by Amy Jarecki
“And so will be a few hundred hungry Highlanders in about an hour.”
“That is a problem.” She feigned a sigh. “No use stirring the lads. I’ll fetch the eggs myself.”
Raymond frowned. “But what about your ankle?”
Goodness, Mary yearned to jump at any opportunity to spirit away—even for a short jaunt to fetch some eggs. “I’ll take the horse and cart. As you said, we must do something afore the guests start to rise.” Mary took a plaid from the hook by the door and draped it over her head and shoulders. “Unless we miscalculated, we should be fine for bread, sausages and haggis?”
“Right you are.”
“Good. If Mrs. Whyte’s hens have also decided to mutiny we’ll not starve.”
“Haste ye.”
Mary opened the door. “There you go, ordering me about.” Laughing, she didn’t wait for the cook’s reply.
An expert horsewoman, Mary had her horse hitched to the wagon faster than the stable hand could have done. Good thing, because she had no time to waste and the stable hand was still abed.
Slapping the reins, she drove the horse at a trot out the gates and up the hill. At this pace, she’d return before their guests had even stirred. Cresting the hill, the horse sidestepped.
“Oh no, there’s no time to head for the daisies for a snack.” Mary made loud kissing sounds, tugging the gelding back on path and snapping the crop for added encouragement. But the horse whinnied and veered further off course.
Moving to the edge of her wooden bench, she raised up high enough to peer above the crest of the hill.
Then she wished she hadn’t.
Followed by a band of redcoats, Lieutenant Balfour MacLeod ran toward her rig and latched on to the horse’s bridle. “Whoa, laddie,” he said before giving Mary a crooked grin. “What have we here? ’Tis a bit early for a morning ride, even for you, miss.”
At least a dozen men surrounded the wagon—all on foot. Odd.
“Leave me be.” Mary slapped the reins, but the lieutenant maintained his hold. “I’m off to fetch eggs from Mrs. Whyte. I’ve no time to waste. Release me and I’ll be on my way.”
“I think not.” The officer smirked and regarded his men. “We cannot risk letting you return to the castle to sound the alarm.”
“Pardon? What on earth are you talking about?” Mary didn’t wait for an answer. Jerking back her crop, she slapped the horse’s rear with all her might. “Haste ye!”
The horse reared. Throwing back her arm, Mary eyed her target as the lieutenant lost his grip. Before she could issue another slap, MacLeod launched himself into the wagon. His arm whipped around her midriff. Mary slammed him with her elbow and jerked aside, ready to jump. The lieutenant held fast.
“Help!” she screamed. “Hel—”
He clapped a hand over her mouth and tugged her off the wagon. Kicking her feet and slamming her elbows into his chest, she fought with every ounce of strength she had.
“Someone grab a rope afore the bitch pummels me half to death,” MacLeod growled with cold indifference. He’d always been an unpleasant sort, but never disrespectful toward Mary.
The lieutenant barely removed his hand from her mouth when a cloth gagged her.
“Tie it firm,” he commanded. “We want to spirit away afore the guests wake—and afore the sun’s light peeks above the horizon. Mark me, they outnumber us by sixteen to one—and I do not recommend sailing with a barrage of musket balls piercing the hull.”
Mary struggled while a dragoon tied her wrists behind her back, the hemp rope cutting into her wrists. They were stealing a galley? But Sir Donald had said they would sail this day—and Lieutenant MacLeod hadn’t challenged him.
The dastard sauntered straight up to her face with a smug grin on his lips.
Mary jerked her arms against her bindings. “You won’t get away with this,” she garbled through her gag.
“You’re wrong.” MacLeod dropped his gaze to her breasts, the blackguard. “I’m fully within my rights to seize anything I like. Including you, Miss Mary.” Bending down, the accursed officer hefted her over his shoulder and marched for the pier.
Mary bucked and squirmed, only to be met with Balfour’s palm planted flush against her backside. “Remove your hand from my person,” she seethed.
The cur had the audacity to laugh. “You’d best settle…ye wouldn’t want to be violated, now would you, lass?”
Her blood pulsed like ice beneath her skin. He wouldn’t dare!
***
Sleeping in the guest wing, Don awoke a bit bleary-eyed. Like anyone, he enjoyed fine whisky and rich ale, but there was nothing like a gathering of Highland clans to keep him up into the wee hours. When he’d finally found his bed, he’d toppled across the bedclothes and didn’t move until someone entered his chamber to light the fire.
This morrow his head throbbed like he’d been hit over the skull with a mallet. After cleaning up, he took a sip of whisky from the wee flagon he kept in his sporran. Though he rarely imbibed during the day, he hoped the tot might benumb the merciless throbbing.
Foolish idea. He now added dizziness to his list of maladies.
Fastening his belt and weapons, Don bucked up and made his way to the great hall where most of his men camped for the night—the hapless sore-headed souls. Thank God this was the last day of the games else they’d all perish from overindulgence.
“Sir,” a sentry bellowed, running toward Don with a slip of parchment in his fist. “Your galley has been seized.”
Blinking while the pain from the man’s ridiculously loud voice rattled in his head, Don grabbed the writ of seizure and read. Crumbling it in his palms, he growled. “Where in God’s name were the guards?”
“Don’t know, sir. My men and I started our rounds and found this first thing—thought we should bring it to you straight away.”
“Men, follow me,” Don said, racing for the postern gate. “I want words with the night guard afore they head to their pallets.”
The sentry kept pace. “Are you going after them, sir?”
“Bloody oath I will—and I’ll use John of Castleton’s boat while I’m at it. If the laird cannot protect his keep from poaching Government troops, then he can very well lend us his galley.” He flipped his wrist at the man. “Now fetch the night watch.”
William met him on the beach, his face blanched. “I should have slept on the ship myself.”
“Aye,” Don growled, his stomach churning at the sight of the empty mooring where his boat had been tied. “The lot of us should have camped in the hull with our muskets loaded.”
“I didn’t think the bastard would seize the ship—not after you told him we’d be on our way.”
“’Tis downright thievery.” The pounding in Don’s head threatened to burst his skull apart. “The milk-livered curs stole into the night like petty tinkers. Well, I’ll not stand for it.”
Sir Ewen Cameron strode to the beach, his men in his wake. “You cannot engage them in battle. All that we have built will be ruined.” Why the hell hadn’t the redcoats stolen Cameron or Stewart’s boat? They both had eighteen oars.
“Aye?” Don faced the elder chieftain. “I cannot stand by while a sniveling maggot thieves my galley out from under my nose. Christ, there are two hundred Highland warriors here. Had he approached us in daylight, he wouldn’t have taken a skiff without meeting his end.”
“I urge you to exercise caution.” Ewen raised his palms. “Think of the trade. We all need to feed our families come winter.”
“Aye,” William agreed. “And keep our men from being shipped to the American penal colony.”
Don balled his fists. “You think me dull-witted? I’ll retrieve my boat right out from under MacLeod’s nose, just as he did to me.”
Sir Ewen grasped Don’s shoulder and squeezed. “I say you go straight to Fort William. Ask Colonel Hill to intervene. He’s the only backstabber I trust.”
“We cannot chance doing anything to cause Governm
ent suspicion.” William nodded as well. “We’ll sail at once then?”
Don cast his gaze down the coast. They’d lost a great deal of time—and he had no intention of wasting another minute. “I do not—”
“Sir Donald!” The stable hand ran toward them with the cook in his wake. “I fear they’ve taken Miss Mary as well.”
Don’s guts dropped to his toes. Dear God, only that bonny, redheaded lass could manage to get herself captured at a time like this. Unless she’d up and fallen out of another tree. “Pardon? The bastards ferreted their way into the keep?”
“No,” said the cook, wheezing with exertion. “She went off to fetch some eggs from Mrs. Whyte but never returned.”
“The horse and cart came back without a driver.” The stable boy threw his thumb over his shoulder. “I galloped back to Mrs. Whyte’s place and Miss Mary didn’t even make it that far.”
Devil’s breath. Now he not only had to find his galley, but the blundering misfit of all Highland lasses had fallen victim to the redcoat’s skullduggery? “Blast it all to hell,” he cursed. Worse, her disappearance twisted his heartstrings far tighter than it should have. Damnation, the lass had found a way to confound him at every turn since his arrival.
William nudged Don’s elbow. “What now?”
If things couldn’t go from bad to worse. Now everyone looked to Don—the Baronet of Sleat. His title made him the commander of this gathering of Jacobites. It would be a hell of a lot easier to issue orders if Mary of Castleton weren’t involved, but now all eyes focused on him for a decision—and her life hung in the balance. To make matters unbearable, for some reason, he felt responsible to find her. “Sir Robert—your lands aren’t far from Fort William. Can you take my brother to lodge a formal complaint with Colonel Hill?”
“Aye,” agreed the Stewart Chieftain.
“But what about the shipment?” William asked.
“After you’ve met with the colonel, take a transport to Trotternish. I’ll meet you there.” Don turned to his men. “I need a crew to come with me and three volunteers to accompany William. I hate dividing our forces, but it must be done.”
“We’ll back you up, sir,” Sir Ewen gestured to the crowd that gathered. “We all will.”
“My thanks.” Don looked to the stable hand. “Where is this Balfour MacLeod stationed?”
“Around the Aird of Sleat at Teangue.”
Don threw his hands to his sides. “Are you mad? It would be faster to ride. Why in God’s name didn’t someone say something sooner? Saddle the horses and we’ll be off.”
“But—”
“What is it now?” He glared at the lad.
“We only have three ponies fit enough to take the saddle.”
Chapter Seven
Mary huddled in the rear of the galley with her mouth still gagged, her ankles and wrists bound. She refused to meet Balfour MacLeod’s leery-eyed stare. Every time he’d caught her gaze, he’d grinned like he was flirting. Of all the twisted, nonsensical villains, this man had to be the worst. Not that she’d met many horrid people, but her father had told her numerous tales of the wars and the vile men who took up arms and turned evil.
What a predicament. The filthy redcoats had stolen Sir Donald’s galley and kidnapped her. Thank God they hadn’t taken Lilas or Florence. At least Mary could hold her own—especially with a musket in her hands. She eyed the cache of weapons in the bow, far out of her reach. Her fingers itched to snatch one.
And by the saints, she would escape at her very first opportunity. Balfour MacLeod thought he could bully her? Well, he would rue the day he forced her to board this galley. Either that or she would die trying to flee.
From his position at the bow, he continued to stare at her. Blast him. She had no intention of playing his games. Keeping her gaze focused on the timbers of the hull, she feigned ignorance. But make no bones about it; Mary could sense his every move in the periphery of her vision.
When he climbed over the rowing benches and headed toward her, her every muscle tensed. If I had use of my hands I’d slap him and bear the consequences.
His feet stopped in front of her. Big, fat, ugly black boots. She hated the uniform. It reminded her of everything wrong with the Government. The King’s men continually attacked the Highlands with fire and sword. Their motive? To root out the Highland way of life. Didn’t they know the clans would rather die than live like Londoners? Why did the redcoats have to march north to Scotland and enforce their will? Why couldn’t her kin be allowed to live in peace among their clans as God intended?
The cur chuckled. “Miss Mary of Castleton, I daresay you look like a miserable rat.”
Spittle seethed through her teeth. If he would remove her gag, she’d tell him who the rat was.
Then the swine had the gall to sit beside her. His hip touched Mary’s hip, his arm pushed flush against hers. She tried to scoot away, but the hull and the bindings tying her legs to the bench would allow but a fraction of an inch.
“I suppose I’d be rather upset as well, given the circumstances.” He ignored her discomfort and feigned friendliness. “But you must believe me when I say I mean you no harm.”
Snapping her head around, Mary regarded the pompous braggart. The corners of his mouth seemed to always be turned up in a sneering grin, as if now that he’d attained the rank of lieutenant he thought he was lord of the land. Priggishness flickered in his grey eyes. Set too close together for his round face, his eyes were the most unpleasant part of his visage—aside from a nose that curved to the right as if it had been broken. Surely it had. If Mary had use of her fists, she just might attempt to break it again.
When he reached up his hands, she shied, fearing he would deliver a slap, but he untied her gag. “Apologies for the muzzle. We couldn’t risk being seen. The odds were too great that there would have been retaliation from the castle.”
“Too right.” Mary rubbed her jaw, clicking her tongue to moisten her arid mouth. “You never would have left Dunscaith Castle alive.”
“You see?” He patted her thigh—touched her as if he had the right to be so shamelessly familiar. “A man tries to enforce the law and the cavalier Highlanders want to open fire.” He tsked his tongue.
Mary squeezed her legs together and shoved her knees flush against the hull. “Pardon me? You stole the Baronet of Sleat’s galley.”
“Stole? Your father allowed there to be more than two eighteen-oar galleys in the bay—not to mention the plethora of smaller boats. The law clearly states that Highlanders who are suspected of aligning themselves with the Jacobite cause are threats to the crown, especially with a gathering of so many large vessels in one place.”
If only she could slap that smug grin off his face. “I cannot believe you support such farcical laws. Do you not see ’tis just another ploy to take the livelihoods away from Highlanders and reward the English?”
“And you are naïve,” he snapped. “But I would expect no less from a woman who has lived in an archaic castle on a remote peninsula all her life.”
“Truly?” Clenching her fists, Mary stole a glance at the muskets—any one of them would do. “So a sheltered lass cannot develop common sense?”
“I didn’t say that. But you cannot deny you’ve been shielded from the world—you’ve never been away from the Highlands. You have only been exposed to one side of the argument.”
What was the problem with that? Mary had seen and heard plenty of the Government’s rules. Almost their every action in Scotland demonstrated they had no care for the Highland way of life. “So you say your thievery is acting in line with your king—”
“Our king,” he corrected.
Mary huffed—she wasn’t about to bend to the lieutenant’s will. “Your king’s edicts.” She held up her bound wrists. “What about abduction? I did not willfully set sail with you, nor did I do anything to warrant this barbaric treatment of my person.”
“Finding you and your cart was a wee surprise but, I have to s
ay, a fortuitous one.” He threw his head back and laughed. The man had to be completely mad.
“To what on earth are you referring?” Mary squared her shoulders and raised her chin. This man wouldn’t belittle her. “I demand you return me to Dunscaith Castle immediately. You have taken me against my will and I will file charges with the magistrate if you do not take me home at once.”
“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” His gaze drifted to her lips, then lower. The lecherous blackguard. “What chance did I have with so many Highland chieftains mulling about—men like the baronet and Coll of Keppoch? And don’t think I was unaware of your father’s plans to make a match.”
Her jaw dropped. “You intended to kidnap me all along?”
“Not exactly.” He rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin. “But I see my good fortune as destiny. You fell right into my hands.”
“Pardon me?”
He gazed at her with far too much intensity in his beady eyes. “Do you not know? I have loved you since the very first moment when I set eyes on you but two years past.”
Mary snorted and laughed out loud. The first time they’d met, he’d come to tell them he was the new law on the peninsula. Lorded it over her father like he was a stuffed-shirt general.
Balfour’s face fell. The man actually looked crushed.
Mary felt absolutely no sympathy—not one thread. “You have a queer way of demonstrating your affections, lieutenant.”
“Possibly, but I would prefer it if you saw my side for a change.” He grasped her bound hands between his ice cold palms. “I know we would make a splendid match—me an officer and you the daughter of a laird. All of Skye would be astounded. Why, it would be a step toward harmony between the Government and the Highlanders.”
She jerked her hands free. This man had completely lost his mind. He stole Sir Donald’s galley. He supported policies meant to break Highland clan and kin. The worst thing? Mary could not hold her tongue. “You were in Glencoe. You were part of the massacre. You opened fire on innocent men, women and children.”
