by Julia London
Lottie blanched. “He’s here, then, the justice of the peace?”
“Worse,” Catriona said. “Roy Campbell and his sons.”
Lottie glanced at Aulay with confusion. “For us?”
“Perhaps you ought to return to the gatehouse, aye?” Aulay said calmly, but his heart was suddenly slamming against his ribs. There were a lot of Campbells in the Highlands, and perhaps it was nothing...but a call just now seemed suspect. Aulay put his hand on Lottie’s elbow. “Stay there until someone sends for you, aye? Keep your clan in the gatehouse. Go, lass.”
“Aye,” she said, and turned away with a frown of worry.
When she’d gone, Aulay asked, “Why have they come?”
“I donna know,” Catriona said as they began to walk toward the castle. “Pappa has ordered them a meal and has sent a lad after Rabbie.” She paused at the gates and looked her brother up and down. “Best you go and comb your hair and change your shirt,” she said, and disappeared inside.
A half hour later, Aulay entered the great hall to find his father and Rabbie seated at a long table in the company of three men. They rose as he entered, and Roy Campbell extended his hand. “Captain Mackenzie,” he said jovially. “We meet again.”
Aulay had no recollection of meeting this man. “Have we met, then?”
“You donna recall it? A few years ago, in Whitehaven.”
Aulay suddenly remembered. Roy Campbell and some other men had fallen into their cups and were treating a serving girl ill. Aulay had intervened. It had ended with a black eye for him, but the lass had escaped their rough hands. “Aye, now that you mention, I do indeed,” he said coolly. “What brings you to Balhaire, then? Our serving girls are our own, aye?”
Roy Campbell chuckled. “We’ve heard an interesting tale, we have, so preposterous that we had to come and hear it for ourselves, aye?”
“What tale is that?” Rabbie asked, his voice just as cool as Aulay’s.
“My sons and I have come from Port Glasgow, aye? And there we heard that the mighty Captain Aulay Mackenzie had been overrun by pirates and had lost his ship and, moreover, had asked for a justice of the peace to be sent to Balhaire. Naturally, we were all astonishment at the news,” he said, feigning shock, “particularly as this had come on the heels of another impossible rumor we’d heard about the Mackenzies.”
“Aye, go on,” Aulay said impatiently.
“Have you no’ heard it, then? A ship flying the royal flag was sailing the waters off the eastern coast, it was, on the hunt for pirates and whisky runners at our behest. You’d no’ believe the scoundrels that try and steal our trade, aye? This particular ship happened upon a wee ship that ought no’ to have been so far out to sea. There was a bit of skirmish, there was, and the wee boat was struck. But she hit the naval ship with a shot of her own and started a fire on her deck, of all things. The captain was quick-witted, that he was, and he turned the ship about to save his men. But he saw a curious thing as he returned to shore.”
“What?” Aulay’s father said darkly, having no patience for Campbell’s games.
“He saw a ship flying the flag of the Mackenzies sailing in the direction of the wee ship. To render aid, do you suppose? To salvage any cargo, perhaps? But what cargo might that wee ship have carried? Quite a mystery, is it no’?”
The Mackenzies remained silent. Roy Campbell looked to each one of them, expecting some answer. When he received none, he asked, “Might it have been you, Captain Mackenzie? You seem the sort to render aid. Might you have manned the ship that sailed to help the smaller one?”
Aulay steadily held the man’s gaze.
Roy Campbell leaned across the table to look him in the eye. “The English donna take lightly to losing their ships, they do no’.”
“Is there anyone who takes kindly to it?” Aulay asked.
“The bounty,” one of the sons muttered.
“Och, I almost forgot, did I?” Roy Campbell said. “The bounty. Perhaps you might recall if you saw a wee ship on the North Sea when I explain.”
“Then explain it, for God’s sake,” Rabbie said irritably.
Roy Campbell smiled. “We Campbells donna care if that naval ship sinks or floats or is hacked to bits to make tables, aye? Our concern is much more personal,” he said, tapping his chest. “We are building a trade of fine Scotch whisky—a legitimate trade. We’ve all the badges and papers and whatnot the crown requires, that we do, and we’ve gone to great pains to get them. What we canna and will no’ tolerate are illicit stills that undermine our legitimate operation, aye? It makes us verra unhappy.”
As if on cue, his two sons nodded.
“What has that to do with us?” Aulay’s father asked.
“When we heard the tale of the naval ship, we thought to ourselves, what would cause a wee ship to fire on a vessel of the Royal Navy?” he asked, tapping a finger to his head. “They must have had something on board they didna want the crown to find, would you no’ agree?”
Aulay shrugged.
“We are searching the Highlands like an Englishman searches for a nit on his periwig to find the man who sailed that wee ship. We’ll find him, too, we will.”
Aulay hoped his expression did not reveal the thudding of his nerves.
“The crown has offered a bounty to whoever can bring in these thieves, aye? We Campbells have added to that bounty, for we would verra much like to put an end to the bastards who undercut our trade.”
“Your trade is being undercut across the Highlands,” Aulay’s father said. “But no’ by us. What is the reason for your call?”
“The bounty is a good one, lads. A sum so dear that there are ships sailing around Scotland as we speak, looking for the culprits. And do you know that no’ a fortnight ago, they verra nearly caught one? Och, but the ship eluded them. Or...did it perhaps sink?”
“I’ll ask it again, I will,” Aulay’s father said. “What has that to do with us?”
“Would you care to at least know the bounty?” Campbell asked cheerfully.
“Of course we want to know,” Rabbie said gruffly. “When you unwind a tale so fantastically, what do you think, then?”
“Five thousand pounds, it is,” Roy Campbell said, and sat back to allow the surprise of it to sink in. “That’s quite a lot of money, is it no’? What do you think, Alistair,” he said, directing his question to one of his sons. “Would five thousand pounds build a new ship?”
“Perhaps no’ all, but quite close, aye,” Alistair agreed.
“All we would need from you, sir, is a name. Just the name of the scoundrel who sailed that wee ship. Whoever the bloody blackguard is, he canna escape the scuttling of a royal ship or the Campbells. If you donna tell us who he is, we’ll find him eventually, so you might as well give us the gentleman’s name, sir, and there you have it, enough money to build the ship you’ve lost.”
Aulay’s blood was racing hot as his head warred with his heart. He wondered what his father was thinking just now, if the name Livingstone was on the very tip of his father’s tongue. He wondered if Rabbie desired to admit what these men suspected was true, to give them the name of who was responsible for the scuttling of that royal ship. If he did, the Mackenzies would have the money they needed to pay for the cargo they’d lost and begin the construction of a new ship. Without it, Aulay’s only hope was that the MacDonalds would take him on, and he’d spend the next years outrunning the crown and privateers and Campbells like a bloody pirate just so his family could pay for what they’d lost.
Moreover, a justice of the peace was on his way. Which was worse for the Livingstones—the law? Or the Campbells?
But there was something else that was niggling at Aulay. Roy Campbell assumed that whoever had done this was a man. Not Lottie—a man.
“Well?” Roy Campbell asked Aulay. “Have you a name?”
“I would that I did,” he s
aid casually.
Campbell’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps you need to sleep on it. Perhaps you need to remind yourself why you sent for a justice of the peace, aye?”
“We sent for a justice of the peace because we lost another man’s cargo,” Rabbie said. “There’s quite a lot to do about it.”
Campbell’s face darkened. “Think on it,” he said again. “I’m sure it will come to you. But donna think too long—if you give the name to the justice, well...the bounty will no’ include the Campbell part of it, and willna be enough to build that ship.” He smiled, his expression unctuous. He rose to his feet. “’Tis a new justice of the peace, aye? I hear he’s no’ as lenient as the last. Mr. Ross, he is.”
“Ross!” Aulay’s father repeated. “What happened to MacRay, then? He’s been the justice of the peace in these parts for years.”
“MacRay has been relieved of his duties, he has.” Campbell smiled thinly. “Too lenient on the Scots, I’ve heard it said.”
“What, then, Campbell, you’ll no’ stay for supper?” his father drawled as his sons came to their feet, too.
“No, thank you,” he said. “We’re to call on the MacDonalds. Perhaps they’ve seen something, aye? I’ve heard Miss Lizzie MacDonald is a frequent visitor to Balhaire. Perhaps she’s seen something when ferrying back and forth.”
“It would seem you’ve heard quite a lot said,” Aulay’s father said.
“Aye, milord. We pride ourselves on knowing our neighbors, that we do.”
“Well, safe journey to you. Frang, see the gentlemen out,” he said, brooking no possibility of continuing this discussion.
When they had gone, the three Mackenzies exchanged a look. “Five thousand pounds is a lot of money, aye?” his father said to Aulay.
“Aye.”
“The justice of the peace will arrive on the morrow. The Livingstones will face the consequences of their actions one way or another,” his father mused.
Aulay said nothing.
“God in heaven, donna look so woebegone, lad!” his father said impatiently, flicking a wrist at Aulay. “As if I’ve asked you to put your best dog out of its misery, aye? We agreed, a wrong has been done to us and there must be consequences. The only question is whether the consequences bring us a bounty or no’. We could sorely use it.”
“I donna disagree,” Aulay said evenly. Not out loud, he didn’t.
“I donna trust the Campbells,” Rabbie said.
“Nor should you,” his father agreed. “Aye, but five thousand pounds would be a godsend.” He glanced at Aulay. “I leave it to you, Aulay. You are the one who was wronged and you will be the one to give them her name. If you donna give the name to the Campbells, the justice of the peace will determine her fate.”
“I understand,” Aulay said tightly. He understood far better than his father could begin to understand. “If you will excuse me?” He stood up and quit the room as quickly as he could without appearing to sprint. He felt sick to his stomach—it was churning with disbelief, with indecision, with despair. No matter what he did—give the Campbells her name, let the justice of the peace decide, or defy his father—someone would be hurt.
But it would be nothing quite like the painful shattering of his heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE NEWS THAT the justice of the peace would arrive on the morrow was delivered to the Livingstones just before the supper hour. That effectively dampened their collective appetites, and they remained in the gatehouse, huddled together, their hands clasped, speaking of what they would say to the justice of the peace.
Lottie was determined—this was her cross to bear. “I am the one who put Aalborg into our thoughts! I am the one who said we must take the ship,” she reminded them.
“Aye, but what choice did you have?” Duff asked.
“An obvious one, aye? I might have let the whisky go. I might have married MacColl.” She might yet, if she could prevail with the justice.
“No, Lottie. You listened to Bernt,” Gilroy said angrily. “Too many times, we all listened to Bernt!”
“What’s done is done,” Mr. MacLean said solemnly. “Let’s try and get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a very long day.”
They embraced, one by one, patting each other on the back, not actually speaking a goodbye out loud...but the word hung in the air between them.
Lottie remained behind with her brothers. She didn’t know how to prepare them for what would likely happen. “Heed me, lads. I must go away for a time.”
“No!” Drustan said instantly.
“Dru, mo chridhe,” Lottie said, and took his big hands in hers. “Mathais will take good care of you. So will Duff, and Gilroy, and Mr. MacLean, aye? We Livingstones, we stay together.”
“But why will you no’? You’ve always taken care of me, Lot.”
She would not cry. She refused to cry. “Aye, I have. But Dru, did you know, then, that you can care for yourself?” He began to shake his head, but she squeezed his hands. “Think of it—you’ve been minding yourself these last few days at Balhaire.”
“Have I?” Drustan asked, frowning with confusion.
“Aye,” Mathais said. “I’ve no’ shouted at you once, have I?”
Drustan thought about that. “No.”
Lottie kissed Drustan’s cheek as he mulled that over, and turned to her youngest brother. “Mats, you’re the man of the family now,” Lottie reminded him.
“I know, Lot. Fader told me the same.”
She smiled wistfully. “I would give anything were he here now, aye?”
“Me, too,” said Mathais.
“Me, too,” said Drustan.
When she finally left their room, she felt bone weary. She had one last thing she desperately wanted to do—she wanted to see Aulay before she was taken before the justice of the peace. She wanted to tell him again how he’d made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life—desired for who she was, and not her face. She wanted him to know that he’d made her feel as if every bit of her mattered, that she was not a prize sheep won in the bargaining.
She was pacing, thinking of how she might see him—would the young guard fetch him? Should she make an excuse for returning to the castle?—when a knock sounded on her door.
“Come,” she said, assuming it was Mathais.
But it was not Mathais who walked through the door. It was Aulay.
He stepped inside and quietly shut the door. Lottie hesitated only a moment before she ran to him, leaping into his embrace.
He held her tightly, breathing her in, his big hand cupping her head and holding it against him. “Lottie...there is a boat waiting for you at the cove. Go now—the tide will go out at half past eleven.”
“What?”
Aulay let go of her head. He lifted her hand and pressed some coins into it. “Put them in your pocket—you’ll need them. You might have to bribe your way home, aye?”
“No!” she said, and tried to push the coins back into his hands. “I canna escape, I’ve told you. I’ll no’ make it worse, Aulay!”
“It canna be worse, leannan,” he said, and grabbing her shoulders, he dipped down so that he was eye level. “The Campbells are searching the Highlands now, and if they’ve no’ already been to Lismore, they will be soon. Gather your men and go, dismantle your stills, make some excuse for the ship. There is a small door next to the gates. You know the path around the high street. You know how to reach the cove. Donna dawdle—if you miss the tide, you’ll be caught.”
“Aulay!” she said, suddenly tearful and afraid.
He held her face in his hands, his eyes raking over her face. “I told you this afternoon that you have taken everything I held dear, Lottie. You owe me this. You owe it to me to do the one thing I ask of you.”
“I want to make it right,” she exclaimed, panicked now. She had her
speech planned.
But Aulay sighed sadly. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. He kissed her so tenderly that she could feel her heart fluttering with it, pieces breaking off and falling away. “You canna make it right,” he whispered. “Go,” he whispered. “And know always that I loved you.”
He let go of her and opened the door carefully. He looked out, then disappeared through it.
He was gone.
Lottie pressed her hands to her abdomen and bent over in wretched pain. It felt as if someone had driven a stake through her and she lurched forward, caught herself on the single chair in the room, and slowly sat in it. She couldn’t breathe. If she breathed, she would be sick. She braced her hands on her knees and tried to drag air into her lungs. How would she ever bear the agony of leaving him? How could she bear the anxiety of escape? There was no escape. No matter what she did, she would live the rest of her life tortured by thoughts of him.
But Aulay was wrong about one thing—she could make it right.
* * *
AULAY’S FATHER, his mother, Rabbie and Catriona were already at breakfast in the smaller family dining room when Aulay joined them the next morning. His head was pounding with anxiety, his heart numb. He’d never felt so odd in his own skin. How strange it was to think of all the times he’d feared he might be lost at sea, and yet, he’d never felt fear clutch his heart quite like this.
He guessed the justice of the peace’s boat would arrive with the tide, just before midday.
“Breakfast, Captain?” Frang asked.
Aulay looked around at his family. None of them appeared as if anything was amiss. His mother was reading a book. His father was eating his breakfast. It was another morning at Balhaire.
“Aye, thank you,” Aulay said. He took his seat at the table, poured ale from a pitcher and drank. He felt unusually parched.
He had just been served his meal when the young guard assigned to the gatehouse, Ewan Mackenzie, appeared at the door of the dining room. He looked nervous, and Aulay’s pulse quickened. A good lad, Ewan, always wanting to do the right thing. If someone had told him to go and patrol the high street last night, he would have gone immediately. He would have taken his mission of keeping watch for Campbells quite seriously.
