by Amy Jarecki
Her breasts ached with longing to again press against his solid chest—now even larger and harder than she remembered from his brief stay in the surgery. No man hath ever recovered with such vigor. Heaven help her betraying flesh. In no way could she allow Mr. MacIain to kiss her like that again. What on earth would her father say?
Charlotte swiped the stinging snow from her face. She must be content with the memory of his strong arms wrapped around her while his lips plied hers. That a man as robust as Hugh MacIain of Clan Iain Abrach could be so gentle surprised her as well. Heaven help me, I must put him out of my mind.
But I do not want to do so.
Charlotte stamped her foot. Why, with the fort full of available officers, did she swoon over a Highlander of all people? Hugh admitted himself that he had participated in raids—though as an act of retaliation. What difference was that to Papa’s soldiers when fighting the enemy? Truly battles are their own acts of retaliation against a perceived injustice.
“Miss Hill? What are you doing out here in this terrible storm?”
Charlotte cringed and pulled her cloak closed tighter at her throat. The only person aside from Doctor Munro who she’d prefer not to meet when alone was Lieutenant Colonel James Hamilton. She’d meant everything she’d told Hugh about this man and more. Worse, her father didn’t trust him and feared the ambitious young officer would stop at nothing to push Papa aside.
Regarding James over her shoulder, Charlotte moved toward the stairwell. “Just a bit restless. This storm has had me cooped up in my chamber for days.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to grow accustomed to long winter storms if you’re planning to remain in the Highlands. I must say, this is the most squalid outpost to which I’ve ever been assigned, as are some of her visitors.” He snorted, following her down the steps. “Case in point, those vile MacIains your father just sent on their way.”
Charlotte stopped midstride. “Is it all Highland clans you disapprove of, or is Clan Iain Abrach of Glencoe particularly distasteful to you?”
“All Jacobite supporters should be snuffed,” James said with a scowl. “You saw the chieftain. He shamelessly dressed in outrageous plaid trews and buckskin. He should be imprisoned for the lewdness of his attire. If you ask me, Alasdair MacIain MacDonald and his band of thieves are the basest rogues of the Gallows Herd.”
“And what brought you to such a conclusion?” Charlotte clenched her fists at her sides. “Have you faced them in battle before?”
“’Tis common knowledge they raided Breadalbane before the blood stopped flowing on their way home from the Battle of Killiecrankie. Hell bent on claiming their pay from the Campbell coffers they were. The rogue you were speaking to in the corridor—Hugh MacIain—stole the Laird of Glenlyon’s prized stallion in that raid.”
“Did he?” Her gaze darted to the direction Hugh had ridden. Could Hugh be a heartless reiver akin to those she’d heard her father complain about? Charlotte had also heard of Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon. A rogue himself, he had a reputation for gambling and drinking, gaming away every farthing his ancestors had passed to him. “Interesting Mr. MacIain rode a garron pony this evening.”
“You are a smart-tongued lass, are you not?” The lieutenant followed her from the stairwell into the corridor that led to her father’s house. “I doubt a member of Clan Iain Abrach would be bold enough to be seen with that horse. No, the stallion must be out to pasture with the mares to breed some height into those worthless garrons.”
“But they do seem stout, and rather adapted to the rugged winters here.”
“Charlotte?” Holding a lamp, Doctor Munro stepped from the house and closed the door. He’d started using her familiar name right after they’d begun “courting”. “Is all well here?”
She tried to smile. “Yes, the lieutenant colonel was just seeing me home.”
“It appears Miss Hill has taken an interest in some rather unscrupulous Highland renegades.” Hamilton cleared his throat. “I found her atop the wall-walk not long after MacIain and his mob left for Inveraray.”
The physician grasped her hand and knit his brows. “Is this true, my love.”
Charlotte hated it when he referred to her as his love. She drew her hand away. “Not at all. I needed a bit of air after enduring days of this wretched weather.”
The lieutenant colonel looked between them while the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Munro, if I had a morsel as tasty as Miss Hill to woo, I surely would not allow her out of my sight.”
“I beg your pardon?” The doctor stepped between them. “You speak out of turn.”
“Yes you do.” Charlotte skittered aside and placed her hand on the latch. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with taking a stroll atop the battlements, be it snowing or not, and given your demonstrated propensity for exaggeration, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from discussing this any further, lieutenant.” Purposefully leaving off the “colonel”, Charlotte opened the door and slipped inside before being forced to listen to another insulting word.
“Charlotte, are you well?” the doctor’s voice resonated through the timber door.
“Yes, just a bit tired. Good night.”
She could picture Roderick hesitating, trying to think of some way he could coax her to open the door. “I shall see you on the morrow, then,” his reedy voice had a pleading edge to it.
She untied her cloak, breathing a sigh of relief. “On the morrow,” came her half-hearted reply.
***
Hugh could have sworn his cods froze during the long and frigid journey to Inveraray. Every other part of his body had turned to ice, too. His fingers froze in place around his reins. If he dared move them, he feared they’d shatter like ice on a loch. Och aye, he could weather the storms in the mountains with the most robust of Highlanders, but riding seventy miles in a blizzard was pure madness if not complete torture.
Worse, Sheriff Campbell of Ardkinglas had taken a galley across Loch Fyne to celebrate the holidays with his family. And that wasn’t the half of it. Along their journey to Inveraray, Thomas Drummond’s patrol of redcoats stopped them with their muskets unslung.
Da tried to be amicable and told his men to keep their weapons sheathed. He showed Captain Drummond Colonel Hill’s missive. A lot of good that did. By the time Captain Drummond thumbed his nose at the letter, a dragoon held a pistol against Hugh’s skull. The MacIains were surrounded, with no option but to give in to the wiles of a cheating redcoat.
Giving no sound cause, Drummond ordered his guards to throw the MacIain men into the hold of Barcaldine Castle, thus ruining all chances of making it to Inveraray by the first. Hugh knew Drummond was laughing at his ploy, the bastard. It was another day before they were released. That morn, New Year’s Day the year of our Lord 1692 had arrived and Da still hadn’t pledged fealty to William of Orange—not for lack of bloody trying.
Though the old man looked like shite with lines of worry etched in his sleep-deprived face, he mounted his garron pony and led on. “I’ve Colonel Hill’s missive in hand. And by the saints, the powers that be will soon learn of Drummond’s backstabbing tactics from Edinburgh to London. Mark me, the Privy Council will not sit idle whilst I tell of the captain’s trickery.”
Fighting the cold and snowdrifts, Hugh rode in beside his father. He clenched his teeth as he hunched over in his saddle, one hand clinging tightly to the plaid around his shoulders. “Agreed. They cannot be allowed to get away with this. Christ, you’ve been trying to sign the oath for three bloody days. Nary a man would put us to fire and sword given your effort.”
Da glared ahead and said nothing while his horse trudged forward, clouds from warm air meeting cold puffing through the beast’s ice-laden nostrils.
By nightfall they skirted around the head of Loch Awe. Breadalbane’s Kilchurn Castle rose like a grey snow-capped monolith, looming against a moonless sky, lonely on an islet surrounded by icy water. Icy like the earl’s heart, which surely wasn’t melting w
hile he sat in the draughty hall and tried to warm his hands before his hearth. Not even a dragon-hearted earl could find warmth in this weather.
After five miles of trudging through deep drifts, they turned southward across the high hills to Loch Fyne. Heading down to the valley at dawn, the snow-covered paddocks blended with the sky. It was the second of January, three days after they’d left Glencoe for Fort William, and the garrons’ muffled hoofbeats ambled silently through the Campbell capitol. An unnerving passage indeed, for no MacIain was welcome within twenty miles of Inveraray. Their forefathers had twice looted the township—retaliation in exchange for retaliation.
Here Campbell wealth and power could not be questioned. Hugh rode beside his father past the tall castle with the round turrets, the tolbooth and the courthouse, and finally Doom Hill where more than one MacIain man’s life had been strangled from his throat.
Da led them down a narrow close to a discreet change-house. He wanted no quarrels or mishaps with any inebriated Campbells who still might be drinking in the New Year.
***
Hugh nursed a tankard of ale, sitting at a small table at the back of the alehouse with Da. “We’ve been rotting here for three bloody days. Will the bastard never return?” he growled behind the pewter cup, his eyes constantly shifting. Christ, at any moment, Argyll’s men-at-arms could come crashing into the establishment and put them all to the sword.
Da rocked back in his chair and put his feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles. A cavalier move, even for Da. “He cannot stay away forever. He’s the bleeding sheriff. Law and order has to be served, even on Campbell lands.”
“Och, I’ve had enough of sleeping with my eyes open and my boots on.” Hugh reached for the pitcher and topped up Da’s tankard and then his own. “For all we ken, the miserable Campbell reivers are riding to Glencoe to pay us back for the Killiecrankie raid.”
“I doubt that, lad. With Alasdair Og and Sandy standing guard, no Campbell rabble will make it past Ballachlulish. And no one can stage a raid from the east. There must be thirty-six hands of snow piled in the Devil’s Staircase by now.” Da shook his head of gnarled white locks—a fearsome sight he made. “Our kin is locked tight in God’s mighty fortress.”
Hugh sipped his ale. “’Tis a fortress and a trap.”
“Wheesht.” Da spat over his shoulder to send evil spirits away. “Four hundred years past, our forefathers took the Coe by fire and sword and we’ve held it ever since. Not a man in all of Scotland would be successful against us. You ken as well as me.”
“Aye, I do. But times are changing. There were far more soldiers at the fort than when I was there months ago—and they’re better outfitted. I think we should be looking at our defenses.”
“You ken I never go a day without training.”
“Aye but we’ve no bailey walls surrounding Carnoch. No cannons. Mayhap ’tis time to think about improving our defenses.”
One corner of Da’s mouth ticked up. “Son, I do not think it a good idea to pinch the Campbell’s cannons on our way home. Besides, they’re awful heavy to drag through this miserable snow.”
Though his gut was twisted in a knot, Hugh managed a wee chuckle. “I didn’t say—”
“MacIain, sir?” A runner stepped into the alehouse.
Hugh pushed back his chair and stood, ready for anything.
Da slid his fingers around his hilt. “Aye?”
“The sheriff’s galley has been spotted.”
“Och, I said he couldn’t stay away forever.” Da swatted Hugh’s back with a hearty laugh. “I’ll take the oath and we’ll be sitting before your mother’s hearth by the evening meal on the morrow.”
“At least we do not have to spend another night in this unsavory establishment.” Hugh pointed to the men. “See to it the ponies are ready to ride. We’ll return anon.”
He tightened his sword belt and walked beside Da to the courthouse. Not long and the sheriff entered, brushing snow from his cloak. “A man alights from his galley and told to head to the courthouse afore he’s had a chance to light a fire in home’s hearth. This had best be good, MacIain.”
Da pulled Governor Hill’s missive from his buckskin and slapped it on the board. “I’ve been six days waiting for someone with cods enough to take my oath to King William.” He then went into great detail about Hill’s refusal at Fort William and being unlawfully detained at Barcaldine Castle by Drummond’s patrol. “To top it off, me and my men nearly lost our lives riding through the worst blizzard since God Almighty created Scotland. ’Tis a wonder I’m standing here afore you this day.”
The Campbell sheriff frowned and stroked his fingers down his chin while he pored over Hill’s missive. Then he sat back in his chair and casually tossed the parchment on the table. “I’m afraid ’tis too late to take the oath. The writ clearly states it must be sworn to before the first of January.”
“Did you not hear a word I said?” Da took in a deep inhale, puffing out his chest. “I tried to swear the oath to anyone who would listen. Why Colonel Hill, the Governor of Fort William, could not administer it, I’ve no idea. Why Captain Drummond saw fit to lock me in the hold against my will for an entire day is unforgivable.”
“But ’tis the fifth of January.”
Hugh’s fingers itched to draw his sword and level it under the smug sheriff’s chin. Why the hell was he stalling? Da had the letter from Hill explaining what had happened. Damnation, he’d held his tongue long enough. “You want us to fail, no matter that in good faith my father tried to take the oath afore the deadline.”
“You, sir, have not been addressed. And had you been in Inveraray on the thirty-first of December and not Fort William, I might just be so inclined to issue the oath to your errant father, regardless of my profound distaste for the man.”
Hugh thrust his finger at the codfish. “You see? You admit—”
“Silence!” Da bellowed loud enough to wake the dead buried in Glencoe’s hills.
Even the “sheriff of the damned” jolted in his seat, his grey wig toppling cockeyed.
Da took a step forward, spreading his palms wide. “Please.” His voice warbled like never before. “I’ve come to you in good faith. We’ve lain low and kept to ourselves. Administer the oath to me and upon my honor, I will promise that I shall order all my people to do the same. Those who refuse, you may imprison or send to Flanders as soldiers.”
Hugh closed his eyes. What words did Da have with the colonel when I was in the passageway with Charlotte? And after with Captain Drummond? Da’s never been afraid of anything, but I ken fear, and if the tremor in Da’s voice isn’t downright terror, then I’m no Highland scrapper.
Sheriff Campbell straightened his wig and looked up at the great chieftain’s face.
“Please, I beg of you,” Da continued. “I have endured great hardship to stand before you this day. I’ve patiently awaited your return. I’d like nothing better than to head home to my lady wife and have this business behind me.”
With his frown, the sheriff shook his head. “Boar’s ballocks, my duty is but to record the oaths given in my presence. Come to me on the morrow and it will be done.”
“Why wait until the morrow?” Hugh started forward to be met with Da’s steely grip on his upper arm.
“One more day at the change-house, lad.” Then Da looked to the sheriff. “My thanks.”
Once outside, Hugh led his father off the path to a bench where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Devil’s fire, I’ve never seen you bow to anyone like I just saw in there. Bloody hell, Da. We’re MacDonalds. Fearless in the eyes of God. Does that account for nothing?”
The proud old man’s shoulders sagged while he swiped a hand down his face. “Bless it, son. Do you not ken this is all for you? All of it!”
Hugh’s brow pinched. “I beg your pardon?”
“The Master of Stair is moving forty thousand troops to rain fire throughout the Highlands. He aims to snuff out those who do not make the p
ledge.” A spark flickered in his eye. “And Drummond laughed in my face when he told me Glencoe was first on the master’s list of upstarts.”
Hugh shuddered like a snake had just slithered up his spine. “Christ. Will they never leave us be?”
Da grasped the plaid draped across Hugh’s shoulder and twisted it in his fist. “By God, I will see to it that my sons thrive, and their sons, and their sons after. You will succeed me, and our clan will rule the Coe forever.” His grip tightened until the plaid nearly split its woolen fibers. “Understand one thing. I’d drop to my knees and beg if it meant our kin would be free from King William’s wrath.”
Chapter Ten
For the most part Charlotte enjoyed the officers’ banter during the evening meal. She always listened thoughtfully, careful to keep her opinions bottled and corked, especially when her views didn’t mirror the others’. Why they all managed to believe they were still at war with the Jacobites, she couldn’t fathom. Not every clan had taken the oath, but most had—especially those thought to be a possible threat, and Papa expected little in the way of retaliation from the others who hadn’t yet come forward.
In her opinion, the threat of war had never been so unlikely. Besides, the weather made any such improbable retaliation unlikely.
Charlotte cut her roast lamb with precise slices as her ears piqued. The generally lighthearted banter had taken a turn to matters at hand. Why soldiers oft insisted on making a stir just to agitate that which would otherwise be idle, she would never fathom.
“We need to make an example of the laggards to show all the Highlanders that disobedience will not be tolerated,” said Doctor Munro, seated beside her.
Papa and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton exchanged pointed frowns. “I daresay I agree,” said Hamilton. “However, no small clan will do. The king’s action needs to be on a grand scale—a statement by the army that ends any question to James’ claims to the throne forever.”
