by Amy Jarecki
He frowned, his face growing tempest grey. “I was ordered to do so.”
“Do you think for a moment that an order as heinous as the one given by Glenlyon was in any way acceptable?” She again threw her shoulders back. “What? When you joined the army did they ask you to leave your ability to reason in your powder flask?”
He groaned and looked away. “Och, Mary. There are things in this world you cannot understand. A soldier must act on orders when given. There is no questioning. There is no refusing, else it is an act of treason.”
“Even when committing murder against your own countrymen?”
He jerked up his palm while anger flashed through his grey eyes.
Mary flinched.
Clenching his fist, he lowered it to his side. “I see we have some differences. But I refuse to let that dissuade me. By the time we reach Invergarry, you will discover exactly what a suitable husband I will make.”
She swallowed. Hard. I sincerely doubt that. I’d rather die than marry this bombastic, sniveling blowfly. “Invergarry?” Now she knew the lieutenant had to be insane.
“My family lands. Once we deliver the ship to the fort at Glenelg, I’ll take you to meet my mother. She will adore you.”
***
Cresting the hill, the wooden fort at Teangue came in to view. Don had brought the toughest men in the Highlands with him—Coll of Keppoch and Kennan Cameron of Locheil. Both men were solid as a horse’s hindquarter. Kennan was especially talented with pistols and Coll, well, even Don wouldn’t want to meet him in a narrow close after dark.
“Dammit. Your boat’s not there,” Coll grumbled.
Kennan pulled his horse to a stop behind Don. “Bloody hell, I kent we should have taken a galley.”
“So now you’re all the wiser?” Don patted the neck of the old garron gelding beneath him. True, it was his decision to ride rather than sail, but he wasn’t yet convinced he’d erred. “Well, we’ve no recourse but to ride down and ask a few questions.”
Coll leaned forward, resting his arm on the saddle’s pommel. “You’re serious?”
Spreading his palms, Don looked from one Highlander to the other. “You have a better idea?”
The big man shook his head. So did Kennan.
He’d rather go in with muskets in hand and swords at the ready, but the odds were a bit steep. Besides, if he laid low and played by the Government’s rules, they just might be civil. The stakes were too high to throw caution to the wind. Prickles fired across Don’s skin. Riding into a camp of redcoats always bore a risk.
He again glanced between the two men. “Keep your hands where they can see them.”
“Aye,” said Kennan. “I’ll hold them in front of the pistol in me belt.”
Coll sniggered. “I reckon we can take out half the camp afore they ken what hit.”
“I’d like nothing more.” Don jabbed his finger in the overzealous chieftain’s shoulder. “But if we don’t try to parley, we may never discover what they’ve done with my boat.”
By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, a dozen dragoons stood in front of the gate, muskets raised to their shoulders.
“Such a welcome for the man who is lord of these lands,” Coll growled under his breath, gesturing to Don.
“Aye,” He had to agree. “The troops in Glasgow are far more subtle. Though I think I like this tack better. At least a man kens where he stands.”
They pulled their horses to a halt not twenty paces from the black-holed barrels pointing their way. Dropping his reins, Don raised his palms. “You aim to shoot us afore we’ve had our say?”
An officer in a grenadier hat lowered his weapon and scowled. “You’d best state your business quickly, else we’ll shoot you for suspicion of attack.”
“Why is that?” Indeed they all had their hands visible as he’d instructed. “We’ve come peacefully, our weapons sheathed.”
The officer stood his ground. “I ken who you are—the Baronet of Sleat.”
Don chuckled, exchanging glances with Coll. “I had no idea I instilled this much fear into the hearts of dragoons.” He gnashed his teeth together. Aye, he had a lot more to say, but such derogatory remarks wouldn’t help him find his galley. Smoothing the reins through his fingers, Don looked the grenadier in the eye. “My galley went missing afore dawn this morn.” He pulled the writ of seizure out from inside his doublet. “Lieutenant MacLeod took it—though he was fully aware I intended to sail for my lands in Trotternish this very day.”
The officer glanced at the note, but didn’t take it. “He thought you’d come begging. But you broke the law. Too many eighteen-oar galleys at one gathering. Now you’d best be on your way.”
A dragoon sniggered, his finger twitching on his musket’s trigger.
Don maintained a heated gaze on the soldier. God save him, he wanted to stuff that smirk down the blackguard’s throat, but he needed that goddamned boat too much. “I only ask you tell me where the lieutenant has taken my ship so I may negotiate its release from impound.”
“’Tis in his majesty’s service now,” said the soldier with the twitchy finger, all too joyfully.
Don paid the maggot no mind and glared at the grenadier. “If you please, sir. I have matters of business to attend. Business that will benefit all of Scotland.”
“Benefit the thieving Jacobites,” said twitchy.
“Silence,” the officer sniped, then looked to Don. “Clearly, the lieutenant is not here.”
“He didn’t tell you where he was taking the baronet’s galley?” Kennan asked.
“It is not my place to question my superior officer.” That had to be the most cunning ruse the man could have used.
Don tightened his fist around his reins. “I’ve a crew heading to Fort William to lodge a formal complaint, but it would be far easier for all if I could settle this quarrel outside the courts.”
The grenadier again lifted his musket to his shoulder. “Of course he didn’t say, but I reckon Mr. MacLeod took that into account when he drew up the writ of seizure. Now off with you afore you force me to command my men to fire.”
Bloody, filthy imbeciles. All of Britain had gone to hell when the backstabbers rebelled against King James.
Don motioned to his men. “It seems ignorance is rife among these dragoons. Come.” Riding away, he refused to look back. Let the bastards stare at their horses’ arses. No one in the Highlands would dare shoot a man in the back—unless they were in Glencoe.
Once out of earshot, Coll removed his bonnet and scratched his full head of auburn hair. “Now what?”
“I cannot think, I’m so bloody hungry,” Don grumbled under his breath—not to mention his head still throbbed like the pounding from a smithy’s shack. “We head for the alehouse for our nooning. If we cannot dig up a bit of gossip there, we’ve naught but to return to Castleton for reinforcements.”
***
The three Highlanders sat at a table toward the rear of the alehouse. Coll hadn’t touched his tankard since the barmaid set it in front of him—quite out of character for a man who earned the bulk of his living from distilling Speyside whisky. “Devil’s fire, you’re lord of these lands. Since when does that mean nothing?”
“Too right,” Kennan held up a wooden spoon. “Each one of us is the overseer of our lands and the bastards see fit to push us out at every turn.”
“The times are changing, for certain.” Don took a healthy swig of his ale. “But that doesn’t mean we lay down and let them kick us like dogs.”
Kennan shoved his spoon into his lamb pottage. “I’ll never stand for a redcoat coming to Achnacarry and telling me how to manage my clan.”
Though the ale did nothing to help his sore head, Don took another drink, then picked up his spoon and dug it into his bowl. “Mayhap we should hold all the gatherings in Achnacarry.”
“You’re bloody mad.” Coll finally picked up his tankard. “Achnacarry is a stone’s throw away from Fort William.”
; “Aye, but at least Colonel Hill understands us,” Kennan said with a full mouth.
“Does he?” asked Coll. “Wasn’t his signature on the order commanding Glenlyon to put innocent men, women and children to fire and sword? And even if he acted under duress, the man is older than Ben Nevis. What will happen when he’s gone?” The big Highlander downed his ale with one long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Mark me, never trust anyone who dons a red coat. If he’s not a backstabber already, he’ll become one in very short order.”
Don couldn’t disagree, but sitting in an alehouse talking about the injustices spewing from the man who currently sat on the throne did nothing to help him find his damned ship—or Mary of Castleton. “Do either of you have any idea where MacLeod may have sailed my galley after he left Castleton? And why the blazes did he take Miss Mary with him?”
“That’s where he’s crossed the line, for certain,” said Kennan. “The law may allow him to seize your galley, but we can bring him up on charges for nabbing the lass.”
“I hope he has the sense to keep his hands off her,” Coll said.
Those words made a shudder creep up Don’s spine. Of course he knew how much peril Mary was in, but he’d refused to think about it. His palm slipped down and encircled the pommel of his dirk. “If that bastard so much as lays a finger on her I’ll—”
“Excuse me, sir,” an elderly voice cackled behind him.
Don turned. A bent old man grinned, revealing a single tooth and long, stringy hair hanging in his face. “What is it, man?”
“Ye are the Baronet of Sleat are ye not?” The man pinched a piece of the Don’s lace cuff, his fingers filthy, not to mention he smelled like a privy. “Dressed in such finery, I assumed as much.”
“What business do you have with the Chief of all MacDonalds?” asked Coll, giving the man a menacing glare.
The beggar shirked away. “I-I…ah…only what I overheard the lieutenant say.”
Don narrowed his gaze. “MacLeod?”
“Aye.” The man regarded Don’s doublet like a starved deerhound. “I reckon what I have to say would be worth a crown.”
Coll raised his palm. “You miserable tinker, I ought to—”
Don caught his friend’s wrist before he struck the old fella. He might be a bit unsavory, but the man looked brittle enough to shatter. “I’ll need to hear what you have to say afore you see any coin from me.”
Licking his lips, the codger nodded. “I reckon that’s fair…Ye see, I might clean the chamber pots, but it sees me inside the fort—and in places most common folk cannot go.”
By the pall, Don had no cause to doubt the man’s occupation. “When was this?”
“Yesterday.” The man swiped a dirty hand across his mouth. “The lieutenant was meeting with the corporal in his chamber—a secret meeting it was.”
“Go on.”
“He said he was going to strike a blow to the pompous Baronet of Sleat and his Jacobite renegades.”
The baronet shook his head. “Did he say where he was taking my boat?”
“Nay. He mentioned nothing about a boat, but told the corporal to meet him in Glenelg across the sound.”
“Rumor is they’re planning to build a fort there,” said Kennan.
Don nodded. “And Mary of Castleton. Did you overhear anything about Sir John’s daughter?”
The man gasped. “Ye mean the redcoat bastards have Miss Mary?”
“Afraid so.” Don should have known the lass would be popular with the locals.
“Bloody, fobbing, fly-bitten wagtails. Why didn’t ye say they had Miss Mary? She’s the kindest lass in all of Skye. Kept me from freezing winter last.”
“And we had to ride ponies rather than take a boat,” grumbled Coll.
Don ground his molars. The MacDonell Chief was right, of course. Had they sailed to Teangue, it would have taken a bit longer to navigate around the peninsula, but they’d be less than an hour from Glenelg. “Do you ken anyone who can ferry us across the sound?”
“I can take ye, but it’ll cost a bob apiece.”
Kennan looked the man from head to toe. “You have a seafaring vessel? What is it, a raft bound together with hemp?”
“Nay, my brother-in-law ferries people across all the time—even ferries the lieutenant.”
Don looked to Coll. “It looks as if we’re in luck.”
“With the luck this day has brought?” The big man shook his head. “I’ll give it no more than a thumbs up for improvement.”
“Aye,” Kennan agreed. “We haven’t seen the sea vessel as of yet.”
Chapter Eight
After Balfour finally left her side, Mary toiled, twisting her wrists, wrenching them back and forth against the coarse ropes. The more she tugged, the more the hemp cut through her skin, but she was too close to stop. With every agonizing twist, the bindings loosened slightly. Her lips trembled as she kept her countenance neutral, forcing herself not to grit her teeth, all the while blinking back tears of pain.
When the galley ran aground, Mary’s heart surged with palpitations as her bindings dropped to the timbers. She watched the men while they secured the boat, resisting the urge to rub her burning wrists. If she bent down to untie her ankles, Balfour would catch her for certain.
By the time all of the crew members had climbed over the side, the lieutenant, once again, clambered over the benches and stood in front of her. “I have arranged an escort to Invergarry. The horses are waiting.”
Mary met his gaze with the most heated glare she could muster. If she could shoot daggers through her eyes she wouldn’t hesitate. “What makes you think I’ll ride?”
“You will.”
He kneeled and began untying her foot bindings.
Behind her back, Mary made a fist, patiently waiting until the ropes eased from her ankles. “Lieutenant,” she said with more control than she felt.
He looked up with a grin. “Aye?” Holy Moses, she hated his smug, pinched features.
This was her chance.
Taking in a sharp inhale, Mary clenched her fist. With all her might she slammed a jab across his jaw. Following through with her shoulder, she grabbed his pistol and yanked it free.
Balfour stumbled back, his hand flying to his face, his eyes stunned.
Springing from the bench, she raced for the ladder.
Dear God, help me break free of this nightmare.
“Damn it, Mary.” The timbers clomped behind her.
She cocked the musket and pointed it at the cur. “Stay away.”
He stopped and spread his hands to his sides. “You ken as well as I ’tis not charged.”
Blast it all. She should have gone for his sword. “Aye?” Mary held her hand steady. “I can still strike you with it.”
Stepping toward her he reached forward. “Come. Give it to me.”
She shoved the weapon into her belt. She’d find a powder flask soon and a pebble would do if she hadn’t a musket ball. Raising her chin, she silently dared him to come after it.
A villainous grin spread across his lips, his eyebrows angling down. “I’d like nothing more than to fetch the pistol myself.”
She grabbed the rail and stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t I?” With his next step he lunged.
Shrieking, Mary leapt over the side. Feet smashing onto the stony beach, hot shards of pain shot through her knees.
No time to stop.
She forced her legs to pump beneath her. This might be her only chance to dash for freedom.
A blur of redcoats hastened from the left. Mary bolted to the right. Footsteps crunched the stones behind. Two saddled horses stood ahead with mounted soldiers behind them. Forcing her legs to run faster, she sprinted straight toward the nearest horse.
Stretching as far as she could, she reached for the reins.
A deep bellow roared, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.
Two more steps and she’d have hold of the leathers.
Burly arms wrapped around her.
Mary reached.
The reins slipped through her fingers as her body sailed downward.
Smacking the stones with her chin, her teeth bit so hard, sharp knifing pain shot through her face. The air whooshed from her lungs as Balfour’s body slammed atop hers.
Vexed, Mary thrashed beneath him and sucked in life-giving air.
“Damnation,” he cursed, wrenching her arm up behind her back. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Crying out, stars darted through her vision as he twisted her wrist up her back. She tried to roll away from the force, but the more she fought the more the blackguard punished her.
“Stop fighting me, you feisty wench,” he growled through clenched teeth.
If he pulled any harder, he’d break her arm. Panting, Mary stiffened. “I will not marry you and you cannot make me.”
“Och, lass,” his voice suddenly became buttery as he forced her arm down beneath his body while trapping her other hand. “In time you’ll learn to like me—mayhap you’ll even find love. Just give me a chance.”
She bucked against him. “You’re mad.”
“Angry, yes.” Sliding off her, he lashed a length of rope around one wrist. “Insane? I’d say not.” Pushing her to her back, this time, he tied her wrists in front, but bound them so tight, her fingers throbbed.
Balfour may think himself sane, but on one thing Mary was certain. The lieutenant had lost all capacity for rational thought.
He examined her wrists and with a tsk of his tongue, he examined the raw skin peeking above her ropes. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had trusted me.”
“Truly? Trust a pig who abducts me from my home and then plans to force me into wedded misery?”
He drew back his hand, threatening to strike. But then he chuckled and let it drop to his side. “I figured you’d be hard to break. The best horses take the most time to train, but once they take to the bit, there’s none better. Och aye, we shall be the most envied couple in the Highlands, mark me.”
He speaks as if he’s expecting to receive title and lands for his ill deeds. My father won’t give him a penny of my dowry. How many times had he threatened to strike her? It was but a matter of time before he lost control and issued a slap or worse. Mary glared at him, lips pursed. Balfour MacLeod might have her in his clutches now, but there would come a time when he’d slip, and when that happed, she would be ready.
