Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4)

by Anna Markland

  Despite the cool breeze, a wave of heat rolled over Faith when the only newly-arrived rider not wearing a uniform dismounted and hugged Lady Jewel. The boy she’d fallen in love with four years ago had grown to be a man—a very handsome, broad-shouldered man with long dark hair, and a dashing mustache.

  Any notion she might have grown out of her fascination with him flew away like chaff on the wind.

  Her gasp of surprise earned her an elbow in the ribs.

  “Ye’re blushing,” Esther accused.

  Rachel tutted.

  Meanwhile Maggie hunkered down next to Gray while he rubbed Plato’s ears, clearly amused by whatever she was saying.

  Sometimes, it was easy to believe Maggie’s assertion she was their daddy’s bastard and only a half-sister. But Faith had been there at Maggie’s birth and now recognized their mother’s madness had its roots in her refusal to acknowledge the redheaded bairn as hers.

  “He’s coming,” Rachel hissed when Gray strode towards the group clustered around the main entry of the manor house.

  Faith’s heart did somersaults as she watched him hug his parents, then Lady Sarah. They made small talk about the nieces and nephews he’d yet to meet before he shook hands with Munro’s foster sons, Giles Raincourt and Luke Harrison.

  Now, it was Esther’s turn to blush.

  “Ye chide me, yet ye have feelings for Giles,” Faith whispered.

  Esther pouted. “What’s amiss with that? He’s good-looking and smart as well. Lady Sarah has passed on to him everything she knows about apothecary and he’ll be off to university next year. Then he’ll come back and marry me and we’ll open an apothecary shop in Glasgow, or maybe Kilmarnock.”

  Faith rolled her eyes, but there was no denying Esther and Giles were well-suited as far as social rank went—two orphans who’d escaped a life of misery thanks to the Pendray family.

  Before she knew it, Gray was hugging Esther and Rachel, remarking on how they’d grown and how bonny they were.

  Faith wished the ground would swallow her up. She was the ugly sister—too tall, too…

  Suddenly, Gray was holding her hands, his gaze wandering from her face to the breasts that had swelled to be embarrassingly large. His heat traveled up her arms, down her spine and thence to a very private place. Her body’s reaction to his touch shook her to the core and she couldn’t take her eyes off the movement of his lips.

  Her throat constricted. He was asking her something, but she had no idea what. “Er…”

  He kissed one cheek, then the other, his mustache tickling her face. “My little Faith has grown into a beautiful lass,” he declared, his blue eyes bright.

  “And she still loves ye,” Maggie piped up.

  Faith itched to strangle her youngest sister, but Gray chuckled. “Of course she does. I’m her hero.”

  Maggie grinned as Gray moved away to follow the others into the house, but Faith’s heart had shattered. He still looked upon her as the waif he’d rescued in Edinburgh.

  Nieces And Nephews

  “Crivvens, young mon,” Gray said to Marten as he accepted the bairn’s offer of a handshake. “I canna believe how big ye are. Ye were just a babe the last time I saw ye.”

  “I’m four,” his nephew replied, holding up three fingers.

  Cradling her baby daughter in one arm, Sarah helped her son uncurl another finger to add to the count. “He tends to be a serious little boy,” she whispered.

  “The babe Mama is holding is my sister,” Marten informed him. “She’s named Mary Ward Pendray, after my English grandmother, whom I never met.”

  Gray stroked the blonde wisps of hair on Mary’s head, resisting the urge to laugh at the lad’s precocious tone. “She’s bonny, like her brother.”

  Marten frowned. “Lads are nay bonny. They’re handsome.”

  “Remember your manners, Marten,” his mother cautioned.

  “My pardon,” Gray replied solemnly. “Handsome is what I meant to say.”

  He turned his attention to a younger boy clinging to Jewel’s skirts. “And ye must be Blair.”

  “My cousin’s shy,” Marten explained.

  Gray hunkered down and held out his arms, elated when Blair looked to his mother for reassurance, then allowed Gray to pick him up. “He’s heavy,” he told Jewel, “and the spitting image of his daddy.”

  “Aye,” she agreed. “Hair as black as night. He’ll be tall when he grows up.”

  “Again, like Garnet.”

  Jewel’s babe fussed in her mother’s arms.

  “Gemma’s my sister,” Blair whispered softly. “She has red hair like mammy.”

  By now, Kilmer’s spacious entry hall had filled with blood kin as well as Munro and Garnet’s foster bairns. Servants and tenants Gray had known since childhood joined the throng.

  He inhaled the warmth, the noise, the reassuring cocoon of love surrounding him. It was a far cry from the stilted atmosphere of sophisticated Edinburgh society where he often had to tread carefully. Here he could relax and rediscover himself—at least until his mission began.

  He’d anticipated a warm homecoming, but his eyes kept straying to the blushing lass with chestnut brown hair who’d unexpectedly stirred his male interest as soon as he’d set eyes on her. Faith Cameron had grown to be an alluring young woman.

  However, he couldn’t lose sight of the main reason for his return to Ayrshire. Argyll’s imminent invasion posed a threat to Kilmer and to the stability of Scotland. Gray might not think highly of the devoutly Catholic King James, but he was the rightful monarch and a Stuart to boot.

  Quinn and the Privy Council were anxiously awaiting his reports on Argyll’s progress.

  The Heart Of The Matter

  The earl had insisted from the outset that his foster grandchildren sit at the head table in the dining hall. It was an honor they appreciated, but Faith wished she was assisting in the kitchens instead of being part of the joyful homecoming banquet.

  In Viscount Munro’s absence, Gray had taken the seat next to his father. Blair normally sat between his parents, but Garnet hadn’t yet arrived home and Lady Jewel was more intent on chatting with her parents and newly-returned brother. It fell to Faith to look after the bairn. Not that she minded. He was a well-mannered, intelligent lad, and at least it meant she could ignore the ever-critical Esther seated on her left.

  Quite a crowd had gathered for the feast—tenants from farms and villages on the Kilmer estate, local gentry and the families of the Glenheath Highlanders who’d lived in the Lowlands since the rebellion. Food was plentiful and ale flowed freely. The mood was festive, the din growing louder by the minute.

  Faith wondered briefly what had become of the dragoons who’d accompanied Gray home from Edinburgh, but she was distracted by boisterous cheering as Munro Pendray and Garnet Barclay entered the hall.

  Smiling broadly, her hero strode from the dais to embrace the new arrivals.

  Blair squirmed in his seat, drawing Faith’s attention away from Gray’s long legs. “Daddy,” he shouted.

  Faith was glad to see Garnet safely returned. With his permission, she’d always called her foster-father by his name, never Daddy, or even Father. He was a mere ten years older than she was, but her love and respect for him went deeper than anything she’d ever felt for her own father. She’d feared Michael Cameron, a religious fanatic who seemed incapable of showing his daughters the least bit of love. He’d been executed three years ago for abetting the escape of two assassins from Edinburgh Castle—desperate men who’d kidnapped Jewel as a hostage. Of course, being the brother of the notorious Richard Cameron hadn’t helped at his brief trial.

  The conviction that her dubious parentage rendered her completely unsuitable for Gray Pendray lodged in Faith’s chest.

  Garnet embraced his wife, then hoisted his laughing son on his shoulders, bending to plant a kiss on Faith’s cheek. “Ye look serious,” he teased.

  “Welcome home,” she said, forcing a smile.

  �
��’Tis good to be back safe and sound, lass,” he replied. “But I fear dire times ahead.”

  There was no opportunity to ask what he meant as everyone shuffled about changing seats so the men could sit together. They continued the meal, but the hall had quieted, as if everyone present sensed the importance of the hushed conference.

  Her own life had been torn asunder by religious intolerance. She knew from her tutors and discussions at table that Covenanters and Episcopalians were constantly at loggerheads, their enmity of each other surpassed only by their loathing for the Catholic King James.

  Lines of worry marred Gray’s handsome face, and it slowly dawned on her there was a deeper reason for his homecoming than a desire to reunite with family.

  An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

  “With so many gathered here,” Munro said, “’tis a good opportunity to let them know what’s going on. Folks need to be prepared.”

  “I agree,” Gray added.

  Their father nodded. “You’re better equipped to provide details, Grainger.”

  The use of his youngest son’s full name was an indication of how worried Morgan Pendray was about the imminent invasion.

  Gray surveyed the anxious faces. Members of his own family were no strangers to treasonous intrigue. His mother had risked her life to rescue Scotland’s crown jewels from Cromwell’s clutches. Sarah’s father had signed the execution warrant of Charles I. Not so long ago, Jewel had been the victim of kidnappers intent on overthrowing Charles II. The Cameron lasses’ father had been executed for his part in treasonous plotting. Now Argyll and Monmouth sought to overthrow King James. Many in Ayrshire considered Richard Cameron a martyr to the Covenant cause, while others applauded his death.

  Gray would have to choose his words carefully. A Rising stirred up by Argyll would inevitably resurrect painful memories and old hostilities. Yet, his family were living proof deep hatreds could be overcome. Even his father and mother had been on opposite sides of the conflict when they first met during Cromwell’s invasion.

  He rose, for some reason finding encouragement in Faith Cameron’s intense gaze. She understood his turmoil.

  “Let me say,” he began, “how happy I am to be home among friends and neighbors.”

  Polite applause and murmurs of Aye, greeted his remarks.

  “Edinburgh’s a fine town, but there’s naught like filling yer lungs with the fresh air of Ayrshire.”

  The applause grew louder; a few even cheered.

  Faith’s barely perceptible nod and broad smile reassured him he’d set the right tone. He waited for the hall to quiet again. “But there’s trouble brewing,” he declared, deliberately raising his voice.

  He didn’t need to tell them the impending threat centered on religion and the generally held belief a Catholic could not be king of Scotland. They were Scots who’d lived through years of religious upheaval and often bloody conflict, so he got to the heart of the matter. “The Earl of Argyll has set sail from Holland and is about to land on the west coast any day now.”

  Faith’s sudden frown filled him with a desire to explain more fully, but the local crowd would be well aware of the reasons for Archibald Campbell’s return to Scotland. “I dinna have to explain what this means,” he continued. “’Tis every man’s right to decide for himself what his response will be. The Pendray family will stand, as it always has, for the rule of law. We will not join Argyll’s treasonous rebellion, no matter our feelings about the reigning monarch.”

  He took a breath after that risky statement, glad he’d sent the royal dragoons on to the coast. “We will defend our home and estates from attack, and if needs be, take the fight to the enemy.”

  He wished his brave words unsaid when Faith’s lip trembled.

  “What about Monmouth?” someone shouted.

  Gray nodded. “Argyll and Monmouth are co-conspirators. Spies have informed us of their plan for the duke to land on the southwest coast of England and march on London. However, I’m given to understand Monmouth has not yet set sail. Argyll left Holland on the second day of May and his ships were sighted a few days ago in the Moray Firth.”

  One of the tenant farmers stood. “So, he thinks Monmouth’s en route?”

  “’Tis possible,” Gray replied.

  “Why not just attack Inverness if he was in the Moray?” another shouted.

  Scornful laughter greeted this question. “Nay,” many retorted.

  “Campbell lacks an army,” Gray confirmed. “He has brought only six hundred men. He must attract recruits from among his own people in Argyll, and here in Ayrshire, if his rebellion hopes to succeed.

  “One more thing ye should be aware of. The Privy Council has sent four hundred and fifty Highlanders to Islay to deter a landing on that island. They are under the command of John Murray, Marquess of Atholl.

  “As well, English ships are patrolling the Firth of Clyde and the Kyles of Bute.”

  No one seemed inclined to ask Gray how he had come by all this information and he was relieved when Munro got to his feet and took the floor. “’Tis likely Campbell has gone by way of the Orkneys and will come ashore in Argyll soon. Ye’ve heard my brother’s news. ’Tis for ye to decide if ye’ll stand with us or nay.”

  “Aye,” came the thunderous response.

  Gray glanced across at Faith. He’d been a wee bit embarrassed by her attention on the journey to Kilmer four years ago, but her gaze now sent a wave of heat rolling over him. She was no longer a little lass. He straightened his shoulders and thrust out his chest, enjoying the novel sensation of being the object of a beautiful woman’s desire.

  Conflicting emotions swirled in Faith’s heart as the meeting broke up. Gray was a leader, a man of action and conviction. She’d never been made privy to exactly what he did for the government in Edinburgh, but his superiors had obviously trusted him with vitally important information. Though he’d been away from Kilmer for three years, his eloquent explanation of the threat had ensured the support of the local people. She recognized many of those present as men who spoke openly in support of the Covenanter cause, yet Gray had effectively pointed out the dangers of rallying to Argyll’s call.

  But fear warred with the pride she felt. He’d spoken of participating in the fight. She acknowledged she was reading too much into the glances he’d sent her way, but her throat tightened at the prospect of his death on the battlefield.

  “Dinna keep staring at him,” Esther cautioned.

  Faith was about to make a scathing retort but Giles’ appearance saved her the bother. Esther was soon engrossed in conversation with him.

  “She’s right,” Rachel said. “He doesna even ken ye exist.”

  Maggie took her hand. “Pay no attention.”

  Faith resisted when her little sister tried to lead her towards Gray who was conversing with a group of tenants. “Nay, he’s busy.”

  Maggie shrugged. “Suit yerself.” Undeterred, she approached the adults and pulled on Gray’s sleeve.

  He turned to her. “There ye are, wee niece. I hope all this talk of an invasion didna alarm ye too much.”

  Maggie took his hand and drew him away from the men. “Nay. Faith told me we needna fear with ye in charge.”

  He smiled and looked over at Faith.

  She was mortified. Now more than ever he’d be convinced she was just a silly girl. She’d hurry away if her feet weren’t fixed to the planked floor.

  “I’m nay exactly in charge,” he said, coming closer, “but I intend to protect the places and people I love, Faith.”

  His husky voice echoed in her heart and she couldn’t look away from his blue gaze, fascinated by a hint of something she’d never seen there before—a male awareness, a glint, a twinkling. Even the way he’d whispered her name was different. “Aye,” she said hoarsely, clenching her fists in frustration when the words she wanted to say refused to emerge from her dry throat.

  They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. She feared
he was looking for an avenue of escape.

  “Garnet hasna found a husband for Faith yet,” Maggie blurted out.

  “Maggie,” Faith hissed, fearing her face had turned beet red.

  Gray brushed his knuckles against her burning cheek as he bent close to her ear. “Whoever ye marry, Faith, he’ll be a lucky mon.”

  He transferred Maggie’s hand into hers, smiled and walked away.

  “He’s drawn to ye,” Maggie declared.

  It bordered on lunacy, but Faith hoped her sister might be right.

  Preparations

  May 10th 1685

  “Pax,” Munro yelled breathlessly, taking a step back. “I’m out of practice.”

  Chuckling, Gray sheathed his sword. “Ye’re showing signs of age, brother.”

  “’Tis many a year since I’ve been to the training fields,” Munro panted as they walked to the water pump. “A mistake, obviously.”

  Gray pumped the handle so Munro could slake his thirst, then his brother returned the favor. It had been too long since they’d indulged in horseplay, so Gray took the opportunity to splash water onto his brother’s shirt. “Ye need to cool off,” he teased.

  One thing led to another and soon they were both soaked.

  Gray removed his wet shirt and sat on the low stone lip of the well, raking hair off his face. “Another round?”

  Munro shook his head as he too peeled off his shirt. “Nay. I’ll leave the fighting to ye and the Glenheath militia. Strategy is my forte. Go pick a fight with Garnet. He’s more of a match for ye.”

  “That’s all well and good, but ye need to ken how to fire a musket at least. Just in case.”

  “Aye, Captain Pendray,” Munro replied with a mock salute. “A musket I can still manage.”