by Amy Jarecki
“Aye.”
“I miss her as well.”
“I do not ken what you are on about,” he said, taking a gulp of whisky.
“Do not tell me you’ve taken to telling tall tales.”
He shook his head. “I never should have brought her here.”
“I disagree.” Emma slid into the chair across from him. “I enjoyed Miss Janet immensely. And now I have no one with whom to knit. Knitting is very industrious, and I was just starting to become proficient.”
“You can knit with Mrs. Tweedie.”
“Goodness, Robert, Mrs. Tweedie is not half as interesting as Miss Janet.”
God’s bones, he’d heard enough. Launching himself to his feet, he shook his finger. “There’s no use brooding. The lass is gone, and that’s the end of it. If you want to continue with your knitting lessons, Mrs. Tweedie is your best option.”
Clenching his fists, he stormed out of the parlor and marched for the gaol. Damn it all, he never had spoken harshly to Emma, and he’d just bellowed at the poor gel. This whole mess had him wound so tight, he wanted to hit something—hit a great many things. His woes had begun with the theft of his cattle. Well, the best way to solve a mystery was to attack it relentlessly until he revealed the truth.
He shoved through the gaol door and glared at the men wrapped in bloody blankets behind the bars. His gaze settled on Leith’s pair of predatory eyes. “Do you want out of this shite hole?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cold and miserable, winter passed, reflecting the melancholy weighing upon Robert’s heart. Throughout the season Moriston Hall brooded in the midst of spidery, dormant trees and incessant rain. Like a caged animal, Robert paced through the corridors with one thing on his mind—vengeance. He would bide his time, but when he discovered the culprit, he would strike quickly and ruthlessly.
His only happiness had come when the vicar’s wife had helped him organize a small recital for Emma at Moriston Hall. A few local affluent families had attended, and Emma’s music had been breathtaking.
Janet’s mare had grown saucy. She nipped and played with the other horses, though she would limp for the rest of her days. Still, watching the filly in the paddock reminded Robert that his time with Janet had not been a dream. The horse also reminded him how much he’d lost the day her father took the lass away.
Otherwise there was little to do aside from tend the livestock and build his army. Since he’d taken a leaf from Miss Janet’s book of kindness and employed Leith’s half-dozen miscreants, he needed the time to turn them into men worthy of riding with Clan Grant. Rough as crags, the men started out slow, but as the days progressed, their interest in belonging grew, as did their skill. Robert offered them shelter, food, and a fair wage, which none of them had ever enjoyed all at once. He made them attend Sunday services for their souls while teaching them how to fight with a blade and fire a musket from the back of a pony.
True, Lewis strode through the grounds scowling and mumbling under his breath about how bad things had grown, but Robert saw his henchman’s disquiet as a good sign. By employing the tinkers, Robert showed his men how serious he was about stopping livestock losses at all costs, and six wayward souls were learning they had a purpose beyond reiving.
Acting upon what was most likely the last of Janet’s influence, he gave each tinker a sturdy garron pony. And on the first of April, when the grasses on the slopes were beginning to turn a vibrant green, Robert rode out with Lewis, Jimmy, and Leith’s men and drove his herd to the Highland grazing leas.
A crisp breeze blew down from the icy snowcaps, and Robert flared his nostrils and took in a reviving breath. “Bloody oath, it feels good to be in the saddle behind a mob of beasts.”
“I cannot dispute that,” said Lewis. “But when the time comes to drive them to market, we mightn’t have a single head left with that band of ne’er-do-wells you hired.”
Robert arched an eyebrow, giving his henchman a sideways glance. “Do you think once a man has gone bad there’s no hope for his reform?”
“I think a man’s choices are a testament to his character. Once he has gone bad, he must prove his commitment to being virtuous tenfold. Those tinkers taking up the flanks haven’t won my good graces. Not by half.”
Robert couldn’t argue. If it hadn’t been for Janet, those men might have already swung from the gallows. “I have no intention of leaving them alone with my beasts. I’ll be staying through the calving at least, and you’d best make yourself comfortable in the bothy, ’cause you’ll not be seeing Glenmoriston until summer’s end.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Nary a reiver in all of Scotland will dare pilfer a single one of our beasts this year.”
“’Tis good to hear your conviction is the same as mine, friend.”
Robert tapped his spurs and headed for a cow and calf that had strayed for a clump of grass. “There’ll be plenty more feed where you’re heading.”
“And they’ll be nice and fat for market,” Jimmy hollered over his shoulder.
“That they will.” Robert almost smiled. He’d needed to spirit himself away from Moriston Hall and the memories that still lingered in the rose bedchamber. He needed to put Janet Cameron out of his mind and set himself to task. Aye, by the end of summer the lass would be forgotten, and he would be back to his old self again.
’Tis time. ’Tis past time.
* * *
Janet’s arm had long healed, and she’d knitted many pairs of mittens and scarves, by the time Kennan sailed the three-masted barque up through Loch Linnhe and into Loch Eil, mooring off the coast of Corpach. During her idle time, she’d also written at least two dozen letters to Emma, which were stowed in the bottom of her trunk, since Da forbade her to dispatch a single word to Glenmoriston.
It was already May when Kennan dropped anchor in the Firth of Clyde off the coast of Newport Glasgow, Scotland’s modern harbor facilities for shipbuilding and shipping. After a winch lowered her and Lena to a skiff, Janet took a seat on a rowing bench between her brother and her maid, then looked toward the shore. Coaches and wagons ambled along. Laborers in breeches and shirtsleeves pushed barrows, and gentlemen wearing tricorn hats and gold-piped doublets conducted business with their arms flailing. Seabirds squawked overhead, some diving into the water for a tasty morsel. The nearer the skiff came to the pier, the more pungent the odor of rotten fish and seaweed.
Kennan gave her a nudge. “You look as if you’re in the midst of a funeral procession.”
“I feel as though I am.” Janet hadn’t felt herself since the day Da arrived at Moriston Hall. Perhaps she’d grown up and taken on a mantle of seriousness bordering on misery. After all, it was time she ceased acting like a foolish maid and accepted the harsh reality of circumstances. Life was not intended to be an unending ceilidh full of merriment. Life was difficult for most, and merely passable for the fortunate.
“Miss Janet hasn’t been in good humor of late,” Lena said, not helping matters in the least.
A crease formed between Kennan’s brows. “It isn’t like you to be melancholy. Is your mood on account of that Grant scoundrel? By my oath, if he—”
“Nay!” Janet jabbed her brother with her elbow. “Why must you continually speak ill of His Lairdship?”
“Because he’s a colossal clodpoll of the highest order.”
“How can you say that…and after he saved you?”
“Saved me? What the devil are you on about?”
“He was there with Ciar MacDougall the night we were chased by Lieutenant Cummins. He arrived first—when Ciar arrived Mr. Grant told him to take you to safety. Only after did he stop the dragoons from taking me to Fort William. Think on it.”
“MacDougall took me to the crofter’s cottage?”
“Aye, and he must have left you there, because Da said you’d been abed in the cottage for a sennight when he found you—said you couldn’t remember a thing.”
“MacDougall, aye? The crofters to
ld our father someone knocked on the door and when they opened it I was unconscious on their stoop.” Kennan rubbed his head. “Da spoke true. I can recall nothing from Samhain. It took a fortnight for me to come around. I wouldn’t even remember the kind folk who took me in if our father hadn’t told me about them.”
“I remember everything, and it is as I said. Ciar took you to safety whilst Robert rode ahead and kept me from the stocks or worse at Fort William.”
“I had no idea. I must thank MacDougall as soon as I see him next.”
“You ought to thank him and Laird Grant.”
“Now you’re stretching things too far. That man nearly got you killed.”
“He most certainly did not.” Janet slapped her hand on the bench. “Gracious, Brother, Robert Grant is the reason I am still breathing. No matter what Da says, if Winfred Cummins had taken me inside the fort’s walls, I might still be in chains.”
“And Cummins might still have a leg.”
“Oh, so you heard about that, did you?”
“I’ve heard rumblings here and there. He’s blaming me, Grant, you, and anyone else he can think of.”
“He has only himself to blame. None of this would have happened if he’d acted like a gentleman in the first place.”
“Perhaps not, though I still think you’d be paying a visit to Glasgow.”
Janet groaned as the seaman hopped out of the skiff and tied it to the pier. “I feel like a heifer being escorted to the auction block.”
“I do not see why you’re so averse.” Kennan helped her alight. “Your options for finding a suitable husband are far better here in town than in Achnacarry—or Inverlochy, for that matter.”
Except I’ve sailed in the wrong direction. The man I want to see is more likely to be in Inverness than Glasgow.
Together they strode to the end of the pier with Lena following closely. Kennan hailed a coach and instructed the driver of a wagon to follow them and deliver Janet’s trunks to an address on Salt Market Street. Once the trunks were loaded and all was settled, Kennan helped Lena up to the driver’s bench, then climbed inside the coach with Janet. “’Tis an eighteen-mile ride up the River Clyde into the city, but the roads are quite good.”
Janet settled into the upholstered seat and opened the shutter. At least the day was fine. “How long will you be in town afore you have to sail again?”
“I’ll need to meet with the baronet on the morrow to discuss the schedule. But I expect I’ll be in port for a time. The barque is scheduled for repairs, which I must oversee.”
“My, the baronet gives you a great deal of responsibility.”
Kennan shrugged. “No more than being a laird.”
Janet chewed her bottom lip and turned her attention out the window. Of course Kennan would be laird when the time came. Being master and commander of a merchant ship was good training for certain.
They rode in silence for a long while. Kennan hadn’t lied about the roads being good. The team was able to maintain a fast trot the entire distance, and within a few hours they stopped outside Auntie Dallis and Uncle Broden’s town house. Janet had stayed there on two previous occasions, though in those instances her father had sailed up the Clyde in a smaller sea galley with no chance of running aground, and there had been no need to moor in the firth and take a coach all the way from the recently named village of Newport Glasgow.
Janet and Lena went ahead to ring the bell while Kennan supervised the unloading of the trunks. The door was opened by a well-dressed, tall, gaunt man looking more English than Scottish, though Janet knew the butler to be a Lowland Scot. “Well, have a look at this. ’Tis Miss Janet come all the way from Achnacarry.”
Janet curtsied. “Good day, Lionel. I’ve brought Kennan with me. And this is Lena, my lady’s maid.”
The lass curtsied as well. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”
“Your aunt and uncle have been expecting you for two days. Thank heavens you’re here, I do believe your presence will prevent Her Ladyship from having one of her spells.” Giving one of his barely noticeable, sly winks, the butler beckoned Lena. “I’ll take you to the housekeeper, and she’ll help you find your way about the place. Miss Janet, please make yourself at home in the parlor whilst I notify Lady MacLean and Sir Broden of your arrival. I’m sure Mr. Kennan will find his way. He’s been doing so now and again for the past two years.”
“My thanks.” Janet covered her urge to laugh with the tips of her fingers. The older gentleman had a way of being charming and saucy at the same time. He’d been Uncle Broden’s butler forever, and he never seemed to age. He’d been old and gaunt since Janet first met him when she was a wee child.
As Lena and Lionel retreated through the servants’ door, Kennan marched up the front steps with four porters in his wake. “Leave the trunks in the entry, if you please.” He gave each a coin and shut the door while Janet ambled into the parlor.
Bathed in light beaming from the west-facing window, the room welcomed everyone who entered. Auntie had an eye for décor. Every chair was upholstered with a circle of flowers framing a fashionable scene of lords and ladies. On the walls were portraits of Janet’s kin on her mother’s side, most of whom she’d never met, though she was drawn to one portrait. The ache in her heart came back with force as she stepped in front of the painting of her mother. “I wish you were still here.” She reached out and touched the edge of the frame so as not to spoil the canvas.
“I do as well,” Kennan said, coming up behind her. “She always saw things in a way no one else did.”
“And gave the best hugs.”
“She did.”
“There you are!” Auntie Dallis dashed from the doorway, a grin stretching her round rose-colored cheeks. In three steps the woman wrapped Janet in a smothering embrace.
“Och, ’tis good to see you,” Janet squeaked, peeking over the woman’s shoulder at her uncle.
Auntie held her at arm’s length. “My, my, you grow bonnier every time I see you.”
“That she does.” Uncle Broden squeezed in and gave Janet a far less crushing welcome. “How was your journey, my dear?”
“Kennan sailed the ship as if the surf were smooth as glass.”
“I believe the weather had a fair bit to do with it.” The lad greeted them with a hug for Auntie and a handshake for Uncle.
“The servants are taking your things above stairs. I’ve ordered coffee and biscuits—have you tried coffee, dear? ’Tis all the rage in London.”
“I cannot say I have.”
“Then do not drink too much, else your fingers will set to trembling.” Uncle Broden led them to the settee and chairs situated before the hearth.
Before Janet could sit in one of the chairs, Auntie pulled her onto the settee. “I am thrilled you have arrived. You must accompany me to the soldiers’ hospital. Queen Anne’s war in the Americas has taken a dreadful toll on the Glaswegian young men.”
“That it has,” agreed Uncle, flipping up his coattails and sitting.
Kennan opted to stand near the fire and rest his elbow on the mantel. “I hear they’re shipping the wounded home.”
“Straight home to Glasgow, mind you. They arrive with limbs amputated, the ague, scurvy, and all manner of vile diseases.” The lace on Auntie Dallis’s coif shook with her forcible nod. “Dearest Janet, the men would be terribly grateful to have you sing for them—or read.”
“Of course.” Janet rubbed her hand over the hazard dice in her pocket. “I brought along a collection of Scottish folktales.” Though they most likely would prefer a bit of fun and a harmless wager or two.
“That would be ideal.”
Janet brushed aside her wayward thoughts and opted for a more charitable tack. “We must buy some wool, and I’ll set to knitting scarves and mittens as well.”
“Aye, colder weather will be upon us afore we know it.” Auntie looked up and beckoned Lionel. “Ah, here’s our refreshment. Janet, would you do us the honor and pour?”
; Chapter Twenty-Eight
“‘Oh dear, oh dear! The auld wife’s brogues must have been shod with iron spikes,’” Janet read aloud. Was the soldier in the bed listening? He hadn’t opened his eyes or even moved since she began. As she paused, a cold chill spread across her nape, so eerie she shuddered and glanced over her shoulder—finding nothing but a door that opened into the hallway.
Sighing, she straightened and smoothed her hand over the page she’d just read. The sentinel lay in the bed nearest the door, the outline of one arm clear beneath the bedclothes, but the white blanket was smooth and flat where his right should be. It was a long, narrow room with seven beds, a soldier upon each one. Some coughed, some breathed heavily, but this man lay silent and unmoving.
She glanced at his face to find he’d opened his lids and was staring—with brown eyes as intense as those of a starved deerhound. “Please don’t stop, miss.”
“You were listening?”
“Aye. Who wouldn’t listen to a lass with a voice as bonny as a willow warbler?”
She smiled thoughtfully. “Where are you from?”
“Renfrewshire. Not far from here.”
“Have you seen your kin since you’ve been home?”
His lips formed a thin line as he looked away. “They are not aware that I’m here.”
“I could write to them on your behalf if you’d li—”
“Nay. I do not want them to see me half a man.”
“Hmm.” Janet pretended to look out the door again while she wiped her eyes. What could she say? This man’s problems seemed so much worse than her own. And trying to commiserate with him would only invite his scorn. “In this bed I see a man,” she said, placing her hand on the mattress and sitting taller. “A brave soldier for whom I have only respect. Tell me, were you conscripted?”
“Aye, of course. The bloody English always look to Scottish men to fight their battles.”
“I thought no less.” She moved her hand to his shoulder. “I hope you do go home once you are able.”
