The Valiant Highlander (Highland Defender #2)

by Amy Jarecki

  With an exasperated cough, Barbara blinked consecutively. “Pardon me, but who in this household can honestly say they slept well last eve, what with all the excitement.”

  Don regarded her costume. She was fully dressed and wore an arisaid, of all things, over her gown. “Why are you dressed like a Highland lass?”

  She smoothed her fingers over the MacDonald brooch at her neck. “I want to go to Castleton with Miss Mary.”

  “Impossible. We are sailing as soon as I’ve lodged a complaint with the magistrate, which will not take long, I assure you.”

  Barbara stamped her foot. “You cannot leave me here when there’s a madman about.”

  Don raised his chin for Mr. Kerr to tie his cravat. “Mark me, he will be behind bars by the day’s end.”

  “Are you certain? What if he is released before your return and comes to burn the house down with me in it?” She clenched her fists beneath her chin. “Worse, what if he tries to take me?”

  “She has a point,” said Mr. Kerr.

  And she also has a propensity for exaggeration. Don crossed his arms and gave his sister a stern glare. Honestly, he would have to return to Dunscaith Castle in short order, lest Mary become distraught. “Quickly. Pack your things and if you are not at the pier precisely at ten, we’ll sail without you.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Barbara swept in and gave him a peck on his cheek. “I’ve only a few things left to pack. I’ve been at it since William visited my chamber last eve.”

  Don rolled his eyes to Mr. Kerr. “You’d best ensure she doesn’t try to sink my boat, trying to bring along her entire wardrobe. One portmanteau—two at most.”

  “No chest?” she asked.

  “Absolutely not.” Don sliced his hand through the air. “You’d best ask Hattie to help you. I mean it. If you’re not on the galley, we will set sail.”

  “Brothers,” Barbara huffed, spinning on her heel. She opened the door and stopped short.

  “Up here,” a deep voice blared from the main staircase.

  Don shot Mr. Kerr a questioning glance. “What on earth?”

  “Here he is,” bellowed a red-coated dragoon standing in the doorway and blocking Barbara’s escape. She moved aside.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Don demanded.

  A lieutenant strode forward, musket in hand, a saber swinging from his hip. “Seize him!”

  Don spun on his heel and dashed for the servant’s door. A loud boom rattled his ears. A musket ball hit the door. He stretched for the latch. A flintlock clicked.

  “If you try to run, I’ll put a hole through your back,” growled a menacing voice.

  The odds were not good. Don turned as two soldiers grabbed his arms and pulled him to face the officer. Clenching his teeth, Don struggled to free himself, but the two miserable dragoons forced his arms behind his back, slapping manacles around his wrists.

  “What are the charges?” he demanded.

  “Attempted murder of one of the king’s officers.”

  “Lieutenant MacLeod?” he asked, praying he hadn’t been duped.

  “The very same.”

  Don’s empty stomach nearly heaved. That maniac had filed charges against him?

  Dear God, the man will stop at nothing to ruin me and lay claim to Mary. “Are you out of your mind? The bastard broke into my house and assaulted my guest.”

  “Is that so? And from a man sporting two black eyes?” The lieutenant holstered his pistol, with an unconvinced frown. “You can plea your case to the magistrate. Word is you blamed the arson on him and then tried to kill him. And that doesn’t bode well considering the Crown’s suspicion that you are a Jacobite.”

  “These allegations are false.” Don stumbled as a soldier pushed him in the back. “I have multiple witnesses in this household who can testify in my defense.”

  “Save your wind.” The lieutenant motioned to the dragoons. “Take him to the Tolbooth.”

  “Donald!” Mary yelled as they wrestled him to the stairs.

  He caught a glimpse of her red hair flickering from the stairs above. “Go with William. Set sail as planned. This is but a sham and I will have my name cleared by the end of this day, so help me God.”

  ***

  Staring out the window of the drawing room, Mary clasped her hands to her chest, trying to steady the erratic beat of her heart. Her entire life crumbled before her eyes—and just when she’d thought her luck had taken an enormous upswing. After an endless night turned from horror to rapture, the love of her life had been imprisoned in the Tolbooth and his galley and crew had sailed for Skye with Sir Coll and Sir Kennan at the helm.

  William immediately took up the reins in his brother’s absence, but he couldn’t force Mary aboard the galley—not without breaking her legs and arms. She’d stood her ground, insisting her testimony would be needed while Barbara wept. The poor lass wanted to visit Dunscaith ever so much. Mary promised to make it up to her—though she believed Barbara’s ploy was more to see Coll MacDonell than to be Mary’s beloved companion.

  And now, Mary of Castleton stood in the drawing room ever so anxious for William’s return. He’d been gone for hours, meeting with the advocate, making all manner of inquiries. This was such unknown territory for Mary. She’d never spoken to an advocate—never been in a courtroom—never had been victimized until Lieutenant MacLeod abducted her.

  She rubbed her outer arms and surveyed the street from east to west. Where was Balfour now? Plotting his next attack upon her person?

  Dear God, no.

  It was unbelievable they had seized Don without listening to a word of his story and yet the lieutenant had twisted the truth to implicate the baronet. A man of noble birth, for heaven’s sake. Her hatred of the redcoats grew deeper by the moment. Their prejudice against Highlanders was unforgiveable.

  No, Mary would not leave Glasgow whilst Donald suffered in the Tolbooth. Nor would she sit idle whilst a madman wrongly accused her betrothed of attempted murder.

  By the time William entered the townhouse, Mary had insisted Mr. Kerr bring her every musket in the house for cleaning and inventory, including powder and lead balls. She picked up one of Donald’s pistols and examined it. She would sleep with it under her pillow lest Balfour MacLeod steal into her chamber again—if he dared, he’d be leaving in a pine box.

  Mary set down the pistol and dashed to the front door as soon as the handle clicked.

  William entered with two men following, both wearing robes and wigs—very serious looking gentlemen, indeed. “I’ve brought Mr. Oliphant, our advocate, and Mr. Gunn, the court clerk, to hear your testimony.”

  After appropriate greetings, Mary gestured to the drawing room. “Thank goodness there is someone here willing to listen to the truth.”

  Mr. Oliphant took the chair closest to the hearth. They all sat, with Mary and William sharing the settee.

  “When will the Baronet of Sleat be released?” she asked.

  Mr. Oliphant situated his robes and frowned at Mr. Gunn. “If we can disprove the charges against him, I’d say a fortnight at best.”

  Mary clapped a hand over her heart. “For a nobleman?”

  “The magistrate is sending a missive to Colonel Hill in Fort William and refuses to hear Sir Donald’s plea until a reply is received.”

  “And that will take an entire fortnight?” Mary asked.

  “Possibly longer, depending on the time it takes for missives to be scribed and delivered.” The advocate tugged on his lace cravat and stretched his slender neck. “In the interim, it is our duty to collect as much evidence as possible.”

  Mary furrowed her brow and looked to William.

  He gave her hand a pat. “Are you ready to answer Mr. Oliphant’s questions?”

  “Aye. I’ve been ready all day.”

  The man smiled—fortunately, his grin made his gaunt face look nearly pleasant. He gestured to the clerk, seated at the wee round table with quill at the ready. “Mr. Gunn is here to record your testa
ment. It is imperative that you give an unbiased account of the events.”

  Mary nodded eagerly. “Of course.”

  “Now, first off, what is your relationship to Sir Donald and why are you residing in his home?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Is that imperative to the inquisition?”

  The advocate gave her the evil eye—a look so stern, she imagined he’d practiced it for hours in front of the looking glass. “Indeed, everything is imperative, miss.”

  Mary might be naïve about many things, but without a formal announcement of her betrothal to Donald, their relationship must not be made public. So, she started from the beginning and left nothing out from Balfour’s threats at the gathering, to her abduction, her rescue and how they were forced to travel to Glasgow. She made it very clear Sir Donald fully intended to take her back to Castleton that very morning but his arrest had thwarted her chance to be rejoined with her father and siblings. She even managed to shed a tear with all the emotion coursing through her blood. It mattered not that her tears were more for her worries about Don’s plight than her home—regardless, she worried all the same.

  Mr. Oliphant held up his hand indicating for her to stop whilst Mr. Gunn dipped his quill and resumed writing. “I must say your recall is impressive for a woman.”

  Mary looked to the muskets she had sitting on the sideboard. “Do you think women to be dimwitted?”

  “In my observation, they speak more from emotion than from reason.”

  Holy Moses, if only things weren’t so grave, she’d invite the advocate to help her with a bit of target practice—using him as the target.

  William must have sensed her unease and again patted her hand. “Please continue, Miss Mary. I’m sure they want to hear your account of last eve’s plundering.”

  She blinked, snapping open her fan and pretending she’d nearly fainted. Why on earth did an image of what happened after Balfour fled come to mind? Her cheeks burned like they’d been held to a brazier.

  “I know you must be terribly distraught,” said Mr. Oliphant exhibiting a modicum of concern. “But, truly, your testimony must corroborate with that of Sir Donald.”

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her fan and gathered her thoughts. “I awoke when a floorboard creaked…” Mary left nothing out, removing the scarf from her neck and showing Mr. Oliphant where Balfour had cut her. She told them about the lieutenant’s admission of his guilt in setting fire to the waterfront, which again made Mr. Oliphant hold up his palm.

  “Mr. Gunn, please indicate you have recorded that the lieutenant confessed to the arson on the waterfront which led to the ruination of many of Glasgow’s merchants.”

  The man stilled his quill and looked up from the table. “Recording it now, sir.”

  Mary sighed. Though the advocate seemed a bit rigid, he just might be on her side.

  “You are aware the lieutenant blamed the arson on the baronet?” He again frowned, either in disbelief, or trying to make his case. Forever the optimist, Mary chose the latter.

  “Twisting the facts to secure his own innocence, I’d wager,” said William.

  “He’s a snake,” Mary hissed. “Besides, how could Sir Donald have been responsible? He was dancing with me at the Duke of Gordon’s ball when the alarm was raised.”

  Mr. Oliphant knit his brow. “Dancing? With you, miss? Are you certain you are not compromised—that you have no amorous affection for Sir Donald?”

  William cringed.

  Mary squared her shoulders. They weren’t going to make a sham of her testimony. “As a matter of fact, I spent most of the evening dancing with Sir Kennan. Sir Donald only felt it his duty as my temporary guardian to grace me with one set, and due to the fire, our dance was cut short. After that, Sir Kennan and Sir Coll accompanied me and Miss Barbara to the townhouse whilst Sir Donald and Sir William raced into the flames.” There. The old windbag could take that iron-clad testimony and see to it Don was released as soon as possible. Mary arched a brow at William who gave her a very subtle wink—one that would not be discernable by the party seated across the floor.

  Mr. Oliphant patted his curly grey periwig. “Is there anything else to this testimony you have to add, miss?”

  “I must say I’m very concerned for my safety.” Mary wrung her hands for added effect. “Lieutenant MacLeod stole into the house through the servant’s quarters and spirited into my chamber. What will be done to ensure that doesn’t happen again?”

  “I’m posting guards around the clock,” said William.

  She drew her hands beneath her chin. “You mean the true villain in this debacle is allowed to run free whilst Sir Donald, a member of the Court of Barony, is forced to remain in the Tolbooth?”

  “Unfortunately, it is well known that Sir Donald rode against the king in the battle of Killiecrankie and, therefore, is under suspicion of being a Jacobite.” Mr. Oliphant gave the clerk a stern frown. “Which I have on good order he is not. Regardless, had the lieutenant not been the first to file charges and had not been an officer in the King’s Army, I believe due process would have been dispatched much more quickly.”

  Mary tapped her foot rapidly. Blast that confounded Balfour MacLeod. She never wanted to watch anyone swing from the gallows, but she’d make an exception for that yellow-bellied swine.

  Chapter Thirty

  Don sat on the edge of his pallet and hung his head. In the past fortnight he hadn’t had a proper bath and his skin prickled with sweat. Naturally, they hadn’t allowed him to use a razor. He ran his fingers over his beard—scraggly, no doubt. Fortunately, the itching from the growth had subsided.

  He studied his filthy fingernails with disgust. Aye, they’d given him a gentleman’s cell, but wouldn’t allow him cutlery with which to eat—and no grooming utensils whatsoever.

  If only Miss Mary would have sailed with the galley, she wouldn’t have to see him in such a disgraceful state. But God bless her, she’d stayed to give her statement. Mr. Oliphant had said that with her testimony, he was sure once Colonel Hill’s missive arrived, all charges would be dropped.

  Then it would take every ounce of restraint in Don’s body not to seek out Balfour MacLeod and dirk him in the dead of night. He’d had plenty of time to plan his revenge—think about all the satisfaction he’d gain from seeing the life flee from that bastard’s eyes. But the Baronet of Sleat was no fool. Everyone knew he’d sided with the Jacobites in the Battle of Killiecrankie. Everyone knew he’d been born at Duntulm Castle, the once great stronghold of his ancestors, the Lords of the Isles. He’d been born to be a Jacobite, a supporter believing in Catholicism and the God given right of the Stuart’s claim to the throne. Any action he took against the lieutenant would be seen as an act of treason. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t dream about the pox-ridden maggot’s demise.

  The lock to his door clicked. Don looked up with a flutter in his stomach. The brightest parts of his day were the moments when Mary came to call. He lumbered to his feet.

  “Sir Donald.” The lass used a formal address in front of the guard. Holding a basket between her hands, she moved inside and sat on the single wooden chair in the chamber. “I trust you are well?”

  Sliding his foot forward, he performed a polite bow. “As well as can be expected, miss.” He always gave the same reply.

  With a boom, the guard closed the door, though continued to watch them through the barred viewing panel. The swine. Don stood a respectable distance from Mary, fighting every fiber in his body screaming for him to gather her in his arms and smother her with kisses. To feel her soft breasts pressed against him and hold her close for dear life. Damn the magistrate and the King’s Army for taking MacLeod’s side and ruining Don’s reputation.

  Mary smiled and removed the cloth from her basket, the ice around his heart always melted when she smiled. “I brought you a cake.” She glanced at it with a wee snort. “It should still please your palette, though our friendly guardsman poked his finger in the middle to ensure I did
n’t conceal anything inside.”

  “Ever so fastidious of him.” Don picked up the morsel and shoved the whole thing in his gob. Good heavens, his mouth watered. “Mm. ’Tis delicious.”

  “Miss Barbara and I asked the cook to show us how to bake it.” She laughed. “You should have seen the pair of us covered with flour.”

  “I would have enjoyed that.” Don would have enjoyed doing anything outside the four walls of his miserable cell.

  She smoothed a hand over her skirts. “The missive from the colonel should arrive any day and this all will be over.”

  He nodded, regarding her hopeful eyes. Such a stunning shade of blue, he would never tire of staring into them. Don had almost given up hope that the colonel would support him. Once a man donned a red coat, he tended to be tarnished by the devil, but Mary’s confidence had a way of infusing him with hope.

  “And all has been safe at the townhouse?” Don asked, not wanting to trouble her with the mention of the lieutenant.

  “Aye.” She offered another smile—one that lit up the cell like sunshine. “Mr. Oliphant learned that Lieutenant MacLeod has been posted to Dumbarton Castle whilst awaiting the trial.”

  Don glanced at the guard. At least he’d turned his back. “’Tis less than twenty miles away. Do not grow overconfident.”

  “Not to worry. William has it in hand.” That was code for: “William has an army of Jacobite loyalists guarding the house.”

  “’Tis good to hear.” He locked his gaze with hers. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to you whilst you’re a guest in my home.” He hoped she realized that was code for: “I love you.”

  Maintaining her smile, Mary touched her fan to her heart. Indeed, she understood his meaning. Being in such close proximity to her and yet unable to touch her made a dark void fill his chest. “Mary, I—”

  “Time’s up,” brayed the guard.

  Standing, she grasped his hand. “I shall think of something wonderful to bring you on the morrow.”

  “I should like that very much.” He kissed the back of her hand.