Highland Betrayal

by Markland, Anna

  Hannah’s emotions whirled. She gagged on the stink of Maggie’s unwashed body. She could barely comprehend what the wretched woman was telling her, then the whore snarled in her face, their noses almost touching. “Hafta make it convincin’, aye?”

  She pulled away, laughing loudly as she flounced off to rejoin her companions.

  Hannah gripped the wood, fearing her knees might buckle. Maggie Campbell a Royalist? Nay! Yet the woman knew Glenheath was her uncle. Even the Graingers were unaware of the relationship.

  She tried frantically to recall the location of Bouchmorale, but then calmed when she realized it didn’t matter. The gathering was planned for somewhere in the Grampians, far away from the Causey Mounth and the road from Aberdeen to Inverness. Her spirits lifted. The meeting would be to plan strategy for the rebellion to sweep down from the Highlands and take the Lowlands while the English army was tramping through the wilds of northern Scotland.

  She took the bracken from her girdle and pressed it between her palms, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving. Soon, soon, King Charles would be restored to the throne. She conjured an image of the Graingers gleefully digging up the treasure trove.

  She’d have to tread cautiously. Morgan was a man of keen intelligence who would sense if she was hiding something. Perhaps it would be better not to go to the inn, though Solomon had probably already found another tenant for her sleeping space.

  She shook her head, admitting to herself she longed to go to Morgan, wanted to enjoy the calm before the storm, the last chance to be held in the strong arms of a man who cared about her. He might suspect her role in the theft, but his anger and mistrust would know no bounds once he discovered she’d known about the Royalists’ plans.

  She should do everything in her power not to implicate him, but knew she couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore the compelling feelings of desire he evoked.

  COLD WATER

  The beach was a short walk from the Tolbooth where they’d worked on the gun. Morgan intended to strip off and take a bracing swim in the waters of the North Sea, but when he reached the sand, his men were standing around, seemingly unsure. The reason soon became obvious. The civilian camp was located at the other end of the beach and fully-clothed women and shrieking children already cavorted in the water. Sharing the lads’ obvious disappointment, he sat down on the sand and lifted one foot. “Help me get shuck of these boots, Syddall. I suppose we’ll have to keep our drawers on.”

  “Right you are, sir,” Syddall answered, coming to his aid as the others removed their uniform breeches.

  They were splashing about by the time he’d taken off his clothing, which Syddall folded and piled atop his boots.

  “Should be alright here, sir,” the youth offered, eyeing his gleeful comrades, clearly not wanting to stand guard over his captain’s garments. “Nobody about.”

  Impatient to be in the sea instead of standing in his drawers buffeted by the incessant east wind, Morgan agreed, and strode into the shallows. When the frigid water reached his thighs, he took a deep breath and plunged head first, immediately wishing he’d opted for a bath at the inn. The blood in his veins turned to ice and he was surprised he managed to move his arms and swim a few strokes. He surfaced moments later, treading water farther from shore than he’d thought.

  The lads cheered when he reappeared.

  “Cold enough to freeze me bluidy balls off, sir,” Atherton shouted.

  Frozen to the bone and gasping for breath, Morgan had to agree.

  ~~~

  Hannah walked along the shore-head road from the camp, waving to Tommy Beaton and his siblings splashing about in the sea. Their mother stood in ankle deep water nearby, skirts hoisted to her knees, the scowl on her face betraying she wasn’t as impervious to the chill as her laughing bairns seemed to be.

  There were several families taking advantage of the shallows to bathe. She didn’t blame them. Camp followers had to seize every boon that came their way. Who knew what conditions they would encounter on the Causey Mounth?

  She’d bathed earlier, but an afternoon spent fretting over Maggie, Solomon, her uncle, the meeting at Bouchmorale, and the impending tryst with Morgan had drained her spirits. She’d likely feel better if she dipped her mucky feet in the sea.

  Walking on wet sand was like trying to make headway in a bowl of porridge, but easier than the nightmarish trek across the rocks below Dùn Fhoithear. She shoved the horrible memory away, lifted her skirts and was about to dip a toe when she heard familiar voices.

  Further along the beach towards the Tolbooth Morgan’s men were indulging in horseplay. She smiled and glanced back at Tommy and the other bairns. In these brief moments, only age separated the two groups of males. It was good to see the army lads having fun.

  But when she turned again to the English soldiers, her breath hitched in her throat. She withdrew her foot from the water, let her skirts fall and stepped back, her eyes fixed on the broad shoulders of a man who swam towards them, his powerful arms parting the waves like a mighty sea god. It could only be Morgan.

  He would reach the shallows in a matter of moments. She should turn away, hurry back to the camp. The possibility he might be naked buzzed at her brain like a pesky gnat. He stopped swimming, stood in waist-deep water, wiped droplets off his face—and saw her.

  He smiled, and waved. Her heart rejoiced that he was glad to see her. But then he hesitated and glanced down.

  Oh God.

  She curled her toes into the sand when he shrugged and strode to the beach.

  Rivulets sluiced off his bronzed body. He’d gone swimming in his army-issue drawers. He wasn’t naked, but he might just as well have been.

  Having spent months in the company of rough and ready camp folk, she’d often heard it said that cold water shrank a man’s private parts. Morgan Pendray’s impressive maleness put paid to that old wives’ tale.

  ~~~

  Two things occurred to Morgan when he saw Hannah watching him, hands fisted nervously in her skirts. Elated that she’d come as agreed, he nevertheless felt at a disadvantage clad in naught but his wet drawers. But then the practical side of his nature argued that when they married, she’d see his body—all of it—so in the long run…

  The revelation nearly knocked him off his feet, but one glimpse of her had brought his frozen balls back to life and turned his flaccid cock to granite. He had to have Hannah Kincaid, conflicting allegiances notwithstanding.

  Any lingering doubts blew away like chaff on the wind when they came face to face. Humbled by the longing in her eyes, he took her trembling hand. “My uniform lies yonder. Tell the innkeeper you’ve been instructed to deliver my clothing. He’ll direct you to my room. Wait for me there. I won’t be long.”

  She swayed, glancing warily at the pile of garments, then back at him.

  He squeezed her hand. “All shall be well. Do as I ask.”

  She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering a moment too long on the bulge at his groin before she licked her lips.

  He suddenly had an urge to fall to his knees in thanksgiving to whatever God was watching over him. Protestant or Catholic, he didn’t care. If he wasn’t mistaken, Hannah would prove to be a passionate bed-partner, a miracle he’d long thought denied him. “Leave the boots. I have freshly laundered clothes in my tent,” he rasped. “I’ll join you shortly.”

  PARTICULAR

  Hannah walked across the cold sand and stared at the pile of clothing neatly folded atop leather boots. Touching Morgan’s personal belongings seemed too intimate, an absurd notion when she’d probably laundered his shirts and such before, and in any case he was wearing his drawers. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. As long as she lived she’d never forget the vision of him emerging from the water like a powerful sea-god, the wet linen clinging to his thighs, his maleness…

  Suddenly thankful for the chilly breeze, she glanced back at him, but he was busy giving instructions to his men. If he noticed her dithering, he’d think sh
e was reluctant to go to his room, when nothing was further from the truth.

  Smythe wasn’t with the others. Visiting him was an excuse she no longer needed, but detouring to the tents behind the Tolbooth would give her time to think, to compose herself. She was genuinely concerned about his progress. Mayhap he’d had a setback. If Abbott became suspicious…

  She slid her arms under the clothes and lifted them to her chest, savoring the heady scent that clung to them. Male, sweaty, intoxicating. Laundering sweat-stained garments was an unpleasant task that normally required holding one’s breath, but she buried her nose in the undershirt as she embarked on the short walk to the Tolbooth.

  She encountered Smythe sitting on a camp stool outside his tent. A bright smile replaced his sullen pout when he saw her approaching. He got to his feet and walked towards her, favoring his still-bandaged foot only slightly. “Wot yer got there, Mistress?” he asked.

  She suspected he recognized what she was carrying, since he usually served as Morgan’s batman. “Captain Pendray asked me to deliver his things to the inn,” she replied. “I assume he would have assigned the task to ye, but since ye canna manage the stairs…”

  To her dismay, he held out his arms. “My ankle is healed enough to…”

  She took a step back. “Nay! Absolutely not, until the captain gives permission.”

  His eyes widened. Her abrupt response had obviously taken him by surprise, but he nodded. “Ye’re right. Orders is orders.”

  She peered at the soiled bandage. “I should change that.”

  He winked. “No need, Miss. I can do it meself now. Besides, the captain’s likely waitin’ fer his clothes.”

  She smiled as she walked away towards the inn, glad to be on her way, but perturbed that even young Smythe seemed to think she was Morgan’s doxy.

  She was accosted by the innkeeper as soon as she set foot in the door of the Drovers’ three minutes later. He eyed the bundle she carried. “Fer one o’ them Sassenach officers, I surmise,” he muttered into his unkempt red beard.

  “Aye. Pendray. I’m to teck it to his room,” she explained in the broadest brogue she could muster.

  His scowl softened. “Upstairs. At the end. Leave it outside yon door and be quick about it. I’ve duties t’attend ta.”

  Now for the difficult part. “He wants me to wait.”

  He narrowed his eyes and raked his gaze over her. “I dinna recognize ye as one o’ the whores fro’ last neet.”

  Her belly churned. Had Morgan invited a woman to his room? Or mayhap more than one? Her instinct was to hotly deny the fat man’s assumption, but she curled her fingers into the breeches and batted her eyelashes at him. “Nay, weel, I dinna just lie with any mon. I’m par-ti-cu-lar.”

  Her attempt to sound like a woman of the world apparently worked. He scraped dirty nails through his grubby beard. “Good on yer, lassie. Come to think on it, Pendray was the only mon who didna invite a woman yestereve. Waiting for ye, mayhap.” He produced a key from the pocket of his grease-stained waistcoat. “I’ll teck ye.”

  Trying to steady her breathing, she followed him up the creaking stairs and along the narrow hallway to a small door. He inserted the key in the lock, rattled it about, then ushered her inside when the hinges creaked open.

  She took one step and her knees came up against a small bed, the only piece of furniture in what appeared to be a cupboard. In a moment of panic, she feared the innkeeper had led her astray with evil intent, but when she turned to him, he laughed. “Drew the short straw, yer mon. ’Ope ye’re nay too par-tick-u-lar.”

  The sound of his throaty laughter eventually faded as he made his way back downstairs.

  ~~~

  En route to the tents, Morgan espied Hannah entering the inn. The knot in his belly eased. Now all he had to worry about was getting himself and his men back to the encampment before Abbott set eyes on them. The general wouldn’t be pleased at the sight of a gunnery captain and crew marching down Stonehyve’s shore road clad in naught but soggy drawers. The lads were still barefoot, but Morgan had elected to shove on his bucket-top boots—no easy task for Syddall given that his feet were wet and sandy. Now he wished he’d left them off. Not only were they uncomfortable, but they probably made him look even less like a disciplined soldier.

  He chuckled, in truth not caring. Life suddenly held promise. A beautiful and courageous young woman awaited him in his private room.

  Smythe greeted them outside the tents. “Mistress Kincaid has delivered your things to the inn,” he explained. “I took the liberty of setting out your clean clothes, sir.”

  It came as a relief to see the boy anxious to take up his duties again, and not just because he was better at it than Syddall, who paused at the opening, looking crestfallen. “You’ve done a fine job as my replacement batman,” he told him. “But you’re wet and in need of a clean uniform yourself. Smythe can help me dress.”

  Syddall saluted. “Thank you, sir. Don’t forget you’re dining with General Abbott this evening, and it’s near time.”

  Morgan groaned. “Damn and blast. It did slip my mind.”

  He clenched his jaw, aware of the wide-eyed stares of his men. It was the first time he’d ever sworn in their presence. He had to get hold of his emotions. The constant preoccupation with Hannah Kincaid was turning him into a lackwit.

  He feared she might bolt if he didn’t turn up soon. “Carr, Atherton, quick as you can, get dressed, hie on over to the inn and tell the landlord to take a bathtub up to my room. Lots of hot water. Tell him I’ll make it worth his while.”

  “Sir,” the two youths replied, disappearing into their tent.

  Syddall and Wilcock soon followed, leaving him alone with Smythe.

  “Can’t think why you’ll be needing a bath after dinner, sir,” his batman observed with an impudent grin.

  Morgan ushered him into his tent. “None of your business, cheeky lad. Now let’s see if you remember how to get me into my uniform so I may attend upon our illustrious general’s every word.”

  While Smythe assisted him, Morgan wondered privately if the obligatory formal dinner might be over quickly enough for him to join Hannah in the steamy water. He chuckled at the notion. Any bathtub that would fit in the tiny room would scarcely be big enough for one person, let alone two.

  When Smythe pronounced him presentable, he exited and made his way up the outer steps of the Tolbooth, glancing at the upstairs windows of the inn down the street.

  He’d promised to be a gentleman, but the vision of Hannah luxuriating in a hot bath was making that seem less and less likely.

  ~~~

  Hannah perched on the edge of the mattress, twiddling her thumbs. Darkness had fallen and she wondered what had become of Morgan. She was certain he would come—why would he change his mind? Lights glowed from the windows on the top floor of the Tolbooth down the street, making the room in which she sat seem even dimmer.

  She recalled Morgan hurrying down the outer steps of the prison yestereve. Mayhap all the officers were over at the Tolbooth. She’d heard no sounds from any of the other rooms.

  A loud rap on the door startled her. Surely he wouldn’t knock. “Aye?” she croaked.

  “It’s Carr, Miss, from the gunnery crew.”

  Her throat tightened. Something had happened to prevent their tryst. Fearing her trembling legs might not sustain her, she leaned over, turned the handle and opened the door a crack. Grinning broadly, Carr and Atherton stood on the landing, each holding one handle of a cast iron laundry tub.

  “Captain Pendray is dinin’ with the general, so he sent us,” Carr explained as two scullery boys appeared from the stairwell, struggling to tote heavy buckets yoked across bony shoulders.

  Atherton leaned against the door, obliging her to sit back and allow them entry. “Well, he didn’t exactly send us up,” he added, “but the innkeeper insisted there weren’t no bathtub to be found that would fit in this room.” He glanced about. “Blimey, it is bleedin’ smal
l, ain’t it!”

  Carr elbowed him as they wedged the tub into the corner by the tiny window. “No swearin’ in front of Mistress Kincaid,” he cautioned. “Anyway, we located this and ’ence the surly fellow was obliged to provide ’ot water.”

  Hannah covered her mouth to stifle a giggle at his attempt to sound educated. Morgan’s crew evidently held her in esteem. It became impossible not to smile as English soldiers in clean uniforms and grime-streaked Scottish lads jockeyed for position in the narrow space twixt bed and wall, Carr and Atherton trying to exit, the nervous boys straining to pour water into the tub without spilling a drop.

  “I thank ye,” she said as Morgan’s men bowed out of the room backwards with a quick salute, as if she were an officer!

  Carr hesitated. “Best not to mention we came up, Miss,” he murmured.

  She touched a finger to her lips. “Yer secret’s safe wi’ me.”

  Smiling, they marched off down the hall.

  She reached into the bosom of her shift and drew two coins out of her purse. “Thank ye,” she said to the sweating kitchen urchins, offering a reward to each.

  They eagerly grabbed the coins and tested the value with what few teeth remained.

  She wanted to make sure they understood. “Fer ye,” she stressed, “nay yer master.”

  They shoved the coins into the pockets of greasy ragged trousers, bowed and scampered out of the room, empty buckets swinging. The innkeeper’s strident voice scolded them as they clattered down the stairs.

  When all was quiet, Hannah eyed the tub. There was no steam rising from it, so if she was going to make use of it…

  Knowing Abbott's reputation for verbosity, there would be time to bathe and dress before Morgan could join her. She mocked her own silliness. She was in the bedchamber of a handsome man, at his invitation, and she was worried about being clothed when he arrived.