Highland Sword

by May McGoldrick

  Blair grinned. “Well, I can see yer mouth is still working.”

  They hurried to catch up with Isabella, who was striding off at a quick pace. It was good to be outside. Two days of self-imposed isolation in her room might have been important for her physical healing, but they’d been brutal on her mind. Far too much time to think, to remember the things she was supposed to keep buried.

  Morrigan took a deep breath of fall air and turned her attention to Isabella. “So, who is this we’re seeing? What’s wrong with him … or is it her?”

  “Him.”

  For many years Morrigan had shadowed her father at the medical clinic he and Isabella ran on Infirmary Street in Edinburgh. As a result, she had a solid grasp of diseases, as well as what to do to be useful at a sick person’s bedside.

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He has some kind of lung disease, struggling to breathe.”

  “Consumption?”

  “I haven’t seen him. We’ll soon find out.”

  So many were dying of the disease all over Europe. She recalled discussions of the growing epidemic in Edinburgh. “Where are they keeping him?”

  “In the empty cottage on the far side of the fields, the one by the edge of the forest. Before coming here to Dalmigavie, they stayed at the hunting lodge,” Isabella told her. “Apparently, he needs a doctor badly, but Searc didn’t want me going so far to see him. This morning, they brought him up to the village.”

  Morrigan glanced at a group of children running with a pair of dogs between the cottages. “Is it safe to bring someone so sick to the village?”

  “They’re keeping him inside. I don’t want you to come past the threshold.”

  “How about you?”

  “If it is consumption, I’ve treated patients with it before. But he could have something else entirely.” Isabella squeezed Morrigan’s hand. “I’ll be fine.”

  There was no sense in arguing when the physician side of Isabella took over. She didn’t see danger. She didn’t care about her own safety. There were no faces, only patients. She became totally focused on what she had to do. Friends and enemies were treated the same.

  “Who brought him here? His kin?”

  “Not his kin. I don’t know their connection, but he’s traveling with the Grant brothers.”

  “Don’t know them.”

  “Aidan and Sebastian Grant. Aidan is an Edinburgh barrister. From what I hear, he is a young man of great character and promise. Queen Caroline and Mr. Brougham, her attorney, wanted Cinaed to meet him. Sebastian, the younger brother, is a solicitor. A war hero too, they tell me.”

  No one had any prior knowledge of Cinaed’s mother’s visit to Dalmigavie last month, except Maisie’s husband, Niall Campbell. And much of Queen Caroline’s time here was spent behind closed doors, visiting with her son and Highland clan leaders.

  “Aidan Grant could be a strong contender to represent Inverness-shire in Parliament. That is, if my husband can get him interested in running in the next election and then gather enough support for him.”

  In spite of the defamatory flyers, Cinaed definitely had the Highland’s attention and support. As far as a military expertise, he had Niall Campbell, a former lieutenant in the 42nd Royal Highlanders. Morrigan could see that political allies working inside the system, especially in Parliament, would be a necessity, as well.

  She recalled the men who’d traveled to Dalmigavie with Queen Caroline last month. Fashionable, courtly attire. Refined manners. Most of them totally ill at ease in the rugged fortress and at close quarters with the tough, plain-speaking Highland folk. She glanced around, taking in the sights and smells of the rustic village. Farm animals wandered freely in the muddy lanes and between the cottages, where smoke from cooking fires hung thick and pungent over thatched roofs. This place was far different from London or the cities of the continent the outsiders were accustomed to.

  Heads turned in the village center as they passed the kirk and the market cross. Isabella received the courtesy of doffed caps and curtsies, and she paused several times to speak with villagers before they continued on.

  “I assume the brothers aren’t sharing the cottage with the sick man.”

  Isabella shook her head. “They have a clerk traveling with them as well. He’s staying with the patient. Searc wants them at the castle until Cinaed returns.”

  Morrigan considered this news. Everyone was expecting the son of Scotland, the laird, and Niall to return by the end of the month.

  Everyday life at Dalmigavie was a communal affair. In the same way as it had been done for as long as anyone knew, most meals were shared in the Great Hall. Guests dined in a rustic style along with Mackintosh retainers. The fact that the Grants were staying at the castle meant Morrigan would be seeing quite a bit of them.

  “Tell me more about them.”

  “The Grants are a large and important family, I’m told. The chief is building a town on the Spey River with the idea of employing Highland folk who have been evicted from their homes. These two grew up on a family estate called Carrie House, which is two days’ ride to the west of us. Apparently, they refuse to clear their tenants, as many of the large landowners are doing. A cousin manages the properties while the brothers practice law in Edinburgh. For the next month or so, they have business in Inverness.”

  “Why Inverness?”

  “Aidan is representing the Chattan brothers in court.”

  Many conversations as of late in the Great Hall had touched on Edmund and George Chattan. They were due to be tried for planning to murder the Lord Mayor of Elgin and the Military Governor of the Highlands, but the trial was being moved to Inverness for fear of riots in Elgin.

  “Have you met them?”

  “Not as yet. They only arrived this morning.”

  “You know a lot about them.”

  “From Searc. You know the way he is.” They exchanged a look. “He’s known the family for years. He did some business with their late father, though he was characteristically vague about the specifics. While the trial is going on, the brothers will be staying at his house in Inverness.”

  Morrigan thought about the rambling house in the Maggot with its many wings and mazelike corridors. On any given day, friends and enemies and business partners paid calls on Searc when he was in town. That house was a hub of both legal and illegal activity in the region.

  As they crossed through the stubbled remains of harvested barley, a flock of wild geese took flight on the far side of the field. Morrigan eyed the cottage in the distance. She’d been here before. Isabella had more than once seen patients from neighboring villages in this same building.

  A tall man stood by a wall that enclosed the cottage yard, talking in a vigorous manner with one of Blair’s fighters. He wore no hat and his face, though young, bore evidence of hastily stitched battle wounds. Morrigan’s eye was drawn to the empty sleeve tacked at the side of his coat. She stared, knowing she shouldn’t. The gnawing sadness she felt was the same that filled her every time she came face-to-face with someone who’d lost an arm, a leg, a part of themselves to war. Innocent men who’d been duped into fighting for an empire that cared nothing for them.

  The stranger came closer as the women approached, and Blair made the introductions. Sebastian Grant, the younger brother. She felt as if she already knew so much about who he was, just from the information Isabella had given her, but there was more to it. His face, his build … there was a familiarity about him that made her think she’d seen him someplace. But where?

  “Have we met before?’ she asked, interrupting whatever was being said.

  “I don’t believe we have, Miss Drummond.” Black eyes, dark as coal, sparkled with amusement as they lingered on her bruised cheek. “Your face is one that I could never forget.”

  She stared back. His flattery—or his teasing—was wasted on her. Still convinced that she’d seen him before, Morrigan thought of the busy streets of Edinburgh. Isabella said the Grants pra
cticed law there. The house on Infirmary Street was not far from the courts in the old Parliament Hall. There was a strong possibility she could have encountered him on any number of occasions. He would have stood out in a crowd. Or maybe at one time or another, he’d been a patient of her father’s. Many retired military men, including amputees, came to the clinic.

  A sound from the cottage made Morrigan shift her gaze to a shadow moving in the doorway. It materialized as a large man. Wide shoulders blocked the entrance. No hat, no coat. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing powerful arms. From the fashionable cut of his waistcoat, she guessed this had to be the other brother. The barrister.

  Morrigan looked at his face, and she cursed under her breath.

  A nightmare. Disaster had come to her door. Panic washed hot and cold down her back. She fought the urge to run; all she wanted was to be miles from here.

  “Aidan Grant…”

  He stepped out. She took an involuntary step back. Morrigan didn’t hear anything beyond the name. She paid no attention to the introductions. He’d be a guest here for the devil knows how long. A guest of Cinaed. A future ally. A blasted politician. She was finished. They’d lock her in and bolt the gate.

  She had no doubt he recognized her. One look at her and his face hardened. His stance became combative. Morrigan recalled their scuffle. Her forehead ached as she stared at his blackened eye, still swollen partly shut.

  More introductions. More talk. A buzzing in Morrigan’s ears muffled the words being spoken. Devil take him. Aidan Grant bowed to Isabella, but his glare never wavered from Morrigan’s face. She’d hedged the truth with Isabella and Maisie, and he would expose her.

  His step brought him closer to her. This time, she refused to budge.

  He was armed with the truth, and she should surrender ground. But she wouldn’t be routed. She had to hold out, take his assault and then parry.

  “Miss Drummond.” He drawled her name. He was taunting her.

  “Mr. Grant.”

  “You look quite familiar to me.”

  “I can’t say the same thing.”

  “We have met.”

  “Wrong, sir. You brother says we haven’t.”

  “Sebastian and I have been known to travel in separate society. We’re not conjoined twins.”

  “That’s quite obvious. He’s much taller.”

  “And much younger.”

  “And less argumentative, apparently.”

  “He’s a solicitor. I, a barrister. Hazards of the profession.”

  A silence fell over the group, and she realized she was tempting fate. One word from him would expose her. Morrigan’s heart raced as their gazes remained locked. He had one grey eye. The other—he should have worn a patch to cover it—looked hideous. She’d done an exceedingly gratifying job on it.

  He finally broke the silence. “If you’re certain our paths have not crossed—”

  “I’m certain.” She turned to Isabella, who was looking on with a curious frown.

  Morrigan’s thoughts uncontrollably turned to their meeting in Inverness. The brothers had been speaking to Sparrow. But Isabella said these two were representing the Chattans. She guessed there were many people they had to interview for the court case.

  All eyes were on her. She squirmed under the pressure. This wasn’t the end of it. All who stood watching their exchange had to see the tension sparking between them. There would be more questions. More answers to invent. But for right now, all she could think was that she needed to get away from Aidan Grant.

  Morrigan nodded to Isabella and motioned to the cottage. “I know this is not your only patient today. We should go in.”

  CHAPTER 6

  AIDAN

  Beneath the tam and the dark brown hair, the hellion’s eyes flashed with challenge. He had a strong feeling that if he didn’t move out of her way, they’d be brawling again. The mysterious woman Aidan encountered in the alleyway in Inverness was the daughter of Archibald Drummond.

  It was a very small world.

  Before traveling to Dalmigavie, he’d learned a great deal about Cinaed Mackintosh’s wife. Henry Brougham’s message had informed him that Isabella had arrived in the Highlands with her sister, Maisie, who was now married to Niall Campbell, a man he and Sebastian had served with during the war. And the young physician’s stepdaughter, Morrigan, was traveling with them.

  This past April, on a day of violent protests in Edinburgh, Archibald Drummond was shot dead by British soldiers swarming into his clinic, supposedly in pursuit of wounded protest leaders. Aidan’s own clients told him they were certain the Infirmary Street house was on the government’s watch list, thanks to one informer or another. Henry Brougham believed Dr. Drummond himself had been targeted for elimination. Whether that was true or not, Morrigan going after Sparrow made sense now. Clearly, she held him responsible for her father’s death.

  The blackguard probably wasn’t the informer, but that didn’t change things.

  Morrigan approached him, expecting Aidan to step aside, but he refused to move.

  He’d never met a woman so effectively prepared for wreaking vengeance. Two days ago, in the quiet of an alleyway, Morrigan’s smooth, controlled movements were deliberate, not impulsive. She was not a novice, but rather a trained fighter. Aidan’s left eye, still swollen from the well-placed blow from her head, twitched as he recalled how expertly she’d incapacitated him before walking away. The city-bred daughter of a physician, indeed.

  “I need you to stay out here.” The physician directed her words at Morrigan as she moved past them and disappeared into the cottage.

  Morrigan glared up at him. He glared back. She refused to back away.

  “If you’d kindly move, sir, I should be assisting in there.”

  She took a step to the side, and Aidan followed suit, blocking her.

  “If you don’t mind,” she said, an unmistakable note of threat in her tone.

  “I do mind, Miss Drummond. I just heard the doctor say you were to remain out here.”

  Blair Mackintosh went around them and looked in through the doorway before joining his man and Sebastian by the low wall surrounding the cottage, leaving the two of them alone.

  “So, you maintain that we’ve not met before?”

  “Absolutely certain of it.” She turned and stalked off a few paces before marching right back to him. “Isabella doesn’t like to be alone with patients.”

  “She’s not alone. My law clerk, Mr. Branson, is in there.”

  “He’ll be no help to her.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “And you would be?”

  “Of course. I assist her regularly. While we lived in Edinburgh, I always helped my father with his clients.”

  “You…” he scoffed. “Helping to preserve lives?”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  If one ignored the bruises, Morrigan Drummond was certainly a striking beauty. Large eyes of the deepest brown perfectly set in an oval-shaped face. If he hadn’t witnessed her lightning-quick reflexes and unexpected talent for inflicting pain, it would be easy to imagine this lovely young woman as an angel of mercy.

  He lowered his voice. “I believe you had every intention of taking a life the other day.”

  She stared at him, saying nothing.

  “Tell me, was it revenge you were seeking?”

  She tried to appear calm, but the color rising into her face betrayed her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m talking about revenge for your father’s death. Is that why you were trying to kill him?”

  She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. The three other men were occupied in their own conversation.

  Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “I tell you we’ve never met.”

  “You can save that tale for others. You and I know the truth.” He held her gaze. “But if you refuse to be forthright, then perhaps you’ll not mind me telling the doctor or Searc Mackintosh the manner in which we ended up with our b
ruises.”

  “You’re supposedly a gentleman. You wouldn’t betray me.”

  “I would, indeed, for you’ve not provided an explanation for your actions. I owe you nothing. Neither have I made any offer to keep your secret.”

  “I’ll simply deny it.”

  “In the face of the proof I have?” He reached for a satchel behind him by the door. “The handle on your sgian dubh is quite distinctive. Shall I take out your knife for everyone to see?”

  “No,” she said through gritted teeth.

  At any other time or place, Aidan was sure she’d be at his throat.

  “So, what will it be, Miss Drummond? Shall we tell them together? Or would you care to explain yourself to me?”

  She didn’t need any weapons. The flash in her eyes were sharp enough to cut him down.

  “There’s still a chance that I’ll remain silent.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Blair and the others again. When she turned her attention back to him, the scarlet hue in her cheeks was a few shades darker.

  “I’m told you’ll be staying here until Cinaed returns.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then we have time to discuss this. And I shall explain. For now, however, I’m asking you to keep our secret.”

  Morrigan assuredly held the same political sentiments as her father. She wouldn’t be here at Dalmigavie Castle otherwise. This put the two of them on the same side. Aidan knew it was certainly in his own best interest to say nothing more about their scuffle in Inverness. But it occurred to him that she probably had no idea who was lying inside that cottage right now.

  “Before I make any promises, I need to know that you can be trusted, something which is doubtful at the moment.”

  “I’ve told you that I’ll explain.”

  He waved her off. “Tell me, who is your role model when it comes to offering medical care, Miss Drummond?”

  Her furrowed brow showed her confusion at his question. “My late father … and of course, Isabella.”

  “Then it’s safe to say you’ve never entered their surgery and cut the throat of a patient who was under their care?” He paused, his gaze moving to the pouch containing her dagger and back to her face.