by Amy Jarecki
“I only hope nothing comes of it.”
“’Tis my wish as well.” He closed his eyes and held her tight, memorizing how magically her body molded to his. “If only we were not on opposite sides of this.”
“We are no longer opposing,” she whispered breathlessly. “Ever since your father walked into Papa’s study and asked to sign the oath, you have been with us.”
Lead the size of a cannonball churned in the pit of Hugh’s stomach. In no way would he ever consider himself a Williamite. Da may have signed the oath, but that was because of a direct order from the true king. “You ken I will always be a Highlander. I’m the heir of the Chieftainship of Clan Iain Abrach of Glencoe. I will never turn my back on my people—you understand that, do you not?”
“Yes, of course, and I’m ever so proud of you.” Her fingers plied his back. “But you are on our side now—your father signed the pledge of fealty.”
Hugh ground his molars, wishing he had more bloody time. “If only there were no sides.” It would take Hugh all night to explain exactly what King William’s oath of fealty meant, and that all clans were now watching how the king responded. None of the money promised the clans by Breadalbane had been paid—not a single farthing. Thus far, King William hadn’t proved he could keep up his end of any bargain. Regardless, Hugh couldn’t risk losing Charlotte. “You and I are an island among many factions. Always keep me in your heart, for our love knows no boundaries.”
A sigh whistled through her lips. “I adore how you said that. We are above any army in all of Britain.”
“My God, I love you, Charlotte.” Tightening his hold around her, Hugh closed his eyes and kissed her, his entire body shuddering with the strength of the emotion welling inside him. Lord, his heart was about to burst, and he hadn’t yet asked Colonel Hill for her hand. That task would now have to wait.
She rested her head against his chest. “I love you so much, it pains me to think you are leaving.”
“I promise I will return as soon as I am able.” He held her at arm’s length. “If anything happens, send word with Farley.”
Her lovely almond-shaped eyes blinked. “He knows how to find you?”
“He’s the best tracker in the Highlands.” Hugh kissed her again. “If only I could bottle your essence and keep it with me.”
“One more thing.” Charlotte reached inside her cloak and fished in the pocket hanging from her belt. “I finished this for you after I returned from the market.” She held up a white kerchief with something embroidered around the edge. “’Tis too dark to see, but I’ve stitched it with a wreath of heather.”
“For me?” Hugh held it to his nose and inhaled. Oh yes, honey, roses and woman—exactly the scent that sent him mad whenever he was within ten feet of his Charlotte. “I will have something of you with me after all. I shall treasure this forever. Thank you.”
Closing his eyes, he bent his head and claimed her lips one last time. God save him, he wanted to stay. But dammit all, he had no choice.
Pulling away with a sigh, he grasped her hand. “Now come. I’ll walk you to the governor’s house.”
“Oh no. You cannot be caught behind the gates now.”
Hugh almost told her no iron portcullis would keep him inside, but she was right on this account. He must make haste to Glencoe, no matter how much he preferred to follow the lady to her chamber and enjoy a repeat performance of last eve’s lovemaking.
Chapter Seventeen
Colonel John Hill sipped his sweet sherry, willing it to numb his mind for the evening. He detested both officers who’d joined him for his late night meeting. Campbell of Glenlyon was as pompous as he was a slovenly drunk and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton had been nothing but a thorn piercing through the bottom of Hill’s boot since his arrival nearly two months past.
The colonel would never understand it. He’d been handpicked to come to Inverlochy after the Battle of Killiecrankie—at the height of Jacobite hostility. King William had granted Hill the governorship and commissioned him to build the fort and maintain peace. ’Twas a promotion Hill had earned from over forty years as a career solider. No living officer had gained as much experience with Scotland’s Highlanders as Colonel Hill. And for the past two years he’d fulfilled his charter and had sustained order. As a result, relations had never been better with the Highland chiefs. True, there were a handful of outliers who hadn’t yet pledged fealty to the king, but most were unable to make the journey to their respective shires due to inclement weather and deep snow.
Glenlyon reclined in an upholstered chair, tossing a die on the table as if mesmerized by it. Thank God, Hill had the wherewithal to prohibit gambling in the officer’s quarters, otherwise Glenlyon would have turned this night into more of a sham than it already was.
Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton maintained his harsh mien. If he ever became Governor of Fort William, there would be a rash of daily hangings, no doubt. “I do not understand why you are stalling. The Master of Stair’s missive was clear. We are to act swiftly.”
Lord, the young man was a smug bastard, but Colonel Hill knew he needed to tread carefully. Hamilton’s family had its tentacles embedded in too many areas of government. “I have a responsibility to act in accordance with my conscious,” countered Hill. “As a senior officer to the crown, it is my duty to question the Master of Stair’s orders when the king’s name is affixed to them without a proper signature, especially when the king is fighting a war in Flanders.” Hill leaned forward and looked over his reading glasses. “Last I checked, I am the senior officer at this fort, and I will receive confirmation before I act.” Bloody Christmas, I pray to God the Master of Stair erred.
The clanking of the die stopped. “Do I march my men south on the morrow or nay?” Glenlyon may be clad in a Williamite uniform, but his burr was as thick as Alasdair MacIain’s.
“You march as I commanded,” Hamilton grumbled.
Hill clamped his lips shut. Marching isn’t the problem. Let Glenlyon march all he wants. That might keep him away from imbibing in too much spirit for a time. “But you must do nothing until you receive further orders.”
Across the table, Hamilton groaned. “I see no reason to wait. We’ve amassed enough men.”
The colonel eyed him directly. “That is why you are the junior officer.”
Glenlyon grabbed the sherry bottle and turned it completely upside down. A single red drop splashed into his glass. The man stuck his grubby finger inside and licked it. “I suppose I should call it a night.”
Hill stood. “Thank you, gentlemen. We have our orders and I expect each of you to act accordingly.”
Hamilton gave a thin-lipped nod. Hill didn’t believe Campbell cared if he had to wait or not. Having been a nuisance to both the Earls Breadalbane and Argyll, the lesser laird’s reputation was not far off the mark. Robert Campbell of Glenlyon had joined the king’s army at the request of his cousin earls in an attempt to keep him sober and paid. Hill was well aware Glenlyon raided and prayed upon his neighboring clans as much as they reciprocated, but nary a raid had happened since Fort William had come into existence. In truth, the reason for Glenlyon’s sorry state of affairs was his insatiable appetite for gambling.
Opening the door of the drawing room to see the men out, Colonel Hill choked on something—it couldn’t have been the sherry. A bit of his dinner must have somehow lodged itself in his throat, because for a moment he couldn’t breathe, nor could he believe that his daughter spun and gaped at him, wearing a cloak, her cheeks and nose red as if she’d been out in the cold.
With a sputtering cough, he quickly regained his composure. “My word, Charlotte, where have you been at this hour?” Due to the fact they lived within the walls of a fortress full of soldiers, it was the colonel’s rule that she retire to her chamber above stairs after every evening meal.
“Ah…” She shot a surprised grimace to Campbell, then to Hamilton. “I needed some air and took a stroll around the battlements.”
Hill waved her to the drawing room. “Please await me inside.”
Groaning, she brushed past him.
Captain Glenlyon snorted and swayed. Truly, he had consumed the better part of two bottles of sherry, and the colonel had lost track of the wine pouring down the man’s gullet during supper. “Not to worry. I have two daughters of my own.” He leaned in, his pickled breath making the colonel cough again. “The best thing you can do is to marry her off. That lassie’s far too bonny. She’ll be tapped for certain if she continues to live within the walls of Fort William.”
Clenching his fists, it was all Hill could do not to slam a left hook across the sniveling maggot’s jaw. “I believe you overstep your station, captain. The next time you have such an opinionated remark, I trust you will think through your delivery before you spew your crass drivel to a superior officer.” With that, the colonel marched the two men to the door. “I shall see you both at dawn.”
Taking a deep breath, Hill faced the door to the drawing room. The last thing he wanted to deal with this eve was Charlotte. And she was such an amenable child. What in God’s name was she doing out alone? Turning the handle, he yanked the damned door open. “Please tell me you were taking a turn with Doctor Munro.”
“If I said that I would be lying.” Damnation, if her face did not possess the innocence of a cherub, he might have slapped her.
Colonel Hill almost would have preferred a lie at this hour. Did she have to look like an angel when she said something so irritating? “Charlotte, I know you are usually a sensible young woman, but I cannot possibly oversee your safety if you ignore my rules.” Clutching his hands behind his back, he paced toward the hearth. “It is not proper for any woman to walk unescorted especially after dark.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
Not with the physician and not alone? “I beg your pardon?”
Her chin tipped up. “I was escorted by Mr. Hugh MacIain.”
“Of Glencoe?” The colonel spun on his heel, that damned piece of food lodging in his throat again.
“Yes,” she said as if she often walked with rogues such as the heir to the Gallows Herd. “If you recall, he was here with his father not too long ago.”
How could he forget? The whole sordid affair had his pen scratching missives for the past month. “Of course I remember that ill-fated night, but what the blazes was he doing here—and moreover why did he entertain an audience with you?”
Charlotte blushed the color of the red settee.
The colonel coughed, trying to dislodge the bloody piece of mutton. “Oh, Lord in heaven, do not tell me that barbarian has taken a fancy to you.”
She removed her muff and placed it on the table. “I believe he has, and I quite like him. He makes me—happy inside.”
“Lord no. No, no, no. This is preposterous!” He slammed his fist on the table. “You are supposed to be in love with Doctor Munro.”
“But I feel nothing for the physician. And…and Mr. MacIain is heir to the Chieftainship of Glencoe—he’s a man of property. That should make you happy.” Charlotte twirled across the floor. “Do you not understand? Hugh makes me bubble inside.”
This cannot be true. Bubbling? ’Tis worse than I thought. The colonel strode across the floor and grasped his daughter’s shoulders. “Listen to me. You will block this man from your mind. Do you understand?”
“But—”
He shook her shoulders firmly. “I forbid you to ever see Hugh MacIain again. And I confine you to quarters until I have regained my good humor, which I imagine will be a very long time.”
***
Riding at a trot, the journey to Glencoe took far too long. Hugh stopped at the North Ballachulish ferry and pounded on the cottage door of Archie MacSorley.
The big clansman opened with a lantern in his hand and a sleeping coif atop his head. “Och, are you trying to wake the dead?”
Hugh thrust his finger toward the south. “I need to cross Loch Leven straight away.”
The man straightened, pulling his plaid tighter around his shoulders. “Something’s afoot. I can smell it.”
“Aye, there is. And you’d best hide your weapons in the rafters as there’s talk at the fort about confiscating arms.”
“Bloody red-coated riffraff,” Archie grumbled. “I recon you’re looking to be ferried across to your da.”
“This cannot wait. Robert Campbell of Glenlyon is heading this way with a full battalion.”
“Campbell?” MacSorley stepped back and allowed Hugh to enter. “You cannot be serious. Is the rogue coming to be slaughtered?”
“Coming to visit his niece.” Hugh still didn’t believe it. “Regardless, be on your guard.”
Archie belted his plaid and shoved a woolen bonnet atop his head. “There’s a gale blowing. The crossing will be choppy.”
“We’d have to find a way to cross even if the loch were covered with thin ice.”
In no time they’d boarded the wooden ferry. Planting his feet wide on the flat bottom of the raft, Hugh held his garron’s bridle while Archie’s weathered hands tugged them through the white-capped swells.
After paying the man, Hugh galloped through the packed snow past the village of Ballachulish, their cottage windows dark for the night. But when he arrived at Da’s manse, a lamp glowed in the parlor window.
Hugh pushed inside, well aware Da never bothered to bolt his door. The clock on the wall read quarter past twelve. By the ache in his bones, he thought it no less than the witching hour. Aye, he’d oft traveled faster from Inverlochy, but that had been in daylight and during spring.
Da sat in his overstuffed chair in front of the hearth, a book open on his lap, a smoldering pipe in the tray beside him. His head tilted back and a light snore rumbled through his nose.
“Da,” Hugh said, moving forward and placing his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Da.”
Sputtering awake, the book dropped to the floor with a thud. “Hugh? What is it, lad?”
“Glenlyon is riding his regiment from Fort William to Glencoe on the morrow.”
Lumbering to his feet, Da shoved Hugh aside as he stood and drew his sword. “The bloody bastard. That miserable milksop is the most damnable, putrid swine of the lot of those scandalous Campbells.” Da swung his sword through the air with two hissing strikes. “I’ll sever his cods, I swear I will.”
Hugh held up his hands and took a step back—Da could overreact a bit when awakened. “I’m not certain that is the right tact—though I’d be the first to offer my dirk for the task.”
Lowering his sword, Da squinted. “What say you?”
“The captain is stopping in Glencoe to see his niece.”
“Sarah?”
“Aye, and there was banter at the officer’s table about confiscating weapons.”
Da’s face went stone blank. “Wait a moment. Who informed you of this?”
“Miss Charlotte Hill—the governor’s daughter. Remember? She’s the lass who filled our bellies afore we rode to Inveraray.”
“I ken who she is.” The old man shoved his sword in its scabbard and rested it against the stony hearth. “What I want to know is why was she spouting the king’s business to the likes of you?”
“Ah…She’s…Um.” Hugh straightened, clenching his fists at his sides. “I have to admit I didn’t go to Inverlochy for the fete.”
Da’s eyes grew round as silver coins. “Lord save us. You mean to say you’re courting Colonel Hill’s daughter?”
“Aye. I aim to marry her.”
“Christ.” Da threw up his hands. “She’s a bloody Sassenach wench—and she’s the daughter of the red devil himself.”
Hugh folded his arms, raising his chin. “Hill’s not the problem.”
“You think not? Does he ken you’re a courting his wee daughter?”
“Not as of yet.”
“Well, you keep up with your harebrained notion, the governor’s dragoons will be breathing down our necks for certain.” Da clutched his chest. “I
s Glenlyon paying us a visit because Hill suspects something?”
Hugh sliced his hand through the air. “Like I said, he doesn’t even know I’m courting his daughter…yet.”
“Bloody good thing.” Gesturing to a seat, Da resumed his. “So if you had to place wager on it, do you think Glenlyon’s visit will be a peaceful one?”
“With one regiment?” Hugh scratched his chin. “I reckon they may be merely passing through—may also be spying.”
“Then we’ll not give them anything to gripe about. What say you? Show them some genuine Highland hospitality?” Da picked up his pipe and lit it from a bit of straw he’d put in the candle flame. “Besides, we signed the oath. We may have been a wee bit late, but I just received word today the MacLeans signed after me—and the Clanranald MacDonalds have not yet come forward.”
“Truly?” Hugh’s spirits rose for the first time since he’d seen Robert Campbell of Glenlyon ride through Fort William’s gates.
“Och, aye.” A puff of pipe smoke swirled above Da’s head until it dissolved into nothing. “At dawn, we’ll inform the men to conceal their weapons in their thatch—aside from any daggers they can hide on their persons. Then I’ll meet Glenlyon with arms open—prove to him I’m the most hospitable bloody host in the Highlands.”
Hugh sat back and stretched his legs before the hearth. “As long as the men keep their weapons close at hand, I believe your plan is not only smart, ’tis sound.”
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte’s fingers flew over the strings of her violin while the horsehair bow strained and frayed from the stress of sawing the strings with vigorous exertion. She’d been screeching out scales and woeful arias since she’d arisen that morn and hadn’t a mind to stop. If her father intended to imprison her, she would ensure he heard exactly how she felt about such undue overbearance.
