Highland Arms

by Cathie Dunn

  Her feet were sore with stinging blisters, having bumped her toes into so many rocky outcrops she’d long lost count. Her head spun from running while concentrating on not banging into any overhanging ledges. The torchlight behind her loomed brighter. Closer. Another bend and she saw the opening to the fireplace. As the light from the library grew, she blew out her candle, biting her lip as hot wax dripped onto her fingers.

  She dashed through the opening and for a moment contemplated pushing the lever to close the stone door. But the noise was bound to alert whoever followed her. Best to leave it as is. Ducking underneath the lintel, she raced for the door, but just as she tried to turn the stubborn key in the old lock, steps echoed on the stone floor of the fireplace. It was too late. In terror, she turned.

  ***

  Rory stared at the sight that met him when he ducked out of the fireplace. He was right. Someone had followed him. A scent of lavender hung in the tunnel, betraying its owner. Not that lavender was the only proof of her presence. Looking Catriona up and down, he chuckled. Cobwebs stuck to her hair, soot smeared her cheeks, and dust covered the folds of her gown. She looked like she just squeezed through the chimney.

  “My, look who we have here.” He grinned. Then he pulled young Jamie out of the opening and bent back underneath the lintel to push the lever into place. The stone door slid back with a scrunching sound. It made her jump, and the smile on his lips died. This was serious.

  “Jamie, sit.” The lad did as he was bid, brushing off his clothes before carefully lowering himself on the edge of a leather armchair.

  Catriona crossed her arms underneath her breasts, lifting them to reveal the creamy contours. Clearly, she was unaware of the effect. Rory swallowed hard. This was no time to consider the lady’s ample accoutrements. She’d discovered his secret. He’d been so sure she’d never spot the lever, never dare dive underneath the lintel or into the suffocating, dusty darkness of the tunnel, that he’d not even considered the danger—both to herself and to him. He swore at his stupidity. She shrank back, bracing herself against the door, eyes wide.

  Then his memory returned to the trouble in the cave, just before they’d made their way back. Had she heard the shots? Did she suspect him of shooting someone? Rory shook his head and gestured to another chair.

  “Take a seat, Catriona,” he ordered. When she stood rooted in place he strode over, took her arm, and led her to an armchair. She let him handle her without the least resistance. This was unlike her. Perhaps the enormity of her experience finally sank in.

  Grudgingly, he found himself admiring her courage. Not many ladies of note ventured into dank, pitch-black tunnels. And with all that went on in there, ‘twas no surprise she now felt the effects. He sighed, his tone softening. “My apologies, Catriona. But we need to talk.”

  “Y-y-yes,” she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Damn! He went over to the small side table and poured three glasses of brandy. They all needed it. He handed one to her and another to Jamie who sat in silence, watching his every move. Rory took a draught from his glass. What was he to do with her?

  He leaned against the desk and stretched his legs out in front of him. Locking her eyes with his, he asked, “How did you find the tunnel?”

  Her gaze darted to the fireplace, and then met his again, growing wide. “What tunnel?”

  “Don’t play daft with me, lass. I know where you’ve been.” He pointedly looked her up and down, taking in the soot on her gown, her tresses falling wildly down her shoulders, then he reached out with his free hand to remove a cobweb from her hair. She flinched at his light touch.

  How terrified she was! What exactly had she seen? He held out the cobweb. “You’ve been wandering around places you have no business knowing about. Why could you not keep your pretty nose out of it?” He wiped the cobweb on his trews and took another sip.

  “I—” She swallowed.

  “Drink!” He pushed the glass to her mouth. She coughed when the strong liquid hit her throat. Rory nodded. “Now tell me what you’ve been up to. Every little detail.” Her gaze darted back to him, her face wary and guarded.

  “Who’s that?” She glanced at Jamie.

  “This is Jamie, but you needn’t concern yourself with him.” From the corner of his eye he noticed Jamie was as flexed as a bow, ready to jump. A chivalrous youth out to defend the damsel in distress. Rory’s patience was wearing thin. He emptied his glass and slammed it onto the desk.

  “Catriona!”

  She jumped and the words flew from her mouth. “I came in here for something to read and by chance found—”

  “Stop lying to me, wench.” Rory took a step toward her, towering over her as she shrank back into her chair. Leaning forward, his hands gripped the arms of the chair on either side of her. He hemmed her in, wanting to intimidate her. No, he must intimidate her. He cursed himself for having to do it, having to scare her, but if he didn’t, she might put herself in danger.

  “I was up late last night,” she blurted out, “talking with Auntie Meg. About Edinburgh.” She blushed and quickly took another sip.

  He nodded. “And?”

  “And after I took her to her room, I came back to extinguish the candles in the dining room, and secure the brazier. When I left the room, I heard a commotion. Well, at first I thought it was an intruder, then a ghost, coming out of the fireplace. But in the corridor, I recognized you.”

  “So you were hiding. Behind the oak cupboard?”

  “Yes.” She lowered her gaze and stared into the brown liquid in her glass. Her hands clung to it like to a lifeline, knuckles white with tension. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. ‘Twas only because I was so scared.”

  He lifted her chin so their eyes met. Hers shone dark in the faint light of the room, a deep golden hue. For a moment, he forgot everything around him—time, place—all became non-existent, as he stared into the depths. The thoughts crossing his mind had nothing to do with intimidation. On the contrary, he wanted to haul her up and pull her into a tight embrace, reassure her, make her safe. With a sudden movement he stepped back from her chair. The golden pools widened. He saw fear. Fear of him?

  “So you thought you’d spy on me?”

  “No.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I never meant to do that.”

  “Yes, you did.” He strode to the window, his mind racing. He needed distance. The fog was even thicker than before, barely letting any light through. Gazing out, he said, “So you decided in your infinite boredom to discover whatever lay hidden. Tell me...are you that forthright in Edinburgh society?”

  “How dare you!” He turned to find her standing, legs apart, hands balled into small, soot-blackened fists. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she glared at him. Oh, she understood his insinuation. Just as he’d intended. So why did it make him feel so wretched?

  He watched her swallow hard, and lift her chin. “I’m sorry I followed my curiosity and searched for the door. I’m sorry I scrambled along a dank, filthy tunnel in near darkness. I’m sorry I’ve inconvenienced you and your...friend.” She pointed at Jamie who sat staring at his feet. “I’m sorry I heard the shots...” Her eyes widened, too late realizing what she’d said. She shook her head. “But you have no right—"

  “What shots?” he asked, his ragged emotions hidden. She must have been close enough to hear. But had she also been close enough to see? He’d spotted a faint light ahead of him in the tunnel after he left the cave but he was not absolutely certain it was her, until he found the stone door open, and her standing at the library door, looking like a treasure hunter, disheveled and grimy. And undeniably tempting.

  “Nothing.” Catriona looked at her hands fidgeting with the folds of her skirt. “No shots. Just a sound in the tunnel. Probably rats.” Tears rolled down her cheek. She was lying again. She still suspected him. Looking at her shaking and scared, he wondered. No, she’d not seen the shooting.

  Exasperated and angry with himself, he let out a long, slow breath. There had to
be a way to ensure the girl did not interfere with his business again? If she’d made it to the cave and met one of his associates instead of him, she’d be fish fodder by now. Trussed up like Jamie, and thrown into the loch. The Jacobite cause was too fragile to risk on the whim of a nosy woman. He must find a way to keep her quiet—and away from his dealings, scared enough to never venture through the tunnel again. He looked at her tear-smudged face. Yes, this might work. He went to her, smiled, and took her hands between his.

  ***

  Maybe she should run away.

  Catriona didn’t trust Rory. Not now, after what happened in the cave. His sudden quiet, friendly manner scared her more than the anger he controlled but moments earlier. She was certain he’d fired the shots. Looking down, she saw his hands bore faint traces of gunpowder. Yet here he was, soothing her with whispered words, stroking her grimy hands. He pulled another cobweb from her hair and shook it off.

  “Catriona.” He paused, softly wiping her tears away with his thumb. “Why don’t you go upstairs and clean yourself up? When you’ve rested, this all will seem like a dream. I’m not angry with you. So don’t worry.” The smile never left his face, yet it reminded her of a cat, patiently waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse. It did not reach his eyes. Her body continued to shake, and his thumb still caressed her cheek, trailing along her chin, tracing an imaginary line down her neck.

  Catriona hardly dared breathe, the hairs at the back of her neck rose with every inch he covered. His gaze rested on her mouth. Nervously, she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Her mouth went dry under his scrutiny. The corners of his lips twitched, and for an instant she thought he was going to kiss her. Then he took a step back and released her.

  “Until dinner, mo chridhe.” He bowed and pointed at the library door. She was free to go. Still trembling, she fumbled with the key in the lock. Darned thing! She cursed herself for locking the door. Before she knew it he was behind her, his arms circling her waist, warm fingers strong on hers as they turned the key together. His breath hot on her neck, her heart skipped a beat.

  Catriona jerked away from his hands and glared at him over her shoulder. As she opened the door, he stepped back, holding his hands up, the smile of a fox still on his face.

  “Until later,” he repeated.

  Now she knew how a rabbit caught in a trap felt.

  Without uttering a word, she ran upstairs, locked herself into her room, and collapsed against the door. What had she done? Surely now he’d have to silence her. This was supposed to be her sanctuary, her safe haven away from Angus and his machinations. Now she was in even graver danger—in danger for her life.

  Her gaze fell on her travel dress hanging on the clothes peg, cleaned from the mud of her journey. A plan formed in her mind. She must not lose any time.

  Chapter Eight

  Auntie Meg entered the dining parlor, leaning heavily on her stick. Guilt rushed through Rory. With all of his thoughts on how to rid himself of Catriona he’d forgotten his aunt. He must make up for it.

  He sauntered to the table and helped Auntie Meg settle in her chair. As he poured her a glass of wine, its heady scent filled the room. For one evening, he’d set aside his plans for Catriona’s removal and focus on his home. Auntie Meg was going to enjoy tonight. His mind made up, he raised his glass.

  “To family.” He drank and the strong fumes relaxed him. This was potent stuff. His gaze met Auntie Meg’s.

  “To family, Rory.” A smile played around her lips which she quickly hid as she sipped at her wine.

  “What are you planning now?” He saw it in her eyes—the twinkle that heralded an idea. He hoped it didn’t include Catriona. Thinking of the lass reminded him of the time. Where was she?

  “Have you spoken to Catriona tonight?” He put his glass down.

  Auntie Meg shook her head. “I haven’t seen her since this morning. Why?”

  “She’s late.”

  “Oh.” Auntie Meg glanced at the table clock on the sideboard. Dinner was due. “She may have fallen asleep.”

  At this moment, Mairi entered with a tray laden with steaming bowls of roast rabbit and root vegetables. She placed them on the table near Auntie Meg and looked around the room. Her quizzical gaze fell on Rory.

  “Hasn’t Catriona come down yet?”

  “Clearly not.” He was a little put out. Mairi’s eyes held a glint of accusation. “Can you fetch her?” Aware his voice sounded abrupt, he added, “Please.”

  Mairi nodded, then lay a hand on Auntie Meg’s arm. “Please start, Lady Meg. Else it gets cold.” Then she rushed from the room.

  “Shall we?”

  When Auntie Meg nodded, Rory took a serving spoon and filled her plate with meaty stew. He’d barely helped himself when Mairi burst into the room.

  “She’s gone!”

  Rory jumped up, the back of his chair crashing against the sideboard. “What do you mean, gone?” He stared at her, an icy grip closing over his heart.

  “I can’t find her. She’s not in her bedroom, nor in the kitchen, nor the library. She’s disappeared.”

  “Nonsense! She can’t just disappear. It’s turning dark outside. Cat wouldn’t be foolish enough to venture out at dusk. She has to be somewhere in the house.” He righted his chair.

  When Auntie Meg began to rise, he put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fret, please. I’ll search for her.” The look of distress on her face tore at his heart. “I’ll find her.” He kissed her cold forehead and, ordering Mairi to stay with her, marched from the room.

  The library was empty. No recent sign of anyone inside. He went over to the fireplace and pulled the lever. The stone door creaked open and darkness loomed ahead. No flickering candle in the distance.

  “Catriona!” he barked, his voice echoing along the deserted tunnel. Only silence reached him when the sound subsided. She was not here.

  Panic rose in his throat as he secured the door and stepped out of the fireplace. He shook off the dust and stalked toward the stairs. Taking two steps at a time, he ran to her bedroom and threw open the door.

  Empty. Cold.

  Guilt mingled with worry as he searched her room for clues. Her dresses hung on the clothes peg, and the bedcovers were neatly folded. As if she’d left. His blood froze. He found no trace of her cloak, or the riding boots she wore on her arrival. Surely the lass was not daft enough to head outside, with a chilly night closing in? He stared out of the window.

  ***

  Catriona shivered in the evening breeze and pulled her cloak closer around her. Tears stung in her eyes as she kept her head high. She’d soon reach Baile a Chaolais and prayed a kind soul let her stay the night in their cottage. First thing in the morning, she’d take the ferry across and find a guide to take her...where? Where indeed? A sob racked her as loneliness pierced her heart. No-one wanted her.

  Her toe hit a rock and she went flying, catching herself on knees and elbows. Pain seared through her limbs as the new scrapes on her shins and arms burned. Her fists hit the gravel as she cried out. Even the elements were against her.

  She sat back, taking deep breaths. Once her breathing steadied, she stood. With trembling hands, she brushed the dust from her riding skirt and cloak. She must look presentable when she knocked on the crofters’ doors.

  Dusk settled over the loch as she marched on, away from Taigh na Rhon. Away from Rory. Night fell. It turned dark quicker than she expected. She glanced at the hilltops and frowned at the thick clouds gathering at the peaks. Please don’t let it rain. She must hurry. Increasing her steps she ploughed along the path, careful not to trip again. The sharp edges of the stones stabbed at her feet. Not even the leather soles of her riding boots helped. Her feet ached, and she gritted her teeth against the pain. The village must be close by. She’d walked for miles. Or so it seemed.

  A sudden gust of wind tore at her cloak and blew the hood from her head. Irritated, Catriona glared at the sky where the clouds had drifted deeper into the valley,
hanging over the loch like a blanket. The breeze chilled her bones. She pulled the hood up again and tied her woollen scarf tighter around her neck. Rubbing her hands, she increased her steps, nearly running when the first drop of rain hit her heated cheeks. Damn!

  She stopped and glanced around, looking for shelter. The birches and oaks provided scant cover. Cold drizzle drummed on her face when she spotted an abandoned hut further up the hill, with remnants of a thatched roof still in place. Making up her mind, she gathered her skirts and scrambled up the slope, her boots sliding on the damp grass. Her hands sought the trunks of the trees as leverage as she pushed her way uphill.

  The heavens opened the moment she reached the croft. Gasping for air, she leaned against the solid stone wall before she snuck through the gaping hole that used to be the door. The roof was intact on the far side and she rushed toward its cover. She breathed a sigh of relief. Grateful for the shelter from the elements, she dropped down on the moss and heather covered floor. Exhaustion overcame her in waves, making her limbs heavy. She winced at the stinging pain in her feet as she stretched her legs. Her breathing slowed as she leaned back against the wall. When she pulled off her torn mittens and saw scratches covering her hands, tears streamed down her face, and loneliness washed through her. No-one wanted her. She was all alone.

  What on earth was she going to do?

  ***

  Rory swore. He stood outside Taigh na Rhon and scanned the landscape, the wind whipping his hair.

  No sign of Catriona.

  Mairi stopped next to him. “I don’t understand, Rory. Where did she go?”

  “I don’t know.” Fury raged inside him. At Catriona for running away, causing Auntie Meg to worry. At himself for making her. He’d scared her and now she’d fled. He turned to Mairi, pushing his guilt to the back of his mind.

  Focus.

  “Did she say anything to you?” he asked.