The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  Blood ran from his nose as he opened his eyes. “Cromartie will hang you for this.”

  “I doubt that.” Dunn pushed into the armory and found his sword, dirk, and sporran. “Where’s my coin?”

  The man smirked. “A wee payment for your stay.”

  Gnashing his teeth, Dunn slammed his fist across the braggart’s jaw. “I’ll be taking back what’s mine.” He fished in the man’s purse and pulled out a handful of coins. “Witness this, men. Cromartie’s guards have robbed me and I am recovering only a pittance of my property.”

  “Duly noted, sir,” said Ram, presenting a leather purse. “This is for you. From your coffers.”

  “He thinks of everything,” said Curran with a snort.

  “You are a good man.” Dunn took the coin and belted on his weapons. “Let us haste afore anyone else decides to pay us a visit.”

  “This way.” Curran beckoned, taking the lead.

  “How many guards?” Dunn whispered, drawing his sword.

  “Four posted on the wall-walk,” said Ram.

  Curran stopped at the edge of the courtyard and popped his head through the archway, searching back and forth. “’Tis clear.”

  Dunn pointed ahead. “Skirt to the kitchen entrance.”

  “Aye, that’s where we’re heading,” whispered Ram, taking up the rear.

  Slinking around the perimeter took longer but enabled them to keep to the shadows…until someone’s blade scraped the stone wall.

  “What’s that?” shouted a guard from above.

  “Run!” Dunn hissed.

  Curran stepped up the pace.

  Crack! A musket blasted behind them.

  “Faster!” yelled Ram.

  Dunn stole a glance over his shoulder as they made a sharp turn and headed for the kitchen entry. Above, three men dashed toward another who stood lining up the sights of his musket.

  Two steps to the door.

  Crack! The guard’s musket fired.

  Dunn grunted as something smacked his heel. Keeping up with the pace, he lunged forward. Searing pain burned his foot and shot up his leg. His knee gave out.

  “Jesus Christ,” Ram swore as he shoved his hand beneath Dunn’s armpit.

  Steeling his mind against the pain, he ran, favoring his left foot, only tapping the ball of his right. Agony punished him with his every step. But he was committed. He either fled or faced the noose come dawn.

  As they charged through the kitchen, Dunn grabbed a cloth.

  “Thieves!” the cook shouted, snatching a poker from the hearth.

  Ram swung the door shut in the man’s face.

  “This way,” growled Curran, turning into the stairwell.

  Clenching his teeth, Dunn hobbled down the steps, leaving a trail of blood.

  “Will you make it?” asked Ram.

  “Bloody oath, I will.”

  Without stopping to light a torch, they dashed into the passageway. It wasn’t long before the shouts of the guards echoed behind them.

  Ahead, Curran pushed through the gate. “You’re limping like a lame nag.”

  “I’ll be right as soon as I mount Beastie.” Dunn ground his molars as he sprinted through the gate and up the stairs, the pain lessening.

  “They’re gaining,” hissed Ram, catching up and taking the lead.

  A volley of musket fire blasted from the wood. “We have you covered, MacRae! Run!” bellowed Robert Grant. Cromartie might have been alerted to MacRae Highlanders in the area, but not Grant.

  Aye, Dunn loved it when a plan came together. Only paces to freedom, he bore down and kept running. Cromartie’s guard did not stand a chance. As he reached the edge of the wood, Robert stepped from the brush. “Are you hurt?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Then go. If our muskets haven’t convinced them to turn tail and go back behind Castle Leod’s curtain walls, we will keep them busy as you make your escape.”

  Dunn shook his friend’s hand. “I am in your debt.”

  “That’s right, and I’ll be looking for payment one day.”

  Dunn beckoned Ram and Curran. “Let us ride, lads.”

  As he neared his horse, Beastie snorted. The big horse could smell his master from fifty paces. Dunn released the stallion’s reins and shoved his left foot into the stirrup. “Are you ready to run?”

  The horse nodded. Aye, Beastie sensed the danger and flared his nostrils. Once he was mounted, the big fellow reared. “Follow me,” Dunn bellowed.

  He took the northern route, circling toward Contin. There was no chance Cromartie’s men would think he’d waste that kind of time, but that’s why Dunn couldn’t be tracked. He never traveled the expected route.

  When they arrived at the Y in the road outside the village, he pulled Beastie to a halt. Ram and Curran rode in beside him. “We must split up. You men ride on to Eilean Donan. Ensure she’s protected from attack. Double the guard.”

  “But you’re bleeding, sir.” Ram pointed at the swath of slick blood glowing in the moonlight on Beastie’s barrel. “You need a healer.”

  Dunn snarled. “’Tis but a scratch.”

  “When will we see you next?” asked Curran.

  “I can’t say. There’s a wee lassie on her way to London who needs rescuing.”

  “You’re heading for London?” Ram’s voice cracked. “After that bastard locked you in the bowels of hell?”

  “Aye.” Dunn reined his mount southward. “What better way to clear my name when I have both Cromartie and Seaforth in the same city?”

  “What?” The lieutenant’s voice shot up. “Are you mad?”

  “Perhaps, but I’ll not stand idle while Mairi’s father attempts to marry her off to the loftiest bidder.”

  * * *

  With the coming of dawn, the skies opened into a deluge. A tempestuous wind drove the droplets sideways, piercing Dunn’s clothes. He hunched over Beastie’s withers as the rain turned to sleet. His heel throbbed with the stallion’s every step. Riding into Inverness, he reined his horse to a stop outside the harbormaster’s rooms. A lamp shone from within.

  Dunn stepped inside, grinding his teeth against the pain.

  “We’re closed. Don’t open for an hour yet,” said a man seated at a writing table with a quill in his hand. He didn’t bother to look up.

  Undaunted, Dunn stepped forward. “I need to purchase fare to London forthwith.”

  “The next ship sails on Friday. You’d best return then.”

  “No. I must leave today.”

  The man looked up. “You are brash coming in here smelling like a bog and demanding passage. Run along and do not return until Friday morn at ten o’clock.”

  Dunn grabbed his dirk and slammed the point into the center of the man’s parchment. “I beg your pardon, but I am Dunn MacRae, chieftain of my clan. I’ve been wronged by the Earl of Cromartie, and I will sail for London this day. If ye do not want your throat cut, I reckon you’d best tell me where I can find a boat leaving within the hour.”

  “Th-there’s none.”

  “None?” Dunn pulled up the dirk and leveled it at the man’s neck.

  Sweat beaded the coward’s brow. “Ah…you might try Mr. Murdoch. He’s taking a load of livestock south—I reckon he’ll h-help you.”

  “Is that Murdoch with a barque?”

  “Aye, a single-masted barque. He’s the one.”

  “That’s better.” Dunn sheathed his weapon and strode out the door, doing his best not to limp, the top of his right boot flapping without the sole.

  The activity in the dockyard had grown busier with the hour. The rain turned to a heavy mist. Fishermen with sea galleys were unfurling their sails. At the end of the pier a flock of sheep was being herded onto a barque—the same boat Dunn had hired two years past to deliver his livestock to market in Glasgow.

  He led his horse to the gangway. “Mr. Murdoch, please.”

  The master stepped to the ship’s rail. “MacRae?”

  “In the flesh. Do you ha
ve room for a paying passenger?”

  “I do. But why would you be heading to Hull?”

  Jesus Saint Christopher Christ, Hull was a good three-day ride from London. The blasted harbormaster probably knew it as well. “I need fare to London. ’Tis urgent.”

  “I have no qualms taking you down the eastern seaboard. Perhaps you can find a transport to London at the port in Hull.”

  “I suppose it will take me a mite closer than we are now.” Determined to change the master’s priorities, Dunn limped up the wooden gangway, pulling Beastie behind.

  “Are you injured?” asked Murdoch.

  “Nothing a dram of whisky won’t set to rights, my friend.” He smiled as if the throbbing pain were a trifle. Once aboard, he planned to slowly wheedle the master until he agreed to ferry him all the way to London.

  “Well, I reckon you should go below decks and pay a wee visit to the galley. Cook’s salve is the best I’ve seen.” Murdoch beckoned a sailor. “You there, lower this horse into the hold.”

  “My thanks—and have a care with the big fella. He’s a rare find.” Dunn handed over the reins and proceeded down the narrow steps toward the galley.

  A large man scooped a pan of oats from a barrel.

  “Are you the cook?”

  “I am.”

  Dunn took a seat on the stool. “Master Murdoch said you might have a remedy for my foot.”

  “Perhaps. What happened to it?”

  “Caught by a musket ball.”

  “Shot, aye?” The cook wiped his dirty hands down the front of his apron. “Let’s have a wee peek.”

  Crossing his leg over his knee, Dunn took his first good look at the damages. With the heel missing, there wasn’t much leather remaining on the sole, either. Gingerly, he pulled off the boot, then hissed as he peeled away his hose.

  “God’s bones, that is one mangled pound o’ flesh,” said the cook, pulling up a stool. Grasping Dunn’s ankle, the man examined the wound. “’Tis a godsend ye had heels on those brogues, else your foot might have been shot clean off.”

  Dunn hissed. It hurt more now that he’d seen it. The bottom of his foot looked like mincemeat. “Can you fix me up?”

  “I reckon it’ll need a good soak in a pot o’ briny water afore we apply a dressing.”

  Dunn nodded. “Is there a spare boot about? It seems mine is damaged beyond repair.”

  The cook stood and grabbed a cast-iron pan. “It might cost you some coin.”

  “Fair enough.” He watched as the man prepared the water and salt, then clenched his teeth until they throbbed as he submerged his foot in the tincture while the salt attacked him like a hundred angry hornets.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Due to inclement weather, the Earl of Cromartie and his retinue did not arrive in London until Saturday. During nearly the entire journey down the coast, the brig had creaked and groaned, tossing about in the midst of a tempest. Mairi spent most of the journey in her berth overcome by seasickness. The weather didn’t sour Da’s mood, however. By the time they arrived at the London town house, he had an entire sennight of activities planned, including private parties, symphonies, operas, and luncheons.

  He allowed her the first night to rest, but this morn she was expected to attend services at Westminster with the queen. Though it wasn’t proper for Mairi to venture out alone, especially on a Sunday morning, she slipped through the gardens and out the alley. Reid MacKenzie kept his rooms only blocks away. It was difficult to believe, but she had never been invited inside Seaforth’s town house, a fact she still resented. Twenty years of being betrothed to the man, and he’d never shown her any affection. Aye, he was always pleasant, but the more Mairi thought about it, the more she realized the earl had forever tried to evade her. He was polite, yet distant. How had she never once considered he might not want to marry her? I was so naïve.

  As a matter of fact, she’d never questioned her duty to marry him. Their forthcoming nuptials had always been a part of her future. She had a task to perform for kin and clan, and she would have obediently allowed her father to lead her down the aisle of wedded bliss.

  Wedded misery is more likely.

  Now that Mairi knew love, she realized how miserable her life with Reid MacKenzie would have been. Though he was an attractive man, she didn’t love him. Heavens, he hardly noticed her. Who would want to go through life being treated like an inconvenient consort? Especially when Mr. MacRae has so much love to give.

  Arriving at the earl’s town house, she took in a deep breath, climbed the stairs, and rang the bell.

  After a great deal of time, an old butler answered the door. A puzzled expression furrowed his weathered face. “May I help you, madam?”

  “Lady Mairi MacKenzie here to meet with His Lordship, please.”

  “I am afraid the earl has not yet risen.” He moved to shut the door. “Perhaps you should return at a more appropriate hour, my lady…and with a proper escort.”

  With a jolt of ire, Mairi slid her foot forward to keep the door from closing. “No.” She pushed inside, throwing her shoulders back. “I will speak to His Lordship, my cousin, forthwith. It is a matter of life and death!” Reid wasn’t a first cousin, but that didn’t matter. They were kin, and that’s all this pompous butler needed to know.

  The man’s jowls shook. “This is highly improper. And before the worship service with the queen.”

  “I do not care whether my presence here is proper or not,” Mairi shouted, thrusting her finger toward the staircase. “Either you fetch His Lordship this instant, or I will open every door in this house until I find him.”

  The butler bowed. “Of course, my lady. I shall wake him straightaway.” He gestured with an upturned palm. “If you would take a seat in the parlor.”

  Mairi heaved a sigh and retreated to a settee. Thank the stars the man hadn’t drawn a dagger and waved it under her nose, though she would have been ready for such an assault.

  It seemed like an eternity before the steps creaked and the earl entered, barefoot, wearing no more than a shirt and kilt. “’Tis rather early, is it not, Cousin?” he asked, dipping his head in a semblance of a bow.

  Clutching Dunn’s missive, Mairi hopped to her feet. “Seaforth. Things have grown dire since Mr. MacRae’s last correspondence with you.”

  “MacRae? I thought you and he were planning to marry.”

  “That is exactly what we want, but my father has other plans.” She shoved the missive into his hands while filling him in on all that had transpired, right up to riding out of Castle Leod’s gates while the poor chieftain suffered in the bowls of Da’s prison.

  “Good God, will your father stop at nothing to further his estates?”

  “You have no idea. I’ll tell you now, Dunn does not give a fig about my dowry—he would marry me this very day if he weren’t imprisoned. Dunn only surrendered his weapons because my father held a knife to my neck and threatened to kill me.”

  “Thought you said Cromartie was bluffing.”

  “Aye.” She rubbed her throat where she now had a small scab. “But it seemed real enough at the time.”

  Seaforth opened the letter and gestured to the settee while he took a seat near the hearth.

  But Mairi refused to sit. Not at a time like this. “Da told me he would release him, but only after my hand had been spoken for.”

  Looking up from the letter, Reid arched an eyebrow. “Only after you’ve said I do, I’d surmise.”

  “I will never utter those words unless they are when I am standing beside Duncan MacRae.”

  Seaforth held up his hand as he read. Then he folded the parchment thoughtfully. “Do you truly love him?”

  “With my whole heart. With my entire being.”

  “Then why did you refuse him when he offered for your hand before?”

  “Because Da said he was merely taking pity upon me.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Hardly?”

  Seaforth crossed his ankles. �
��I reckon Dunn has carried a torch for you since your fifteenth birthday.”

  Mairi thought back. There had been a clan gathering at Castle Leod. A young man of four and twenty, Dunn had attended with his father—and Seaforth. Heaven’s stars, that was about the time when she first noticed his brooding looks from across the hall.

  “Is that why you rescinded…?” Her voice trailed off. No use opening wounds that have only begun to heal.

  “Nay, lass. But hear me true, you are a fine, bonny young woman. My heart strayed, is all. I have no further explanation, aside from offering my sincerest apologies for any suffering I may have caused you.” He shook the missive. “I will confront your father directly. After all, he owes me fealty, not the other way around. I will demand that he dispatch a missive to the constable at Castle Leod for MacRae’s release forthwith.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Mairi drew her hands over her heart. “And what of Dunn’s proposal of marriage? Can you please convince my father to relent?”

  “Unfortunately, you will need to have a reckoning with your da on that account. I may be the chieftain of Clan MacKenzie, but your father has every right to arrange your marriage, though you have a right to refuse his choice as well.” Seaforth tapped his lips with his pointer finger. “I’ll do what I can to intervene whilst we are in London, and ensure Cromartie does not act too hastily in negotiating your betrothal.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Let us say I will try. Dunn MacRae is the best ally a man can have, and he deserves a chance to pursue happiness. If you love him as you have declared to me, you will have my blessing and my support.” Seaforth stood. “Now if you will excuse me, I must dress to attend the queen’s service.”

  Both happy and miserable at the same time, Mairi slowly curtsied. “Thank you, m’lord.” Seaforth might be able to force her father to release Dunn, but his hands were tied when it came to whom she married. She suppressed a groan, fully aware that was the way of it.

  How am I to keep Da at bay until we return to the Highlands?

  * * *

  Thrown from his narrow cot, Dunn startled awake as his backside collided with the deck. His stomach roiled with the violent lurching of the ship—port to starboard like an overzealous cradle. Above decks, thunder boomed and rumbled. His weapons and effects slid, clanking from wall to wall in the tiny berth used by paying passengers.