Devil in Tartan

by Julia London

  “Illegal whisky,” the laird unnecessarily reminded her.

  “Quite.”

  “Did you know, then, that the Campbells are engaged in the legitimate end of the whisky trade?” he asked curiously.

  “Aye, milord.”

  The laird looked again at his sons.

  Lottie felt strangely at ease, somehow calmed by the truth. It was easier to just say it, to admit everything they’d done, than try and hide aspects of it to make them look at least somewhat justified. So she forged ahead. “Our laird Campbell, he suspected what we were about, that he did. He meant to find the stills, but we had them hidden verra well. Still, he kept coming round, kept looking, and we knew it was only a matter of time ere he found them. We decided we ought to sell what we had.”

  “Why Denmark?” the laird asked curiously. “God knows there’s enough of a market in Scotland, aye?”

  “Aye, milord, but we thought it no’ safe, no’ with Mr. Campbell’s suspicions and his eyes everywhere. We... All of us,” she said, gesturing to her companions, “are descended from the Danes. A man had come from Denmark last summer and mentioned that he had worked with a trading company in Aalborg that traded spirits and tobacco.”

  “You were sailing to Denmark when the royal ship met you, then.”

  Lottie nodded. “They came round, signaled for us to drop our sails. When we did no’, they fired on us,” Lottie said. How odd that the memory was so vivid in her mind, but seemed like almost a lifetime ago now. It felt like a story she’d once told. So much had happened since that day.

  “And you fired on them?” the laird asked.

  “Aye,” Lottie admitted. “On my honor, I donna know how we managed to strike them at all, much less cause a fire. None of us are sailors.”

  “I’d say you’re a better shot than sailor, I would,” the laird said. “The ship had to be scuttled.”

  “Bloody hell,” Duff muttered behind her.

  “So, then, while you were taking on water, along comes the Reulag Balhaire to your aid, and you determine the best course of action is to deceive the captain and his men and take control of the ship, is that it?”

  Lottie winced. She glanced at Aulay. “We didna mean to keep it,” she said softly. “We meant to...to borrow it, more or less.”

  “Borrow it,” the laird repeated. “How in hell do you borrow a ship?”

  Her cheeks felt as if they were burning. “Aye, well, we tricked them, milord. We had nothing but that bloody whisky, nothing to our name, and verra few options.” She paused, swallowing down the bitter truth that she had chosen the wrong path. She should have accepted her fate as a woman and a daughter of the Livingstone chief and accepted MacColl’s offer. Her regret knew no depths. She cleared her throat. “We stood to lose our land to the laird and decided, as a clan, that we ought to sell the whisky. We never meant to do more than take our whisky to Aalborg and sell it and return the ship to the captain as we found it.”

  The laird leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers. “Either you are the most naïve lass I have every encountered, or verra canny. Anyone may call a deed what she likes, aye? But in the end, ’tis your actions that speak. You took our ship without consent. And as a result, it is now lost to us and at considerable expense.”

  Lottie’s pulse began to pound in her ears, dreading what he would say next.

  “This morning I sent a messenger to Port Glasgow with the news that we’d lost the ship. I sent another messenger to request a justice of the peace. He’ll hear our complaint and determine what is to be done with your clan, he will. We might expect him in a fortnight.”

  “It was all my doing, milord,” Lottie said. “Not theirs.”

  “No’ true,” Mr. MacLean said. “We all had a hand in it.”

  “Aye, but I am the one who commanded it, in the name of my father the chief,” Lottie said.

  The laird put his hands against his desk and pushed himself to stand. “Do you bloody fools think I care who of you made the decision? You all participated, and you’ll all be judged for it. You’ll remain here, under guard, until the justice of the peace arrives. You are forbidden from leaving Balhaire.”

  Lottie’s breakfast began to rumble disagreeably in her belly. She put her hand on Mr. MacLean’s arm to steady herself. “We’ll return to our rooms, then?” she asked uncertainly.

  “I think that best,” the laird said coolly, and waved a hand, dismissing them. Lottie gave him a small curtsy, then turned around, gesturing her men to the door. She stole a glimpse of Aulay just before walking out of the room.

  He was standing at the windows, his back to her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE MOST PRESSING issue for the Mackenzies was how to pay for the loss of cargo. “This is precisely what I feared, aye?” Aulay’s father said when they’d reviewed the books. “We were in no position to assume that risk.”

  Aulay bristled, but held his tongue. His father might as well announce his disappointment in Aulay before his brother Rabbie and brother-in-law, Marcas.

  “We are agreed, then?” Rabbie asked, pressing forward. “We’ll see if we have any interest in the cattle, and if no’, we’ll put Arrandale on the market.” Arrandale, the house Cailean had painstakingly built with his own two hands, where Rabbie and Bernadette and their children lived now. Either solution was so substantial that Aulay’s head spun with the enormity of it.

  Even worse was the worry that etched itself into his father’s features as the day wore on. It aged him, and when he closed his eyes to rub his temples, Aulay felt shame upon guilt surging through him.

  That evening, he rode to Arrandale with Rabbie to see his nieces and nephew and Bernadette. And, truthfully, to escape the worry and weariness in his father.

  “You astound me, Aulay,” Bernadette said, embracing him at the door. “No matter how difficult the voyage, you always emerge from it unscathed.”

  “Unscathed?” Aulay said and laughed derisively. “I’ve lost all, Bernadette.”

  “Quite the contrary. You saved every life on that ship, didn’t you? You are to be commended.”

  Commended. What a strange word. If anything, Aulay felt utterly diminished by what had happened.

  After Bernadette had retired for the evening, Rabbie produced a bottle of whisky.

  Aulay rolled his eyes. “Is that a jest, then?”

  “For God’s sake, ’tis no’ Livingstone whisky,” Rabbie said cheerfully, and chuffed Aulay on the shoulder. “This whisky is the best Scotland has to offer. From Skye.”

  “Skye?” Aulay said, and looked up, confused. He wasn’t aware of any legitimate still on the Isle of Skye. “MacDonalds’?”

  “Aye.” Rabbie laughed. “Did you think they’d allow the Campbells to have the trade? They’ve a few of their own hidden stills. More than a few, as it happens.” He laughed and winked at Aulay as he poured a tot for him, pushing it across the table. “Speaking of well hidden... I’ve no’ seen a lass as bonny as the Livingstone lass, on my word, I’ve no’. No’ even my own wife, who is bloody well bonny.”

  Aulay swallowed the whisky.

  “’Tis hard to believe she’s remained tucked away on a tiny little island. By all rights someone ought to have come along and married her, aye? I’m a wee bit surprised the Sassenach didna discover her after ’45.”

  A cold shiver ran down Aulay’s spine. He couldn’t stand to think of that. He didn’t know what Rabbie suspected, but he’d not mentioned anything between him and Lottie. Not because it was an emasculating tale—although it was definitely that—but because it felt too personal. She had singlehandedly destroyed his life and at the same time, shown him a side of himself that went so deep that he still couldn’t make sense of it.

  “Will you be all right, then, brother?” Rabbie asked.

  The question surprised Aulay. “All right?�
�� He thought about that. “There is no use for me here, Rabbie. I’ve no use beyond the sea, have I?”

  Rabbie leaned over and squeezed his shoulder affectionately. “I once stood in your shoes. I thought my life was no’ worth living.”

  “Aye, I remember it well.”

  “But it was, lad. I had to fall to the bottom of the well and crawl back up to learn it, but Diah save me, I crawled to where I ought to be.” He gestured to the house around him. “I canna imagine life without Bernadette and the bairns, aye? And yet, if you’d asked me a year ago, I’d have said you were mad.”

  “What do you suggest, then—that I marry Bernadette?” Aulay asked with a wry smile.

  Rabbie laughed. “Donna doubt that there is more to life than what you’ve always known, that’s what I mean to say.”

  Rabbie meant well, but the words quietly infuriated Aulay. Rabbie had not lived in anyone’s shadow. “You climbed out of your well onto dry land,” Aulay shot back at him. “It’s a wee bit different for me, is it no’? I canna exist without something to buoy me.”

  “You can exist on land,” Rabbie said evenly. “You’re no’ a bloody fish, lad.”

  “Where?” Aulay suddenly shouted, casting his arms wide. “Here? With you? At Balhaire? And do what, pray tell?” he said, and slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the cups.

  Rabbie was stunned by his outburst.

  “Rabbie?” It was Bernadette, come from her room, peering curiously through the door at them.

  “Pardon, leannan,” Rabbie said, his eyes fixed on Aulay. “We’ve had a wee bit too much whisky, we have.”

  “Hmm,” Bernadette said, and disappeared again.

  Rabbie waited until he could no longer hear Bernadette’s footfall, then leaned across the table. “You’ll find your way, Aulay. You’ve somehow forgotten it, or lost it, but there is more to this life than painting on a ship in the middle of nowhere.”

  Aulay suddenly surged forward and snatched the whisky bottle from the table. “I’m seven and thirty, Rabbie. There is no more to my life. The sea is all my life has been and I’m to simply put it behind me and find something else to occupy me?” He filled their tots and refused to discuss it further.

  He awoke at sunrise with an aching head and the unsettling weariness of another restless night. It felt as if ants were crawling on the inside of him, an uncomfortable feeling that could not be doused, no matter what he did.

  Lottie had shadowed his thoughts through the night. As angry as he was, as desperately as he wanted someone to pay for his very dear loss, he also wanted to be near her. It was a heartbreaking, maddening need that ate at him, and he couldn’t stop it.

  He recalled her standing before his father, never wavering, honest about what they’d done, and why. She’d looked his father in the eye and put the blame on her own shoulders. She could have done anything else—cried, begged, lied. But she’d stood up stronger than many men he knew. It was another thing to admire about her.

  His fury dulled.

  Frang met Aulay when he returned to Balhaire. “Your mother bids me tell you that the Mackenzies will dine with guests this evening.”

  “What guests?” Aulay asked as he moved to pass the butler.

  “The Livingstones, then,” Frang said.

  Aulay stopped. He stared at him. “Is my lady mother mad?”

  “I’d no’ be at liberty to say, Captain,” Frang said with a bow.

  There was no need—Aulay was acutely aware of the answer.

  He retreated to his rooms. He wished he had a canvas, something to do with his hands. Unfortunately, his paints had been on board the Reulag Balhaire. He spent a restless day, wandering about the grounds, imagining wandering about every day for the rest of his life. He toyed with the idea of approaching the MacDonalds to run one of their ships with the whisky they were distilling illegally. It was hardly the sort of life he wanted, always sailing one step ahead of the crown...but an experienced captain such as himself could demand a higher wage for such risk.

  The idea of having to resort to it, of having no other foreseeable options, left Aulay in a foul mood, his ire stoked again. He was entirely impotent, a man in a desert, stumbling about with no sense of direction, riding a wave of fury and lifelessness.

  He dressed for supper in a formal coat and plaid. When he entered the great hall, the atmosphere seemed too festive to him. It felt a wee bit like a celebration. It was anything but a celebration—it was a wake.

  Most of the Mackenzies were in the hall, as well as the crew of the Reulag Balhaire. It was the clan’s custom to dine together most evenings in the great hall. All who could come, including friends such as Lizzie MacDonald, a particular favorite of Catriona, who had come from Skye.

  The Livingstones came last, gathered together like so many frightened sheep. They caused quite a stir when they entered, as word of the ordeal at sea had spread.

  And then there was Lottie. She was dressed in a gold silk gown with tiny seed pearls embroidered down the panels of the mantua and the cuffs of the sleeves. He recognized that gown, and looked at his older sister, Vivienne, with a questioning gaze.

  Vivienne smiled prettily and shrugged. “Why no’? After bearing four children, I can no longer wear it. She’s bonny, aye? It looks much finer on her than it ever did on me.”

  Bonny was an inadequate word. Ravishing was more apt. Aulay was reminded of why he’d been so bloody dumbstruck when he’d first laid eyes on her.

  More people came into the hall, and soon, Aulay could scarcely hear Vivienne speaking to him. He kept his gaze on the crowd below the dais. The Livingstones sat alone, and most of the Mackenzies paid them no heed, other than to cast a dark look in their direction from time to time.

  Aulay couldn’t keep his eyes from Lottie. He wanted to speak to her, to touch her. He wanted the circumstances to be entirely different. He was not a vengeful man, but he was quite certain he could never forgive her.

  He wished he could claw out of his well, but in his version, he’d come up from the hold of a very big ship, and she’d be on the deck. Diah, he’d turned into a maudlin, overly sentimental man. Is that what the loss of his ship did to him?

  His mother suddenly tapped her spoon against the goblet of wine. The fiddlers stopped playing and his father stood. Everyone stopped eating and the hall grew quiet, all eyes on the laird. Even the giant seemed to understand he was to pay heed.

  Aulay’s father held his goblet aloft. “A tragedy has befallen us in the loss of the Reulag Balhaire,” he said solemnly.

  There was a murmur through the crowd, and several glances thrown in the direction of Aulay.

  “Aye, but ’tis no worse than the tragedies that have befallen us before.”

  “No’ true, laird!” someone shouted from the back. “The source of our tragedy dines at our table!”

  “Och, Charlie, they are fellow Scotsmen, are they no’? They’ve suffered as we have, and they did what they had to do. Was it no’ so long ago, then, that we avoided the excise men? Leave them be—they’ll pay the price for their crime, they will. But we’ll no’ allow their foolishness to bring darkness to us. No’ us. We are Mackenzies!”

  “Aye!” Iain the Red shouted.

  “We are Mackenzies!” his father said again, only louder.

  “Aye!” more men shouted.

  “We are strong, and we persevere!”

  “Aye! Aye! Aye!” The room began to shout their agreement, cups banging the tables. The Livingstones looked around them uneasily. Only Duff was smiling. The giant had covered his ears, and the young whelp Mathais had picked up a cup and was banging it, too, as if he were a Mackenzie.

  “Music, Malcolm! Give us the pipes!” Aulay’s father bellowed, and resumed his seat. His wife beamed at him, her mission of this gathering clearly accomplished in her husband’s speech—rally the clan.


  In the midst of the shouting, Aulay’s gaze met Lottie’s. She smiled uncertainly, then glanced away.

  He sighed. His heart had dried up and cracked, a ship’s hull left too long for repair in the sun.

  The music began and several Mackenzies were quick to dance a reel. Aulay watched from the dais, drinking his ale in a vain wish to drown his thoughts, if only for the space of an evening. But then Aulay noticed, through a haze of a wee bit too much ale, something that required his immediate intervention. Men—Mackenzie men—were looking at Lottie. And he could see that Iain the Red and Beaty were bating young Billy Botly to invite her to dance. He could see Charlie, who had just spoken out against the Livingstones, eye her and very nearly lick his chops. That would not be born. Aulay had his own issues with the Livingstones, and Lottie in particular. But he’d be damned if any other Mackenzie would touch her. He came to his feet and strode off the dais, tankard in hand, down to the table where the Livingstones were seated, staring down Billy Botly who dared to approach. The lad turned about and scurried back to the laughter of Beaty and Iain.

  Lottie glanced up, startled by the sight of Aulay suddenly looming over her. “Captain Mackenzie?”

  Aulay was aware that everyone in the hall was watching him, whispering. Well then, he’d done it, and he’d come down from the dais. “Miss Livingstone, will you do me the honor of a dance?”

  “Oh! Ah...” She glanced around her.

  Good God, she’d not refuse him—

  “Aye,” she said, sounding as if she were agreeing to stick her hand in a flame, and rose from her seat. Aulay offered his hand; she hesitantly slid hers into it. Her small, elegant hand. A memory of that hand caressing his face flashed across his mind’s eye, and he closed his fingers around hers as he led her to the area cleared for dancing.

  They joined a reel. Lottie was a spirited, graceful dancer, but her movement seemed almost wooden. She didn’t smile, she scarcely even looked at him. He missed her smile, he realized. The brilliance of it, the way it radiated into his heart.