The Highland Chieftain

by Amy Jarecki

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Cheapens?”

  She shook her head. “I must sound daft, but after all we’ve been through this day, I need…” Her tongue tied. Goodness, she was so tired, she found no words to describe her feelings.

  “You need to take a breath, as it were.” Dunn’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “What we share is pure, divine. No one in all of Christendom can tear down our bond. Our love is greater than an ocean. It can withstand anything.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “You have my solemn oath, m’lady, and once given, it can never be rescinded.” He slid into his seat. “I want to prove the depth of my love over and over. Let us remain chaste until we are wed.”

  The knot binding her heart loosened a little. But as her gaze slowly lowered from his smoldering eyes to the dark brown tuft of hair peeking above the V of his collar, the pull of desire swirled deep in her loins. But this time she must resist. “Chaste. It will not be easy but it will be right.”

  * * *

  Dunn’s hip ground into the unyielding floorboards. He tried to sleep while the day’s events replayed in his mind over and over again. Why must Mairi’s father be so obstinate? For the love of God, he’d forced them to flee London like common criminals. When would Cromartie realize his battle was lost? The man possessed everything, riches, lands, and good health. He stood as a favorite with the queen. In truth, Cromartie had been a more successful politician than most Scottish nobles during Anne’s reign, even though his politics bobbed like a cork in the surf. Dunn had oft heard the earl avow his support of James Frances Edward Stuart to Seaforth, though Cromartie’s actions indicated the opposite. When the queen was laid to rest and the topic of the succession came to a head, Dunn suspected Cromartie would turn his back on the Tory party and side with the Whigs.

  Is that why he is so adamant about keeping Mairi and me apart?

  The twist of Dunn’s gut confirmed his misgivings. In fact, Dunn believed Cromartie had been relieved when Seaforth rescinded the betrothal. Somewhere in his political posturing, Cromartie had secretly become a Whig just like the Earl of Buchan, who appeared to be giving more than a wee bit of attention to Mairi at the ball.

  That Cromartie was seeking an alliance with Mairi’s hand had never been in question, but after the man’s outrageous reaction at Castle Leod, the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. When the time came, Gilroy didn’t want his daughter to be aligned with the wrong party.

  Dunn rolled to his back. He was Seaforth’s man, and always would be. It had been thus since the Lords of the Isles ruled the Highlands. The thing Cromartie didn’t realize was Dunn would go to any length to take care of Mairi, no matter any man’s politics—and that included her father. In the future, they may need to take up arms for the Jacobite cause, but avoiding such conflict was exactly what he and Seaforth had tried so desperately to bring about. That is why they had visited James in Paris. If the exiled prince would convert to Protestantism, there would be no conflict. There would be no right or wrong.

  On the bed above, Mairi sighed. Dunn rose to his elbow and watched her face. The glow from the fire made her pale skin look surreal. It illuminated the vibrancy of her red tresses as they glimmered with coppery flashes. If only he could reach out and run his fingers through the pure silk without waking her. Never in his life would he forget the softness of her hair, the suppleness of her flesh, the gentleness of her touch.

  With her eyes closed, Her Ladyship’s eyelashes played upon her cheeks. Across the bridge of her nose, a spray of faint freckles teased him. Lips like pink rosebuds, kissable lips begging for attention.

  Aye, he wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. He would wait to share her bed forever if need be. No woman had ever come to mean so much to him. Perhaps on her fifteenth birthday, he’d begun to adore her, but it wasn’t until he nursed her back to health at Eilean Donan that he realized there could be no other for him. Together they would start a family, and the long-empty nursery at Eilean Donan would once again fill with laughter.

  They were so close to leaving England’s shores, he already smelled the peaty fires of home. On the morrow, he would take Mairi and begin the journey home. Happiness swelled in his chest—a feeling he hadn’t experienced since Mairi had first declared her love.

  Chapter Thirty

  Dunn and Mairi left the inn at dawn and headed for the stable, which was a block away from the shore of the Thames. If he had blinked, Dunn would have missed two dragoons with muskets slung over their shoulders who raced through the cross street running parallel with the river. Dunn pulled Mairi into the shadows of the stable’s open double doors. “Something’s afoot.”

  “Do you think they’re looking for us?”

  “I aim to find out afore we attempt to board the ship.” He inclined his head back toward the inn. “But first I’ll see you safe.”

  He started out of the stable but stopped as two soldiers pounded on the door of the inn. “Change of plans.”

  “What now?” Mairi asked.

  “Inside.” He hastened to the loft ladder.

  “Here to collect your horses, sir?” asked the stable hand, using a pitchfork to clean a stall.

  “Aye.” Dunn eyed the lad. “Are you friendly with the soldiers in town?”

  The young man spat. “Afraid I cannot say I am.”

  Dunn patted Mairi’s shoulder and gestured to the ladder. “Hide in the loft.”

  “Hide?” asked the lad.

  After Mairi reached the top, Dunn sauntered toward the boy. “I aim to find out what those dragoons are on about afore we ride out into some sort of ambush. I trust those redcoats as much as I trust a thief.”

  “I don’t trust them, either.”

  Dunn pulled a silver sovereign out of his sporran. “You’ll keep mum about the lady in the loft?”

  The boy licked his lips and grabbed the coin. “Yes, sir. Would there be anything else with which I can assist you, sir?”

  Dunn glanced to the lad’s breeches—he was a good deal smaller. “Where can I find a pair of trousers?”

  Scratching his head, he shifted his gaze to the rear door. “Me mum hasn’t yet brought in yesterday’s washing. You might fit into a pair of Papa’s. They’re on the line.”

  “A guinea for the breeches. But do not give the coin to your ma until we are well away from here.” Shaking his head, Dunn reached into his sporran. At this rate, the blasted thing would be empty before they sailed out of England. “Have our mounts saddled and ready to ride. I’ll return in a quarter hour, no more.”

  Dunn strode to the loft ladder. “Are you set m’lady?”

  Mairi popped her head into the gaping hole. “Ready to leave this place.”

  “Soon.”

  After swiping the breeches from the line and changing in a stall, Dunn rolled his kilt and handed it to the lad, giving instructions to tie it to his saddle along with his sword. To add to his disguise, he borrowed a knitted workingman’s cap from a peg on the wall, then twisted his sporran to the side, making it look like a Sassenach’s purse, but he kept his dirk in its sheath on his belt. Straightening his leather doublet, he assumed a stiff Englishman’s gait and headed for the harbor.

  The dockyard was crawling with redcoats and busy with laborers. As soon as Dunn crossed the road to the pier, a dragoon backed right into him. “Out of my way,” the man barked.

  “’Pologies, sir,” Dunn said, affecting a cockney accent. He walked to the rail and panned his gaze across the scene. He had to squint to see to the end of the pier, but a great deal of red swarmed around the skiffs rowing out to the transport Dunn and Mairi were planning to board. And if the black suit of clothes was any indication, the harbormaster was in the middle of it.

  “Damnation!” Dunn swore under his breath.

  But that wasn’t the end of the commotion. Redcoats inspected fishing boats while their captains flailed their arms and complained about losing precious time. Good Lord, down the ro
ad, a dragoon shoved his bayonet into a cart filled with hay.

  You’d think we murdered the queen herself.

  To his right along a smaller pier, a two-masted brig was being boarded. That ship hadn’t been in port last eve, and on closer inspection, the Saint Andrew’s cross was flying atop her mast. Dunn slipped back to the stable and borrowed a barrow—one full of horse manure, thanks to the stableboy’s hard work.

  As he pushed the barrow along the footpath, no one paid him mind. Even the nosy dragoons avoided coming too close. Dunn stopped on the pier beside the brig, where he was able to overhear the sailors’ conversation. He pulled an old ceramic pipe out of his sporran, making a show of struggling to light it with a flint. Truth be told, the pipe was a talisman from his father and contained no tobacco. Dunn hated the rubbish.

  “How could we be harboring a fugitive from Dartford? We sailed down from Edinburgh. Arrived only this morning,” said a voice with a rolling Highland burr. “Check the ship’s log. God’s teeth, I must haste to offload this packing salt, we have a schedule to keep, mind you.”

  Footsteps clomped across the deck. “The hold’s clear, corporal.”

  “Bloody oath it is,” said the Scot.

  Dunn cocked his ear toward the captain. The man’s voice sounded familiar—almost like Kennan Cameron. But what would the Cameron heir be doing sailing shipments of packing salt around the coast? It had to be somebody else.

  “It looks like you’re clear,” said the Englishman. “But do not tarry. Offload your cargo and set sail. I’ll be watching this ship with keen interest.”

  Ballocks.

  Footsteps resounded on the gangway as the band of redcoats disembarked.

  Dunn looked up to meet the angry glare of a corporal. “Move along, ye worthless tramp.”

  “Just havin’ a smoke, gov’nor.” He tapped the pipe against the ship’s hull to purchase time, then picked up the handles of the barrow, pretending to wheel it away until the redcoats moved on to the next ship tied to the wharf.

  The crew on the brig continued offloading barrels of salt, stacking them alongside the road, where a horse and cart waited to take them elsewhere. Dunn moved in beside a kilted young man, someone he could easily overtake should a scuffle arise. “I need your help, laddie,” he said in Gaelic.

  The young man’s eyes popped as he looked over his shoulder—but he understood all right. “Go away,” he replied in the Celtic tongue.

  “I’m taking a chance here—you can side with those yellow-livered dragoons, or you can play along. I’m Dunn MacRae, chieftain of Clan MacRae, and those bastards would sooner cut my throat than listen to the evidence from an innocent man.”

  “MacRae?” The lad’s eyes filled with admiration. “The champion of Inverness?”

  Dunn grinned, never so happy to have earned a name for himself. “The one and the same.”

  “Why did you not say so?”

  Dunn flicked his fingers at the gangway. “Lead on.”

  He kept his head down as the lad led him aboard the ship while he looked for dragoons out of the corner of his eyes.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?” asked a sailor.

  Dunn removed his cap. “I’m MacRae. And your captain sounds like Kennan Cameron, if I’m nay mistaken.”

  “You’d be right.” Cameron stepped into view and pattered down from the quarterdeck. “Good God, MacRae, where’s Seaforth? Whenever there’s trouble, he’s most likely the cause.”

  “Not this time.” Dunn shook Kennan’s hand. “What in Hades are you doing sailing a brig? And on the eastern shores of England?”

  “A favor to the Baronet of Sleat. He increased his fleet and needed a master to take the reins. The packing salt business is booming.”

  “Where to next?”

  “Chatham is the last stop on this cruise. The hold’s empty and we’re sailing back to Skye for another load. Not fast enough, if you ask me.”

  “Can you accommodate a pair of stowaways?”

  Kennan drew his eyebrows together. “Stowaways?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Dunn might be a little careless when it came to announcing his name, but he certainly didn’t want anyone in the crew to know Lady Mairi was accompanying him—not until they hit the open sea.

  Kennan arched a knowing eyebrow. “Follow me.”

  * * *

  Mairi watched as the lad from the stables led the horses away. Beside her, Dunn held up a woolen blanket. “Drape this over your head like an old matron.”

  She scrunched her nose, but did as he asked and looked up. “How do I look?”

  He shook his head. “It won’t do. You’re too bonny.”

  “I beg your pardon? I’m standing here with a musty blanket over my head. I’d wager Mother Mary looked better riding the donkey into Bethlehem.”

  “That I would argue.” Dunn pulled the edge of the blanket low over Mairi’s brow and tucked her tresses under. “Now pinch it closed at your neck. If any of that hair blows about, we’ll all be caught, and I’ll most likely owe the Baronet of Sleat a new ship.”

  “The lad took the horses?”

  “Aye, he’s loading them into the hold. We’ll walk.” Dunn pressed on her shoulder. “Now stoop like an old woman.”

  Mairi curved her shoulders forward. “Like this?”

  “Aye, and walk with a limp.”

  “My heavens, I might fall on my face. You’ve pulled the blanket so low I can’t see, and now I’m to stoop and limp? I might as well be a blind beggar.”

  “I’ll keep hold of your arm.”

  “You’re not old and blind as well?”

  “I’ll stoop—and I already have a limp.” He turned full circle, then picked up an old ax handle. “I’ll use this as a walking stick.”

  “’Tis clear,” said a young sailor from the stable door. “The redcoats are inspecting the boats down the other end of the harbor, but be alert, there are still plenty milling about.”

  “My thanks, laddie.”

  Clutching the blanket closed tightly, Mairi let Dunn lead her out onto the street, across to the pier, and along the planks, until they reached the gangway of a ship flying the Saint Andrew’s cross. Her heart pounded as she looked up the gangway and saw a familiar face. Her best friend Janet Cameron’s brother, Kennan. Goodness, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Halt!” a voice boomed from the rear.

  Curling her spine, Mairi chanced a backward glance. Curses, two soldiers sped toward them.

  Dunn’s fingers dug into her arm. “Keep going,” he growled.

  “Stop in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Anne!” the dragoon bellowed.

  But Dunn forced Mairi onward. “It will not be as easy for them to interfere if we are aboard,” he whispered intently.

  If only she could break into a run. “Must I keep limping?”

  “You’re doing fine, lass.”

  “If you do not stop this instant, I will be forced to shoot you in the back, sir!”

  Mairi’s foot hit the timbers of the deck. Kennan reached for her hand and pulled her to safety. “I beg your pardon, soldiers. What is it now? I’ve a schedule to keep, and due to the storm up north, I am already a day late.”

  “You said nothing about taking aboard passengers,” the soldier shouted from the pier.

  “I do not believe you asked. And do not toy with me. I am master and commander of this ship, and you have already tried my patience.”

  Both dragoons pointed their flintlocks at Kennan. “We will board your ship now, and conduct another search.”

  “Muskets!” Kennan bellowed. Within the blink of an eye, at least twenty sailors set to arms, their muskets pointed over the ship’s rail. The master and commander signaled for the sailor to pull in the gangway. “It seems you’re at quite a disadvantage, sir. Weigh anchor, lads!”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  As they sailed out of the Thames and into the open sea, the clouds hovering over England opened to glorious sunshine. M
airi allowed herself to take a deep breath for the first time that day. Above, the enormous sails billowed with the brisk breeze as the ropes and booms creaked. Sailors busily attended to their tasks while she and Dunn stood beside Kennan near the helm.

  Though the Cameron heir was only a year younger than MacRae, Kennan still had a boyish look about him. He raised a spyglass to his eye and searched up the Thames. “It looks as if the Royal Sovereign is not in pursuit.”

  “I’m certain such a grand warship has far better quarry to chase. The harbormaster said she was sailing across the channel to engage in battle.”

  Kennan lowered the spyglass and grinned. “Navigator, set a course for the western shores of Scotland.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Mairi clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Those words make my heart soar.”

  Kennan bowed and gestured aft. “Forgive me, m’lady. ’Tis time I showed you to your quarters.”

  Dunn held up his palm, giving the captain a knowing look. “May I have that honor? I have something I must discuss with Her Ladyship…ah…in private.”

  Mairi’s mind ran the gamut of what he might say. The day was still young and they had already hidden from redcoats, dressed in disguises to board a ship and, lastly, engaged in a heated standoff between Scottish sailors and English soldiers. But now they were safe, and if Dunn had something to discuss, it must be important and the news had best be good. “At least no one fired their muskets on the pier.”

  “Thank the Lord for small mercies,” Dunn said, leading her through the narrow corridor with his palm resting in the small of her back.

  The ship swayed, making Mairi’s footsteps awkward, as if she’d imbibed too much wine. Dunn opened the door aft and she stumbled inside. Giggling, she covered her mouth with her palm. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I haven’t yet found my sea legs.”

  He smiled. Oh yes, she loved it when he smiled. “Not to worry. No one expects you to be floating like a swan.”

  Stepping farther inside, she took in the grandeur of the cabin. Straight ahead, a line of windows spanned the bow of the ship. In the center of the cabin, an ornate walnut table with matching chairs sat atop an Oriental rug. Starboard, a narrow box bed was built into the wall with cupboards on each end. And portside was a writing table with inkwell and quill. A bin filled with map scrolls stood beside it.