Highland Jewel (The House of Pendray Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  The bairn rolled her eyes. Clearly, it wasn’t the first time she’d been scolded. He wondered what the future held in store for this spunky lass with the red curls. Would the family douse the spark, or would her independent spirit triumph?

  For some reason he wanted to encourage her defiance. “She has a puppy dog, though.”

  It was as if a spell had been cast. Smiles blossomed on every young face.

  “Aye,” Maggie sighed. “Stotle. Wish we had a dog.”

  “Filthy creatures,” Mrs. Cameron exclaimed, resurrecting frowns on her bairns’ brows. “Our cats control rats. Dogs are good for naught.”

  Thoughts swirled in Garnet’s head. What kind of a name was Stotle? Certainly not Gaelic. The moniker rattled around in his brain until it dawned on him it was probably Maggie’s version of Aristotle. Still, that seemed a pretentious name for a puppy. Mayhap Beatris’ husband was a university man.

  He’d come across no cats. They probably knew enough to stay out of Mrs. Cameron’s way.

  Rats? Mayhap sleeping on the floor wasn’t such a good idea.

  Michael’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. “The conventicle at Rullion Green it is, then.”

  He groaned inwardly. He’d hoped to find out more about the Camerons’ intriguing neighbors, but now he’d be obliged to trek ten miles into the Pentland Hills and back again. It was imperative he invent some excuse not to attend the illegal gathering. After the bairns were given permission to leave the table, he leaned over to his host. “Donald might not have revealed my history. I canna risk being arrested.”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “Aye. He did. Seek the help of the Lord. He’ll give ye courage. The martyrs of Rullion expect it of ye.”

  There was little point trying to explain the dread that tightened his belly every time he thought on the weeks he’d languished in Amsterdam’s stinking jail, falsely accused of a capital crime. He had no intention of ever putting his freedom in jeopardy again. His parents were depending on him.

  Donald was one of a handful of preachers who’d exhorted the crowd at Rullion Green to continue the presbyterian fight against the Episcopalian monarchy. Garnet had heard him preach in Rotterdam, but his melodious voice echoed off the gently sloping hill at Rullion, imbuing his sermon with an eerie tone.

  Preoccupied with the prospect of being apprehended, Garnet loitered at the back of the crowd, seeking a means of escape should dragoons come galloping out of the trees. He couldn’t conceive of a more dangerous place to hold a conventicle. He covered his ears to block out the silent screams of agony as Donald described how men had fallen in battle or were brutally executed.

  Hours later, he collapsed into bed, beyond grateful it was his friend’s turn to sleep on the floor. He was exhausted after walking ten miles to Rullion Green and back. It was unlikely, however, that sleep would calm the unsettling thoughts swirling in his head nor dissolve the lump of dread lodged in his gut.

  He lay staring into the dark rafters. The ghosts of the men tortured and killed still lingered at Rullion, and in the hearts and minds of Covenanters, yet Donald slept peacefully.

  It seemed there would never come a time when Scotsmen weren’t at each others’ throats. Rival clans fought over land and cattle. In the past, some Scots allied with the English, others opposed them. Protestant persecuted Catholic and vice versa. His own mother practiced the Auld Religion in secret. It was all far removed from Christ’s exhortation that people love one another.

  He sighed, imagining Michael Cameron’s angry snarl if he voiced such an opinion.

  What's In A Name?

  Jewel’s spirits lifted when she caught sight of Edinburgh Castle on the horizon shortly after noon the next day. The fortification had played a significant role in her parents’ history. It was also the place where, prior to the Restoration of the king, Murtagh had been incarcerated for his part in the rebellion against Cromwell.

  “I wonder how he feels about coming back here,” she asked Gray.

  “He told me he’ll show us the prisoner-of-war cell they occupied, if possible,” he replied. “I got the feeling he’s almost looking forward to seeing it again.”

  The closer they came to the castle, the more excited the Highlanders became, pointing and laughing as they shared reminiscences.

  “He claims it was far more comfortable than some of the barracks he’s lived in,” Gray added. “And all Glenheath’s officers were together. Murtagh wasn’t an officer, but they needed their cook.”

  Jewel recalled tales of her mother and father dancing and celebrating with Great-Uncle Munro and his men in their cell after their marriage ceremony. She couldn’t picture her father dancing reels, but her parents agreed the Highlanders made their wedding day more special.

  Jewel was sorry to part from the sutlers who broke away one by one from the convoy. She’d learned about history and herself from their brief acquaintance.

  Murtagh had no trouble leading them to Cousin Hiram’s house, the first stop to ascertain directions to Beatris’ home.

  Jewel craned her neck to look up at the five-story edifice. “Seems big enough to accommodate visitors,” she remarked. “Yet we’re expected to lodge in a house with three bairns.”

  Gray laughed. “They willna bite ye,” he said, pressing a finger to his lips when an elderly man hobbled out of the house, relying heavily on a cane.

  They dismounted as he approached. Jewel narrowed her eyes. “I thought Hiram was just a wee bit older than our parents.”

  Their relative shook her brother’s hand. “Welcome to Edinburgh. Hiram Donaldson, your mother’s cousin. You must be Grainger.”

  Her mother had forewarned them Hiram never lapsed into the local brogue. He didn’t even glance at Jewel, so she thrust out her hand. “And I’m his sister.”

  He raised an eyebrow but accepted the gesture, though there was no warmth in his handshake. “I see,” he said as Murtagh joined them. “Well, Beatris will be glad to meet you. I’ll give your man the directions, though my daughter doesn’t have room for all these men.”

  “Dinna fash, Mr. Donaldson,” Murtagh replied. “We can fend for ourselves.”

  Hiram frowned, seemingly confused by the statement, but then explained the directions.

  “It appears we willna be invited into the house,” Gray remarked softly.

  “Nor meet his wife,” she replied.

  “Well,” Hiram said to Gray, “I’m afraid Sorcha is abed—an attack of the vapors—otherwise she’d be glad to greet you. Give my love to Beatris, and the wee lasses.”

  Jewel rolled her eyes as he limped back into the house. “Hospitality,” she sneered.

  Gray helped her remount. “Be glad we’re nay lodging here.”

  “Aye, Mam would be appalled, but then I get the feeling she never liked Hiram much.”

  “She’ll be sorry to hear Sorcha isna well.”

  They followed Murtagh as he led them away from the house. “I canna credit it,” Jewel admitted. “He’s only a year or two older than our parents, but he looks a hundred.”

  It gave her a new appreciation for Morgan and Hannah Pendray’s youthful outlook on life.

  Donald and Michael were noticeably absent from the breakfast table when Garnet took his place the next morning. He’d slept better than anticipated, probably due in no small part to simple exhaustion. Every muscle in his body ached.

  The meal progressed in much the same way as the day before. Maggie pouted. He sensed the stern-faced Mrs. Cameron had cautioned her to keep quiet.

  “I was hoping to ask Donald about the boat to Arbroath,” he said in an effort to start a conversation about where his friend had gone.

  There was no reply.

  All the lasses looked to the door when a dog barked outside, followed by laughter and Mrs. Guthrie’s voice of gentle admonition.

  “Stotle,” he said with a smile.

  “Aye,” Maggie sighed wistfully.

  Like a man dying of thirst who discovers there’
s a stream nearby, he got up from the table. “I think I’ll go meet yon puppy,” he declared. “Can ye make the introductions, Maggie?”

  The bairn was up and halfway out the door before her mother could protest. She took his hand and dragged him to the pump where Mrs. Guthrie was filling a pail. “Good morrow,” the wee lass said politely. “Mr. Barclay wants to meet yer dog.”

  The three Guthrie girls ceased their game and came to the pump, clearly interested in the newcomer. Maggie clung to his arm, suddenly shy, but she reached to pat the dog on the head when he too came to investigate and put his front paws on Garnet’s legs.

  Beatris Guthrie laughed. “Well, Mr. Barclay, this is Aristotle.”

  He hunkered down to rub the dog’s floppy ears. “He’s a fine puppy, with a strong name.”

  The dog rolled onto his back so he and Maggie could scratch his belly.

  “Aye. He’s a Brittany, so by rights should have a French name, but my husband insisted on the Greek philosopher and scientist he studied in university. But I’m being rude again.” She proffered a hand. “Yesterday ye told me ye’re from Blairgowrie, but I was so preoccupied with preparations for my visitors…Barclay, is it?”

  He accepted the gesture, surprised by the firm handshake. “Aye. Garnet. Have yer visitors arrived?”

  “I expect them this afternoon, so stay clean, if ye please, daughters.” She pointed to the tallest lass. “This is Meaghan, and her sisters, Jane and Catherine.”

  He effected a polite bow, struck by the irony he didn’t know any of the Cameron bairns’ names, except for one. “Ladies,” he said to the giggling threesome.

  “Catherine likes to be called Kate,” Maggie explained.

  A smile replaced the smallest Guthrie bairn’s frown. Garnet estimated Maggie and Kate were about the same age.

  “Again, I must apologize for yesterday,” Beatris added in a whisper, her face reddening. “The Camerons’ guests are nay usually inclined to chat.”

  He was tempted to snort at the diplomatic way she put it, but as she moved towards her house, he was desperate to delay her. “Are they kin, these folk ye’re preparing for?”

  “Aye, sort of. Second cousins, I think. I’ve never met them. Jewel and Gray live in Ayrshire.”

  Garnet laughed. “Quite a coincidence.”

  Beatris frowned. “I dinna…”

  “I’m Garnet, named for a red gemstone, which I never understood since my hair is black.”

  “Oh,” Beatris exclaimed, “and Jewel is named for…” She eyed the Camerons’ back door. “Well…a jewel.”

  She hurried into the house with the pail, leaving him with the feeling there was something she didn’t want to divulge in case Mrs. Cameron overheard. His confusion grew when Meaghan skipped off with the yapping puppy and shouted, “Our cousin is named Jewel because their mama stole one.”

  As soon as Jewel met Beatris, she was more than glad they weren’t lodging with Hiram and his wife.

  The second cousin she didn’t know at all flung open the door in response to Murtagh’s knocking and spread her arms wide. “Jewel, Grainger, come in, come in. What a long journey ye’ve had.”

  Jewel returned the embrace. “Er, we’ve a contingent of men who escorted us…”

  “Mayhap just a long drink of water,” Murtagh interjected. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “Of course,” Beatris replied. “I expected ye’d travel with an escort. Come through. The pump’s in the yard.”

  Jewel wasn’t sure where Murtagh and his comrades planned to stay, but this didn’t seem the right moment to ask. Struck by the brightness and fine quality furnishings as they entered the house, she smiled at three blonde lasses waiting politely to be introduced. Their puppy, however, didn’t wait for an introduction. Tail wagging furiously, he put his front paws on Gray’s legs.

  “Aristotle,” Beatris scolded, pulling the dog away.

  “I dinna mind,” Gray replied, rubbing the animal’s ears. “And I prefer to be called Gray.”

  Beatris nodded. “A nickname, I expect.”

  The excited dog ran in circles, sniffing Jewel, then Gray, but curiosity led him to follow the Highlanders as they trooped through to the back yard.

  “My husband isna home at the moment,” Beatris explained, “but I’d like ye to meet Meaghan, Jane and Catherine.”

  The three bobbed a polite curtsey.

  “Go make sure Aristotle isna being a nuisance,” their mother advised. “And take care of our other guests.”

  Clearly relieved, they fled.

  Jewel’s admiration of Beatris grew. The woman evidently had no qualms about the safety of her daughters amid a troop of elderly Highlanders. Nevertheless, she felt compelled to reassure her hostess. “No need to be concerned about Murtagh and his comrades.”

  Beatris frowned. “I’m nay worried. They’re obviously trustworthy if yer parents put ye in their hands. My husband’s from the Highlands. I’ve found them to be honorable men.”

  Jewel felt somewhat chastened, but Beatris’ remarks rekindled a desire to see the Highlands for herself.

  “I’m nay sure what my neighbors will think of yer Highlanders, but…”

  “Neighbors?” Gray asked.

  “Aye. They live in the other side of the house. Covenanters. In fact, Richard Cameron was the man’s brother.”

  The splendid house suddenly felt less welcoming. Her own father had provided the information that had led to Cameron’s death at Airds Moss. Members of his family lived right next door, but she resolved to not let it bother her. There was no reason she would have to meet the neighbors.

  Beatris ushered them to the stairs. “Now, why don’t I show ye to yer room. When Gladys Cook and her son return from the market, I’ll arrange for a bath.”

  She led them upstairs and opened the door to a room with three beds.

  Jewel hesitated. “We canna expect yer bairns to give up their beds for us.”

  Beatris bustled them inside. “Nonsense. ’Tis an adventure for them to sleep in our bedchamber. I just hope ye dinna mind sharing a room. My parent’s house is bigger, but…”

  “We understand,” Gray replied. “I usually fall asleep before Jewel so her snoring doesna bother me.”

  “We thank ye for yer hospitality,” Jewel confirmed, elbowing her brother. “A bath sounds wonderful.”

  Beatris eyed her clothing. “And on the morrow, ye can try on some of my frocks.”

  Jewel laughed. “I’m used to these togs. I’d forgotten I was wearing trouzes.”

  “Well, ye might want to keep them on in some parts of Edinburgh, but my husband works for the Privy Council and he has secured an invitation for ye to a reception at the castle. Ye’ll need a gown for that.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Jewel replied, wondering if there might be some interesting young men at the unexpected reception.

  Hairtics

  Garnet saw no point asking the ill-tempered Mrs. Cameron what Meaghan meant about stealing a jewel. When he re-entered the house and enquired after Donald and Michael, she merely shrugged and gave no response.

  If they’d gone off preaching rebellion, he didn’t want to know. They obviously preferred he not accompany them. “I’m nay to be trusted,” he muttered under his breath. However, he couldn’t complain if they’d gone in search of funds for the voyage to Arbroath.

  That thought reminded him about the galley. He could walk to the docks at Leith, ask the captain how long he estimated before they sailed and perhaps be back in time to witness the arrival of next door’s visitors. It offered a chance to explore more of the town and was preferable to loitering about the house avoiding Mrs. Cameron. The aches and pains of yesterday’s trek were easing, and the exercise would do him good.

  It was polite to let his hostess know he was going out. However, he found her and the lasses in the parlor, heads bent in prayer. Only Maggie looked up and curled her little fingers in a wave.

  He tiptoed out of the oppressive house, confiden
t he could find his way back to Leith. If he followed his nose, he’d come to the sea.

  Preoccupied with the riddle of a woman named Jewel whose mother was a thief, he became hopelessly lost in the maze of high-rise dwellings. Unpleasant odors filled his nostrils and the towering edifices stole away any sense of direction. Eventually, he was obliged to ask a man for help. Predictably, the fellow took one look at his foreign garb and explained the directions as if speaking to an imbecilic bairn.

  Hungry and frustrated, he arrived on the docks in the early afternoon. He didn’t recall as many vessels in the harbor when they’d arrived and it took him a quarter hour to find the galley to Arbroath. There was no sign of the captain. Enquiries as to his whereabouts proved fruitless.

  Resigned to returning without the information he sought, he left the docks and called into a tavern, hoping a pasty and a tankard of ale wouldn’t eat up too much of his meager funds.

  Having finally managed to attract the attention of a busy serving wench, he purchased his victuals and looked for a place to sit in the crowded tavern. Chewing the first bite of his pasty, he nigh on spilled his ale when someone clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come with the coin, have ye?”

  Holding on to Garnet like a lifeline, the captain swayed on his feet, bloodshot eyes betraying his inebriation. It was to be hoped the man didn’t sail his galley under the influence of what smelled like strong spirits. “Nay,” he replied. “I wondered if Donald had brought it.”

  The drunken seaman stared at him blankly. “Brought what?”

  Clearly, there was little point following that line of inquiry. “Any idea when we’ll depart?” he shouted over the din.

  “Sometime.”

  The captain cast off and staggered into the crowd, leaving Garnet none the wiser.

  “I’d do better going overland through Fife,” he muttered, swigging down the last of the ale. “I just need a fyking horse.”