.

  The three remaining soldiers raised their rifles and looked for their target as Murdo dropped from the high bank with a yell. He landed in their midst, his dirk in one hand and his sword in the other. One soldier fell immediately. Another tackled Murdo with his bayonet while the other – by far the youngest of the soldiers – moved away, looking around with panic in his eyes, his musket shaking in his hands.

  The man facing Murdo was lithe and fast and good with the bayonet. They grappled, but Murdo held him at bay with the broadsword whilst attacking with his dirk: the engagement was over very quickly after that. As Ewan charged out from the woods, the young soldier fired aimlessly before dropping his rifle and fleeing with the speed of a frightened rabbit.