by Cathie Dunn
Once inside the house, he searched for Jamie. Not surprisingly, he found him in the kitchen. Rory chuckled. Something was going on with Mairi. The girl’s cheeks were flushed as she busied herself washing cabbage.
“Sorry to interrupt this small gathering. Again.” He became serious. “Jamie, we have to leave.”
The boy jumped from his stool, his gaze darted from Rory to Mairi and back.
“What...now?”
Rory nodded. “Aye, now. We’re due to meet an associate in two days’ time and we’ve much to do beforehand. Can you gather your things and get the horses saddled? We’ll leave as soon as we’ve packed.” Turning to Mairi, he added, “Prepare some bread and cheese, if you will. Plenty of it. The journey may be long.”
He left them to their preparations and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Stopping outside Catriona’s closed door, he heard her swear. Something solid was thrown against the wall and he jumped. Another item followed at quick pace. My, the girl had a temper—and he’d unleashed it. He stared at the door. What would it be like to harness that temper into passion? He remembered her reaction to his kiss on the boat, her wild abandonment.
Stop! It must never happen again.
Determined to focus on the cause instead of the lass, he walked to his room and slammed the door behind him. Best nobody watched him pack his bags. Best nobody witnessed his fury.
***
Catriona threw herself onto the bed, her rage exhausted. She’d just thrown two precious books against the wall, and loose pages now scattered the floor. She’d done it again. Why was she so weak? She’d allowed Rory to entice her. And again, she’d reacted to his touch like a lost soul to light. He triggered feelings deep inside her she never knew existed. Was it like this between husband and wife?
Frowning, she imagined her parents, the stern father and withdrawn mother, in their bedroom. Surely, they’d never have done things like that? She sighed. No, Father was too formal to indulge in such passions. But perhaps Mother had dreamed of them before she wed.
She remembered her vivacious mother during her younger years, dancing and chatting gaily, excited with life. Such a contrast to the subdued and quiet lady her mother had become, all life drained from her. A wave of sympathy nearly choked her. How different Mother’s life might have been if she’d caught a more sensitive husband.
Catriona let her hands rest on her chest. Her breathing quickened at the thought of Rory’s touch, right where her hands lay now. What he’d done was unforgivable, yet how could she blame him? She’d been complicit in their deed, a willing partner to Rory’s demands. The memory of his lips, the flicks of his tongue on her skin made her shiver.
Her fingertips brushed over her hardened nipples and she gasped. Was this wonderful feeling really such a bad thing? If so, why did she feel so free, so happy when he lay on top of her, his own excitement pressing against her, his mouth covering hers with such passion? So different than with John, who made her feel nothing but disgust with his sloppy kisses? With Rory, she’d felt like bursting with joy.
Placing her hands firmly on the sheets, Catriona sat up. What on earth was she thinking? Of course, it was bad. Even more so, it was most improper. She’d been compromised—again—but this time she’d been caught up in the passion.
Rory felt it, too, however much he denied it. She swallowed hard. Was she in love with Rory Cameron? And, more to the point, did he reciprocate her feelings?
She doubted that very much. Lust, perhaps, but never love. The man was a rogue, little better than a cattle thief or common smuggler.
If she was really in love, what hope did she have?
When his boots sounded on the floorboards outside her door, Catriona stayed still. His steps headed for the stairs. Well, she’d just stay in her room. And tonight, she’d confront him. Tell him what went on inside her head. Then the next step would be up to him.
Her future was in his hands.
Chapter Ten
Catriona sat by the fire, browsing through a book about Greek mythology. It should have helped distract her from Rory but instead the tales of unrequited love, revenge, and death reminded her more than ever of what he’d endured. Despite the warmth of the fire, she shivered. Of course, she’d heard rumors about mass killings by soldiers, blithely ignored by the Edinburgh establishment.
Father, as an eminent member of society, attended executions of so-called traitors. He always made a point of voicing his opposition to the rebellion. Strangely, Mother remained silent on the issue, slowly withdrawing from her husband, and her children.
Catriona straightened, closing the book with a snap. Of course, that was it! The reason Mother retreated from the outside world. Clan Macdonald had been a major supporter in the rebellion, and her mother’s loyalty to her Highland roots must run deep, even if she was not allowed to show it openly.
She should have talked to Mother, should have tried to understand her. Even more so as Father and Angus never cared to bother. Catriona leaned back and closed her eyes. As soon as she returned she’d speak to her.
When the door opened, she startled but did not turn. Fully expecting Rory to enter, she intended to give him the cold shoulder.
“Ah, there you are, dearie,” Auntie Meg said as the end of her walking stick hit the floor. “You ready for supper?”
Catriona jumped up and helped her godmother into her chair. “Are you comfortable, Auntie Meg?”
“Aye, don’t fret. Be seated yourself.”
Catriona took her seat just as Cook entered with bowls of steaming rabbit stew and freshly baked bread.
Hesitating, she watched her godmother begin to break her bread. “Should we not wait for Rory?”
The old lady shook her head. “Nay, Catriona, eat away. Rory won’t be joining us tonight. He had to go away.” She dunked her bread into the thick stew, seemingly oblivious to Catriona’s surprise.
Catriona stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“Just as I said. At times, Rory disappears. It’s his own business he’s looking after.” She smirked as she looked quizzically at Catriona. “I never ask, and he never tells me. Better that way.”
“Better?” Catriona was indignant. The coward! “You mean better for him? He wanders off, leaving you to pick up the work on the estate, and you say it’s fine?” Her hands were shaking. Following her godmother’s example she broke off a chunk of her bread. Yet she didn’t taste a thing. Her mind was numb. Where was he? And why did he leave without telling her?
Auntie Meg laid a cold hand on hers and held fast. “Catriona, lass. You’ll soon learn about the Highland ways. The longer you stay the better you’ll understand. Rory has business of his own to attend to, and if we don’t know what it is, then no government agent can force it from us.”
Catriona blanched at the revelation. She remembered what Rory told her about the men who were shot. What if his activities brought him to the same end? The thought made her sick, and she took a deep breath to steady herself before she grabbed Auntie Meg’s hand in return. “Why—?”
“Lassie, Rory Cameron’s his own man. He makes his own decisions. I don’t meddle, and neither will you. That way we’re safe.” The old lady squeezed her hand and continued eating as if they’d been chatting about the weather.
“What about him? Who’s going to keep him safe?”
“My nephew can take care of himself.”
Catriona’s appetite vanished so she pushed her plate away. Ignoring Auntie Meg’s raised eyebrow, she grabbed her glass of wine and took a deep draught of the ruby liquid. Its strength immediately went to her head. Her mind drifted back to the tunnel. She must go back into the tunnel—all the way to the cave this time, to see what he kept hidden there. Only then would she know the full extent of the danger he was in. After all, someone must keep Rory safe. Her mind made up, she smiled at Auntie Meg. “Apologies, Auntie, but I’ve no appetite.”
“My, you’ve hardly eaten today. I knew it was too soon for you to take a trip on the lo
ch. It seemed such a bonnie day but you can never be sure with those winds out on the water.”
Her hand touched Catriona’s forehead. “You’ve no fever. Maybe it’s just the fresh sea air, though that usually has the opposite effect.” She smiled.
“Thank you, Auntie Meg, but I’ve not caught the chills. I’m just not hungry.” Auntie Meg’s gaze searched her face. For what, she did not know.
“Oh, aye, dearie. Aye.” Her godmother lifted her own glass, yet her gaze never left Catriona’s face. “Did Rory behave himself today?”
Catriona’s cheeks burned. Her gaze went toward the window. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve no complaints about him.”
“You haven’t, have ye? I’ve never seen him leave in such a haste. Strange, that.” Her godmother’s gaze bored into her.
Catriona shifted, embarrassed by the scrutiny. Had she guessed or seen something? Surely they’d been too far north on the loch. She looked up and met the appraising gaze. “I...I wish to retire now,” she said, her voice hoarse. “With your permission, of course.”
Auntie Meg leaned back and sighed. “So he did misbehave.”
“I didn’t say...” Catriona wanted to defend herself, but words failed her.
“You didn’t have to, lassie. Your body replied on your behalf.” She sat up. “Let me tell you one thing about Rory Cameron, Catriona. He never does anything without a reason. If he took advantage of you today, it’s because he has feelings for you. Else he wouldn’t have dreamed of touching you. You’re not the type for a quick dalliance, he knows that. But what about you?”
Catriona covered her face with her hands and cried. “Oh God, I...Please excuse me, Auntie Meg.”
Scrambling to her feet, she fled the room. She grabbed her skirts and raced up the stairs. Once inside her bedroom, she locked the door. She didn’t want anybody to disturb her. Tears running down her face, Catriona threw herself onto her bed. What had she done? Now, Auntie Meg knew about her feelings. And she knew Rory seduced her, yet she’d not condemned either of them.
Oh, what a mess!
***
Rory pulled the collar of his greatcoat tighter around his neck. The winds were too strong here in the mountains. The relentless rain trickled underneath his collar, the rivulets running down his back. He looked across at Jamie. The lad was as soaked as he was and hunched into a similar position, crouched low on the back of his horse. Rory wiped the water from his eyes with the back of his hand and surveyed the area. In the distance, he saw a light flicker. Not far to go. Just as well. Night was closing in fast. He spurred his mount into a canter. Soon they’d be under a dry roof, well, partially dry. He heard Jamie spur his horse forward, and together they covered the couple of miles in little time.
They slowed when the crumbled walls of the abandoned hut loomed ahead. The thatch on most of the roof was gone, only a corner gave meager shelter. Still, any shelter was preferable to this constant drizzle. Rory dismounted and threw his reins to Jamie. “Tie the horses to that copse of trees over there.”
He ducked underneath a low doorframe and entered what used to be the living space of a family of cattle drovers. In the dry corner covered by the roof, a small fire burned brightly, flames rising high when the odd gust of wind hit it. The old man beside it looked up. “Ye took yer time, Ruairidh.”
“I was held up.” Rory dropped to the beaten ground as close to the fire as possible, crossing his legs in front of him. He rested a cool gaze on Auld Cameron. “Jamie MacKinnon’s with me.”
The other man looked up, a frown between his bushy brows. “Jamie? Why the hell—?”
“Because it’s time, Cameron. That’s why. He’s keen to learn, and you nearly killed him when you trussed him up.” Rory leaned forward and rubbed his hands close to the warming flames. He looked up as Jamie hovered in the door. “Come on over, lad, and warm yourself. Auld Cameron here doesn’t bite. Well, not tonight.”
“That’s what you say, sir.” Jamie mumbled but came over, huddling close to Rory, eyeing the other man suspiciously.
“Greetings, Jamie lad. Didna expect ye here.”
“I didn’t expect to be tied up either, Mr Cameron.” The glint in the boy’s eyes made Rory chuckle.
“Steady, lad! I’m sure Auld Cameron’s sorry he trussed you up like he did.” His gaze found the old man’s and his smile vanished. “Aren’t you, Cameron?”
The drover flinched. Rory’s icy stare made him shuffle uncomfortably. “It was a jest, Ruairidh. How did I know he couldna free himself?”
“You might’ve checked on him. But instead...” Rory paused, his gaze not leaving the old man’s face, “I find you gone without word. Why?”
“Well, ye ken what it’s like, with all the Redcoats on the wa’er.” The drover’s hands fidgeted with a bunch of dead leaves scattered about. His gaze lowered, he refused to meet Rory’s eyes. “I couldna get back when I wanted so I came here instead.”
“Leaving a man to die!”
“No, I didna.” He pointed at Jamie. “The lad’s alive, and lookin’ weel.”
“But I’m not talking about Jamie, Cameron.” Rory’s voice went quiet, barely above a whisper. In the corner of his eye, he saw Jamie’s expression change. The lad had already witnessed too much but Rory had to press his advantage.
“Who are ye talkin’ about then, Ruairidh? I dinna hae the faintest idea.” Auld Cameron sat up now, his back straight. His hands moved toward the hem of his kilt. He laid them flat on his thighs, apparently relaxed. Rory was not fooled.
“You tell me.” Rory shifted his weight, propped up one knee and leaned on it with his elbow. “I never saw who it was but I’m fairly sure it was you who shot at me from the other cave a few nights ago.”
Before Auld Cameron could move, Rory drew a pistol from inside his coat and aimed it at the drover’s head. “The truth if you please. And hands up behind your head.”
“Ruairidh, what—?”
“Hands up, Cameron! Jamie?” He nodded toward the lad. “Check for his pistol and take it. Then keep an eye out for company from the entrance. I don’t trust this rat as far as I can spit.”
“Aye, sir.” Hands trembling, the lad removed Auld Cameron’s pistol which he found tucked inside a bag sock, and took up station behind the crumbling wall near the door.
Rory kept his attention on the man opposite him. Sweat beaded Auld Cameron’s wrinkled forehead; he waved his hands behind his head.
“The truth, Cameron.” Rory cocked his pistol and aimed between the man’s eyes. “Now.”
“Ruairidh, I...I...” Terror grew in Auld Cameron’s eyes as he stared past him.
Rory whirled round to the sound of a musket going off. He threw himself to the ground and rolled away into the shadows of a wall. Looking back, he watched Auld Cameron as he slumped, eyes wide open, a bright red hole gaping in the center of his chest.
Rory swore, glanced at Jamie, and was relieved to find the lad scurrying into the shadows. At least he was safe. The enemy must have snuck up on them from the back of the croft, hidden by darkness, where crumbling walls provided the perfect approach. Rory swore again. Whoever it was could have shot him first, sitting in front of the fire in full view. Why hadn’t he?
Rory signaled to Jamie to stay down. He crawled toward the far corner where the shot came from, all the while keeping close to the wall. Sharp stones dug deep into his hands and shins, and he gritted his teeth. He crouched against the corner where the wall had collapsed. When he felt a mound of rubble, Rory carefully stepped onto it. It must be the same on the other side. The stones crunched underneath his boots, but he pulled himself along with his hands, climbing as high as he dared.
Whoever was on the other side probably heard him but he did not dare delay any longer. He took a deep breath and straightened, leaning over the wall with his toes barely reaching the top of the pile and his pistol pointed into the darkness. But the other side was empty. The attacker had fled in silence. Then the distant sound of hooves bea
ting the ground reached him.
Damn it to bloody hell!
He scrambled down the gravel and ran to the entrance. Jamie stood, eyes wide. “They’re gone, sir.”
“Yes, I can see that.” Rory took the pistol off the boy, secured it, and shoved it into his belt. He’d keep his own cocked a little while longer. He did not trust the silence.
“Let’s move, lad. Quick. Before they come back.” Rory strode toward the horses, his gaze roaming across the darkness. Yes, he’d heard a horse leave but were they really safe?
“Aye, sir.” The lad jumped into his saddle, turning his mount to follow Rory’s lead. “Where are we going?”
“To Inverness. I have to make sure we arrive before the attackers. Otherwise we might end up accused of murdering Auld Cameron. The whole affair smells of a trap.”
“But it wasn’t us, sir. Shouldn’t we go after the murderers?”
Rory turned to look at the boy. His face was pale in the scant moonlight, and he was shaking. Damn, he should not have brought him. The lad was too green behind the ears.
“No point now, Jamie. Either they’re safely away, or setting another trap. We can’t risk it. Stay close behind me.” He urged his horse to a canter along the gravel path that took them across the hills. One hand on the reins, he kept his pistol cocked, ready to shoot with no questions asked. Whoever shot Auld Cameron, must have valuable knowledge about Rory’s business. He was still unsure if Auld Cameron tried to trap him—or if someone else was behind it all. Auld Cameron had been a crafty soul, but not the cleverest. No, this must be part of a wider plan.
The cave was no longer safe. No doubt, it would soon be swarmed with Redcoats. He hoped they would not spot the hidden entrance to the manor. If they did, it would take all his—and Auntie Meg’s—powers of persuasion to deny any knowledge.
Teeth gritted, he urged his mount forward in the scarce moonlight peeking through the clouds.
