The Highlander's Iron Will: A Highland Defender Novella

by Amy Jarecki

  She glanced between her parents before a nervous giggle played on her lips. “Only one dragoon, Da?”

  “The lieutenant was the last.”

  Skye moved forward and nodded to a bench at the table. “Please have a seat whilst we finish preparing the evening meal.” She was much smaller than she’d appeared from the upstairs window of the weaver’s shop.

  Kier bowed. “My thanks.”

  She gave her brother’s mop of brown locks a tussle. “Come, Tommy. It looks as if he’s not planning to bite anyone.”

  The lad lowered his hands and continued to stare, his expression growing curious.

  Jimmy took a seat in a wooden chair across the room. It was a typical cottage with hearth and hob on one end and a box bed on the other. In the middle stood a rectangular table, and along the walls were shelves stacked with dishes and cookware. Nearer the bed were two large trunks, used to stow clothing, no doubt.

  “How long do you reckon the regiment will be in Glencoe?” asked Mistress Sineag.

  Kier stretched his legs under the table and crossed his ankles. “Not long, I hope. We’re to wait for the colonel’s orders.”

  Jimmy filled his clay pipe with tobacco. “But why here? Why not in Appin or at Dunollie with the MacDougalls?”

  Kier shrugged. “I’m merely an officer of the crown. My place is not to ask why. But if I’d ventured to guess, I reckon it’s on account of Glenlyon’s niece.”

  “I kent that marriage would lead to no good,” said Jimmy, lighting his pipe with a twig from the fire.

  Kier kept his mouth shut, but had to agree. He’d grown up with Sarah Campbell and she’d always been a bit of a shrew. It hadn’t surprised him when her father arranged the marriage to Sandy. It was a way of making a truce with an untrustworthy adversary without paying too high a price.

  Tommy wandered over and sat beside Kier. “What do you do for the army?”

  “I’m the lieutenant in charge of the regiment’s musketeers, among other things.”

  The lad pointed to Kier’s musket. “Are you a good shot?”

  “Good enough for the army.” In truth, Kier was a sharpshooter, but there was no point in boasting about it.

  “Would you teach me how to shoot?” the lad asked.

  “Tommy, you mustn’t burden our guest,” scolded his mother.

  Jimmy blew smoke out his nose. “I don’t reckon the lieutenant will be around long enough to give lessons to ten-year-old lads, not when he has a regiment of men to train.”

  Kier gave the boy a wink. “If there’s time and your parents approve, I’d be happy to give you a wee lesson.”

  The lad grinned. At least Kier had won over one of his hosts.

  Miss Skye placed a spoon in front of him. “Are you fond of lamb stew, Mr. Campbell?”

  “I am.” Kier inhaled the scent of rose. It was the midst of winter. How did the lass manage to smell of roses rather than wood smoke and peat?

  He watched as she prepared the table with bread and bowls filled to the brim with stew. After her parents took their places, Skye sat across the table from Kier. He reached for his spoon but quickly drew his hand away when Mistress Sineag cleared her throat. “We shall pray.”

  Tommy grabbed Kier’s right hand while Miss Skye reached over and offered her palm. He took it with a grin. His heart fluttered when she smiled back. But then she shuttered her eyes as Jimmy commenced the prayer. If Kier had been quizzed on what had been said, he would have failed miserably. He was transfixed and focused on the beauty seated before him with her hand in his—petite, warm, soft and as delicate as a bird.

  “Amen,” Jimmy said, echoed by the others.

  Miss Skye raised her long lashes and met Kier’s gaze. A bit of mischief flickered in those luminous eyes while her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth. “Ah…” she tugged her hand away.

  Kier cleared his throat. “Pardon me. Amen.”

  “Do you not pray, Lieutenant?” asked Mistress Sineag.

  “I am fond of praying, Matron. I must admit, my tongue twisted for a moment. As an army man, it is not oft I have the pleasure of dining with such a bonny maid as Miss Skye.”

  “You’d best not grow accustomed to it,” said Jimmy with a glower. “My daughter is working in the weaver’s shop until she marries.”

  Kier dabbed his lips with his fingers. “Are you promised, Miss Skye?”

  The lass blushed clear up to her hairline.

  Mistress Sineag shoveled a scoop of stew with her spoon. “She’s too particular, this one. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up a spinster.”

  With a wave if his hand, Kier batted away the mother’s concern. “Surely there are many years yet to come afore such a moniker is pinned on one so bonny.”

  A flash of anger flashed through Miss Skye’s expressive blues. “Why is it my marriage prospects always command the conversation at the evening meal? I’m but nineteen years of age and I’ve only rejected one suitor—the hapless drunkard. Heavens, with Glenlyon riding into Glencoe this very day, there are far more interesting topics.” She picked up her cup of ale, her hand trembling. “Tommy, I saw you playing shinty with the lads in the courtyard. How did your side fare?”

  Kier reached for his ale as well. Picking it up, he gave the lass a nod in silent toast. Miss Skye had gumption for certain. He liked a woman would could speak for herself. He liked it a great deal.

  Chapter Two

  As she lay atop the box bed, Skye listened to the heavy breathing as it echoed throughout the cottage. Her parents were shut in below where they always slept, but she’d exchanged places with Tommy. By the light from the fire, she could make out the lad’s wee form slumbering on her pallet near the hearth. Across from him lay Kier Campbell, the lieutenant. It was strange having a Campbell sleeping right there in the cottage. Further, the man slept on his side as if he hadn’t a care. As if it were perfectly normal for him to be there.

  Nonetheless, Da had gone to bed with a dirk in his hand. This night, all the folk in Glencoe were sleeping with one eye open, even though the laird had reassured them that nary a soul would accept Highland hospitality and turn backstabber. Not even a Campbell.

  Skye rolled to her back and pushed the heels of her hands into her temples. Their uninvited guest was inexplicably unnerving. True, his manners were impeccable, but all evening he’d stared at her with those midnight eyes. They were curiously dark, not to mention intense and shiny and…well, they made her so…so…befuddled.

  Neither did it help matters that the man might just be the brawest creature she’d ever seen. Tall, masculine, with a square jaw and an intelligent brow. He wore his dark tresses pulled back with a ribbon, but by the end of the evening meal, a thick lock had sprung free and hung in a lazy wave along his cheek. It was all Skye could do not to reach out and touch the hair to see if it felt as silky as it looked.

  Groaning, she let out a long breath. In winter, the sun was always late to rise and Skye had been lying awake for an eternity already. She might as well climb down from the bed and set to her chores. With a lantern, she could manage the washing just as well now as she could in daylight.

  Her mind made up, she crept down the ladder trying not to make a sound...until a timber groaned beneath her foot. Holding her breath, she froze in place. The Highlander across the cottage didn’t move. There was no sound of her parents stirring either. To avoid the risk of another loud creak, Skye hopped down, donned her boots and pulled an arisaid around her shoulders. After tiptoeing to the hearth, she quickly lit an oil lamp, then picked up the washing and darted out the door to the River Coe which cut through the back of their lands. Night had brought on a heavy frost and her nose ran. Skye hastened her step to warm herself, knowing full well the water would be icy and miserable. At least the river ran fast enough and rarely froze solid.

  Shivering, she set the basket down at the river’s edge and crouched beside it. The idea of dipping her fingers in the chilly water always made her shudder to her toes but
the washing had to be done. And the faster she worked, the sooner she’d be back in the warm cottage. She picked up the cake of soap and went to work.

  “Do you always start your chores afore ye break your fast?”

  Skye startled at the deep voice behind her. Snapping her head around, she gasped. Something had told her it was the lieutenant, but he’d taken her by surprise all the same. “Ah…I couldn’t sleep.”

  He took a seat on the rock beside her and smiled casually as if they’d been friends for years. “Neither could I, though I must say, ’tis not the best of ideas for a maid to venture out alone afore the sun rises.”

  Returning to her work, Skye scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. After Glenlyon promised he’d come on friendly terms, she hadn’t worried about her personal safety. “Are you saying your men are not to be trusted?”

  “Nay, lass. I’m saying a woman as bonny as you shouldn’t be out in the dark alone.”

  Her insides fluttered as if she’d never heard a compliment before. What was it about the lieutenant that made her so self-aware? “The folks in these parts are my kin. Nary a one would lift a finger to harm me.” She twisted the wet linen to wring out the water, her fingers freezing to the bone.

  “Allow me.” A warm palm covered her hand as Mr. Campbell pulled the cloth away.

  Skye thought to stop him, but when she met his gaze, the determination in his eyes gave her pause. “I reckon a man like you has never had to do the washing.”

  He twisted the fabric making twice as much water cascade to the river. “I reckon you are correct, miss.”

  She rocked back on her haunches and studied him. “What is your relation to Glenlyon?”

  “He’s my uncle.”

  “Then you were born to a life a privilege?” she asked.

  “Of sorts, I suppose.”

  Trying not to appear too interested, Skye reached for the next piece of bed linen and dunked it in the river. “Does your family live in a castle?”

  He tossed his cloth into the basket. “Aye—Sigurd Castle on Loch Dochart.”

  “Oh, my. I cannot even imagine what it would be like.”

  “Draughty on a day as chilly as this.”

  “Are you a second son, then?”

  “Nay, the only son. I have four elder sisters.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Skye stopped with her hands in the water. “You’re the heir of a castle and you joined the army? Why ever would you do that?”

  “My father thought it would turn me into a man.”

  “I see.” She furiously worked up a lather. “And has it?”

  “Turned me into a man?”

  “Aye.”

  “I reckon so. Besides, my da pays fealty to Glenlyon. My service is expected.”

  “That is unfortunate.” She twisted the linen.

  Mr. Campbell chuckled as he again plucked it from her fingers.

  “Do you think I’m humorous?” she asked.

  “I think you’re quite perceptive. Many a man has wondered the same. Unfortunately, my uncle’s philandering ways have given him an unsavory reputation that will follow the man the rest of his days.”

  “But you do not condone his habits?”

  “I may be my uncle’s man, but I have my own opinions.”

  “Interesting.” She reached for another piece, a shirt this time.

  Mr. Campbell held the damp bed linen to his nose. “Mm. That’s why you smell like roses.”

  Though Skye was half-frozen, heat spread through her cheeks. “Ma uses rose petals in the lye.”

  He gave it another sniff before tossing it in the basket. “’Tis nice.”

  Skye hurried to wash the remaining clothes while Mr. Campbell stayed right beside her and wrung out every piece. When she was done, she stood and blew on her freezing hands.

  “Allow me to warm them.” The lieutenant took her fingers between his palms and gently rubbed—rough hands, warm, welcoming. He didn’t act like a Campbell in the slightest. “We’d best take you indoors afore your hands freeze solid.”

  No matter how wonderfully fantastic Mr. Campbell’s palms felt, she tugged her hands away and crossed her arms. “I’ll be fine. I’ve done the washing in winter many times afore.”

  His eyes reflected kindness, yet they were still darker than sin. “You are a resilient maid. I reckon not one of my sisters would have been able to wash a single apron in that frigid water.”

  “I would expect not for ladies born to privilege. Tell me, is your da a laird?”

  “A lesser laird, much like Alasdair MacIain is to Clan Donald.”

  Skye waggled her eyebrows. “I’d wager your da’s not as fearsome as our clan chief, though.”

  “Aye, not a man in the Highlands matches MacIain’s notorious reputation. Though my da is a commanding presence in his own right.”

  Skye stooped to pick up the basket. “Much like his son, is he?”

  Mr. Campbell took the washing from her grasp and easily balanced it on his hip. “I think not. My father is nowhere near as affable as I.”

  ***

  By the time they returned to the cottage, everyone was awake. Jimmy plastered on a scowl and faced Kier with his fists on his hips. “Where have the pair of you been at his hour?”

  “Mr. Campbell helped me with the washing.” Skye pointed to the hearth. “You can put the basket over there.”

  “The lieutenant?” asked Mistress Sineag, disbelief filling her voice.

  “Aye, ma’am. I didn’t reckon the lass should be out alone afore daylight.” Kier set the basket down and looked to the rafters. “Shall I hang these for you?”

  “Women’s work,” Jimmy growled.

  “Thank you.” Mistress Sineag gave her husband a thump on his shoulder. “Skye, set the table, please. The porridge is ready.”

  By the time the morning meal was served, Kier had the washing draped over the rafters. It baffled him how Jimmy discounted the task as women’s work. Skye and her mother were both too short to reach. They would have needed to climb up on a stool.

  “Do you think you’ll have time to teach me to shoot today?” asked Tommy.

  “Not certain of my orders, but if time allows, I’ll be sure to find you.” Kier looked to Jimmy. “Are you not a musketeer, sir?”

  Jimmy frowned with a sniff. “A bow and arrow serves me just fine.”

  Kier returned his attention to this porridge. Muskets were expensive and many a man couldn’t afford one. Even in Glenlyon’s regiment half the foot were pikemen. Kier should be more conscious of MacDonald’s circumstances in the future. He’d most likely insulted his host.

  A knock came at the door. “Lieutenant, the captain wants a word afore muster.”

  Kier recognized the voice as belonging to Sentinel Nicoll. After taking one more bite, he stood. “With luck, we’ll see our marching orders and I’ll no longer be a burden to you kind folk.”

  Mistress Sineag smiled and smoothed her hand over her coif, but Jimmy snarled. “I’d be happy to see your backside marching out of the Coe for certain.”

  “Da!” Skye cringed, looking mortified. Perhaps Kier had earned a bit of favor with the lass by helping with the washing? If only their circumstances were different, he might enjoy courting such a lass.

  He retrieved his musket and shoved his feathered bonnet atop his head, then followed the sentinel a half-mile away to the Inverrigan farm. Glenlyon had set up a makeshift office near the hearth in Brody MacDonald’s cottage. “What took you so long?”

  “Helped with a few chores.” Kier moved to the table and sat beside Lieutenant Richard Lindsay.

  “Forever the bloody Good Samaritan,” said Glenlyon.

  Lindsay sniggered, the bloody Sassenach. “He’ll have them all eating out of his palm before our orders come.”

  “Wheesht.” Kier reached for a scone and took a bite. Thanks to Glenlyon, he hadn’t had time to finish his porridge. “I was hoping we’d be moving out today.”

  “Not likely,” said
the captain. “You’d best find a peg on which to hang your bonnet. We’ll be settling in for a good while.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t charmed your host.” Glenlyon winked at Lindsay. “Good God, Campbell, you’ve had an entire night.”

  Snorting, Kier shrugged. “I doubt my host will ever warm to me. Every time I take a gander in the direction of his daughter, he looks as if he’s about to blow steam out his ears.”

  “She’s pretty, is she?” asked Lindsay.

  Kier balled his fist. “She’s—”

  “Not for either of you.” Glenlyon shook a gnarled finger directly at Kier as if he’d made a grave misstep. “Leave the lassie alone and mind your orders.”

  “That’s exactly what I aim to do, sir.” Kier glanced between the two officers. “Pray tell, what are my orders?”

  “Keep the men busy and out of trouble. March them from dawn to dusk.”

  Kier rolled his eyes. Marching, the endless grind of a soldier’s typical day when there was nothing else to occupy his time. “Marching it is, sir.”

  “Nothing else, sir?” asked Lindsay.

  “One more thing.” Glenlyon leaned in and lowered his voice. “Keep this under wraps, but I want to know if any Jacobite sentiment comes out. Anything at all.”

  “Didn’t MacIain sign the oath of fealty to the king?” asked Kier.

  “He did, but two days late.”

  Everyone knew MacIain wasn’t to blame for his tardiness. Kier held up a finger. “Because of weather.”

  Glenlyon shook his head. “That’s a moot point.”

  “But there are others who have yet to come forward,” said Lindsay.

  “That also is not my concern. If I can prove MacIain to be a backstabbing Jacobite, I’ll put him and his reiving clan under fire and sword this very day.”

  With a sickening twist of his gut, Kier leaned back, knitting his brows. “These are but families.”

  “Families who breed treasonous barbarians,” said Lindsay.

  Kier stood, giving his cohort a frown. “Thus far, they’ve done nothing but show us Highland hospitality. It is our duty to respond graciously and show them the good nature of the king’s men.”