Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate

by Keeping Kate (lit)

  She looked away, but let out a soft, disdainful huff.

  "I know you do not want to speak to me after what happened," Alec said. "But I may be your best ally here."

  Kate rolled her eyes a little in silent disbelief.

  "Captain," the sergeant said, "there's no use talking to her. She's Highland, and may not know much English."

  "Or chooses not to speak it," Alec murmured, watch­ing her.

  "You're of the Highland Watch, Captain—do ye know the Irish tongue yourself? She might speak to you."

  "I haven't used much Gaelic since I was in skirts on my nurse's knee," Alec replied. "And I'd wager she'd refuse to speak in any language. Isn't that so, lass?" he added softly.

  Kate kept silent, but leaned toward him, her exhaus­tion so apparent that he felt a tug at his heart.

  "We thought she'd break by now," the sergeant said. "It's an amazement she's lasted so long."

  "Highland stubbornness," Alec murmured. He felt a strong urge to reach out to her and tear away those chains. But she sent him another bitter, furious glare. He knew that if he tried to help her, she might struggle against him.

  "Ask her why she was spying on Wade's troops," the sergeant remarked. "Colonel Grant wants to know. She's likely working with Jacobites, though some say she's a harlot plying her trade and got caught out at it in an officer's tent. D'you think so, sir?"

  Alec heard the sly question and did not comment. "How has she been treated otherwise, since her cap­ture? Do not mistake the question, Sergeant." Alec did not take his eyes from the girl.

  "Well enough, and I take your meaning."

  "See that it stays that way. Kate," he said, "talk to me." He touched her shoulder.

  She tried to pull away from his touch but sagged at the knees, so that her arms were pulled up sharply by the shortened chains embedded in the wall. Alec grabbed her and held her up, and she leaned against him, her cheek resting on his jacket. His heart ached for her, and he felt a furious need to take her out of the cell, and quickly.

  "For love of God, girl, tell them something," he pleaded in a whisper as he held her.

  "Hey, Captain sir, excuse me, but no one should be helping the wench!"

  Alec looked up. "Sergeant, you can see the punish­ment is useless. She cannot tell us anything in this con­dition." While he spoke, she found enough strength to push at him. "Be still, blast it, I'm trying to help you," he muttered.

  "Colonel said to beware, she'll put on an act to fool us into pitying her. She's a Jezebel, sir. Though I will say, I feel sorry for her m'self. But the colonel ordered—"

  "I'm changing those orders," Alec snapped. "This treatment is ended, Sergeant, as of this moment." He had seen enough, heard enough, and suddenly could not tolerate it any longer.

  "But—the colonel outranks you," the man blustered.

  Without reply, Alec slid an arm around Kate's shoul­ders and with the other caught her under the hips to lift her easily. Crossing the cell, he knelt and set her down on the straw. She was limp as a doll. He removed his

  red jacket and swept it over her to cover her, and saw then that her feet, through damp cotton stockings, were swollen and purpling.

  The sergeant rushed in, protesting, and Alec looked up. "The blood has pooled in her feet and legs," he said tersely. "She must lie prone and rest, or she could die of an apoplexy."

  "But she's a healthy young thing, sir. Pretty as they come, and strong, too. She'd best get back on her feet, or it's my head to an onion, sir."

  "I'll take the blame. Send for water, blankets, and something hot, broth or tea if it's available." Alec stood. "And find a woman to tend her. There must be some lo­cal woman, an herbwife, a cook, anyone you can find in a hurry."

  "There's a housekeeper here at the castle."

  "Good. See it done." Alec reached into his sporran and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the soldier, who nodded.

  "But sir, what should I tell Colonel Grant?"

  "Tell him she's no damn good to anyone if she dies." Alec strode out of the cell, footsteps echoing in the corridor.

  Chapter 5

  %% M ^ ood Jamaican rum, by God, smuggled in ^LM along the Solway Coast." General Wade sloshed the liquid into a pewter cup, which he handed to Alec. "We apprehended this lot before it disappeared inland. Reserved some, and sent the rest south for taxa­tion." A tall man with a regal bearing, Wade clinked his cup against Alec's. "Here's to finishing these damnable Highland roads. May we see better weather and fewer damned Highlanders."

  "Sir, you are talking to a Highlander," Alec mur­mured, then sipped, the cloying burn sliding down his throat.

  Wade swallowed, then grimaced in apology. "If your uncle were not the chief of the Lovat Frasers, I wonder

  if you would be here at all, making any sort of toast." He tipped a brow.

  "At the time, when Lovat offered me an officer's commission in this independent Highland company a few years back, I had the choice between the dull life of a merchant and the dull life of a lawyer," Alec said. "I was young and thought an officer's rank would be more interesting than sitting at a desk."

  "And now you sit at desks, acting the lawyer in a red coat," Wade said, sipping again.

  "True," Alec agreed. "But I'll not complain. It is a privilege to toast with the commander in chief of all the British forces in Scotland." He lifted his cup.

  "I'll admit there is benefit to having the nephew of one of the most powerful Highland chiefs among our ranks," Wade said. "No matter what your personal lean­ings might be as a Highlander, and in my opinion many Highlanders are wise to keep such things to themselves, you do a fine job with whatever is asked of you."

  "Sir," Alec murmured, inclining his head.

  General Wade folded into a chair behind a ma­hogany desk littered with papers and maps, while Alec stood on the thick Turkish carpet. The room was spa­cious and well furnished. Inverlochy Castle, its gar­risoned town renamed Fort William, was a comfortable spot for soldiers, though not a hospitable place for Jaco­bites, Alec reflected.

  The general peered at Alec through brass-rimmed spectacles perched at the end of his long nose. "So you've seen our intriguante, Captain? Does she still re­fuse to talk?"

  "Aye. And I cannot blame her, having seen the cruel conditions of her incarceration."

  "Damned ungentlemanly of Grant," Wade muttered. "But we need to know what she's hiding, and Grant does have a grievance with her. I thought she might talk, but she's stubborn. Are you aware that Grant was one of her victims, too? The gel left him with an aching head and took a fine set of maps with her. Francis Grant does not tolerate looking the fool."

  "I read his account of that night, General. The colo­nel was quite foxed, so who knows what truly hap­pened. Frankly, we do not even know if this is the girl who was in his quarters that night. We haven't learned who she is."

  "She was in your quarters, too, sir," Wade said tersely.

  "Aye, but... I was not quite myself, either," Alec said. "She is one of the camp laundresses. We estab­lished that with the Highland locals." He had ridden out to the house where the laundry was done, but real­ized he was not going to discover anything useful there: She's a cousin, he was told, and not quite right in the head, puir lass.

  He remembered thinking, as he rode away, that she was either not right or a very clever lass indeed.

  Wade waved his hand. "Difficult to trust any High­land source these days. How many Highland gels want to look at military maps and documents? None, I tell you. She took papers from you, sir, lists of Highlanders arrested, and an accounting of weapons confiscated from all Highland men by order of the king."

  "Perhaps she was looking for news of a kinsman. Family bonds and loyalty mean all here in the High­lands, sir." He had other thoughts on why she had taken those pages, but he intended to discover the truth himself. Instincts sharpened by a cautious nature and years of covert work taught him to keep his own counsel.

  "She had the documents, and she
looks like this Katie Hell, as far as we know. Clearly she was up to something."

  "Perhaps I was hasty, sir. My head was not clear that night." Alec swirled the rum in the cup, stared at it. "At the time, I did take her for this Katie Hell we've been after."

  "And now you are not certain?"

  Oh, he was very sure the girl was the notorious Katie Hell and a Jacobite spy, Alec thought to himself. And somehow he would find out what she knew about cer­tain matters of rebellion before the English found out. He had an interest in matters of Jacobite espionage and an involvement he kept scrupulously secret.

  "I think she should be interrogated, sir," Alec said. "But her treatment here is vile. That is my chief concern just now."

  "I'll leave the matter to Colonel Grant, and to you. Both of you have been Kate's, uh, happy victims." Wade lifted a brow.

  Alec set his cup down. "General, if word gets about that a Scotswoman was ill treated at this garrison, there will be an uproar among Jacobite and Whig gentlemen

  alike. The blame will fall on the commander of the king's army in Scotland. You, sir."

  Wade tapped his fingers on his desk. "That's trouble­some. We could lose supporters of the war in both Scot­land and England."

  "Exactly." Alec looked around as voices rumbled out in the corridor. A rapping sounded on the door, and it was opened.

  A sentry looked inside. "Sir, Colonel Grant is here."

  "Tell him to wait a moment. I'm busy," Wade said curtly. The sentry shut the door, but it was pushed open by Grant.

  "General, I must speak with you," Grant said, wedg­ing himself in the gap. "Fraser! Damn it, man, I shall have your head for this!"

  "Get out, Colonel," Wade snapped, and the sentry yanked the door shut despite Grant's protests. The gen­eral looked annoyed. "I presume you know what that was about, Fraser?"

  "Colonel Grant may have discovered that I ordered an end to the lady's punishment. She fainted—she might even have died. I sat her down myself and told a guard to see to her welfare."

  "That was out of line. But humane, I'll allow." Wade frowned, picking up a folded letter. "We should not keep the girl here, where we have no private accommo­dations for female prisoners. And there's a bad lot in that jail just now—that fellow Cameron, for one. A Highland rascal. But he'll be transferred soon. Sir, look at this letter, if you will."

  Alec accepted the creased page handed him, then glanced up. "The Lord Advocate of Edinburgh wants to see her personally?"

  Wade nodded. "I sent a courier to Lord Hume my­self the day the girl came here, knowing she would need to be interrogated, possibly charged and tried at the Court of Justiciary. Lord Hume sent a messenger immediately with a reply. She is to appear before him in the first week of November. It's mid-October now. We could keep her here for two weeks, or just transfer her to his custody now and have done with it. I could send her off to Edinburgh Castle with that Cameron fellow."

  "Sir, if I may say so, it is unchivalrous treatment to send her in an open cart with a male prisoner and male guards," Alec said. "General... the Lord Advocate is a kinsman of mine. My family lives in Edinburgh. Allow me to escort her there."

  "Then do that," Wade said brusquely, looking up in irritation as the knocking resumed at the door. "Damn that pestering little man. Fraser, find out who the devil this girl is and what she knows, if anything. The Justi­ciary Court will need her name and so forth. Get what­ever information you can from her so that we do not all look like buffoons."

  "Aye, sir."

  "I'll write out the order. Take her tomorrow. I'll order a closed vehicle." Wade took up a pen, dipped it, began to write. "Also—I want you to determine if she knows anything about that horde of Spanish weapons that went missing after the rebellion of the 'Nineteen, up at

  Eilean Donan Castle, when the Jacobites had help from a shipload of Spaniards."

  "Those weapons have never been found, sir," Alec pointed out. "Presumably the Spaniards took them back over the sea when most of them fled after the in­surgents failed."

  "So we thought, but rumors persist. Recently mus­kets of Spanish make turned up. Two Highlanders were killed in a skirmish in the Great Glen not long ago, and they were equipped with guns of Spanish style, the sort said to have been brought to Scotland to aid in that uprising."

  "It is certainly possible to acquire Spanish-made pistols."

  "Not marked with the initials of the ship that brought them. And this fellow Cameron was caught with the rascals who died holding those pistols. He had two such guns himself."

  "Why not ask him, then?"

  "We've tried," Wade said. "Stubborn Highland breeding. Like the girl, he will not say a word. He was nearly beaten to death, but I put a stop to that myself. We'll send him to Edinburgh, and the girl as well—the courts can deal with both these Jacobites. The girl and Cameron both know something, I suspect."

  Alec had a strong sense of that, too. "If these weapons came into Jacobite hands, the rebels could arm themselves again."

  "Just so. Over a thousand of these Spanish weapons were hidden, rumor says. Possibly more. But where in blazes are they?"

  "I imagine we could find out, sir."

  "Exactly. We've worked for years to confiscate weapons from the Highlanders, and the new military roads allow us to move troops and supplies more effi­ciently. But our troops are nowhere safe if Highland men can shoot at us from those blasted hills."

  Alec nodded. "I'll take the girl to the Lord Advocate and do what I can with her."

  "Good. Make her trust you. I hear she's a charming thing, but most pretty young women are, eh?" Wade glanced up with a quick gleam in his eye. "Then turn her over to the Lord Advocate. She is his problem. Here." He handed over the hastily scribbled orders. "Take an escort in the morning."

  Alec saluted and turned. As he did, the door burst open, and Grant rushed inside. "General, I must report Captain Fraser as insubordinate! He's changed my or­ders concerning the female prisoner."

  "He has that right," Wade said smoothly. "I've given him custody of the girl. He'll escort her to Edinburgh, and we will be done with her here."

  "But she is in my keeping—"

  "That is my decision, Colonel," Wade said firmly.

  "We cannot trust him with her," Grant snarled. "He was with the wench himself. She casts a spell over any man who comes near her. I barely escaped myself. She's bewitched Fraser."

  By the door, Alec looked over his shoulder. "She's just a bonny young girl. Whatever witchery you attrib­ute to her may be in your head ... or elsewhere."

  Wade huffed a laugh, though Grant sputtered. "You

  might be as much a spy as your doxy, Captain. You're both Highlander stock. There's hardly a Highlander who is not a Jacobite."

  "But for the Whiggish Campbells, and their minions the Grants?" Alec asked smoothly.

  "You should know, being in Lovat's pocket," Grant snarled.

  "Gentlemen, that will be all," Wade interrupted. "Colonel, are the arrangements made for Cameron's transfer?"

  "The brigand is to be moved tonight," Grant answered, still tense. "The man's near a beast. This will not be easy."

  "Indeed. Fraser, I suggest you be on hand to assist. It may take several men to load him into that cart if he protests. Do you have command of the Irish tongue?"

  "Some, sir. I'll be there." Ignoring Grant's protests, Alec saluted again and opened the door.

  Kate pressed her back against the stone wall and watched the two men in the cell with her. Not long ago, guards had escorted the prisoners inside just as she woke, aching and groggy, from a dreamless sleep. Both men appeared asleep, one lying on the floor, the other seated in the corner opposite her.

  Shivering in the chill, she stretched her back and legs, stiff from hours of standing. Darkness filled the cell, and she realized it was night. She had nearly slept the day away.

  Raising her knees and tucking her feet under her skirts, she glanced around warily. One prisoner, a Highlander by his wrapped
plaid, lay on his side, back

  turned toward her. His long dark hair hid his features. The other man, dressed in a brown coat and breeches, reclined in an opposite corner.

  The seated man opened his eyes and looked intently toward her. Then he touched his brow in salutation, lifted a brow. Kate glanced away.

  Through the barred iron door, she saw the shadows of the guards in the corridor and could hear them talk­ing. An iron-trimmed door opened and rattled shut, and more male voices sounded in the corridor, out of sight of Kate's cell.

  The man in brown snorted. "Hey, girl. Come sit by me."

  She ignored him, resting her head on her arms.

  "Och, too good to talk to me, hey? Look, Donald, they've brought us a lady to share our quarters!" With his foot, he poked at the man on the floor. The High­lander did not respond.

  The man glanced at Kate. "Look at that, they near killed that lad afore they dragged him in here. Ah think he's dead."

  Kate looked at the prone fellow in alarm. He was mo­tionless, but could have been sleeping as much as dead. His plaid and long-limbed, athletic build made her think of her brother and kinsmen. Lowering to her hands and knees, she crawled toward him and touched his shoulder tentatively.

  "Sir, are you well?" she asked in Gaelic. He did not move when she pushed, though she rocked the weight of his big body.

  "Och, that lad's gone for sure," the seated man

  drawled. "So 'tis thee and me, lassie." He grinned, showing rotten teeth. "And I find I canna resist ye."

  Kate scrambled backward toward the relative protec­tion of the wall and pulled her knees even higher under her skirts, wrapping her arms around herself. She had to find some way out, she thought desperately. The barred window was too high and narrow for anyone to wriggle through even if he could reach it, and the cell door, a framework of iron bars, was latched shut by a stout iron lock.

  She studied it, recognizing the style of the lock—she had some familiarity with the things, having spent many childhood hours in the company of the Duncrieff blacksmith. Given time and a small knife or a set of scissors, she could probably loosen it, she thought. But she had nothing but the few silver hairpins left in the tangled strands of her hair, and they were too pliable for the purpose.