by Julia London
Lottie walked down the hill and went through the little picket fence, and up to the door. She drew a breath for courage and knocked. Before long, an elderly woman in a plain cap stood in the open door. “Madainn mhath,” Lottie said. “Might Mr. MacColl be at home this morning?”
“Lottie? Is that you?” Mr. MacColl suddenly appeared behind the woman and stepped around her. “Aye, thank you, Miriam, you may go.” He turned a beaming smile to Lottie and ran a hand nervously over the silver hair on his head. “You’ve come back! I had some question of it, that I did, but here you are! Come in, come in, aye?” he said, gesturing for her to enter. “Miriam! Have we any tea? Bring some tea for the lady! And...and some biscuits!”
“We donna have biscuits, you know it well!” the woman shouted from the back.
“It’s all right,” Lottie said quickly. “Please, Mr. MacColl, donna go to any trouble.”
“’Tis no trouble for you, lass. I’m so...pleased, that I am, that you’re quite all right. I had feared the worst.”
“The worst?” she asked curiously. “Oh. I brought these for you.” She held out the flowers to him.
Mr. MacColl looked at the flowers and his face lit with delight. He beamed. “Miriam!”
He took the flowers and ushered her into a room. “Please,” he said, gesturing to a seat.
Lottie sat gingerly as Mr. MacColl bustled about, looking for something in which to put the flowers. She noted some touches of his life before his wife had died. A bit of china. Some bonny paintings on the wall. But it was rather stark, really, and obvious that a man lived here without benefit of a female companion. Or children, his all grown and married now, with families of their own. Her heart ached a little for him.
Mr. MacColl returned to her side and sat on a chair across from her.
“You said you expected the worst?” she asked curiously.
“Oh, aye,” he said, blushing. “I thought... I suspected, well...” He paused. He swallowed. He studied his hands, clearly searching for words.
“The stills are gone, Mr. MacColl,” she said, taking advantage of his fluster. “My father, he ordered them taken down when we left. I’m glad they’re gone.”
He sighed with relief. “I am happy to hear that from your lips, Lottie, that I am. Naugh’ but trouble, that. Gilroy’s ship didna look seaworthy, and there was rumor of a wee bit of trouble on the North Sea. A ship that sounded quite like Gilroy’s had fired on a naval ship and set it afire, which, again, sounded a wee bit like Gilroy, aye?” he said with a slight roll of his eyes. “And that wee ship has no’ been seen since.”
“So, you knew that we...”
“Oh, aye,” he said, nodding. “I saw you go out, I did. Sailed right past us here on the south end.”
There was no other way to the sea. They’d been such fools, the lot of them. “We thought no one had seen us.”
“Oh, but we all did,” Mr. MacColl said cheerfully. “Was your, ah...voyage successful, then?”
Lottie shook her head. “Quite the contrary. There was indeed trouble on the North Sea and Gilroy’s ship sank.”
Mr. MacColl’s eyes rounded.
“We couldna find a buyer and lost our cargo...and we lost my father.”
Mr. MacColl’s eyes widened. “Bernt? The devil you say,” he added softly, and moved to sit next to Lottie on the settee. He took her hand in his. “Lass, my deepest condolences. What happened, then?”
Lottie told him everything. Everything. She left nothing out—from the fight with the naval ship, to stealing the Mackenzie ship, to Aalborg and the awful voyage home. She told him about the fortnight spent at Balhaire, and their escape. She told him about the Livingstone predicament, and the Mackenzie loss, and what she hoped to do to repay their loss, and what had brought her here. She talked so much that her head began to throb with all the talking.
When she had finished, Mr. MacColl smiled affectionately. “Your father has long boasted that you were the brightest star on our little island, aye? He was right about that, he was. Of course I’ll do as you ask, Lottie...but are you certain this is what you want, then?”
She laughed ruefully. “No’ at all.” She colored slightly and said, “I donna mean to offend.”
“I’m no’ offended, lass. I’m a wise old man. I understand you completely, aye?” He stood up. “Shall I come with you now?”
“No’ now, if you please,” she said. “I need a wee bit of time—I’ve no’ told anyone. Will you come for supper?”
“I will.”
She stood up and smiled at him. He took her hand and kissed the back of it, then smiled at her again. “You’re a brave lass, no one can ever say you’re no’.”
Lottie wasn’t brave at all. She’d just run out of options.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CATRIONA, BLESS HER, did not need to be persuaded. She arrived at the cove at precisely noon, dressed for sailing and wearing the boots Aulay had brought her from Flanders a few years ago, carrying a small satchel. “We may be gone a few days. Are you prepared for it?” he asked her once more.
“Aye, of course!” she said brightly. “What else have I to occupy me, then?”
She was the first to board the small cutter Aulay had borrowed from the MacDonalds, having paid a call to them yesterday afternoon.
Iain the Red and his brother Malcolm had volunteered to sail them down the coast. They were fortunate to catch a good wind that sent them well along for the better part of the day. It was a stroke of luck that they reached Lismore Island just as the sun was starting to slide west. They put in at a small dock on the southern end of the island, and Aulay and Catriona walked on shore. After they’d meandered down a path a ways, they met a pair of shepherds.
“Feasgar math,” Aulay said, greeting them. “Might you point us in the direction of the Livingstones?”
“North end of the island,” one man said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Two miles, perhaps a wee bit more.”
Aulay and Catriona walked on. It was a bonny evening, the sun casting gold shadows across the island. “I’ve never seen so many rabbits,” Catriona said with wonder.
Neither had Aulay. “The island is infested,” he said as one hopped across their path.
The rabbits seemed to multiply the farther north they walked. They passed a pair of cottages, and received hearty waves from the inhabitants. They waved back. Eventually, the path took them up a hill. At the top, they spotted a small manor house in a picturesque clearing below them, and behind it, a sea loch. The house was surrounded by rabbits and was guarded by a dog sleeping on the front step.
“Is that it, do you suppose?” Catriona asked.
“We canna go farther north than this,” Aulay said. “It must be, aye.”
They walked down to the house, nudging rabbits from their path, then stepping over the dog, who did not move other than to roll onto his back and invite anyone to rub his belly, which neither sibling was inclined to do. They had other things on their mind.
As they stepped onto an old brick landing with some bricks missing from it, they could hear voices raised inside the house. Aulay smiled reassuringly at Catriona, but put his hand to the hilt of his sword and knocked. They could hear the heavy footfall of someone, as if they were both skipping and running to the door. A moment later it swung open and Mathais stared at them. “Feasgar math, Mathais,” Aulay said.
“Lottie!” Mathais shrieked, and whirled around. “Lottie!”
“What?” she exclaimed, and popped out of a room just off the foyer. The moment her gaze met Aulay’s, her hands fell to her side. She looked on the verge of tears. “Has something happened, then? Are they coming for us?”
“Rest easy, Lottie,” Catriona said. “May we come in? I fear being eaten by rabbits, aye?”
“They’ll no’ eat you. They eat grass and such,” Mathais said.
Behind her, Drustan appeared. He instantly held up his latest carving. “’Tis a rabbit,” he announced. “I’ve a horse, a ship and a gull. A dog, too, I do.”
“A bonny rabbit you’ve got,” Catriona said, and brushed past Mathais to enter the small manor. “Show me to a wee tot of whisky, will you, lads? ’Tis no’ easy to find Lismore Island, is it?”
Mathais trotted behind Catriona and Drustan as they disappeared into an adjoining room.
Lottie’s eyes were gleaming with what looked like delight and fear and perhaps a twinge of hope. “What are you... Why are you here, then?”
“I needed to see you,” Aulay said, and took her in his arms and held her tightly to him. The night he’d sent her away, he had believed he would never see her again, so to hold her like this was...remarkable. It felt right. It felt like home. He lowered his head and kissed her, savoring it. Until she pushed against his shoulders. “But why do you need to see me? Have you come to take us back? Has the justice of the peace—”
“No, it’s no’ that,” he said. “As you know, we were visited by the Campbells. But I didna tell you that there is a bounty. That’s who chased us through the firth, aye? Bounty hunters.”
“A bounty for...for me?” she whispered, the color draining from her cheeks.
“They donna know who, aye? But they are determined. They’ve added to the bounty the crown has offered and in exchange for the name of the man responsible, five thousand pounds is to be paid.”
She blanched. “Five thousand pounds?”
“But they seek a man, Lottie—”
“Ho there! Anyone home?”
“Diah,” she whispered, and pushed Aulay aside and stood in the door. “Mr. MacColl, feasgar math! Do come in.”
MacColl. Aulay remembered that name, and his heart gave him a painful start. Surely she hadn’t... She didn’t truly intend to marry him...did she? He forced himself to turn about and came eye to eye with a man who was at least thirty years older than he. There were two more just like him, big, strapping Scots, like Aulay’s brothers.
The man was eying him curiously, so Aulay thrust his hand forward. “Aulay Mackenzie, aye? And my sister, Miss Mackenzie,” he said, when Catriona appeared at his side.
She dipped a curtsy.
“Ah, Mackenzie,” MacColl said, nodding. “Didna expect you to come all this way.” He chuckled. “Didna expect you at all, in truth. My sons, Orv and John MacColl. They’ve come along to witness, they have.”
God, it was worse than he thought—Lottie had not wasted a minute. He looked at her. “You donna have to do this.”
“I do,” she said flatly. “Please, can everyone come into the salon?”
The MacColls followed her and her brothers into the salon, but Aulay stood rooted, stunned by this turn of events. Of all the things he’d imagined when he’d come for her, this had never entered his mind. Catriona elbowed Aulay. Her eyes were wide with shock, too. “Diah, Aulay! If there was ever a moment to speak your peace, now is the time.” When he didn’t move, she shoved him. “Go! Say something ere it is too late!”
Aulay strode into the room. “Pardon,” he said. “May I speak?”
All eyes turned to him expectantly.
Why did he feel so at odds with his own mind suddenly? He couldn’t seem to find the right words. He couldn’t seem to find any words.
“Aulay?” Lottie prodded him.
“I donna know... I have this idea,” he said, gesturing to himself.
“Oh,” she said, and exchanged a look with Mr. MacColl.
“My sea has turned over on itself, it has,” he blurted.
He heard Catriona groan, saw the MacColls exchange looks.
“Pardon?” Lottie asked.
“That is to say, I’m no’ the man I was when you stole my ship.”
“I prefer borrowed,” Lottie muttered.
“I’m a different man, Lottie. That voyage has changed me, has changed my thinking about many things, that it has. Lottie...you made me different. You...you filled my canvas.”
“Filled his what?” asked one of the MacColls.
“I’m no’ making sense, aye,” he said, and nervously raked his fingers through his hair. “I am no’ accustomed to such declarations.”
“He’s never been in love,” Catriona offered.
Aulay’s heart lurched. He leveled a gaze on his sister. “Aye, thank you, Cat, but I’ll carry on from here if you donna mind.”
He shifted his gaze to Lottie. He moved forward, reaching for her hands. “Aye, it’s true, I’ve naugh’ been in love ere now, and it has changed me profoundly. Lottie... I’ve naugh’ to offer you. The trade is gone, we’re likely destitute—”
“I’d leave that part out of the declaration, were I you,” Catriona muttered.
“But I love you, lass. More than the sea. More than my life. I donna want to be without you. I want to hold you close and care for you. I know this gentleman has made an offer of marriage and he looks a fine man, I’ve no doubt of it, but I love you.”
“Diah,” said one of the sons.
The rest of the room was silent. Lottie stood motionless for a long moment. “But what of the sea?”
“I donna know,” he answered truthfully. “If I can gain another ship, will you no’ come with me?”
“There are my brothers—”
“Och, they are welcome at Balhaire,” Catriona said. “My mother misses Drustan dreadfully.”
Lottie blinked. She looked stunned. Worried. Clearly at a loss for words, and Aulay’s heart began to beat wildly, charging, preparing to be broken. But then a smile began to illuminate her face. The single dimple appeared, along with a glitter in her bonny blue eyes. And then she giggled.
Aulay groaned. “All right then, have I done it so badly? Is it so amusing?”
“On the contrary, that was the bonniest speech I ever heard, and I’ve heard every one Duff has ever made. But I donna mean to marry Mr. MacColl.”
“What?”
“I mean to make him our new chief.”
“Bloody hell,” Aulay muttered.
“He will buy what little we have, which I intend to give to you, Aulay. And then I intend to turn myself in.”
“No!” cried Catriona, Mathais and Drustan at once.
“I didna want to tell you in this way, lads, but how can I live with myself if I donna? We stole a ship! We are the reason a royal ship was scuttled! And they’ll no’ stop looking for us, they’ll never stop. I must stand up.”
“You borrowed a ship,” Catriona pointed out.
“Lottie, they donna know it,” Aulay pleaded. “They seek a man.”
“Aye, well that’s just it, Aulay. I havena got a man to sacrifice.”
“A man you say?” MacColl said thoughtfully.
“It doesna matter—” Lottie started.
“Aye but it might, lass,” MacColl said, and looked at Aulay. “What man, then?”
“That, they donna know,” Aulay said, and related his conversation with Roy Campbell and everything they suspected.
When he’d finished, MacColl said, “I’ve an idea. One that might work for all, aye? Do you recall, Lottie, that after the rebellion, the English soldiers came round looking for Jacobites, aye? We had one or two, that we did. But we took care of it by hanging them.”
Catriona gasped.
Lottie gasped, too, but in manner that suggested delight. “Aye, we did! I remember!”
“We’re no’ hanging anyone,” Aulay said firmly.
“No. But we might have a funeral for one. The laird will come round on Monday, so we’ve no’ much time,” MacColl said, and began to lay out a plan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
DUNCAN CAMPBELL’S BOOTS were wet, which annoyed him. There was nothing worse than clumping about in wet leather...unless one was using the same wet leather to knock the bloody rodent rabbits out of his path. “We ought to set fire to this island, one end to the other,” he complained as the MacColl lad reached him on the path. “Have you thought of that, then? A good fire that ought to take care of the problem.”
The lad looked appalled. “What of our houses and sheep and our coos?”
Duncan shrugged. He was furious with his cousin Roy for sending him on one wild goose chase after the other. Roy seemed to think that one would find illegal stills by having a walkabout in the Highlands. It was hardly the way of things, and Duncan had been dispatched from Applecross to Inverness, as everyone was suspected of brewing spirits to compete with the Campbells. “Where is your chief, then?” he asked the lad as he simultaneously knocked mud from his boots and kicked at a rabbit.
“Funeral, milord.”
“Funeral? Whose funeral, then?”
“The traitor, milord.”
“What traitor?”
“Donna rightly know. The chief said I was to fetch you.”
“I am fetched. Take me to him,” Duncan said, and signaled his men to remain with the boat.
He followed the lad down a wooded path, then up a hill to a small chapel. There were several people gathered there in the adjoining cemetery, and as they neared them, Duncan could hear a woman sobbing and wailing, unnecessarily loud, “Me poor Davy!”
MacColl was the first to greet him, striding down the path, his expression grim. “I beg your pardon, milord, that you should come at this inopportune time.”
“What’s so inopportune, then?” Duncan asked, squinting at the people gathered around what he presumed was a grave. “Who has died?”
“Aye, well, there was a traitor among us, Davy Livingstone, but he is no more.”
“Davy,” Duncan repeated. “I donna know a Davy.” Not that he knew many of the Livingstones, useless lot that they were.
