by Amy Jarecki
Still following, MacDougall chuckled. “If you hadn’t hit the bastard, I would have done the honors.”
Robert’s men were waiting near the alehouse door as he marched through. “We ride, men.” Crossing the road at a jog, he glanced over his shoulder. “Will you come with us, Ciar? We could use your muscle if we run into trouble.”
“I shall top that. My men and I will hamper the soldiers as they head out of town.”
Robert stopped in his tracks and gave his friend a clap on the back. “Thank you. I will nay forget this. Are you ready?”
“Ever ready. We’ll be on your heels.”
As MacDougall strode away, Robert mounted and signaled to his army of ten men. “Follow me. We’re heading where no Sassenach will find us.”
Chapter Six
Janet clutched her cloak tight while her teeth chattered. The brisk wind chilled to the bone, so savage it made her taffeta gown feel like ice. Things had never been so miserable, so wretched. Why did she have to slap the lieutenant? Good heavens, no one traveled in a ball gown. Worse, the night was darker than coal, with brooding clouds looming overhead. Rain spat on and off as she followed Kennan up the North Road.
Shouts came from behind. “Halt in the name of Queen Anne!”
Janet slapped her riding crop harder, leaning forward. “Hurry, Kennan!”
Her brother reined his horse to a stop at the river’s edge. “She’s swollen. Her current is swift.”
Janet cued her horse to step into the rushing water, but the mare backed and whinnied.
“I’ll give it a test. Mayhap we can still cross,” he said.
She looked upstream. “We could try the Lochaber bridge. ’Tis only another mile.”
“No time.” Kennan’s horse waded partway, and he beckoned her. “’Tis only up to his barrel, come.”
Cuing her mare to follow the gelding, Janet leaned forward and hunched her shoulders to block the wind whistling up the river. But when the icy water ran over Janet’s feet, the mare stopped with a shake of her head. “Come on, lassie.” Janet smacked her crop and kicked.
Snorting, the mare reared. Janet tightened her grip on the reins and clenched her knee around the upper pommel. Up and up the horse continued, beyond vertical. Screaming, Janet lost her grip as she was thrown, arms flailing, into the torrent.
Her back hit hard. Frigid water enveloped her like thousands of tiny knives. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be silenced by a flood. Choking, she shook her head and fought for the surface. Strong fingers grabbed her shoulders and dragged her, coughing and sputtering, to the shore.
“Bloody Christmas,” Kennan growled as he crouched beside her on the bank.
Janet wheezed, gasping for air as she shook with the shock of the cold.
“That’s far enough,” said a menacing voice. Winfred Cummins sat a steed, looking down the muzzle of his flintlock. “Release her.” And he sounded almost sober.
Kennan drew his dirk. “On what charges?”
“Striking an officer.”
“Aye?” Kennan emitted a mocking laugh. “You cannot handle a wee slap from a lass?”
“You insolent blackguard. For that you will enjoy the comforts of Fort William as well.” Cummins signaled with his pistol. “Bind their wrists.”
Janet pushed to her feet as Kennan lunged in front of her, slicing through the air with his knife. “Not on your bloody life.”
Five dragoons circled him while his dirk hissed in a constant X pattern. “Stay back. Leave us be.”
They crept nearer until a redcoat dove for Kennan’s blade. From the opposite side, another slammed a fist across his jaw.
“Stop!” Janet screamed, so cold she could barely move.
But no one listened. On and on the soldiers beat him, punches, kicks, every hit landing in a sickening thud.
“Stop, I said!” Shards of icy pain shot up from her feet as Janet ran to Cummins and grasped his horse’s bridle. “Tell them to stop. Now!”
“Will you agree to come peaceably?”
“Aye. Anything, just order your men to stop hitting my brother afore they kill him.”
“Mount your horse.”
Her gown soaked and heavy, Janet did as the lieutenant bade.
Cummins gave his men a nod. “Enough. We ride.”
She glanced back to Kennan, lying on his side in the thick grass and not moving. “You cannot leave him there.”
“You, miss, are in no position to tell me what I can and cannot do. You’re lucky he’s still breathing.”
* * *
Shortly after Robert and his men took a turn to head into the hills, a piercing scream carried on the wind. By the chill spreading across his nape, there was only one person who could have uttered it. He pulled on his left rein and spun his stallion. “Miss Janet’s in trouble! We’re going back.”
“We’re what?” asked Lewis, his voice shooting up, he and the others following at a canter.
As they rode down the hill, a retinue of seven riders turned onto the North Road, but in the dark it was impossible to make out who they were. Lead sank to the pit of his stomach as Robert urged his horse faster. When he arrived at the crossing near Old Inverlochy Castle, a riderless horse caught his eye. Dread gripped his chest while he reined his mount to a skidding halt. “Miss Cameron!” he bellowed.
“’Tis Kennan’s gelding,” said Lewis. “His initials are on the saddle.”
“Cameron!” Robert yelled as he dismounted, turned full circle. A dark form curled near the brush caught his eye. “Jesus, they’ve beat him.” He kneeled beside Janet’s brother and tugged him into his arms. “Where is Miss Janet?”
But Kennan was out cold. Robert felt for a pulse. Thank God it was strong, his breathing deep as well, but there was no sign of his sister. “Blast it all to hell, she must have been with the riders back yonder.”
“Aye,” Lewis agreed. “I reckon it was Cummins’s retinue we passed, and I reckon they’re headed for Fort William.”
“What the blazes happened here?” shouted Ciar MacDougall, reining his horse to a stop with four riders following his lead.
“It appears Cameron has been enjoying camaraderie with Her Majesty’s dragoons.” Robert peered at Kennan’s face, but the man wasn’t going to be of use to anyone until at least the morning. He shifted his attention to Ciar. “I thought you were going to stall them.”
“I did. Told them I reckoned Kennan had taken Janet back to the boardinghouse.”
“Not convincingly enough.” Making a quick decision, Robert stood and hoisted Kennan across the Cameron horse, then handed MacDougall the reins. “Take him to safety. I’m riding after Miss Janet.”
Ciar nodded his assent. “She’ll be doomed if they take her inside the fort.”
“Aye.” Robert mounted his stallion. “That’s why we’ll be taking Black Parks Path. ’Tis the only chance we have of heading them off. Come, men.”
Snow began to fall while Robert rode as if he were being chased by Satan, praying Cummins would be in no hurry now that he’d secured his quarry.
With a gnashing of his teeth, Robert berated himself for not heading for the hills as he’d planned. Janet Cameron meant nothing to him, though her family owed him a great deal—cattle and now recompense for a scar he must carry on his face for the rest of his days. A reminder that the Camerons were never to be trusted. But still he continued. He wouldn’t leave any Highland lass with those horrible redcoats.
He’d witnessed the whole incident at the Samhain ceilidh. Cummins had been in his cups while Miss Janet tried to politely dismiss him, and the arse refused to stop. The lieutenant mightn’t have struck her, but, nonetheless, he attacked first by grabbing her arms. Holy hellfire, Robert had itched to draw his sword and challenge the lout to a duel there on the spot.
But that would only have purchased a one-way ticket on a convict ship headed for hell.
Christ, I’m headed for hell one way or another.
They rounded the bend wh
ere Black Parks Path crossed the North Road, and Robert slowed his mount. Sure enough, hoofbeats came from the north—several riders by the sound of it. A quarter mile up, lantern light winked through the flurries. Aye, the retinue approached at a steady trot.
“Ready your weapons, men. But only kill if you are about to be killed.” Clan Grant might make it through this without forfeiting hearth and home, unless some dragoon decided to be a hero and ended up dead.
Robert drew a flintlock pistol—one he always kept primed—and dropped in a musket ball. “Halt!” he cried.
Now twenty feet away, Cummins raised his hand and reined his horse to a stop. The men rode in a diamond formation, shielding Miss Janet in the center, blast it all. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Ah, Grant.” Cummins peered from beneath his snow-covered tricorn, his face cadaverous in the dim light. “Now I shall have two felons to hand over to Fort William’s colonel.”
“If you should live so long.” Robert steadied his pistol, aimed at the lieutenant’s heart. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when the queen’s dragoons saw fit to set upon helpless women during a public gathering.”
“She struck me,” Cummins whined like a spoiled youth.
“A wee lass?” The men behind Robert laughed. “Come now. Every man in the hall will attest that you provoked her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re far outnumbered. Hand Miss Cameron’s reins to me and I’ll spare you.”
Cummins inched his mount forward. “Sir, if you do not lower your weapons, I will order my men to shoot you dead. And if perchance you happen to escape, I will hunt you to the corners of Christendom. You will have no rest. You will live in fear. And I will break your spirit.”
Aye, the man had sobered enough all right.
The corners of Robert’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “I’m certain a spirit will be broken, and it will not be mine.” He shifted his aim slightly and shot the grenadier hat clean off Cummins’s head. “Charge!”
Throwing his reins into his teeth, Robert shoved his pistol in his belt with one hand while drawing his sword with the other. At a gallop, Clan Grant attacked, barreling through the retinue of soldiers. Robert used the broad side of his blade to knock Cummins off his horse. On the recoil he slammed the pommel into the temple of another. As he rode past, he grabbed Miss Janet’s reins and raced for the hills.
Chapter Seven
Robert didn’t stop until they reached the Nevis lookout. On a clear day it gave a panoramic view of Inverlochy and Fort William below, but presently the low clouds blocked most of the moonlight. From the saddle he searched the shadows below for movement.
“There they are,” said Lewis, pointing.
Robert squinted but could see nothing. “Are you certain?”
“I saw movement. They’re after us, mark me.”
“Then we continue until the horses are spent.” He looked to his men. “Was anyone injured?”
No one said a word, but his gaze settled on Miss Janet, her hair hanging in strings with no sign of the lovely, curled coiffure from the ceilidh. Shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, she clutched her fists in front of her mouth and blew on them.
“We’re free from danger, lass.” When she didn’t respond, he steered his mount beside her. “Are you well?”
“C-c-c—”
She couldn’t manage to utter the word. He leaned closer to better see in the darkness. Was she…? He grasped her cloak and rubbed it between his fingers. “God’s blood, you’re soaked clean through.”
Her head nodded. “Uhnn,” she replied in a chilly pitch.
Robert looked to the sky as he removed his cloak. Snow spattered his face. “Take this. Wrap it tight around your shoulders,” he said, swinging it around, then looking to Jimmy. “Tuck your blanket around the lady’s lap.”
“Straightaway, sir.”
After Robert dismounted, he removed her wet slippers. “Your feet are like ice. I have a pair of hose in my saddle bags. May I have your permission to pull them on?”
“A-aye,” she said, holding his cloak tightly, her teeth still chattering.
“There’s nothing to warm her up here. ’Haps you should take her to the boardinghouse,” said Lewis.
“If we do, she’ll fall into Cummins’s clutches for certain.” Robert busied himself pulling the woolens over the lady’s frozen toes and up her calves, trying to turn a blind eye to the long, slender, and delicate legs beneath his fingertips. He must think quickly. Miss Janet wouldn’t last long in this weather, not wearing a wet gown. He double-checked the blanket Jimmy had tucked around her lap. “Do you think you will be able to ride a bit farther, miss? I need to take you to a place where we’ll not be found.”
Still shivering, she looked down toward town. “M-my brother. They beat him and left him for d-dead.”
“That’s where we started. Found him unconscious in the scrub.”
“And you left him?” she asked, her voice turning shrill.
“Nay,” he barked. “Ciar MacDougall has taken him to safety.”
She looked up the mountain. “W-where?”
“I know not.”
“We must haste, sir,” said Tormond. “I saw the flicker of a lantern. I’m wagering they’ve started up the slope.”
Robert mounted. “We ride until we reach the pass at Coire na Ciste.” He signaled to Jimmy, praying the woman could make it that far. “Ride beside Miss Janet and keep a watchful eye. Lewis—we’ll need kindling. When we reach the forest, take Willy, gather wood, and meet us at the pass.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * *
Robert’s cloak and stockings and Jimmy’s blanket initially helped Janet’s teeth slow their chattering, but she’d never been so cold in all her days. As the night wore on, they steadily climbed higher and higher, up to where the temperatures were beyond bitter. She hadn’t been to Coire na Ciste, though her brothers had talked about it—and not in a good way. The riding in the cliffs was treacherous. ’Twas why Mr. Grant was leading them up there now. Lowlanders and Englishmen wouldn’t chance taking their horses up the Highlands, which made the mountains all the more alluring for clan men escaping from their enemies.
Janet curled her shoulders forward, hunching low over her horse’s withers, trying to stay warm. Snow relentlessly piled atop her and atop the mare’s coat, making it ghostly in the darkness. Her breath came in slow, shallow gasps. She blocked out her misery and focused on one thing—to keep going no matter the cost.
Thrice her beloved, fine-boned mare faltered and slipped, sidestepping to regain her balance. Janet knew better than to look down. She couldn’t see much past the layers of wool even if she did. The horse’s ears twitched at every noise. In the snowy darkness, it was impossible to see much farther than two feet in front of her nose. She could but trust the soft crunch of horses’ hooves in front and behind.
With a whoosh they were hit by a fierce gale. It whisked the snow off her horse and cut straight through Janet’s flesh. In minutes her teeth hurt from the chattering. No matter how hard she blew on her hands or how low she crouched over her mare, she could not stave off the violent shivers. Her lips were numb and her fingers ached, freezing and immobile as they gripped the leather reins.
Never had she known such cold. Every movement tortured her with pins and needles. Her eyelids grew so heavy it was agony to keep them open.
“Are we nearly there?” she whispered, only to have her words silenced by the howl of the wind. Onward they rode, through a narrow notch between two dark, looming, enormous cliffs. But Janet could take no more. Dropping the reins, she fell forward on the horse’s neck, dangling her arms to either side.
“Robert, Miss Janet needs rest.” She faintly heard Jimmy’s holler, though she didn’t hear a reply—if the Grant laird had spoken at all. It mattered not. She was too tired to open her eyes. Mercifully, sleep took away the bitter cold.
* * *
When Robert twisted around and saw Miss Janet unconscious an
d draped over her horse’s neck, he could have spat out his eyeteeth. “Why did you not say something sooner, Jimmy?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “There’s shelter ahead. We’ll stop there.” He hastened to lead them beneath an overhang. It was crude, but it was dry and blocked the wind. Fearing the worst, he dismounted and rushed to Janet’s side. “Lewis, use the wood you and Willy collected and start a fire. A big one.” He pointed to the others. “You men, dig a shallow hole, five feet long. Jimmy, bring me the tarpaulin.”
Having ridden without his cloak, Robert was chilled to the bone and shivering fiercely. He pulled the poor lass from the mare and carried her to the shelter. Sitting and balancing her on his lap, he removed his cloak from her shoulders and pulled it around then both. “I’ll warm ye, Miss Janet. ’Tis necessary to keep you from succumbing to cold exposure.” He didn’t expect her to respond, but he needed to explain his actions nonetheless. He briskly rubbed his hands along her arms and her thighs. “Where’s that bloody fire?” he bellowed, only able to see the shadows of the men as they worked.
“Setting flint to flax now, sir,” Lewis said, his gruff brogue unmistakable.
“And the pit?”
“Still at it,” said Tormond. “The ground’s frozen and full of rocks.”
Jimmy kneeled beside Robert. “Here’s the tarpaulin.”
Fumbling with the laces on Miss Janet’s bodice, he eyed the lad. “Set it down and help me remove this damp gown. She’ll never warm unless we can dry her.”
“Ah…me?” Jimmy stood like a dumb mute.
Robert grasped Miss Janet by the shoulders. “Just hold her and I’ll do it. And keep your bloody eyes averted. This is the daughter of one of the most powerful lairds in the Highlands, and she will have our respect. Ye ken?”
“Aye, sir.” Cringing, the lad placed his hands on Janet’s shoulders as if he were touching a hot stove.
Robert removed his gloves with his teeth, his fingers stiff and thick while he unlaced the lady’s bodice and cast it aside, then untied her skirts. He began to untie her stays.
