Rogue of the Isles

by Cynthia Breeding

  Emerging from the woods, she saw the glen stretch out in front of her. At the far distant end, a small herd of red deer grazed, as yet undisturbed by her presence—but perhaps because the wind was blowing toward her and away from them. Mari tugged the plaid closer. The breeze had definitely grown stronger and colder. She glanced at the sky again. The fluffy clouds had flattened bottoms more grey than white. It was probably going to rain before she got home, but this was Scotland. Rain did not last long usually.

  Mari urged her horse across the meadow as she spotted the first abandoned croft. Only a shell of two walls remained. The rest of the cottage was nothing but charred rubble. This place had been burned, unlike the home closer to the castle, and Mari recalled Shauna telling her the MacLean clan, who owned most of the land surrounding Ian’s holdings, had been Jacobites, supporting Bonny Prince Charlie. King George’s troops had dealt harshly with them. Mari felt saddened to think her own countrymen had forced innocent farmers from their homes and hoped this family had survived.

  The second croft was harder to find since it was actually in a smaller glade just inside the forest bordering the other side of the glen. If it hadn’t been for the deer turning tail and running into the trees here, she would never have found the trail. At least this cottage had not been burned, perhaps because the English soldiers had been afraid of starting a timber fire.

  Mary dismounted and went up to the sagging door. The lone, rusty hinge it hung on creaked loudly as she pushed it open and went inside. A musty smell of mold and something long abandoned assailed her nostrils as she looked around. Parts of the thatched ceiling had torn away, but some of it still held. The wattle and daub walls had cracks, allowing the cold air to seep in, and the shutter covering the small window was partially rotted. An iron pot still hung suspended from rods in the huge fireplace, and Mari realized the hearth was used for both warmth and cooking. A stack of dry, brittle logs still lay beside it. A small, knife-scarred table had probably served as a cutting board and was still intact as were two straight-backed chairs, although whatever cloth had covered the seats was long gone. All that was left of a small bed were the metal frame and leather straps that had served to hold whatever straw-stuffed mattress had once lain over it. The small trunk beside the bed held remnants of a man’s breeches and shirt and a woman’s muslin overdress along with a thin, much-washed chemise.

  Crossing over to the small cupboard, Mari found it contained a few chipped dishes and a drinking cup along with several small, crumbled burlap sacks probably once containing barley or oats and flour.

  Mari sat down on one of the chairs. This home had been spared, but the occupants had not even had time to take food or clothing with them. She felt tears sting her eyes. How could humans treat other humans so cruelly?

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, but when she finally dried her eyes, she realized it was definitely darker outside. Startled, she jumped up. It could not be dusk already. She could not have stayed so long.

  As she stepped outside, wet snowflakes struck her face. A light powdering already lay on the ground. Quickly, she pulled the plaid closer and gathered the reins of the gelding who had turned his hindquarters to the wind and hung his head. “I’m sorry,” she said, giving his neck a pat as she mounted. “There will be an extra ration of oats for you when we get home.”

  As if he understood, he picked up his pace to a trot as they exited the trees into the large glen. The snow was thicker here in the open, but Mari could still faintly see the forest line on the other side. The gelding did not need any urging to head in that direction. Mari lifted the tartan over her head, pulling it close to her face so only her eyes remained uncovered, but even so, the swirling snow stung as the wind increased. She tugged on the reins, turning the horse toward the closest part of the trees she could still see. He fought for his head, but she pressed her legs firmly against his flank and he acquiesced. If they could just get inside the forest, the snow would not be so blinding and they could find the trail.

  The wind began to howl in earnest, driving the snow directly into their faces. The horse hung his head and his pace slowed. Mari shielded her eyes with her hand but could see nothing but blinding white.

  With no point of reference, she began to feel dizzy. They were enveloped in a thick cloud of nothingness. The horse had stopped, waiting for her instructions.

  They would never make it back to the castle in this storm. The only sensible thing to do was go back to the cottage they had left in the glade, but she had no idea what direction that was.

  They were completely lost.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jamie stomped the snow off his boots and hung his damp plaid on the hook by the door. The supplies had been unloaded, and Brodie had taken the team of horses to the stable for a well-earned meal. A wee dram in front of a warm hearth was just what Jamie needed to ward off the chill that had seeped to his bones. They were lucky they were just a kilometer from home when the storm had hit.

  He was about to head to the library for that drink when Ian came down the hall, a grim look on his face. Bridget appeared behind him, looking equally somber.

  “Is Jillian worse?” Jamie asked as the hair at his nape began to prickle.

  “’Tis Mari,” Bridget said. “She is missing.”

  “Missing?”

  “Aye. When she did not come back to the solar this afternoon, we searched the castle and couldna find her anywhere.”

  “Why would she leave the solar? I thought ye women decided that was the best place for Jillian to rest.”

  “We did. All of us were in there this morning, and it got crowded. I told Mari to go get some fresh air since she had been by Jillian’s side all week.”

  Jamie frowned. “Did ye search outside then? She must be somewhere. I told her ne’er to go past the gates without an escort.”

  Bridget looked uneasily at Ian. Jamie caught the look. “Dinnae tell me the lass went for a walk out there.”

  Ian’s face turned darker. “Nae. She didnae walk. She took a horse.”

  “What?”

  “After we searched the grounds I went to the stables to see if she had bribed one of the stablemen to take her for a ride,” Ian replied. “None of the men had, but young John finally admitted he’d saddled a horse for her earlier.”

  By the saints. Would the lass ever listen to his advice? Jamie’s frown deepened. Young John was the son of John the Red, one of Ian’s best soldiers. The lad had begged to work in the stables to learn all the ways of a warrior. “Why would he do that without permission?”

  “The lad has a sweet tooth. Mari bribed him with a scone,” Ian answered. “His father has already tanned his hide raw for being so foolish.”

  “How many men are out searching?”

  “I sent out a score, in pairs,” Ian replied, “but when the snow got worse they had to come home.”

  Jamie stared at his brother. “So no one is looking for Mari?” He didn’t wait for an answer but spun on his heel, reaching for his tartan.

  “Wait,” Ian said, placing a restraining hand on his arm. “’Tis too dangerous to go out. ’Tis why the men came home.”

  Jamie shook his hand off. “The lass will nae survive out there alone.”

  “She may have ridden as far as the MacLeans.” Ian said. “The road goes right by there. She could be warm and dry. Ye canna risk your life when ye canna see ten paces in front of ye.”

  “And she may also be freezing to death,” Jamie answered, reaching for the door handle. “Do ye nae remember what happened to our father?”

  A stricken look came over Ian’s face. “Aye, I do.”

  Bridget looked ill, but she took a deep breath. “Ye will need food and water to take with ye then. Let me fetch it.”

  “We all thought Da was in Glenfinnan when that blizzard hit,” Jamie said as he waited impatiently for Bridget to gather the food. “Nae a soul thought he would start home in the carriage that day.”

  Ian was silent fo
r a moment, then he nodded. “Where will ye search?”

  “I will check the old croft first and pray the horse had enough sense to seek shelter,” Jamie answered, pulling another plaid off the hook to take along.

  “That croft is within smelling distance of the horse’s oats. He’d have come home if they were that close,” Ian said.

  Jamie wanted nothing more than to put his fist in his brother’s mouth, although he knew what Ian said was true. “Did young John have any idea of where Mari wanted to go?”

  “Nae—”

  “I think I might ken,” Shauna said as she came down the stairs to join them.

  “Where?” Jamie and Ian both asked at the same time.

  “Mari and I were taking about the Clearances the other day. I told her there were several abandoned ones across the glen.” She raised her chin defiantly as Jamie glowered at her. “She wanted to ken what happened since ye wouldna allow her to speak of it.”

  The start of the all-too-familiar pain in his temple began. The stubborn lass had nosed about and gotten Shauna firmly on her side. Could Mari ne’er leave a topic alone?

  “Why was Mari so keen to learn of the Clearances?” Ian asked.

  Shauna shrugged. “I think she wanted to make peace with our uncle and Broc.”

  Jamie snorted. “As if those two would consider it. Did they even go out and search for Mari?”

  Ian looked uneasy. “Their horses were gone when we found Mari missing.”

  Jamie was puzzled. “Did they ride out with Mari?”

  “Young John said nae. The two rode out shortly after Mari left.”

  “Maybe they found her,” Shauna said.

  The hair at Jamie’s neck rose again as Bridget hurried in with the knapsack of food and he grabbed it from her, nodded his thanks and raced out the door for a fresh horse.

  Jamie would not trust that Mari would be any safer if Broc or even his uncle found her than she would be out on her own.

  Mari pulled the tartan closer to her face. The world swirled around her in a kaleidoscope of white and silver crystals, the tiny ice pellets stinging her face. It did not matter which direction she turned the horse, the effect was the same. Drifts were beginning to build in the open space of the glen. She had to get back to the trees and the cottage, but how? She’d spun the poor horse around too many times to even know which way to go.

  When a mon is travelling in the Highlands he trusts the surefootedness of the steed, as well as the horse’s ability to seek shelter in times of need.

  Mari jerked in the saddle. She heard Jamie’s words from the day in Hyde Park as clearly as though he were here with her—which she sincerely wished he was. She had been foolish to ride out on her own. Jamie had told her not to do so. She had not listened and look where it had gotten her…

  She gave herself a shake. There was no time for self-pity. If she and the horse were going to survive, they had to find their way to the cottage. She leaned over the horse’s neck. “Jamie says you animals are smarter than we are in things like this. Can you find your way back?” She loosened her hold on the reins and patted the animal’s neck. “It is up to you now.”

  As though he understood, the gelding lifted his head and pricked his ears forward. A moment later, he swung around and began to move. Mari could only trust it was in the right direction.

  It seemed as though hours passed lost in the blank, white world of nothingness. She knew the horse was walking because she could feel his muscles move, but to her senses, devoid of any landmarks, it felt like they were not moving at all. She just hoped they were not going in circles.

  And then suddenly, a dark line loomed ahead of her. Trees. She was so thankful she started to cry, only to realize the tears were freezing to her skin. Quickly, she brushed at her face. If they only could find the trail…

  The gelding picked his way through the brush, now laden with snow. Mari was not sure this was the way they had gone before, but she had no better idea of how to proceed. At least the snow was not hurling itself with full force under the canopy of trees. If nothing else, maybe they could find some dense brush to shield them from the worst of it.

  The horse moved past two large pines, and the cottage came into view. Tears welled up again, but Mari blinked them away. She slid off the horse’s back and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You did it! You did it!”

  He nickered in response and nosed her as though reminding her they should not be standing out here admiring the building. Mari laughed at the thought and led the animal quickly around the back to a small, ramshackle shed. It wasn’t much, but its roof was mostly intact, and it would provide shelter from the wind. She unsaddled the gelding and looked around. She didn’t see any food, but there was a wooden bucket that she could fill with snow to provide water for the horse.

  That done, she gave him a pat and whispered her thanks and then went inside the cottage. Closing the wobbly door, she leaned against the wall and let the tears come.

  She was safe. At least for now.

  Jamie squinted against the blinding snow pelting him with the fury of a storm at sea. Shane had described storms often enough, talking about green water sluicing over the bow and sloshing the decks while waves fifteen meters high created an impenetrable wall of water. The only saving grace, if it could be called that, was that Jamie wasn’t on a pitching and rolling ship.

  And he had the compass. At the last minute, Jamie remembered the compass Shane had left for installation on a fishing boat they used on Loch Linnhe where storms were known to blow in quickly. The thing was cumbersome, but it would keep him from getting lost.

  He’d followed the road, or as much of it as he could see, to one of the MacLean holdings, hoping Mari had decided to stay to the road. He was not really surprised that she hadn’t. Predictable was not a word that described her. The MacLean living there offered to help search once the weather cleared, and Jamie had thanked him and gotten back in the saddle. By the time the weather cleared, it might be too late.

  As he rode, making sure the compass needle kept pointing southward toward the glen, he thought about his father on this very road all those years ago. No one had thought his father would try to return from Glenfinnan with a storm brewing. No doubt the foolish, selfish woman he’d taken to wife had insisted. Da knew this land. If the carriage wheel had not broken, causing the fall into the ravine, he would probably have made it home that fateful day in spite of the weather.

  Mari kenned nothing about the land or how to survive on it. Jamie wasn’t even sure the lass was dressed warmly enough. By the saints. What had she been thinking?

  His eyes narrowed. Young John, desperate to be helpful after the thrashing his father had given him, told him Broc had talked to Mari just before she decided to go for ride. Had he somehow encouraged her to go out? Was that why he and Duncan left shortly afterwards?

  Jamie didn’t like to think his uncle or Broc would do bodily harm to Mari, but he knew their hatred of the English was deeply instilled—enough so that they were willing to risk King George’s wrath by waylaying the Countess of Sutherland. And he remembered Jillian’s concern she thought she might have been meant to overhear their conversation and been lured out to the abandoned croft.

  Had this been another attempt? Had Broc said something to make Mari think she had to ride out? Broc’s hands would certainly be clean of any mayhem if a lass were foolish enough to venture out with a storm coming and be found dead the next day. Jamie sighed. Mari didnae always use the best judgment.

  Darkness came early to the Highlands at this time of year. Even though it was hard to judge the sun setting when he could not see it, the light had grown dimmer and the snow looked more grey than white. Jamie resisted the urge to push the horse to a trot. With practically no visibility, he dared not risk the animal twisting a leg or falling. Better to hold a steady course even though each step seemed agonizingly slow.

  The tree line became visible, and his horse did not need guiding to get to it. Jamie did n
ot venture inside to search for a trail—soon it would be too dark inside the forest. However, staying close to the overlying branches broke the wind and the swirl of snow enough to see a distance ahead. A short time later, they passed the burnt-out croft, and Jamie slowed to search for signs Mari had been there, but if a horse had stopped, the drifts had covered the tracks.

  He moved on. The only other crofter who had taken residence in this glen had moved his cottage inside the trees, and Jamie wasn’t sure Mari would have been able to find it. He prayed she had. The alternative was that she was either lost in the woods or meandering in endless circles in the dizzying effects of the driving snow.

  Jamie almost missed the trail leading toward the glade himself in the descending dusk. As he approached the cottage he looked for signs of life, but there weren’t any. No horse stood tied to a post. No smoke came out of the chimney and no light shone in the poorly shuttered window. Jamie dismounted with his heart in his throat and what felt like lead in his stomach. The blanket of snow lay untouched leading up to the door.

  If Mari had managed to reach this debilitated cottage with no heat and its drafty cracks where the wattle and daub had cracked, she could already have frozen to death—just like his father had.

  Jamie took a deep breath, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  At the sound of the door creaking, Mari looked up from where she lay curled in a tight ball in the least-drafty corner of the cottage. All she could see in the fading light was a hulking, dark form silhouetted against a mass of whiteness, and then the form moved. She scuttled into a sitting position, not sure if it was man or beast. Did they have bears in Scotland? She tried to scream as the form rushed toward her, but it came out more like a pitiful squeak with her teeth chattering.