The Highland Renegade

by Amy Jarecki

  “And be nothing but a burden to Ma and Da?”

  “Not at all. I know a blind woman who learned to see with her fingertips and ears.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, she used touch to help her negotiate her way around any room. She plays a harp like one of God’s angels, and I taught her to knit…and now she is better than I.” That was a stretch, but Emma had potential. “I believe that when faced with adversity, lads and lasses adapt in the most marvelous ways. They just need to believe in their ability to do so.”

  An orderly stepped into the room and cleared his throat. “Your coach is waiting, Miss Cameron.”

  Janet closed her book. “Already?”

  “Will you come back?” asked the sentinel.

  “I will, if you promise to think on what I’ve said.”

  “If you wish it.”

  “I do.” She gave his shoulder a final pat. “Everyone deserves happiness.”

  Rising to her feet, Janet followed the orderly out to the drive. With all her heart she longed to believe the words she’d just uttered. Wouldn’t it be astonishing if she found happiness? I just cannot imagine how.

  Uncle Broden’s coachman opened the door and offered his hand. “How are the wounded, miss?”

  “In sore need of a good game of hazard.”

  The man chuckled as she climbed inside. But once she looked at the bench, she froze, staring at what appeared to be a white dog rose. Its petals had been plucked and arranged around a stem with two thorns. Before the man could shut the door, Janet turned and popped her head outside. “Did you put the flower there?”

  The man looked stunned. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Have you been here beside the coach the whole time?”

  “Aye, aside from taking a wee moment to visit the privy.”

  Janet tucked her head back inside while an icy chill streaked down her arms. In the Highlands a white rose was a secret symbol of the exiled King James. Jacobites wore the rose when there was news from the true king—and usually there would be a secret gathering of James’s ardent supporters.

  “What is it?” asked the coachman.

  Janet swept the petals off the seat. “Just a remnant of a flower. I just didn’t recall it being there earlier this day.”

  The man frowned. “I did not notice it, either, but I reckon it wouldn’t be the first time something slipped past my inspection.” He shut the door, climbed up to his bench, and pointed the team down the drive.

  Opening the shutter, Janet scanned the grounds as the carriage bumped over the cobblestones. Her gaze darted to every shrub, searching for a villain hiding in the shadows. When the coach hit a bump, she tottered on the seat with a startled squeal. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she prayed the coachman hadn’t heard.

  I’m behaving like a mutton-head. ’Twas but a silly dog rose, nothing more.

  * * *

  Auntie Dallis didn’t waste any time filling Janet’s calendar. Mornings were harrowing with appointments for fittings—the modiste, the milliner, the cobbler. With Lochiel’s coin they purchased fans and lace, new stays, new shifts, new stockings—according to Her Ladyship, Janet must have a fresh supply of all a young lass needed to immerse herself in Glasgow society. “It might not be London, but with the new port, every important gentleman in Scotland can be seen walking Laigh Green along the Clyde.”

  Afternoons spent reading and singing for the soldiers at the hospital proved quieter, especially since her aunt always had a reason not to accompany Janet.

  This evening, she was looking forward to exhibiting one of her new gowns—a pink silk with all the matching accouterments, including a hand-painted fan trimmed with lace. Ciar MacDougall had come to accompany her and Kennan to the High Kirk of Glasgow for an organ recital of modern music, including two fugues by an acclaimed new composer from Germany, Johann Sebastian Bach. The organist performing the pieces was to be Scotland’s own George Douglas, esteemed music principal employed by the kirk.

  “Ciar!” Janet dashed down the town house stairs and into the entry to find her friend standing beside her brother. “It is such a delight to see you.”

  The MacDougall laird grasped her hands and kissed them. “Och, Miss Janet, you grow more radiant by the day.”

  “You exaggerate. But I don’t mind one wee bit.” She turned in a circle, showing off her new gown. “Auntie Dallis ordered the pink silk from London.”

  “Aye, and with the way our dear aunt is spending my father’s coin, my sister will need two more trunks when she returns home.” Kennan ushered the party out the front door. “We must make haste, for the Baronet of Sleat has the best seats in the kirk reserved for us.”

  Ciar offered Janet his elbow. “What have you been up to whilst you’ve been in Glasgow?”

  “Aside from following my aunt to every shop in town, I’ve been visiting the soldiers’ hospital.”

  “I kent you wouldn’t have been in town for a sennight before you found a charity that needs you desperately.” He offered his hand and helped her into the coach.

  “Auntie Dallis isn’t one to sit idle. Not when there’s a well-bred maid to parade about,” said Kennan, following his sister and taking the seat opposite.

  Janet preferred to avoid talking about her true reason for visiting her aunt and uncle and opted to ignore her brother. “Those poor soldiers are lonely and in pain, and some are heartbroken.”

  “And I’ll wager you want to help them all.” Ciar’s broad shoulders filled the space beside Kennan as he knocked on the roof of the coach.

  Janet rocked forward when the team got underway. “What brings you to Glasgow, Ciar? I’m surprised you’re not preparing to take your sheep to Inverlochy.”

  “Things are busy, I cannot deny. I’ll be sailing home on the morrow. I only ventured down to attend a meeting with a handful of Highland chieftains.”

  “Organized by Donald MacDonald,” Kennan added.

  “The Baronet of Sleat?” Janet asked.

  “Aye.”

  “A meeting of the Defenders?” she persisted.

  “Wheesht, Janet.” Kennan gestured toward the coachman driving the team outside, though there was no way he could possibly discern a word with the racket of the horses’ shod hooves, the wheels churning over the cobblestones, and the coach’s frame creaking.

  Ciar gave her brother a nudge. “A few of us met to discuss trade in Glasgow—things you shouldn’t concern yourself with, lass.”

  “Like the queen putting English exports ahead of Scottish?” Janet shook her head. “I am the daughter of Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel. I ken all about the sanctions enforced by the crown.”

  Ciar glanced up to the ceiling. “Just be mindful of the company whom you are among afore you express your opinion. Doing so could be very bad for your well-being.”

  “Agreed,” said Kennan.

  “I see.” Janet opened and closed her fan. Obviously they weren’t about to engage in a lively discussion about the details of the meeting or, most importantly, those who had been in attendance. Just out with it. “Did you see Robert Grant at your gathering with the baronet?”

  Kennan groaned. “Bless it, Sister. Do not tell me you’re still thinking about that backbiting varlet.”

  Ciar knit his brows as he gave Kennan another nudge. “The depth of your hatred stuns me.”

  This time her brother jabbed with his elbow in return. “Do not tell me MacDougalls have made amends with the Campbells.”

  “Hardly likely—and hardly the same thing.” Ciar shook his head. “Besides, the Campbells are staunch government supporters. Grant sides with us.”

  After the coach rolled to a stop, the door opened and a footman peered inside. “Welcome to the high kirk.”

  Before Janet took the man’s hand, she eyed her brother. “I, for one, agree with Ciar.”

  Kennan presented their tickets to the doorman, then led them through the maze of people gathered in the vestibule and straight to a couple
dressed in such finely tailored clothes, they could be none other than the Baronet of Sleat and his wife.

  Kennan bowed deeply. “May I present my sister, Miss Cameron.” He gestured to the couple. “You may remember Sir Donald and Lady MacDonald from the gathering at Urquhart Castle.”

  “I do.” Janet curtsied. “Pleased to see you again, m’lord, m’lady.”

  “Welcome,” said Sir Donald.

  “How good to see you again.” Lady Mary, as she was known to her friends, grasped both of Janet’s hands. “I must say, every time I see you, you are bonnier than the last.”

  “You are too kind.” Janet admired Her Ladyship’s gown. “And what a lovely shade of green. It is an ideal color for red hair.”

  Ciar stepped in and exchanged pleasantries, and then the baronet escorted them down the long nave while Janet’s heels echoed all the way up to the vaulted ceiling. He stopped at the front row of seats. “From here you’ll have an unobstructed view of Mr. Douglas.”

  “It will be marvelous,” Lady Mary said, taking Janet’s hand and leading her to a seat right in the middle of the row. “This kirk was made for music.”

  And it was. As soon as the maestro’s fingers began to strike the organ’s keys, Janet was surrounded by a vortex of fast-moving harmonies. Music spilled through her soul, more uplifting than anything she’d ever heard. Indeed, both organist and composer were nothing short of brilliant. When the performance stopped for intermission, Janet patted her chest, breathing as if she’d just run a footrace. “My, that was glorious.”

  “Outstanding,” Ciar agreed, fanning his face.

  During intermission, Janet followed the entourage to the west end of the nave for refreshments. “Are you enjoying the recital?” asked Lady Mary.

  “Ever so much. I cannot believe how the pipes make this enormous building shake to the timbers.”

  “I believe Mr. Douglas is Scotland’s very best organist.” Lady Mary took two glasses of champagne from a passing footman and gave one to Janet. “Today we received word the Duke of Gordon is coming to town. He holds the most engaging royal balls this side of London. Have you met him?”

  “No, I have not had the pleasure.”

  “Well, then, ’tis a good thing you happen to be in Glasgow at the moment.”

  Janet smiled and sipped, but with the taste of champagne came the eerie prickling across the back of her neck. She’d sensed it at the hospital twice now. Quickly she glanced over her shoulder to see a man hobbling out to the cloisters. “Who is that?” she asked, craning her neck, the crowd blocking her view.

  “Who?” Her Ladyship searched, but the man was gone.

  “Mary, there you are.” The baronet stepped beside his wife and offered his elbow. “Forgive me, Miss Cameron, but we’ve been summoned to meet the artist of the evening.”

  “Of course.” Janet curtsied and moved beside her brother. “Have you seen Winfred Cummins in Glasgow?” she whispered in his ear.

  “That venomous, sheep-biting asp? I hope never to see him again.” He turned to Ciar. “That reminds me, MacDougall. Janet tells me I owe you a debt of gratitude for hauling me out of the mire on Samhain.”

  “Aye?” Ciar grinned, looking pleased. “I was wondering when you would remember that night.”

  “I still do not recall a damned thing.”

  “Kennan, language. This is a church.” While Janet chided her brother, an idea came to mind. Was this her chance to finally prove to her brother that Robert wasn’t an evil villain? She pulled the two men aside. “Ciar, you must tell us exactly what happened that night. The last thing I saw was a mob of dragoons knock Kennan from his mount and beat him senseless afore I pled with the lieutenant to make them stop. Cummins left Kennan half-dead while his men took me away.”

  Ciar nodded, his gaze shifting between them. “When I arrived, Robert Grant had Kennan cradled in his arms. When he saw me, he hefted Kennan over my horse’s withers, asked me to take him to safety. Then Grant and his men hastened to ride after you, Miss Janet.”

  “Why did you take me to the croft?” Kennan asked. “Why not to Achnacarry?”

  “I took you to the first cottage with a light flickering in the window. We all thought the worst. I had no idea how badly you were injured. Moreover, the castle is the first place the soldiers would have searched for you.”

  Kennan scratched his head. “And what say you? Grant tended to me first?”

  “He did. And I’ll tell you true, when he and I parted company in Inverlochy, he was headed for home. ’Twas Miss Janet’s scream that made him turn his men around and ride back. He saved your life, I reckon.”

  “Why would Grant do anything to help me?”

  “Mayhap because you’re a Defender—just as he is, just as I am. When it comes to redcoats invading the Highlands, all clan feuds become but wee squabbles.” Ciar scratched his chin. “Though I do not ken why he did it, especially after you brandished your dagger in the duel and sliced his face. Hell, I’m surprised he did not finish the beating started by the dragoons.”

  Janet cleared her throat. “He doesn’t want to feud with us.”

  “Oh aye?” Kennan shook his head, though his expression was unsure. “He continually blames the Camerons for his own losses.”

  Since he was wavering, Janet stepped nearer and squared her shoulders. “That is only because he’s trying to find the real culprits.”

  Kennan snorted. “Now you’re making as much sense as a magpie.”

  “I’m making perfect sense.” Janet shook her fan under her brother’s nose. “Perhaps if the Grants and Camerons joined forces, something might actually be done about the poachers.”

  “Did you tell that to Grant?” he asked.

  A bell rang, indicating it was time to return to their seats.

  Kennan took her hand. “Come.”

  “I did. And he agreed.” For the most part…

  Kennan and Ciar stood aside, allowing Janet to sidle to her seat.

  Dear Lord. Waiting on her chair was another white rose. This one looked as though it had been hastily placed, with only two petals plucked, though the bloom had four thorns. Janet drew her hand to her chest and gasped.

  Ciar picked up the rose and twirled it in his fingers. “It seems we have a joker in our midst.”

  “Or a troublemaker,” Kennan said, turning full circle.

  “That’s not the first—”

  “Sh,” resounded through the audience as the organist took his place.

  Janet took her seat, but once the music began she leaned in to her brother and cupped her hand over her mouth. “Someone left a similar gift in my coach a few days past.”

  “Why the blazes didn’t you say something then?” Kennan didn’t bother to whisper.

  “I did not think much of it at the time.”

  From behind, a man tapped on Janet’s shoulder with a resounding “Shush.”

  Kennan grasped her elbow and turned his lips to her ear. “From now on you will have an escort at all times.”

  Janet crossed her arms. As if things weren’t stifling enough with Auntie Dallis running her affairs, now her every move was to be supervised. An icy shudder made her glance over her shoulder. What if someone was truly stalking her?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  14 July 1713

  The midsummer crowd at the Inverlochy alehouse wasn’t as boisterous as in previous years. Robert didn’t care overmuch, as long as the buyers were in town. He took a long draw of his ale. After three months in the mountains, the brew tasted like mead from heaven.

  “God’s bones, Grant, is that you? Ye look like a lion with all that hair sprouting from your face.”

  Robert turned away from the bar and laughed. “MacDougall!” He thrust out his hand. “Och, ’tis good to see you, old friend.”

  Ciar gave a firm handshake. “Och, I hardly recognized you.”

  “I’ve been in the mountains for months. Haven’t had a chance to shave as yet.” Robert signaled to the barma
n. “Another over here, please.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not in Glasgow.”

  “Why the blazes would I go down there? I’ve brought my vealers down for sale, and then I’m heading back up to the herd. Mind you, no one will be poaching my beasties this year.”

  “If anyone can stop the thieves, ’tis you.” The barman placed a frothing tankard in front of Ciar and he held it aloft. “Sláinte.”

  “Sláinte.” Robert tapped his cup in toast and drank. “Now what’s this you say about Glasgow?”

  “I just returned from there two fortnights ago. The new saleyards are booming.”

  “Bloody hell, I’ve gone without news for too long. When did this happen?”

  “The Baronet of Sleat has been petitioning for proper livestock saleyards for ages, and now that the shipyards are open for business in Newport Glasgow, everything else is falling into place. You ought to drive your vealers south. I saw them in the paddock, and they look better than any coos I’ve seen in ages.”

  “Aye? Fat wee beasties, are they not?”

  “They are, and it would only take a few days to drive them to Glasgow.”

  Robert wasn’t convinced. Besides, there was a warm bath waiting for him out the back. “What about the coin? Same as Inverlochy?”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if you wouldn’t double what you’d receive here.”

  “Double?”

  “Mark me.”

  “Then why are you here and not driving your livestock to market?”

  “I plan to.” Ciar patted his sporran. “I’m in Inverlochy by chance—had a meeting with my banker.”

  “I hope all is well.”

  “It is, and I’ll be driving my cattle to Glasgow come autumn.”

  “I must give it some thought, especially for the harvest.” Robert signaled for another two ales. “What other news? It seems I’ve missed a great deal.”

  “Not overmuch. The Baronet of Sleat had some correspondence with the Duke of Gordon. Evidently…” Ciar looked over his shoulders, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “There’s been a communication from the king.”

  “James?”