by Karen Ranney
A lesson the man was sure to remember the next time he was tempted to cheat. Military discipline was not an assumption; it was a requirement.
An irony, that the man who levied punishment on these men was guilty of more heinous crimes.
Harrison entered the room at that moment, his hands wrapped around a parcel. Alec listened with half an ear to other infractions, impatient to speak with his adjutant. The journey had been accomplished faster than he’d expected, but there was a look on Harrison’s face that concerned him.
Alec rendered judgment and stood, signaling an end to the tribunal. He strode through the officers and men to where Harrison stood.
“Walk with me,” he said.
Harrison nodded, followed him out of Fort William, around the courtyard, and into the open space between the fortress and the ruins of Gilmuir. A place where they were certain not to be overheard. Especially by Lieutenant Armstrong, whose endless toadying concealed too intrusive a nature.
Glancing toward the old building had become second nature to him these past days, especially his study of the abutment that housed the laird’s chamber. Did Leitis spend the time weaving? An occupation not dissimilar to his duties, in that it kept the hands occupied while the mind roamed free.
He wanted to be with her, either as Ian or the colonel. And if that were not enough a clue to his insanity, he wanted to confess all his sins to her. Have her look at him in that cool, measured way of hers. Even her disapproval was preferable to her absence.
“The ship is here, sir,” Harrison said in the silence.
Alec glanced at him, surprised. “So soon?”
“The bonus I promised the captain was an inducement to his haste,” Harrison said, his face somber. He handed him the parcel in his hands. “I hope you approve, sir. Alison had it made by her dressmaker.” Harrison had only been gone a week.
Alec smiled. “So you did see her?”
Harrison nodded, then grinned. “I did. I need to talk to you about that. But first there’s a small difficulty, Colonel. The captain refuses to travel through the rocks without a pilot.”
“I’m the only one who’s made the journey, Harrison,” Alec said.
The other man nodded.
“We have time enough before dark,” Alec said, scanning the sky. “If Armstrong asks, make the story you tell him plausible. I agree with your assessment. The man is forever watching me.”
“He’s too loyal to Sedgewick,” Harrison said roughly.
Alec smiled. “However inconvenient that is, I cannot fault the man for it. Loyalty is what has kept me alive.”
Ardersier was a barren promontory that reminded Matthew Sedgewick of Gilmuir. The land jutted out into the Moray Firth, and was overshadowed by hills a short distance away. The lie of the land here provided for both sea and landward defenses, similar to the location on which he’d built Fort William.
The proposed new fort was in Sedgewick’s patrol area, almost an omen for this errand since he’d discovered that General Wescott was in attendance, overseeing the architect’s work.
He’d never visited Fort William before, but then that structure was dwarfed beneath the proposed fortification that would employ over nine hundred men in its construction. Sedgewick glanced down at the plans in front of him, amazed at the size of Fort George.
The general would be covered in glory for this task while his own efforts had never been remarked upon, nor rewarded. He had built Fort William in less than a year, using the talent of only one architect and a handful of men with building skills. In the main the fortress had been constructed with inexperienced troops. But not one person had commended him on his accomplishment. Instead, the army had turned Fort William over to Colonel Landers.
The general’s temporary quarters were not sumptuous, but neither were they ascetic. The room boasted two windows, one facing the firth and the other the landward side. The large bed pushed against the wall looked too substantial to be a campaigner’s. Sedgewick doubted if it disassembled quickly for ease of transport. Nor did the other furniture in the room have the look of having been carried in a wagon from post to post.
Stalks of heather were arranged in a tall blue vase on the bureau, and stretched across a chair was a length of plaid, one patterned in blocks of blue and green.
It appeared as if the general had gone native.
“I was informed that this visit was of an urgent nature, Major Sedgewick,” the general said, entering the room.
Sedgewick spun around, facing the general and standing at attention. Wescott was an older man, but one with a robust physique. His hair had whitened, but only at the temples, the rest of it thickly brown and tied at the back of his neck. His face was cleanshaven, his hazel eyes deeply wrinkled at their corners.
“State your business, Major Sedgewick, but most importantly why you felt it necessary to jump the chain of command so summarily.” Wescott sat behind his desk frowning up at him.
“I have reason to believe, sir, that Colonel Landers might be harboring a traitor.”
“That is quite a charge you are leveling against your commanding officer, Sedgewick.” General Wescott sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and studied him intently. His expression was dispassionate, but his eyes held irritation. Moments passed, each one measured by the icy shivers down Sedgewick’s back.
“I understand that, sir,” he said finally. “But I feel very strongly that Colonel Landers’s actions should be investigated further.”
He bent forward and placed Armstrong’s journal on the general’s desk.
“I took the precaution, sir, of leaving a trusted man with the colonel and asking him to impart to me anything of a suspicious nature.”
“Why would you do that, Major?” Wescott asked.
“On the first day of his command, sir,” Sedgewick said stiffly, “Colonel Landers showed his partiality to the Scots. He interrupted my efforts to find a piper in the area, a man known for flaunting both the Dress and Disarming Acts.”
“Go on,” Wescott said slowly.
Sedgewick pushed the journal across the desk before resuming his stance. “I believe, sir, that Lieutenant Armstrong’s notations might be of interest to you.”
General Wescott motioned for him to continue.
“There are rumors throughout the glen, sir, of a man calling himself the Raven. He has stolen from our troops in order to supply the Scots and acted in a way that can only be called rebellious. Colonel Landers has made no attempt to capture this man.”
“Is this all your information?” Wescott asked sharply.
“No, sir,” Sedgewick said. “He’s taken a Scots woman as his whore and treats her very well, according to my sources.”
“Have you ever seen combat on a foreign shore, Major Sedgewick?” Wescott asked. He tapped his fingers on the surface of his desk, his gaze fixed purposely on him.
“I have not had that privilege, sir,” he answered.
“Then you will understand when you do…if you do…that soldiers take comfort where they can find it. I cannot fault the colonel for that sin.” A moment later, he continued, “Cumberland himself has taken an interest in Colonel Landers, Major. You’ve not chosen your target wisely. Did you know that Landers is the heir to an earldom?”
Sedgewick shook his head. “No, sir, I didn’t.”
“I suggest, Major,” General Wescott said sternly, “that you investigate a little further before you are so quick to accuse. You have an exemplary record, and I would hate to see it tarnished because of your envy.”
Wescott stood. “However, because there are certain aspects to your report that I find troubling, my men and I will accompany you back to Fort William. But only to investigate your claims.”
Major Sedgewick nodded, pleased. It was exactly what he’d wanted.
Alec dismounted, studied the left rear hoof of his horse and swore softly. The stallion was one of his favorites, even though he’d vowed not to become attached to the horses that served him
. He’d lost too many animals in battle to deliberately establish a bond, which is why he never named his mounts.
It was all too clear, however, that this animal was lame. Alec stared ahead, knowing from his previous patrols that the lake was not far.
“A foolish idea to delay. Don’t you think?” he asked his horse.
The stallion tossed his head as if amused.
“You’ll have to take him back to the fort,” Alec said, turning to Harrison.
“Why not take my horse, sir?”
“Because it would hardly be fair to make you walk all the way back to Fort William, Harrison. And I cannot postpone moving the ship into the cove until tomorrow.”
“Are you certain, sir?” Harrison asked, his face creased with worry.
Alec nodded, smiling. “Emphatically so, Harrison.” Once the ship was in the cove he would simply use the secret staircase to return to Fort William.
Harrison said nothing further as Alec turned and began walking toward Loch Euliss.
When her shoulders began to ache, Leitis halted her work on the tartan, stood, and stretched.
She straightened the room, although it had not been mussed, and settled the chairs around the table differently. She trimmed the wicks of the candles, then counted the floorboards, amusing herself with the silliness of that occupation.
The MacRae plaid, as difficult as it was, had captured her attention these last few days. She’d vowed not to think of the colonel or Ian, or the impending departure from Gilmuir. But when she wasn’t working, her mind flooded with thoughts and questions.
Was she as guilty as Cumberland of undiscerning hatred? She wished to be nothing like the duke, but to accomplish that, she would have to show compassion, pity, and kindness. She had grudgingly become fond of Donald, but had no other contact with the soldiers. Except the colonel.
Had she wronged him? It felt, somehow, as if she had. That look he’d given her the last time she’d seen him reflected a strange disappointment, as if he’d expected more of her.
He’d killed her countrymen.
And saved a village.
He’d promised he would not seek out Hamish.
And kept that vow.
The knock of the door was a welcome reprieve from her thoughts. She opened it to find Donald standing there, his arms filled with a package wrapped in paper and string.
“I’ve a present for you, miss,” he said, smiling. “From the colonel. He thought as how you might like another dress to wear.”
She could only stare at Donald, taking the package from him in a daze. He walked away, whistling.
The colonel had given her a dress.
Placing the parcel on the table, she untied the string carefully, parted the paper. Inside was a soft blue garment, the bodice adorned with embroidered flowers in shades of yellow.
She’d never seen anything so lovely.
Closing the door, she removed her dress and replaced it with the colonel’s gift. It fit almost perfectly, being only a little loose in the waist. She twirled, watching as the skirt billowed up around her.
A few weeks ago she would have returned the gift. Today, however, she was more practical than prideful.
He’d given her a dress. Smiling, she shook her head. Once again he had confused her.
Leaving the door open behind her, she walked into the courtyard, staring up at the sky. The afternoon was waning, the blue sky darkening in slow degrees.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, staring out at the land encircling Gilmuir. A faint blue mist hung over the landscape, darkening the green grass of the glen and making the mountain crags appear veiled.
She missed Ian. She wanted to touch him again, to assure herself he was real and not someone she’d imagined.
She walked through the archway to the priory. How many times had she done this in the last few days? A vigil she kept as if to lure Ian to her.
The breeze blew through the structure, an oddly sad sound. She’d never noticed it before. Why did she do so now? Was it because she was beginning to bid this place farewell in her heart? Or because she wasn’t certain who, exactly, she loved?
She brushed a spot on the floor clean and sat against the west wall, staring out at the loch.
Alec had no more than a mile to walk before coming to the lake. Nor was the ship difficult to find. It sat close to shore like a fat duck in full plumage, its wings ivory-colored sails.
He signaled and a short time later a small boat was lowered, the man inside it rowing toward him with long, casual strokes.
Alec stood on the shoreline, waiting. The fading sun tinted the water silver and made the lake a curious mirror in which to view himself.
He was tall, the better to be seen upon a horse, Cumberland always said. His eyes were brown, his hair black, and his features unremarkable. A man like so many others, nothing glaring about his appearance, no clue as to his attributes or flaws.
His tailor had fashioned his uniform so that it fit well. Cumberland had ordered that none of his troops should have short hair. Consequently, Alec tied his back in a ribbon. He wore the insignia of his regiment and the special badge on his waistcoat that indicated that he’d been decorated by the Duke of Cumberland. An irritation, to be forced to wear a memento from a man he so despised, but it might have caused comment if he had discarded it.
There was nothing about him to indicate that he, Alec John Landers, was different from the men he commanded. Nor was there a hint that the man outfitted in the garb of soldier was engaged in acts of treason. Or that he didn’t regret what he’d done either at Inverness or here.
The boat approached the shoreline. “Signore Landers?” the man at the oars asked, his voice heavily accented.
Alec nodded, stepping into the skiff.
“The captain expected you much earlier,” the sailor said with a grin.
“I expected to be here much earlier,” Alec conceded.
Reaching the ship, he climbed the rope ladder, thinking that he had been wise, indeed, as a youth to choose to purchase a commission in the army rather than to serve in His Majesty’s Navy. Everything about a ship appeared insubstantial to him, and this vessel was no different, bobbing in the strong lake current like a cork.
Captain Braddock was a short, stout man with a cleanshaven round face accented by pink cheeks and a tightly pursed mouth. His attire, while unremarkable, was immaculate; a deep blue coat with wide cuffs, a white shirt with few frills, and buff breeches. The fact that his clothing was orderly, as was the deck of the ship, was a welcome sign. A man who was lax in his habits and his discipline was not a good companion in secrecy.
“We’ve a little light left,” the captain said in greeting. “And you’ve practice in navigating this cove?” he asked with some reservation.
“I’ve traversed the necklace of rocks a few times, Captain,” he said honestly. “But never in a vessel of this size.”
Captain Braddock stared at him as if measuring his worth. “Do you think we can make it?”
“I do,” Alec said.
“And if my ship goes aground?”
“Then I’ll pay to have it repaired,” Alec said. The captain only raised one eyebrow, but nodded to the man who’d brought Alec here.
The Italian sailor stood beside Alec as they neared the rocks, thrusting the pole through the water to measure the depth. It had not touched the bottom of the lake, a good sign, since the merchant ship was bottom-heavy and tended to ride low in the water.
The sails were stowed so as not to give the ship any forward impetus. It wasn’t easy to turn a vessel this size, and the cove was too small to allow for much navigation. Consequently, the journey was made slowly and with such care that Alec worried they might not enter the cove before nightfall after all.
They finally rounded the farthest point on the necklace and slipped through the opening with ease. The sailor beside him kept plunging the pole into the water, but so far their luck held. The ship crept into the cove like a badger going
to ground.
Alec blew out a breath, unclenched his fists, relaxing for the first time in an hour.
“I’ll not stay here long,” Braddock said.
Alec couldn’t fault the other man for his caution.
“I’m taking a chance as well as you,” the captain added, his gaze level.
“A day,” Alec said. “Or two. That’s all.”
The captain reluctantly nodded.
Alec left the ship, the Italian sailor rowing him to shore. The Stalwart, as the ship was named, dwarfed the small cove, sitting like a brooding bird upon a watery nest.
It was a risky thing to do, to use the staircase in daylight, especially attired as he was in his regimentals. But Donald had assured him that Leitis sat at her loom most days, and no one else would be in that vicinity to spot him.
On his return, he would have to send a supply of food to the village and ensure that Armstrong was kept occupied. A dozen other details flew into his mind as he pushed up the stone on the floor of the priory.
Climbing up to the slate floor, Alec brushed off his breeches, then turned and replaced the stone. Only then did he see Leitis sitting there, touched by the fading light.
The moment had come, both expected and dreaded. He stood before her, knowing that he would lose her in the next moments.
“I’m Alec John Landers,” he said. “Colonel of the 11th Regiment, decorated soldier of the Crown. And the man you know as Raven.”
Chapter 25
H er mind refused to embrace the truth even as she continued to stare at him, stunned.
Crimson and glaring, his uniform marked him as the colonel of the regiment. His mask was gone and in its place the colonel’s face. Ian. His beloved face, which she’d touched in passion and wonder. Whose lips she’d kissed and tongued. She’d placed her hands on that jaw, and kissed that throat, and traced her fingers across his body in a delicate exploration of wonder.
My enemy, my love.
She sat immobile in the dress he’d given her, refusing to believe the truth. Slowly he came forward, moving toward her with caution. Standing in front of her, silently, he removed his gloves.
