The Valiant Highlander (Highland Defender #2)

by Amy Jarecki

  The water sparkled like Mary’s insides. “Aye, and thank heavens it isn’t raining.”

  “My word,” said Barbara unabashedly batting her eyelashes at Sir Coll. “It simply wouldn’t do to rain on the eve of such a momentous occasion.”

  “Did you place a special order for fine weather on Sunday?” Sir Coll looked as rapt as the woman sitting beside him.

  Barbara leaned a bit closer to him. “I most certainly did.”

  William shook his head. “Ah, my sister, Saint Barbara, summoner of sunshine and royal balls.”

  The lass shook her fan at her brother. “And you’d best thank me.”

  Mary chuckled, letting her shoulder ease into Donald’s. Who cared about the ball? The coach ride was fun on its own and she hadn’t been across the River Clyde yet.

  But all too soon, the coach rolled to a stop outside a glorious stone manse. Though not fortified as an archaic castle, the manse seemed to sprawl forever. Mary counted four stories, innumerous leaded glass windows and two sandstone sculptures of lions at the foot of the stairs leading to the ornate front door.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Barbara said as if she thought she needed to.

  “Why would I worry?” Mary took Donald’s hand and allowed him to help her from the coach. Though they both wore gloves, his touch infused her with confidence. “I am the daughter of a Highland chieftain.”

  “Aye, lassie, and never forget it.” Sir Donald whispered in her ear in a deep rolling burr that took all her self-assured pomp and sent it swarming like butterflies in her stomach.

  Everywhere she looked, people dressed in finery processed up the stairs to the great home. With her hand resting on Sir Donald’s elbow, all she could do was move with the crowd. Ahead, a deep voice announced the guests as they entered. The Duke and Duchess of Hamilton and the Earl of Mar were titles she didn’t miss.

  Sir Donald handed his card to the attendant and soon they stood at the head of the reception line. “The Baronet of Sleat, his sister Miss Barbara, his brother Mr. MacDonald, Miss Mary of Castleton, Laird Coll MacDonell of Keppoch, and Sir Kennan Cameron of Locheil.” Goodness, it sounded like a litany of Highlanders.

  Dressed in a satin coat of gold and breeches with a chestnut periwig even more outrageous than Donald’s with a cavernous part through the middle, the Duke of Gordon bowed and took Mary’s hand. “Ever so charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Mary. I kent your father in the wars…” His gaze met Sir Donald’s as if he wanted to say more, but opted to remain silent. His two children, Anna and Alexander were introduced, but there was no woman beside His Grace.

  Odd for a man who has a reputation of being a libertine.

  Proceeding into the enormous hall, Mary realized the reason for the duke’s brevity of conversation. Through the growing crowd, a group of a dozen or so red-coated officers stood beside the marble hearth, watching the guests arrive with feigned indifference. Though she knew better. Redcoats suspected all Highlanders of being Jacobites.

  Mary froze. A gasp catching in the back of her throat, her fingers dug into Sir Donald’s arms. Is it? It couldn’t be.

  As they moved toward the great hall, her line of sight was blocked. Rising to her toes, she strained for a better look, her heart hammering against her stomacher. Good heavens, her head swooned. Curses, I wish Hattie wouldn’t gird my stays so tight.

  “Is all well?” Sir Donald asked.

  “No.” Mary shook her finger in the direction of the group of officers. “I thought I saw Balfour MacLeod.”

  “That lout?” Sir Donald stretched and looked above the crowd. “Why on earth would he be in Glasgow?”

  “My exact thoughts.” She clutched his arm. “Do you see him?”

  “Nay. Are you certain it was he?”

  “No—only saw the man’s profile. Perhaps it was someone else.” Dear Lord, she prayed it was so.

  Sir Donald patted her hand. “I’m sure after your ordeal, anyone wearing a Government uniform would make you nervous. I’m certain the lieutenant is far from here. Pay it not another thought.”

  Mary nodded, looking to the musicians who were playing a madrigal. If only it were that easy.

  Sir Kennan touched Mary’s arm. “Will you reserve the first dance with me?”

  “Ah…” She looked to Sir Donald who indicated his approval with a nod—blast him. He’d given her no recourse but to accept. She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  “Excellent.”

  Sir Donald inclined his lips to Mary’s ear. “All I ask is that you save the last set for me.”

  Moving with balletic precision, she placed her fan over her heart—but only for a blink of an eye and only so Sir Donald could see.

  Little good that did. The corner of his mouth ticking up, he bowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a bit of business to tend.”

  Sir Kennan offered his elbow. “Shall we?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Never looking at her straight on, Balfour watched Mary out of the corner of his eye, the harlot. It shouldn’t surprise him to see her hanging on the arm of that snake, the Baronet of Sleat, or his crony, the young Cameron of Locheil. She’d been raised to believe Jacobites were gods. Even the host of this shameful gathering was a Jacobite parading around like a patriot. That the king hadn’t rounded them all up and sent them to the gallows was beyond Balfour’s understanding.

  He smirked.

  A mass execution on a much wider scale than Glencoe would certainly make room for loyal soldiers to become noblemen.

  They could string up Colonel Hill while they were at it, too. The old man had kept Balfour in the stocks for an entire fortnight. The outrage! Balfour was one of the king’s officers for Christ’s sake. A loyal, servant of William and Mary, and he’d been maliciously thrown in the stocks for upholding the law.

  Of course, taking Miss Mary away from those lawless Jacobites had not been received well by the colonel, but he, of all men, should realize that to tame the Highlands, drastic measures were necessary. Balfour had been willing—was still willing to tame Mary of Castleton. He would bend her to the new way of thinking and breed upstanding servants of the crown with her. Indeed, she would soon learn the error of the Highland ways. Chieftains were no longer the lords and masters of their lands. Chieftains could not send their armies to prey upon other clans no matter how long they had been feuding. Why didn’t she understand that his way was the way of things to come? Times were changing and if Miss Mary did not embrace the new age, she would become extinct along with her people.

  Thank God Colonel Hill had granted him leave once he’d been released—told him to go home and regain his strength with some of his mother’s cooking afore taking up his new post in miserable Fort William. Balfour chuckled under his breath. A fortnight was a long time to think for a man as enterprising as he. And he’d guessed right. The damned baronet had taken Miss Mary to Glasgow to keep her safe.

  What the colonel didn’t realize was Miss Mary would never be safe until she was, again, reunited with Balfour. Only he could save her.

  And men might have to die.

  His stomach churned as the dance began with Kennan Cameron slobbering all over himself. Worse, Miss Mary didn’t even look like herself. Her pink gown was so low cut, every man in the hall could see her milky white breasts rise and fall with her every breath.

  Balfour rubbed his fingers together. Her skin was white as lilies—looked as soft as velvet. But only meant for his eyes and his alone. How dare the baronet allow her to be seen in society wearing something so disgraceful? There was no question. He must haste to ferret her away from MacDonald’s clutches.

  When she’d entered the hall and had been announced, Balfour exercised undue self-control and restrained himself from removing his coat and draping it over her shameful attire. I’ll wager MacDonald drooled all over that damned gown during the carriage ride. Dear God, if he has sullied her, I’ll kill the bastard.

  Mary laughed while she locked elbows and s
kipped in a circle with the man opposite. And that bastard took a good eyeful of her breasts as well. Damn her. Balfour could watch no more.

  He turned and headed to the door. The Baronet of Sleat thinks he’s going to aid the Highlanders by opening trade with the Americas?

  Aye, it hadn’t taken the lieutenant long to figure out why Donald MacDonald was playing the gentleman in Glasgow. The pirate was a well-known Jacobite—Donald of the Wars would never be a true patriot—would always be someone operating beneath the letter of the law. Well, the bastard couldn’t charm everyone he met into believing he was merely a merchant trying to earn an honest living.

  The snake.

  I’ll ruin him.

  ***

  After sealing his agreement with a handshake and a tot of whisky, Don left Mr. Smith to his pipe and headed for the great hall. The baronet may have been pushed to the brink of his tolerance, but William had pulled through, God bless him. On the morrow, MacDonald packing salt would be used to preserve the goods stored on three ships bound for the Americas. Salt mined by the hands of his clan on Trotternish. Salt that would ensure the comfort of Don’s family for generations to come. At last, he’d gained a foothold that secured his place as a British merchant of substance.

  Stepping into the great hall, happy violins further lifted his spirits. It didn’t surprise him to find Mary dancing. Don chuckled to himself, now free to enjoy the evening as he wished. Dear God, the woman had nearly made him weak at the knees when she’d appeared in the parlor earlier that eve.

  And now, she brightened the entire great hall like a rainbow glittering with the sun’s rays. A smile stretched across her face as she gracefully placed her gloved palm against her partner’s for the turn. Her movements were smooth and balletic as they should be. Funny, at Dunscaith Castle, Don never would have mistaken the trews-wearing sharpshooter for a swan. But somehow, the cygnet had transformed before his eyes.

  When his gaze shifted to Mary’s partner, Don’s gut twisted. Sir Kennan left his fingers on the woman’s waist a bit too long—and then his gaze lingered on her breasts.

  The liberty-taking nitwit.

  It didn’t escape Don’s observation that Sir Kennan had been overt about his attraction to Mary. What man wouldn’t find the lass captivating? At first, Don had dismissed Kennan’s adolescent ogling, but now he recognized the wolfish glint in the young man’s eyes and it made him green with envy. Don clenched his fists, then splayed his fingers. The whelp might need a lesson afore he sailed home to his ma.

  Have they been dancing together all evening?

  It didn’t matter that Sir Kennan was the heir to a chieftainship, he was too bloody young for Miss Mary. A match between the pair would never work.

  Absolutely not. I cannot abide it.

  The spirited lady would prove too much for the young whelp. Don glanced around the hall. There were plenty of young lassies waiting for a turn on the dance floor. At nineteen, young Cameron should be testing the waters, not spending the entire affair with Mary of Castleton.

  God’s teeth, why can he not keep his gaze on Miss Mary’s face where it belongs? If that rabid dog looks at her breasts one more time, I’ll gouge his bloody eyes out with my knuckles.

  “Is all well, Sir Donald?” The Duke of Gordon tapped his shoulder.

  Demonstrating a firm grasp of his composure, Don dragged his gaze away from Mary and made an exaggerated bow—one reserved for dukes and above. “Your Grace, I am simply anxious for this dance to end so that I might seize the opportunity to enjoy a turn myself.”

  The duke gave Don a sideways glance—a shrewd look, indeed. “Ah yes, I’ve been watching John of Castleton’s daughter as well. Quite a delicate morsel she is, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  Och, I bloody well mind you saying anything of the like about Miss Mary and you’ll wish you’d never seen the lass if you so much as place your pinky finger on her.

  With a deep inhale through his nostrils, Don smiled politely. “Miss Mary has been under the tutelage of my sister, Barbara. I daresay she has been an excellent student.”

  The duke’s eyebrows arched. “Ah yes, I do believe you accompanied the two most fetching women to the ball this eve. You are a lucky man, indeed.”

  With such unfettered declaration of admiration, I hope the damned duke will be returning to Aberdeenshire soon. Very soon.

  “And you?” Don asked with utmost decorum. “How are you faring without your duchess?”

  Reaching for a glass of sherry from a passing servant, the duke subtly arched a single eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard? Lady Elizabeth has left for a convent in Flanders and petitioned for a divorce of all things. I have sworn off women for the rest of my life.”

  The man made no sense at all. “Pardon?”

  The duke clapped Don on the shoulder. “Let us just say you have nothing to fear from me. My philandering days are over.”

  Don stood dumbfounded as he watched Gordon’s retreating form as he disappeared in the crowd. The most notorious rake in all of Scotland had sworn off women? Oh, how he’d like to hear that story.

  The final chord of the allemande echoed between the walls. Spinning, Don focused on the applauding nymph across the floor. But the young man standing beside her with his hand around her waist made the hackles on Don’s neck stand on end. In three strides, he pushed between the pair and glared directly at the young Cameron pup. “Be mindful of where you are placing your hands, sir.”

  The lad’s face turned scarlet. “I—”

  “I ken exactly what you were doing. Do not forget you are far too young to be courting Miss Mary. Now run along and cast your gaze on younger fare.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mary shook her blasted fan under Don’s nose. God’s bones, he wished the damned flappers had never been invented. “At least Sir Kennan is here to enjoy himself rather than to make business alliances.”

  Don’s gaze shifted to the lass. “Mind you, those business dealings are to benefit the cause—your family, the Camerons, as well as a host of other clans will profit from my work here this night.”

  A strathspey began and Mary spun into place with her fists on her hips. Damnation, she glared at him. At him! As if he’d done something wrong. Was she now smitten by the Cameron whelp?

  The music demanded they moved together. Mary filled her chest with air, breasts heaving above her bodice, a defiant pout on her lips. Her beauty was as maddening as it was mind boggling. “I imagine your business dealings will profit the House of Sleat more than anything.”

  “Why should they not? I’ve done most of the work.”

  “I kent it.”

  “Pardon me?” The confounded lassie spun away. Pursing his lips, Don had no recourse but to dance with the next lady in line. Damnation, Mary could be cryptic. When finally their elbows looped together, he inclined his lips toward her ear. “What is this about? Surely you do not disapprove of my business dealings.”

  “Aye? So now your shipment has been arranged, you’ll send me back to Castleton?” Though it was time to spin away, she stopped—right there in the middle of the dance floor. “And tonight your sister helped me dress in all this finery—hardly noticed by you—and now that the night is nearly at its end, you accuse poor Sir Kennan of being inappropriately familiar in front of all of these guests, embarrassing him to his toes, and you think I will bow down and parade around the dance floor with a smile on my face, pretending all is well?”

  Don blinked.

  Mary caught up with the other dancers and resumed her steps.

  Good God, everyone in the room was staring at him as if he’d spilled port wine down his costume. With a low growl, it took but a moment to resume his place in the gentlemen’s line. And when they again moved together, he spoke first. “This is your first ball.”

  “Oh?” Her blue eyes grew round, accusing. “Is that why you left me as soon as we entered the hall?”

  “I said I had business dealings. Things that could not wait.” How on earth
could he make her understand? The lass dons a ball gown and suddenly behaves like a snotty princess? “Why are you being so vexing?”

  “Me?”

  The music stopped. Thank God.

  She turned her back and fled toward the patio.

  Oh no, she wasn’t about to avoid him. Pushing through the crowd, he reached for Mary’s hand.

  “To the pier!” a loud voice boomed. “The entire waterfront is afire!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The whisky Don had shared with Mr. Smith roiled in his gut and burned the base of his throat while a cold sweat broke out across his skin.

  Fire?

  “Heaven’s no.” Miss Mary grasped his arm. “What can I do to help?”

  “Ah…” Craning his neck, his men and sister approached as the hall turned into a mass of pandemonium with people running everywhere. “Stay out of trouble,” Don growled in her ear as his men approached.

  “Coll, Kennan—see the women home. William, come with me.”

  With no alternative but to make haste, he left Mary and Barbara in his wake as he dashed outside. Just as he feared, with coaches vying for position, the tumult inside was nothing compared to the mishmash of horses and drivers and men yelling, practically causing a riot.

  William pointed in the direction of the Clyde. “Look. You can see the flames against the sky.”

  He gulped against his horror. A deathly orange glow radiated above the trees. “There’s no time to waste.” Don beckoned with his hand as he started to run. “We’ll travel faster on foot.”

  Why the devil he must be clad in his finery at this very moment added insult to the irony. If anything happened to his galley or his cargo, he might as well dive into the Clyde and let the current wash him out to sea—At least he was dressed for his funeral.

  “Dear God,” William cursed as they rounded the corner to the Glasgow Bridge. “The entire waterfront is ablaze.”

  Bright licks of fire and smoke leapt across the scene. His warehouse was ablaze, but so were the boats moored along the shore. If he lost his ship, he’d be ruined.