“What makes ye think that?” he asked, rubbing his eyes as he sat up.
“He was about to tell us Papa had left the decision up to him when Garnet arrived unexpectedly.”
He yawned. “I don’t recall. Garnet? On a first name basis, are ye?”
She punched his arm. “The man distracted me and I forgot what Murtagh said.”
“Distracted! Ye were like a rabbit caught in a snare. ’Tis the reason I felt we should leave.”
She pouted. “He wasna what I expected.”
His eyes widened. “Ye mean he isna the tall, dark and handsome Highlander ye thought he’d be? But ye were drawn to him anyway.”
She wandered over to the window. “Well, he is all those things, except he’s no Highlander.”
“He hails from there. Dinna make the mistake of judging a mon by his clothes.”
She shrugged. “Either he has no eye for fashion, or…”
A tapping at the door interrupted their conversation. Beatris called from the hallway. “Murtagh came by. He’ll take ye to the castle this morning, if ye wish.”
Jewel made a dash for the boudoir. “This is our chance to twist his arm.”
Gray lay back down. “Hurry up then.”
* * *
Once again, Donald had disappeared by the time Garnet woke. The ewer was empty, so he donned his breeches and tiptoed downstairs, relieved when he encountered no one on his way to the pump.
He didn’t notice Murtagh leaving the Guthrie house until the Highlander came up behind him. “I see ye’re hiding a braw frame ’neath yer foreign togs,” he quipped.
Garnet glanced over his shoulder. “Must be all the walking,” he replied with a smile, glad he’d managed to regain some weight after weeks in the Amsterdam prison. Exercising his body in the cramped cell had kept him sane.
“Ye’ll need better clothes for the journey, ye ken.”
“Aye,” he replied, looking forward to tossing the Puritan hat to the four winds, though it had aided his escape. “Cameron can procure horses for us. He asked when we’ll be leaving.”
Murtagh shrugged. “In a day or two. I’m taking the lads to see yon castle today. A walk down memory lane, ye might say.”
“Ye’re familiar with Edinburgh Castle?”
Murtagh chuckled. “Aye. I was imprisoned there once.”
Garnet backed away from the pump, annoyed he’d splashed water over his bare feet. “Fyke! Mrs. Cameron willna be pleased if I trail water into the house. Ye were a prisoner?”
“Aye. Spent a few years in the prisoner-of-war cell yonder, after the rebellion.”
A chill crept up Garnet’s spine. “Rebellion?”
“Against Cromwell and his cursed Parliamentarians. They called it Glenheath’s Rising.”
Garnet leaned on the pump, gripping the handle of the ewer. “Ye fought for Glenheath?”
“And proud of it,” he replied. “I’ll let ye know when we’re ready to depart.”
His mind in turmoil, Garnet watched Murtagh saunter off to the meadow. It was possible the jovial Highlander was part of the marauding gang that had destroyed the Barclay estate. He had only the ewer to use as a weapon and suspected the flimsy jug would simply bounce off the man’s skull and shatter.
If Murtagh had fought for Glenheath, it was likely the others were his comrades in arms.
And he’d foolishly agreed to travel with them.
He took several deep breaths in an effort to steady his racing heart. His first instinct was to beg off and go by sea, but mayhap Providence was behind this incredible coincidence. Once they got to Blairgowrie, he’d challenge Murtagh and the others with their crime, make them see the damage they’d wrought. Then despatch every last one to the fiery furnaces of hell.
Jaw clenched, he turned. A movement at an upper window in the Guthrie house caught his eye. He could have sworn it was a lass, but she was gone in a flash. Heat rose in his face. Who was she and how long had she watched him?
* * *
Jewel pressed her back against the wall and swallowed hard, hoping Garnet Barclay hadn’t seen her. When he’d first appeared, she hadn’t immediately recognized him. After all, her gaze had been fixed on the long, dark hair, the broad shoulders and rippling biceps as he primed the pump. The unexpected sight of his well-muscled body had produced peculiar sensations in unmentionable places.
“What’s amiss?” Gray asked when he emerged from the boudoir, rubbing his ears with a towel.
“Naught,” she lied, still trying to steady her breathing. She glanced down to make sure her tingling nipples weren’t poking at the fabric of Beatris’ gown. How to tell her brother a braw Highlander lurked beneath Garnet’s poor quality clothes and quiet demeanor? But he’d seemed angry as he walked back to the house. “I think Murtagh said something to upset Barclay,” she said.
“Ye were spying from the window,” he accused with a teasing smile.
“Nay…well…aye, but we have to be careful.”
“Let’s go down for breakfast and ye can ask Murtagh about it later while we’re touring the castle.”
St. Margaret's Chapel
On his way back from the pump, Garnet hurried past the kitchen, relieved to discover Donald and Michael were also missing from the breakfast table. Mayhap, they’d gone to procure horses. He might be a banker at heart, but he knew a thing or two about horseflesh and could have offered advice.
“I’ll just be a few minutes,” he assured Mrs. Cameron.
“I dinna approve of yer prancing about in front of my daughters without a shirt,” she complained.
Still fuming over Murtagh’s revelation, he decided this wasn’t the time to be antagonistic. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking heart from the sly grin on Maggie’s face.
He dressed hurriedly, preoccupied with formulating a plot to ensnare the Highlanders. He stopped abruptly with his hand on the doorknob. Just who were the two lads? Beatris Guthrie had said her visitors were from Ayrshire, so how had it come about they were protected by a contingent of Highlanders who’d once fought for Glenheath?
He took his place at the breakfast table, surprised when Mrs. Cameron began doling out porridge. This time he was served last, after Faith, Esther, Rachel and Maggie each dutifully passed a bowl in answer to her name. He supposed the Camerons had run out of dutiful names by the time Maggie was born.
Evidently, they weren’t going to wait for Donald and Michael. The wee one could tell him where they’d gone, but not in front of her mother.
In any case, he’d more important things to do. If he followed the visitors to the castle, he might find out more about Gray and…
The identity of the woman at the window struck him like a blow to the belly—Jewel was a lass dressed in male attire. It was a common disguise adopted by many travelers for obvious reasons.
The tempting possibility of a bit of back and forth about their names resurfaced, though it might be better not to reveal he’d tumbled to her identity.
* * *
The Kilmer Highlanders whistled and cheered when Jewel stepped out of the Guthrie’s front door. “Now ye look more like the precious lass we know and love,” Murtagh quipped.
She felt strangely conspicuous clad in one of Beatris’ day gowns. Four days disguised as a lad and now she didn’t know how to behave like a female. “Beatris insisted,” she murmured as heat rose in her face.
“What’s the point of traipsing around Edinburgh in male garb,” her cousin exclaimed, “when she’s with four other females?”
“Aye,” Murtagh agreed, proffering a hand to the Guthries’ youngest. “Will ye do me the honor, Kate?”
The bairn beamed at the use of her nickname and slipped her hand into Murtagh’s beefy paw.
They set off walking the short distance to the castle. Jewel was glad Beatris and her girls had joined the excursion. “I’ve been there many a time, given my husband’s position with the Privy Council, but there are parts I havna seen,” she’d explained. “We can have some
fun while Quinn is at work.”
The two women linked arms as the going became steeper. “I’ve only known ye a day or two,” Jewel said. “But I can tell we’ll be fast friends.”
“Aye,” Beatris agreed. “I feel the same.”
Jewel had friends at home in Kilmer, most of them now married, but her brothers had always been her closest confidents, especially Gray since they were closer in age. She scanned the skyline of her country’s capital. Edinburgh boasted a fine university; receptions and balls were held in its castle; people of importance dwelled within its walls—famous musicians, poets, statesmen—even kings sometimes came to Holyrood Palace. Beatris told her the king’s brother, the Duke of York, now resided there as viceroy. Yet the pleasant prospect of having Beatris as a close friend wasn’t enough of a temptation to begin life anew in the town. She was a country lass at heart.
Folk gawked as they passed. Beatris laughed. “’Tisna every day they see a bunch of Highlanders in plaids marching up this hill in the company of a bevy of women.”
Murtagh fell unusually silent when they entered the castle precincts. He scratched his head as everyone gathered around, waiting for him to lead the way.
Gray leaned close to Jewel’s ear. “This must be difficult. Too many memories.”
Kate tugged at Murtagh’s plaid. “I’m tired. Can I ride on yer shoulders?”
Her plea seemed to jolt him out of his reverie. “Aye, lass,” he replied, hoisting her up. “Let’s start with St. Margaret’s Chapel.”
Jewel took her brother’s arm as they walked. “Remember the tale of our parents seeking refuge in the chapel to share their first kiss after being reunited?”
He chuckled. “Only to discover kegs of gunpowder had been stored there.”
The elation her mother and father must have felt washed over her as she stood in the holy place. Morgan Pendray and Hannah Kincaid thought never to meet again amid the turmoil of the rebellion, but fate had brought them together. She fixed her gaze on the blue of the stained-glass window behind the altar, offering up a silent petition to Scotland’s patron saint who’d died of a broken heart after her husband’s death. “Is there a special someone waiting for me?” she murmured.
She gritted her teeth when a memory of a well-muscled man pumping water popped into her head. “Not him, surely,” she whispered.
Murtagh and his comrades rose from their knees and led the way out. Jewel ran a hand over the rough wood of the door her parents had leaned against sharing a passionate kiss after their reunion. She touched fingertips to her lips, wondering what it was like to be kissed by a lover. If the joy on her mother’s face every time she told the tale was any indication…
As they helped the bairns descend the steep stone steps, she glanced towards a distant courtyard, puzzled by a brief glimpse of a black Puritan hat.
* * *
Garnet hurried out of sight of St. Margaret’s Chapel, hoping the Highlanders hadn’t spotted him. Intrigued by the whistling and cheering outside the Guthrie house, he’d discovered Jewel embarking on the excursion dressed in female clothing.
Her innocent beauty took his breath away and this time he welcomed the pleasant stirrings at his groin. He followed at a safe distance, unable to tear his eyes away from the sway of her hips as she walked with her friends and relatives. How he had ever mistaken her for a lad…His body’s first reaction at the campfire should have alerted him to her true identity.
Her hair was tucked up in a lacy coif, but he’d wager it was long enough to wrap around his body.
Crivens! He couldn’t allow himself to be distracted by a pretty female, though the coincidence of their names was…
Enough!
Jewel was clearly connected in some way with the men who’d destroyed his ancestral home—a daughter, mayhap, or granddaughter more like. There’d hopefully be opportunities to uncover her identity later, if she in fact carried on after Edinburgh. The way she laughed and chatted with Beatris Guthrie gave him the impression she felt at home in Edinburgh. For some insane reason, the notion bothered him. She didn’t seem like a town lass. She belonged on a horse, riding the hills and dales of the Highlands, with him at her side, her hair…
Irritated with himself, he took off the hated hat and struck it repeatedly against the side of his leg in frustration, putting it back on when he attracted the attention of a dragoon on sentry duty close by.
Trying to look inconspicuous, he peered around the corner of Queen Mary’s Tower in time to see the Highlanders going down the steps that probably led to the dungeons. He quickly regained his hiding place when Michael and Donald suddenly came into view loitering on the other side of the parade ground.
His gut clenched. What on earth were they doing here—again? Surely they didn’t plan to steal horses from the barracks?
I Thought I'd Lost Ye
The three Guthrie lasses clung to their mother when half a dozen armed dragoons blocked the way at the foot of the steps. Jewel moved quickly to shield them from witnessing a possible confrontation.
“Out of bounds,” the captain declared, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
Murtagh stepped forward. “Can ye nay see yer way clear to letting us have a peek in the prisoner-o-war cell?” He winked. “I spent a few years there as a guest of Oliver Cromwell and I wanted to show…”
The soldier raised an eyebrow. “That’s as may be, but the cell’s occupied.”
“We’re nay at war with anyone.”
“Aye, we are. The bloody-minded Covenanters have declared war on our king, and dungeon cells are full. We’re keeping the assassins well away from the others.”
Jewel’s heart pounded in her ears. She saw the same fear in Gray’s narrowed eyes. The revelation that David Axton and John Balford were imprisoned in the cell came as no surprise. They were to stand trial for the murder of Archbishop Sharp. She doubted even Murtagh was aware of her father’s role in their capture. She tugged at his arm when it seemed he might argue. “The bairns are afraid,” she whispered.
He turned to his men. “Seems I must rely on fond memories o’ the place,” he quipped.
His comrades laughed, though there was no humor in it.
Smiling tentatively, Beatris redirected the girls back up the steps and everyone inhaled deeply when they emerged into the sunlight.
“I canna imagine spending years down there,” Jewel confided to Gray.
She squinted at the Puritan hat when a voice she recognized declared, “There ye are. I thought I’d lost ye.”
* * *
Garnet realized he had no choice. Donald had spotted the hat and hurried to confront him. “What are ye doing here?”
A quick glance at Cameron’s angry features convinced him he’d better come up with a plausible excuse. “I came with our neighbors’ visitors, but I seem to have become separated from them among these crowds.”
Donald looked around at the sparse number of dragoons in the parade ground. “Crowds?”
To Garnet’s great relief, Jewel and her party emerged from the dark steps. “There ye are,” he exclaimed. “I thought I’d lost ye.”
The confusion on her lovely face indicated she might claim not to know what he was talking about, but Murtagh touched her arm. “Aye, laddie,” he replied. “We wondered where ye’d got to.”
Jewel’s gaze darted from him, to Michael and then Donald, and a hint of awareness flickered.
Garnet gazed into the emerald depths, the words he wanted to say stuck in his throat.
Ye are a lass.
A bonnie one.
How could I have thought ye were a lad?
He was about to babble an introduction when he remembered the lie he’d told Michael.
The lad came to his rescue. “Will ye nay introduce us to yer friends?” he said.
Garnet dragged his eyes away from Jewel’s face and gestured to Michael. “Mr. Cameron is my host. He’s yer next door neighbor, Mrs. Guthrie, and Donald here is a friend of mine, from Rotterdam.�
��
Beatris bobbed a brief curtsey. “I didna recognize ye, Mr. Cameron. My apologies.”
He scowled in reply, his eyes fixed on the Highlanders, until Kate said, “Ye’re Maggie’s daddy.”
Cameron bestowed a rare smile, leading Garnet to hope the ruse had worked. He suspected Michael and Donald were up to no good and didn’t want to plant the mistaken suspicion he’d followed them.
Donald offered Murtagh his hand. “I understand ye’ve offered to let us accompany ye to the Highlands.”
Murtagh accepted the gesture with a gruff grunt. Was he having second thoughts because of Garnet’s subterfuge?
Worse still, Jewel seemed distraught by the news. “I’m afraid all this sunshine has worn me out,” she claimed. “I’d like to return home.”
“But we havena seen the Grand Hall,” Gray protested.
“The reception is to be held there later,” Beatris supplied. “The girls are getting tired, too.”
Garnet still hadn’t had a chance to mention the coincidence of their names, so he took a risk and proffered an arm. “May I escort ye, Lady Jewel?”
To his relief, she accepted and linked her arm in his. “Ye may, Mr. Barclay.”
“Garnet’s my given name,” he insisted, glad of the long Dutch overcoat when his cock saluted her touch, despite Donald’s eyes boring into his back. “Quite a coincidence, do ye nay think?” he chirped as they walked away.
* * *
Jewel was glad of Garnet’s strong arm. There was no way Cameron could know of her father’s role in his brother’s death, yet his malevolent gaze had unsettled her. “Aye, ’tis a coincidence,” she said, pretending the notion hadn’t already occurred. A piece of the puzzle fell into place. “Ye said Donald came from abroad, but he’s a Scot.”
Highland Jewel Page 6
