Ian and Tom clambered up into the driver’s seat. Ian took hold of the reins and steered the team through the wide bay doors on the end of the building opposite the dockside. After they’d exited, Ian halted the team long enough for Tom to close and lock the tall warehouse doors. As the lad returned to his seat, he nodded at a building farther down the way that was already ablaze. “Do the fools mean to burn all of Inverness?”
“I imagine the English as well as Mackenzie’s men will arrive soon to halt this madness.” Ian pulled his hat lower and urged the pair of horses down the nearest lane that would lead to the White Lion. The faster they put some distance between themselves and the docks, the better.
“Halt ye, I say!” One of the crimson-cloaked fools armed with a large group of men waving torches and an assortment of weapons, flooded into the lane in front of them. Those with the torches shoved them at the team of horses to halt them. “We would see yer cargo, sir. Four witches are afoot and must be captured.”
“Witches?” Ian repeated in a gruff voice he used as part of his disguise. He wanted the bastards to think him a man of the sea working on the docks. “All we gots here be the Mackenzie’s wine for the White Lion.” He thought he’d spotted a Neal or two amongst the group, but didn’t want to lift his head to study them closer.
“Them four casks be big enough to hide four witches!” someone shouted from behind the wagon.
Ian looked around. More of the crazed fools had streamed in behind them. “Get away from me cargo!” he shouted, drawing both pistols. “The Mackenzie’ll have the lot of ye, but I’ll pick off a few of yer arses first!” He’d not go down without a damned good fight.
Both sword and dagger drawn, Tom rose beside him. “First one touches our cargo loses a hand.”
Sawny rose, hunched over as though permanently disfigured from hauling heavy loads. He wore his kilt up around his shoulders as though expecting foul weather. With an exaggerated limp, he gimped his way down the length of the wagon and thumped his fist atop the barrel holding Effemy’s remains. He drew his dragger and pointed it at the group. “Crazy bastards. Finest wine, this be, and bound for the Mackenzie’s own table.”
“Prove it to us!” shouted the witch hunter as he pushed his way through the mob to stand at the end of the wagon. “Give me a taste of the Mackenzie’s wine, and I shall allow ye to pass. Surely, a man as powerful as Chieftain Mackenzie would nay begrudge a holy man a sip of his wine.”
Ian pulled back the hammers on both pistols. He knew the fight would be futile, but he’d be damned straight to hell if he’d give up easily.
Before Ian could take aim and fire, Sawny kicked open the back gate of the wagon and labored the cask around until the bunghole faced the crowd. He pointed his dagger at the witch hunter and sneered, “Gimme yer hat, ye doubtin’ bastard.”
Ian held his breath. What the hell was Sawny’s plan? Had they actually submerged Effemy in the wine and resealed the top of the barrel? Impossible. It looked as tightly banded as all the rest. Only a cooper with all his tools and skills could manage such an act.
With a smug look, the hunter swept off his hat and handed it to Sawny. “Ye’ve nay got to fill it,” he snidely advised. “A wee sip’ll do.”
Sawny stuck his knife into the wooden plug stoppering the bunghole and worked it loose. Ruby liquid spewed forth into the hat. After he’d nearly filled it, Sawny stretched and slammed the hat back on the man’s head, dousing him. “Good enough for ye?” he sneered as he jammed the bung back in the hole to stop the flow of wine.
The soaked man glared at him as he swiped wine out of his eyes. “Aye. Good enough, I reckon.” He shook out the black book he held in one hand and waved it toward the docks. “Allow them to pass. Never let it be said that Thomas Nortonsby is nay a man of his word. Onward to the docks, my good people. Witches are still to be found!”
Sawny pulled up the gate, chained it in place, then nodded for Ian to go.
Ian spurred the team into motion at a rollicking gate.
“What did ye do with the lass’s body?” Ian asked once they were out of earshot.
Tom grinned and pointed downward. “Pried loose the extra board and put her in the space under the seat. We didna have the heart to shove her into a barrel.” He shrugged. “Seemed disrespectful and such, ye ken?”
“Yer cleverness saved our lives,” Ian said. “I’m grateful to the both of ye.”
Tom shrugged again as he held on tight to the swaying wagon. “’Twas Sawny’s idea. He’s a smarter than he looks.”
“I heard that,” Sawny shouted from the back of the wagon.
Ian laughed, genuinely thankful that fate had saddled him with the two.
Chapter Eighteen
The more she thought about moving to some unknown place across the sea, the worse she felt. Gretna rolled to her side and concentrated on slow, deep breathing, in through her nose and out her mouth. She’d heaved so much her sides ached.
Ian pressed the cool cloth across her forehead and back under her hair against her nape. “Ye’ve been like this for days, m’love. Is there not some herb or root I can fetch to help ye feel any better and get past this? I’m sure Mistress Mackenzie can recommend a place I could go.”
“The peppermint she sent over helps better than anything,” Gretna whispered. “The queasiness eases as the day goes on. ’Tis just the wicked sickness that sometimes comes with having a bairn.” She knew in her heart that’s what it was. But she was also convinced that all the chaos had worn her down and made the queasy spells worse. The terrible need to retch had never plagued her this badly with the other three.
The other three. Her sweet sons. How much longer must she wait to see them? “Any word from Tor Ruadh yet? It’s been well past a fortnight now. Closer to a month. Should we not have at least heard something from them? Did Graham not promise to fetch them quick as he could?” She hated the shrewish pitch to her tone, but she’d never waited for anything well. Patience was not among her virtues.
Ian gazed at her with the same infuriating smile he’d plagued her with ever since she’d started heaving through half the day. “All will be well, love. I promise.”
“I am not a child, and that is not a proper answer!” She pushed up to a sitting position and immediately regretted it when her stomach churned anew.
Ian held the basin close and kept her hair out of the way as she gagged and spit. She appreciated his gentle attentiveness, but if anything, it made her feel worse. He shouldn’t have to do such. But the stubborn man refused to let either Teasag or Beitris help, stating the bairn was his, and therefore, the sickness was his fault. Gretna fell back to the sweat-soaked pillow and propped an arm over her eyes. An old wives’ tale played through her mind. “Ye know this means our bairn will be born with lots of hair?”
“Mam told me once that both Alasdair and I had full heads of hair when we were born. Said we looked like wee Highland coos.” Ian took the basin to the other side of the room and fetched a clean one. “Seems like she said we both made her sicker than anything whilst still in her belly.” He laughed. “Or maybe it was after when we grew big enough to vex her to no end.”
“Speaking of vexing, ye didna answer me. Did ye send either Sawny or Tom to Tor Ruadh as ye’d promised?” She lifted her arm from across her eyes and glared at him. The six of them had lived at the former inn quite comfortably thanks to Mistress Mackenzie, but Gretna couldn’t rest easy until her sons joined her. Surely, Ian understood that.
“Nay. Not yet.” Ian slid an arm behind her head and lifted it, offering her a sip of water. “Inverness is just now settling down from the storm the witch hunters stirred. Tom found out today the crazed bastards finally left town yesterday. Apparently, they ran out of victims to torture in this area.”
That news brought Gretna some comfort and also made her doubt their need to do something as drastic as seek sanctuary on an island in the East Indies. But if they didn’t take shelter with Duncan MacCoinnich and his wife, where w
ould they go? Would Ian be safe after wounding Breadalbane and killing the Neal brothers? According to him, he’d not acted alone. Alexander, Sutherland, and Magnus were just as guilty. If those three felt safe enough about remaining in Scotland, why couldn’t she and Ian?
But she also had just as many doubts about returning to Tor Ruadh as she did about sailing halfway ’round the world. Her own kin had shown their true colors when they’d allowed her to be taken. She held her head, her conflicting emotions and confusion making it pound harder. “Ask Teasag to brew some willow bark tea, aye?” she whispered as Ian rested her back down to a fresh, dry pillow he’d stuffed behind her. She returned her arm across her eyes to block out the light, and with any luck, block out her thoughts as well.
Ian pecked a gentle kiss to her forearm. “I shall ask her now.”
She must’ve dozed for a while because the next thing she knew, the shadows were longer in the room, and the evening candles had been lit. With a sheepish shrug, Ian handed her a cup. “I’m sure it’s cold as a stone by now, but I didna have the heart to wake ye. Will it work just the same? Teasag left the bark steeping in it until just a short time ago.”
Gretna pushed herself up and leaned back against the headboard. The ache in her head was long gone, and she didn’t feel quite as cross. Apparently, she had just been feeling as quarrelsome as a tired bairn in need of a nap. Now, she felt nothing but guilty. “It’ll be just fine, I’m sure.” She accepted the cup with a smile and drank it even though she no longer needed it. It would do no harm. She patted the side of the bed, determined to make amends for her bad behavior. “Tell me what ye’ve done while I slept away the day.”
Ian scooped up her hand and kissed it as he settled down beside her. “Sawny and I confirmed the rumor Tom heard in the pub. The witch hunters are for certain gone. But it appears they didna give up and leave Inverness of their own accord. The Mackenzies ousted them before they caused the city any more damage.
“Good.” Gretna sipped at the cold herbal. “At least that worry is gone.”
“And I have a surprise for ye.” He leaned closer, impish devilry flashing in his eyes.
“What have ye done?” Gretna handed him the cup and shifted to sit on the side of the bed. Enough of this laziness. Even though the day was over half gone, she should still get up and be about a few chores. “Ye look like Rory when he’s caught an overlarge rat for their races.”
“Let’s get ye into something other than yer shift so ye can find out.” He held out his hand like a fine gentleman.
Interest stirred but still feeling a bit cranky, Gretna brushed his hand aside and hurried behind the fancy, triple-paneled screen hiding the chamber pot and washbasin from view. Apparently, the old inn had been quite the lavish place at one time to provide such unusual privacies. After taking care of necessities, she emerged from behind the screen with her stockings, skirt, and bodice already on, but it was too tight to pin the stomacher in place. She lifted an arm and turned to Ian. “Can ye loosen my side laces a bit? Yer bairn’s growing.”
“And that makes me more than a little glad,” Ian said as he rested his hand on her stomach and stole a kiss before tending to her laces.
His loving enthusiasm filled her with pleasure and stirred the wee one to move. She held his hand tighter against her stomach and watched him. That bit of tumbling was strong enough for him to feel.
Wonderment filled Ian’s face. He hurried to the sides of her rounded belly with both hands. “I feel him,” he said in an awestruck whisper. “He’s a braw, strong one he is!”
“Him?” Gretna laughed. “And how d’ye know it’s not a fine lassie?”
“Maybe it’s one of each,” he said as a simultaneous tap hit opposite sides of her stomach. “I felt two! Just then, I did, I swear it.”
“Bite yer tongue! ’Twas but a wee fist and a foot,” she scolded. “We dinna want twins. Ye’ve seen Catriona and Alexander’s suffering.”
He pulled her into a kiss, then held her close. “I will take whatever ye choose to give me, love, and I’m grateful for ye. I never dreamed to feel this much happiness ever again.”
“I feel it as well,” she whispered, but a faint sigh escaped her. “The only thing that would make my happiness complete is seeing my wee laddies again and knowing they’re safe.” She stepped back and turned away, a twinge of guilt shaming her. “Please dinna think I’m ungrateful or that I dinna love ye with all my heart. It’s just that my sons will help me feel more settled. There’s so much uncertainty here.” She hugged herself against a sudden chill. “Uncertainties are so verra hard for me to bear—especially right now.”
“I know, love.” He pulled her back into his arms and brushed the gentlest of kisses to each of her eyes and then across her mouth—the holy trinity of loving, he’d always called it. “Hopefully, much of the uncertainty will settle itself soon.” He took her hand. “Come. Time for yer surprise. Close yer eyes.”
“Close my eyes?” She hated closing her eyes for surprises, and he knew it. Of course, whenever he’d had her close her eyes before, it had always turned out well. “Must I really?”
“Aye.” He gave her a chiding look. “Ye must. Now close them.” He took hold of both her hands. “I willna let ye bump into anything. I promise.”
“Verra well.” She closed her eyes, toying with the idea of cheating a wee bit and opening them just a sliver.
“Ach now! No cheating.” Ian halted.
Damn him. She closed them firmly, so he’d get this ridiculous game over with.
He walked her forward over the threshold of the door. Gently steering her, he led her a short distance to the right, then squared her off by the shoulders and held her back. “We’re going down the stairs to the sitting room. Can ye manage them with yer eyes closed? I dinna wish ye to tumble.”
At least now she knew where she was headed. In fact, if she cheated now, she’d be able to see past the banister down into the room. Immediate guilt shot through her. Nay. She’d not cheat and steal his joy at surprising her. Eyes still tightly shut, she gave a nod. “I can manage them just fine.”
After a few more steps that should’ve placed her well into the room, he stopped her again. “Hold out yer hands.”
With an exasperated huff, she did as he asked.
A faint shuffling rustled in front of her, the sound of several petticoats on the move, then a pair of large calloused hands took hold of hers. “Ye can open yer eyes now, mistress,” said a familiar voice.
“Flora!” Gretna threw her arms around the lass and rocked from side to side with her. “It is so verra good to see ye!” she cried, then a terrible thought came to her. She pulled back, holding Flora by the shoulders as she took a closer look at her. “Ye’ve not suffered for being my apprentice, have ye? Has anyone threatened ye? Ye’ve not been hurt?”
“Nay, mistress,” Flora shook her head with a shy smile, then stole a glance behind her. “My sweet Hugh would never let anyone hurt me.”
Hugh MacElroy stepped up to Flora’s side. Even though the top of the man’s head barely hit her at the waist, Hugh MacElroy portrayed nothing less than dignified composure. “Good day to ye, Mistress Cameron,” he said with a polite nod. “We’re verra glad to see ye’ve survived that horrendous ordeal so well. Ye’ve been in our prayers night and day since we discovered they took ye.”
“Thank ye so much. If everyone in Ruadh possessed yer good hearts, such a terrible thing would never have happened,” Gretna said. She turned back to Ian and looped an arm through his. “Did ye ask them to come here?” she asked as she hugged him closer. While the sight of them delighted her, she couldn’t help but wonder why they hadn’t brought the boys, too? She didn’t wish to seem ungrateful or rude, but why had they made the trip to Inverness if they hadn’t brought her sons?
“The chieftain asked us to come,” Flora answered before Ian could open his mouth. “And the Lady Catriona.”
Ian gave Flora an encouraging nod as he patted Gretna’s hand
. “Flora can explain.”
“They asked both of us to come, and we were happy to do so,” Hugh said.
“Shall we all sit?” Ian asked as he led Gretna to a chair. “Teasag, Beitris, come join us, please.”
“We’ll fetch more refreshments, aye?” Teasag replied from the doorway. Beitris stood at her side, smiling as though she knew a secret.
Gretna noticed the tankards and plates dusted with crumbs on the tables next to the chairs. Apparently, Flora and Hugh had already had quite the visit with everyone except her. “Why did ye not wake me?” she asked, giving Ian’s arm a pinch as he led her to the sofa closest to the hearth.
“Ye needed yer rest.” He sat beside her, took hold of her hand, and held it tight. “No more pinching, ye wee vixen,” he said with an affectionate scolding.
Teasag and Beitris reappeared, each of them with a pitcher of ale. They made their way around the room, refilling everyone’s cup. Once they finished, they seated themselves and folded their hands in their laps. Both of them watched Gretna like dogs waiting for scraps to fall from the table.
“What is going on here?” She’d awakened from her overlong nap feeling better and suitably rested, but this quandary was about to put her back into an ill mood. “Each of ye look like ye’ve just stolen the royal jewels right out from under the queen’s nose.” She scooted to the edge of her seat, too anxious to relax into the pillows. “Now, tell me why Alexander and Catriona asked ye to come here?”
“Everyone wants ye to return to the glen, mistress,” Flora said. “The keep’s not the same without ye, and yer boys dinna wish to leave there either.” She gave Gretna a pointed look. “They’ve made friends and havena been in any fights in quite the while. Ye know how rare that is. They dinna wish to live on an island where they’d never see their friends again.”
“The keep isna my concern,” Gretna said, regretting with all her heart that they might have to uproot the boys now that they’d finally settled. “It’s the village.” She shifted on the sofa, staring down at the tankard between her hands. “And I dare say, they havena fought in a while because they havena been allowed outside the keep. The people of Ruadh, my own kin, showed me exactly what they think of me. They wished me dead. I shall never trust them again.
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