Highland Arms

by Cathie Dunn

  Would she ever be free of him?

  ***

  Rory pushed the oars with a determined stroke. He decided to go out on the boat, and not use the tunnel in the house, despite the thick fog hovering over the loch. He’d no choice unless he wanted to walk into the library and disappear in front of Catriona’s eyes. Impossible!

  He was sure it was her who hovered in the corridor the night before. The dandy would have made too much noise after all the whisky he’d consumed. Rory wrinkled his nose in disgust. The man was a wastrel. Good riddance to him.

  But neither was it Auntie Meg or any of the servants. They knew not to roam around the house in the dark. But why did Catriona lurk in the shadows in the middle of the night when she should have been in her bed, fast asleep?

  A picture of Catriona in her bed, dressed in the flimsy nightgown she had worn the previous morning, formed in his mind. Slim, white calves peeking out from under the thin fabric of the gown. Her creamy shoulders and the full shape of her breasts barely concealed until she wrapped the woollen shawl around her. His heart throbbed and his loins stirred with desire. It was months since he had lain with a woman. Of course he’d respond to Catriona’s tempting body. It was not her, just bodily needs. Nature demanding release.

  He remembered the day he parted with Sheonagh, his mistress of three years. She had been pressing him for marriage, nay, nagging him, threatening to become with child. He had long ago decided he was not the marrying kind. He had no desire for the responsibilities of fatherhood and family. These were perilous times, and he did not want to be bound to a wife and children. They represented danger, a trap his enemies could set to catch him in.

  No, family life was not for him. He’d flirt with Catriona if he deemed it necessary, especially after her discovery the previous night, but all he really needed was a new mistress. As the memory of Catriona’s curves invaded his thoughts again, he decided the sooner he found himself a wench the better.

  Rory gritted his teeth and pulled harder at the oars. The fog would shield him from any prying eyes, English or Scot. And his mission kept his mind from encroaching thoughts of female temptation.

  Rory capped his speed when he spotted the outline of the overhanging boulder. He turned to make sure his aim was correct, and that no-one wandered the shore, barely visible in the mist. Finding Catriona in his boathouse shocked him. But this entrance was too far for her to stumble across. And her dimwit of a brother should be gone by now.

  Rory let out a slow breath as he eased the boat into the hidden inlet. As he neared the tunnel, he saw a torch lit just inside the entrance to the cave. Ah, he was not alone. Feeling the reassurance of his pistol and dirk, Rory lit his own flame and made his way through to the cave. More torches, flickering brightly in their sconces, lit his way. But, inside, he found no-one. The main cave was empty.

  Rory wondered for a moment why his business partners left without extinguishing everything. Had they been in a rush? An icy shiver ran down his back. Had someone betrayed them? But the muskets were gone, so nothing of value could be traced back to them. He gazed into one of the smaller caves, holding his torch high up, illuminating the room.

  Empty.

  A groan made him turn quickly. He pulled his dirk and held the flame toward the far corner. “Who is this?” he bellowed.

  “Mmhhh mmmhhhh,” came the desperate reply.

  Rory crouched in front of an overhanging rock and shone his torch into the darkness underneath. A pair of terror-filled eyes stared at him. A gag was stuffed into the man’s mouth, and his arms appeared to be tied behind him. His legs were bound too, at the knees and ankles. Rory swore, shoved the dirk between his teeth, and grabbed the man by the shirt. With care not to bruise him, he heaved him out.

  Then he stood back and looked his intruder up and down. It was nobody he knew, a young man, no older than ten and eight, bright red hair ruffled and muddied. He crouched in front of him, and, knife in hand, bent forward. He heard a sharp intake of breath, and the lad’s eyes widened in terror. Damn!

  “No worries, lad. I won’t kill you.” Rory cut through the gag, and the lad took deep gulps of breath. “Not yet anyway.” He helped the captive into a sitting position and stood back, settling the torch into one of the empty sconces on the wall. The shadowy light flickered across the room.

  “Who are you?” Rory held the knife casually in his hand, his attention not leaving the boy for one moment. Was he a spy, sent by the English and bound by one of his associates? Or a thief, bent on betraying them? If that was the case then his life was forfeit already.

  “I’m...” the voice croaked. “Water. Need water.”

  Rory undid the flask at his hip and held it to the boy’s lips, making sure his dirk stayed well out of reach.

  “Drink slowly,” he ordered. The lad did as he was told before shaking his head, indicating he’d had enough. Rory stoppered the flask and hooked it back into place, his gaze never once leaving the lad. This boy was no spy. He was too green behind his ears to make any attempts at freedom. “Now, who are you?”

  “Jamie MacKinnon. Robbie’s ma father. He sent me here to work wi’ ye.” The lad’s face turned puce, an image that mirrored his father’s. “I didna expect to be taken prisoner by tha’ old man.”

  The indignation in the boy’s voice made Rory burst out laughing. “What? Auld Cameron trussed you up like that?” He threw his head back and roared. “And you...a young laddie.” Rory sat next to the boy and wiped his eyes. “Auld Cameron’s in his 70th year, lad. You’ve a lot to learn.” His shoulders were still shaking as he cut through the ropes.

  “Thank you, sir.” Jamie rubbed his sore wrists and ankles. Rory examined them, cursing to himself. Auld Cameron had done a safe job but the force he had used surprised Rory. The lad could not have untied himself even though it was in jest. Hence the burning torches, a sign that someone was here. But the lad could have died had he not come round when he did. Rory must have a word with his associate.

  “Now, Jamie lad, I’ll leave you here till your blood flows through your legs again. I’ll just be in the next cave. Take things slowly. You get up too early, and you’ll collapse like a newborn pony.”

  He shook his head and walked away. There was much work to do but it was too early for the lad to get involved in serious transactions. Robbie had spoken to him about sending his youngest to help. Little did he expect him to receive a welcome like that. Damn Auld Cameron!

  He heard sounds of shuffling, and a thump. Ah, the lad had tried to stand. And failed. Rory shook his head and went over to where a narrow split appeared in the wall. He put his hand through it at head level, withdrew a scroll from the hidden compartment behind, and began unrolling it. He settled himself onto a ledge that served as a bench and began to read. After the first sentence, he swore. This was bad, very bad. He clenched his fist and slammed it on his thigh. The day started badly with Catriona spying on him in the wee small hours, and had gradually gotten worse. Now this beat it all. His group of men was infiltrated. He had suspected for some time but now he had no choice—he must confront Auld Cameron before he had the chance to reveal the muskets’ hiding place. And move the arms again.

  Chapter Seven

  Catriona slid into the library and locked the door behind her. Earlier, Mairi told her Auntie Meg intended to rest until the afternoon, so she returned to her bedroom after her brother’s departure for a bit of rest herself. Relief flooded through her as she lay on the bed biding her time.

  She reconfirmed her decision. Never would she return to Edinburgh. If Father wrote, she’d ask Auntie Meg to allow her to stay. Beg on her knees, or do any work the old lady might ask of her—companion, housekeeper, anything. She doubted her godmother would send her back anyway. A smile brushed her lips at the memory of their late night chat. They had found common ground and forged a close bond. No, she was never going back. This was home now.

  That matter decided, she turned her thoughts to another issue that intrigued her—Ror
y’s strange night-time appearance in the library. Praying for patience, she waited for the staff to settle into their chores—and her chance to explore the fireplace.

  ***

  Finally, she was in the library. While waiting for the house to quiet, she’d fallen asleep, only to awake an hour later, hoping she’d not ruined her chance.

  Now, her back against the library door, she scanned the tall shelves stacked with innumerable books of all sizes and ages. Her mouth gaped as she stared at the array of literature—just how did Auntie Meg afford them? Remembering the delicate China, and the crystal wine glasses, Catriona wondered if perhaps Rory’s middle of the night secrets had anything to do with it.

  Her gaze moved from the shelves, across the comfortable leather armchairs, to the broad oak desk that stood in the middle of the room. Catriona strolled over and ran her hand across its grooved surface. Her fingertips slid over traces of wax splattered on one side, which most likely came from the candle Rory lit the previous night. Clearly, he’d not even attempted to hide any signs. He felt safe. The corners of her mouth twitched before she burst into a giggle, quickly stifled with her hand. ‘Twas just her nerves. She’d soon find out what he was up to. A shiver of foreboding crawled down her spine, but she ignored it.

  Gloomy shafts of daylight filtered through the narrow windows. Turning toward the fireplace, Catriona gazed at the dry logs piled in the center of the iron grate. Dust rose from the top log when she blew on it. Ha! Clearly, no-one had lit a fire here in a long time. Underneath the overhanging stone lintel, pitch darkness greeted her. She grabbed a candle from a holder on the wall and rummaged through the desk until she found flint and stone in a drawer. Quickly, she lit the candle and ducked underneath the lintel.

  Straightening to full height inside the fireplace, she gazed upwards, holding the candle aloft, where blackened walls rose high up. The chimney must run the full height of the house, narrowing significantly toward the top. Only a dim, faint sliver of light showed its exit.

  Catriona moved the flame along the crevices on the right hand side. There must be a switch, something to open the secret door. Her free hand moved across the stones, prodding, scratching, and pushing. But no magic opening showed itself. No uneven stone or ledge. She sighed as she stared at her hand, blackened with soot.

  Standing still, she let her gaze move across the walls when her left cheek began to tingle. She moved the flame toward that side. It flickered. A draught. A draught meant a gap. She slid her hand over the crevices on the wall and cold air brushed her fingers. Yes, this must be the entrance. No doubt. The stone slab in front of her was large enough to climb through, the edges smooth from frequent use. Her heart pounded in her ears. The hand holding the candle began to shake. She grabbed it with her other hand and swallowed hard. Focus!

  Containing her excitement, she pushed against the stone. It moved not an inch. She dug her fingers into the gap above it. Was she supposed to pull? But her nails slid off the surface and she stumbled backwards, hitting the back of her head. “Ouch!”

  The pain stung, bringing tears to her eyes. She raised her hand to the wound but stopped short. The impact had felt more like a sharp object, not the broad stone of the narrowing chimney wall around her. As realization hit her, she turned and stared. A short metal knob stuck out from inside the lintel, level with her head, invisible to anyone lighting a fire.

  But standing inside the fireplace it was quite obvious. If you knew where to look, that was. She smiled triumphantly and pushed it. Still nothing moved. Frustrated, she grabbed it and pulled. A scrunching sound made her jump, and she barely avoided hitting her head again. Catriona watched in wonder as the large stone slab finally slid from its place, leaving a dark opening.

  A tunnel.

  She’d found the tunnel. Dizziness nearly overcame her, and she toiled to steady her breathing.

  Robbie’s tale is true.

  If the tunnel existed, then so did the cave. And the seal. She almost bounced with joy, but where she stood was no space for air jumps. Holding the candle in front of her, she peered into the darkness. The small flame barely reached beyond the entrance.

  Should she go on, or wait? Perhaps tonight was better? But Rory might use it then. No, she’d go now and return before he realized she’d discovered his secret. Catriona lifted her skirt with her free hand and stepped over the threshold. Holding the candle aloft, she saw the large stone had moved smoothly into a narrow gap in the wall, pulled by some weird mechanism. Ingenious.

  Her gaze scanned the surface for a lever. Yes! A metal switch, its surface shiny from regular use, protruded from the wall to her left. Her hand hovered over it, ready to shut the stone door behind her when she remembered she’d most likely return this way. What if it didn’t work and she ended up stuck in the darkness, without anyone knowing where she was? No, she’d leave it open.

  Taking a deep breath, she shuffled along the narrow corridor. It sloped downwards, and she held her hand against the wall to steady herself. She wandered on seemingly for miles, but it could only have been a few hundred yards. A draft came through from somewhere and while the air smelled a little stale, it had at least enough oxygen to stop her from feeling faint.

  The absolute darkness around her began to play havoc with her mind. Distant noises made her jump. Something whizzed past her on the floor. Good heavens, a rat? Fighting nausea, she blinked hard. How far did she have to go? How far had she come? All sense of time and distance disappeared and she stopped. An eerie sensation took hold of her, as if someone was watching her. But only darkness greeted her when she glanced over her shoulder.

  “Nonsense,” she said out loud, her voice not quite as confident as she’d have liked. “No-one else is about.” She’d have seen a torch, or some form of light. No-one could move quietly in this darkness, on uneven ground, with rocks sticking out all over the place. A tall, broad man like Rory would easily fill the whole space.

  How did he manage? He must have been using this path for years. Years? A tunnel most likely leading to a cave, all hidden from prying eyes? Realization dawned on her.

  No! It can’t be true.

  Shocked at the obvious proof of her earlier suspicions, she shook her head. Rory a smuggler? Nonsense! Smugglers were ugly brutes—criminals.

  But then, what did she really know about him? Auntie Meg had said very little, only that she trusted him with her life. Catriona took a tentative step forward, her mind reeling, her ragged breaths breaking through the silence. The tea, the fine dishes and glass, the ferociously strong uisge beatha.

  Rory Cameron was a smuggler.

  And Auntie Meg must be aware of it, possibly even covering his tracks. Oh, dear God, she’d walked from one trap right into another. Life here was not safe either.

  Shaken to the core, she steadied herself with one hand on the wall, the other clutching the spluttering candle. Her feet hurt from the sharp rocks, and she felt dirty and disheveled, with layers of dust covering every inch of her. Ever since entering the tunnel, Catriona pushed several cobwebs from her face, but the thought of spiders crawling in her hair made her wobble. She shuffled ahead, tears stinging her eyes.

  What on earth was she doing? She was alone. Her family didn’t want her, and here—where only this morning she thought she’d found her safe haven—she’d found a nest of criminals.

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Staring ahead, she blinked. The light of her torch showed two paths veering off. To her left, the tunnel continued downwards, widening, its ground well-trodden. The other fork was darker, and narrower.

  With a firm nod to herself for courage, she followed the path to the right for several twists until she finally saw a faint, flickering light in the distance. Not far to go. Surely that was the famous cave of the seal? Anticipation mingled with dread and her pulse began to race. What would she find?

  With tentative steps, keeping close to the wall, she approached the light. A secret opening, hidden from sight. While thi
s must mean safety for a man fleeing from the cave, it did not afford Catriona a clear view. Voices reached her. Instinctively, she stayed out of sight of anyone on the other side of the stone wall. It might not be Rory. Straining her neck, she tried to listen to the words.

  Just at that moment, a loud bang reverberated through the gap and along the tunnel. She jumped, barely holding on to her candle. Hot wax dripped onto her skin, making her draw in her breath with a sharp hiss. Another bang followed. Pistol shots?

  How stupid she was to come here unaccompanied! What if the smugglers found her? She could disappear forever, her dead body ditched into the loch, with nobody the wiser. Had she really thought the cave was deserted, for her to snoop around at her pleasure? Clearly, it was not.

  Oh, my God! What if a smuggler shot Rory and was on his way to the house to collect his dues? Or what if Rory killed another man? Fear gripped her throat like a man’s hands.

  Clasping the candle stump, she turned and picked her way back through gravel and rocks. Catriona cursed her insatiable curiosity. This time it took her too far.

  Another sound made her look over her shoulder. The light at the end of the tunnel was growing brighter. A torch. It was moving toward her, still hidden from full sight by the turns of the path. Panic rose in her chest. Was the man coming after her going to kill her? And what if that man were Rory? After all, she’d discovered his secret.

  She held her candle low to hide its flame, lifted her skirt and ran as fast as she dared on the uneven surface. Once she was safely around the sharp corner of the tunnel leading toward the house, she dared breathe a little. With all the twists and turns, she remained out of sight. Still, she best hurry.