by Amy Jarecki
With a knowing wink, she moved her fan handle to her lips. Aye, he wanted to kiss her there, too. “Soon,” he said as he took her to the door then listened to her footsteps fade as they pattered down the passageway.
***
When Mary walked into the townhouse entrance hall, an eerie awareness made the back of her neck prickle. To her utter shock, Fyfe, a guard from Dunscaith Castle stepped from the drawing room. “Miss Mary, ’tis ever so good to see you.”
“Come in here, so I can see my daughter for myself.”
Dear Lord, her father had come to Glasgow? Mary hastened into the drawing room. “Da? Is all well?”
“I should be asking you the same,” he said from the chair by the hearth—the very one Mr. Oliphant had used a fortnight past. “News arrived the Baronet of Sleat has been incarcerated in the Tolbooth.”
“Aye. ’Tis awful.” Drawing a hand to her forehead, Mary’s mind raced. “Lieutenant MacLeod forced his way into my chamber, and then blamed the fire on Sir Donald, and accused him of murder, and—”
“William has apprised me of all that has transpired.” Da waved a dismissive hand. “And to be quite honest, I am irked that you refused to sail home to your family when Sir Donald commanded afore they led him to the Tolbooth.”
The prickles on Mary’s nape turned to a raging fire. “I beg your pardon? You must know I am the only witness who could testify to the lieutenant’s trickery.”
“You’ve given your statement.”
“Aye.” Mary glanced from her father to Fyfe. “B-but a missive should arrive from Colonel Hill of Fort William any day now, and then I’ll be needed for the hearing.”
“The only place you are needed is Dunscaith Castle.”
“I am needed here and—”
Da slammed his fist on his armrest. “Do not take an insolent tone with me. There’s nothing more you can do. Do you realize how scandalous this appears? You’re sleeping beneath the roof of an incarcerated man—visiting him every day—taking him cakes and Lord knows what else.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Da. Don’t make me leave until Sir Donald’s name is cleared.”
“Has he spoken for you?” Da reached for his crutches. “I ken he has not because I have not received a request from him to court you. As your father, I forbid you to see the baronet again.”
“But he—”
“My word is final.” He motioned for Fyfe to help him to stand. “I have a coach waiting. I’ll allow you five minutes to collect your things and then we are sailing home.”
“I cannot.” Mary stood dumbfounded, tears streaming from her eyes. If she told her father Don had asked her to marry him, it would only make him more incensed. “Please, Da.”
“If you have nothing to collect, then we can leave this instant.”
Mary thought of all the things she’d gathered since she’d been in Glasgow. Don had paid for everything, even the clothes she now wore. It would take ages to pack the lovely gowns, the gloves the corsets and petticoats.
A tear streaked from her eye and threatened to drip from her nose. “I have nothing.”
Through bleary eyes, she regarded the faces of the guardsmen she’d known all her life, and the ones she’d come to know in the past two months. She had nowhere to run. William and Barbara stood in the entrance hall wringing their hands.
Barbara moved forward and kissed her. “I still want to visit.”
Mary choked back a sob. “You’re always welcome.”
“As you are here. Any time,” said William, kissing the back of her hand.
She curtseyed, pressing a calming hand to her chest. “Please give Sir Donald my apologies. I didn’t want to leave this way.”
“Come, Mary.” Da passed with his crutches tapping the floorboards. “I’m anxious to set sail whilst we have a southern wind.”
Chapter Thirty-One
One month and seven days since the dragoons stormed into his home and slapped manacles around his wrists for this farcical charade, Don’s days had grown empty after William had paid a visit and told him Sir John had taken Mary back to Castleton. For the past sennights, he’d missed her with every fiber of his being. The only things he ever looked forward to were Mary’s visits. After she left, the days droned on, as dreary as watching a snail climb a tree.
But her father was right. She needed to go home—to be as far away from Glasgow as possible and save what remained of her reputation.
Don looked up expectantly when Mr. Oliphant stepped into the antechamber where he awaited his trial. A hollow void expanded in Don’s chest. “What news from Fort William?”
The old advocate shook his head, the grey wig jostling. “Still nothing, but the magistrate insists on proceeding.” He patted Don’s shoulder. “Have faith. I think we have enough to prove your innocence.”
“Think?” Every muscle in Don’s body tensed. “I am innocent. ’Tis my word against a fork-tongued whoreson who received punishment for his abduction of Mary of Castleton.”
The bailiff pushed through the door. “’Tis time.”
As he stood, Don closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. The only way to weather this farcical trial and prove his innocence was to project an image of calm. If he acted on his instincts and wrapped the chain between his manacles around the bailiff’s neck and choked the life out of him, it would considerably reduce his chances of freedom. Oh no, this was no time to forget his breeding. He was born the heir to a baronetcy and he would ensure he behaved in a manner commensurate with his station.
Low murmurs filled the maple-paneled courtroom when they entered, the bailiff leading Don to the prisoner’s platform. To add to his humiliation, like a commoner he would be forced to stand in his manacles through the duration of the trial. A smirk came from his right. Out of the corner of his eye, Don regarded the sniveling maggot—the lowlife he wanted to strangle. Balfour was a dirty liar. Don didn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of a look, but he swore on his father’s grave if justice didn’t prevail this day, Balfour MacLeod would meet his end screaming. Don just hoped to God he would be there when the dirk slid into the whoreson’s gut and slowly twisted.
The gallery of the courthouse was filled with commoners. How eager everyone seemed to watch the demise of one of Scotland’s gentry. Don scanned their faces and saw not a sympathetic visage.
Once the magistrate had entered and took his seat at the board, he motioned for the bailiff to open a scroll. “Sir Donald MacDonald of Sleat, you have been accused of the attempted murder of one of the King’s Army officers, Lieutenant Balfour MacLeod. And furthermore, the same lieutenant accuses you of arson which occurred on the first of August in the year of our Lord sixteen ninety-five.”
The gallery erupted with rumbles of dissension.
“I am innocent,” Don boomed loud enough to be heard over the crowd.
The magistrate hammered his gavel. “Silence.”
Mr. Oliphant then proceeded to call the festering-pustule of a lieutenant to give testimony.
Don stood silently on his platform, clenching his fists as his wrists strained against his manacles. How the lieutenant could stand across from him and spew untruths sent Don’s mind into a frenzy. Strangling was too easy a death for the maggot. Balfour spouted lies about how Don had accosted him in the alley, about how he’d seen Don set fire to the warehouse and to his own sea galley so he could collect on fire insurance marks.
Thank God Oliphant paused the litany of lies and turned to the baronet. “Sir Donald, did you take out fire insurance marks for your galley?”
A tic twitched in his jaw. “No, sir, I did not.”
The advocate stroked his chin and returned his attention to the lieutenant. “Why would the Baronet of Sleat set fire to his property when he had no insurance marks placed against it?”
“You’d have to ask him, sir,” said the lackwit.
Then MacLeod gave a similar response when questioned about the trail of blood on the floor leading down the
servant’s stairwell. “How on earth would I know how blood ended up in the baronet’s servant’s stairwell?”
The advocate sniffed. “But you alleged he stabbed you in the arm.”
“In the close behind the stables,” MacLeod lied.
“Hmm.” Oliphant tapped his fingers together. “And why were you lurking behind the baronet’s stables?”
“I was trying to gain an audience with Mary of Castleton.”
“And what is your relationship with Miss Mary?”
“I…” He turned red as an apple.
“Haven’t you, in fact, pursued the lady without her consent?”
“No, I have not.”
“I have her testimony which purports the contrary.” Mr. Oliphant handed a sheet of parchment to the magistrate, then turned for all the court to hear and relayed Mary’s statement, as it was recorded and witnessed by the court clerk.
Oliphant then focused on MacLeod. “You, in fact, did take Miss Mary from her home in Castleton without her consent and with intent to force her into marriage, again without the lady’s consent.”
“I—”
The advocate held up his finger. “Do not deny the truth in this court, sir. You are infatuated with Mary of Castleton and abducted her from her home on the eighteenth of June, the year of our Lord sixteen ninety-five.” He held up a missive. “I have in my hand a missive from Sir Hugh MacIain of Glencoe informing Sir Donald that Colonel Hill of Fort William locked the plaintiff in the stocks for a fortnight in punishment for said abduction. What say you, lieutenant? Were the stocks not enough to dissuade your lustful urges?”
“MacIain lies.” Balfour scowled. “I should have dirked him in the Coe when I had the chance”
As the advocate continued, Don’s confidence grew while MacLeod’s face faded from red to pale.
After the lieutenant, William gave his testimony. Though Balfour had fled before William arrived in Mary’s room that night, he had seen the blood, as well as Mary’s injury. To Don’s surprise, Oliphant called a chimney sweep to the stand who testified he’d sold his all-black costume to MacLeod for a bob the same day as the fire.
“Why did you need a chimney sweep’s clothing?” the advocate again pointed to the plaintiff.
“Ah…” MacLeod’s eyes shifted across the courtroom while a bead of sweat streaked from his brow. “So I wouldn’t be seen whilst I was watching Miss Mary.”
Oliphant leaned forward like a hawk on its perch. “So you admit to stalking the Castleton maid?”
“I love her.”
Don cracked his knuckles, relishing what it would feel like to have that sniveling swine’s neck in his grasp.
Love? The beast is obsessed. He knows nothing of love. And if he ever dares to place a finger on Miss Mary, it will be his last act on this earth.
Next, the advocate made a bold move and called the Duke of Gordon forward. If he won the trial, Don would ensure Oliphant received an additional quarter for his intestinal fortitude.
“Your Grace, can you testify that the Baronet of Sleat was attending a ball at your manse on the eve of the first of August?”
The duke arched an aristocratic eyebrow. “Indeed, I can. In fact, I spoke to Sir Donald only moments before my gala was interrupted with the announcement of the fire on the waterfront.”
MacLeod sprang to his feet. “He is a Jacobite and a liar!”
“Sit down, lieutenant,” said the magistrate, pounding his gavel. “How dare you speak ill of a peer of the realm? Your accusations are wearing thin and tolerance for your outbursts even thinner. I suggest you apologize to His Grace before he leaves this courtroom.”
The lieutenant glowered at Donald as he resumed his seat.
Ignoring the flea-bitten boar, Don offered a subtle nod of thanks to the duke.
The door at the back of the courtroom burst open. “My lord,” said a corporal, marching forward. “Forgive my tardiness. We were delayed en route from Fort William by a band of highwaymen who were looking for this.” He held up a missive and placed it before the magistrate. “They caught us at a bend, demanding we hand over the mail. Fortunately, we were able to overpower the varlets.”
Rumbles escalated from the crowd.
“Silence.” The magistrate rapped his gavel. “I hope you brought the outlaws in. It will be my pleasure to oversee their trial.”
“Aye, the survivors are in manacles and my sentinel is escorting them to a cell as we speak.” The corporal pointed to the missive. “They admitted to being in Lieutenant MacLeod’s regiment, m’lord.”
“Good work, soldier,” the magistrate said, glaring at MacLeod whilst he reached for the missive.
Don held his breath, watching the man ran his thumb under the red wax seal and read the contents.
“Mr. Oliphant.” The justice placed the missive on the bar. “This corroborates MacIain’s letter stating the lieutenant received punishment for kidnapping Miss Mary of Castleton. And combined with the evidence you have presented, I have no reason to believe any of Mr. MacLeod’s testimony to be truthful.”
Balfour’s chair clattered over as he sprinted for the door.
“Seize him!” bellowed the magistrate. He hammered his gavel on the board. “This trial has been a sham. Sir Donald, you are free to go on one condition.”
“What is that, sir?”
“You promise to avoid any and all activities organized by Jacobite supporters.”
“Very well,” he said, making eye contact with the Duke of Gordon and being very careful not to pledge an oath.
With one last thwack of his gavel, the magistrate pardoned him. The bailiff removed Don’s manacles and in turn, slapped them on Balfour. Guards then ushered the lieutenant to the Tolbooth as he shouted curses about all Highlanders being Jacobites.
The Duke of Gordon shook Don’s hand. “Isn’t MacLeod a bloody Highlander?”
“Aye, he is.”
“Well then, he must be one of the Jacobites of whom he is so vehemently shouting about.”
“Indeed, he must.”
Mr. Smith hastened toward them. “Sir Donald, congratulations on proving your innocence.” He bowed deeply. “I am in grave need of your services. How soon can you have packing salt aboard my ship?”
William stepped beside them. “This very day.” He grinned at Don. “Sir Coll and Sir Kennan arrived with a new shipment last eve.”
“You never fail me, brother.” Don clapped his brother on the back. “I’ll enjoy sharing a tot you all.”
William shook his head. “Unfortunately, they’ve gone. Sir Coll received word of a MacIntosh raid on his lands at Glen Spean.”
“Dear God. Will we ever have peace?”
“I fear there are many battles left to fight before we see it.” The duke cleared his throat. “This morn I dispatched my regiment to provide assistance to Coll of Keppoch. The young chieftain has always been a loyal ally to the Gordons.”
Don bowed his head. “My thanks. I shall send troops at once.”
“Only if this skirmish is not quickly resolved.” The duke nudged Don with his elbow. “You are doing us a great service here in Glasgow.”
“Aye, but I owe Sir Coll a debt of gratitude—Sir Kennan as well.”
“I’m certain there will be many opportunities to express it. I’m leaving for Huntly on the morrow. I do hope to see you at the gathering next spring.”
“You will. I wouldn’t miss such an assembly of fine Highlanders for the world.”
***
The voyage home took forever as Mary’s father anchored the galley at every allied seaside castle along the way, introducing Mary as his eldest daughter for whom he was seeking a husband. She could have murdered him.
Finally walking through Dunscaith Castle’s sea gate, Mary felt as hollow as a soap bubble.
“Welcome home, Miss Mary,” piped Narin, holding the gate open. “We’ve missed you ever so much.”
Gulping back her melancholy, Mary grasped his hands in greeting and smiled. �
��’Tis always good to see your face.” She meant it, too. Seeing Narin reminded her of how comfortable and familiar home could be. And when she strode through the archway, it seemed the entire clan had gathered to welcome her with Rabbie, Florence and Lilas waving at the top of the path.
Regardless of her woes, it warmed Mary’s insides to see so many happy faces. Dashing ahead, she opened her arms and welcomed her siblings into her embrace. “I have missed you three.” She didn’t realize how much until wrapped in a family hug.
“You simply must tell us everything,” said Florence.
“Did you shoot any redcoats?” asked Rabbie.
“I want to hear about the Baronet of Sleat. Word came he rescued you from that vile lieutenant.” Lilas drew the back of her hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon. “How utterly romantic.”
“Aye,” agreed Florence. “And the baronet is such a braw Highlander.”
The two lasses looped their elbows through Mary’s and led her into the keep with Rabbie trailing behind.
Once inside the keep, Mrs. Watt stood wringing her hands. “Welcome home, Miss Mary.” The words came out as if sweetened with honey, but the woman’s eyes regarded Mary like those of a moray eel.
Mary curtseyed. “Thank you.” Then she hastened to the stairwell with her sisters.
“Mrs. Watt has been playing at being lady of the keep in your absence,” whispered Lilas.
“Wheesht.” Mary glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the stairwell. “Wait until we’re above stairs.”
“Da really cares for her,” Florence whispered.
“Eew, you’re disgusting.” Lilas pushed ahead.
Florence gave her sister a shove. “But she’s trying to be friendly.”
“Aye…too friendly if you ask me.”
The lasses giggled all the way up to the fourth floor landing—Rabbie evidently had been distracted because he hadn’t followed. Just as well. Florence and Lilas proved enough to make Mary’s head spin. Together they sat in front of Mary’s hearth and yammered about everything that had happened in the past few months.
Of course, they insisted Mary relay the details of her adventure, which she did, leaving out all the romantic parts about Sir Donald. If father caught wind that the baronet had taken certain liberties, who knew what he’d do? Goodness, on the voyage to Skye when he wasn’t talking about finding her a husband, he’d threatened to confront Sir Donald and demand to know if anything untoward had occurred…and if it had, he would demand to negotiate terms for a betrothal.
