Jewel struggled to hold back tears. “Dinna take unnecessary risks,” she cautioned. “Do as Gray tells ye.”
“I’ll do my utmost to make sure he and Giles come back safe and sound,” she assured them.
“And ye,” Garnet replied with a wink. “We canna lose our Faith.”
She feigned amusement at his double entendre though her stomach was in knots.
Giles was in high spirits, excited his participation had been sanctioned by Munro. His foster father kept reminding everyone that being allowed to go on the expedition was a sign of the lad’s maturity.
Two other people besides Esther looked bereft at Giles’ departure—his foster mother Sarah, and Luke Harrison. “I suppose Giles is the closest thing to a real brother Luke has,” Faith whispered to Maggie.
“Aye. He’ll always be grateful Giles agreed Munro and Sarah could bring him along from Birmingham.”
Faith shouldn’t have been surprised her persistent little sister had cajoled this admission from the taciturn Luke.
After embracing his parents and siblings, Gray shook hands with Garnet and Quinn, then turned his attention to Esther. “Dinna fash, I’ll bring them home safely.”
Faith clenched her jaw when Esther let out a loud sob and hurried into the house, Rachel following closely behind. She wished she could cast a spell of invisibility on herself when Gray’s gaze settled on her face.
“Ready?” he asked softly, the blue of his eyes suddenly darker.
She lifted her chin. “I am.”
Faith considered herself a capable horsewoman. The Pendrays had provided worthy steeds and excellent tutors for the Cameron girls shortly after their arrival. She was used to riding astride, clad in the trews Jewel insisted were the only comfortable outfit for a woman to ride a horse—something she’d discovered during her Highland adventure four years ago.
However, a young, lowborn family wouldn’t own three purebred geldings, so Munro had procured an older horse and a donkey. Faith assumed she would ride the donkey laden with their supplies, and Giles would share Gray’s mount. Winged creatures fluttered in her belly when Gray mounted and held out his hand. “Ride with me for a while,” he said.
Giles seemed happy to ride the donkey, so she grasped Gray’s hand, put a foot in the stirrup and clambered to sit behind him.
He chuckled when she gripped the back of the saddle. “I’ll probably regret this, but you’ll be safer if you put your arms around me.”
Embracing Gray Pendray was something she’d dreamt of, yet she hesitated, not understanding what he meant about regret. However, as soon as he set the horse in motion, she had no choice but to put her hands on his hips.
Accompanied by Atholl’s dragoons, they slipped away into the darkness, bound for Ardrossan and the sea.
They made slow progress in the dark and Gray suspected the gentle sway of the horse had lulled Faith to sleep. She’d overcome her shyness, put her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He relished the press of her breasts against his back.
Despite the danger inherent in the mission, he was glad Faith had agreed to come. It was almost as if they were man and wife. He was responsible for her safety, a daunting prospect considering what lay ahead. However, the mantle of once again being Faith’s champion sat comfortably on his shoulders.
Preoccupied, Gray couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for responding to Giles’ excited chatter as they rode west to Ardrossan on the coast. “My mind’s on other things,” he said finally.
“I understand,” Giles replied. “’Tis hard to leave the ones ye love.”
Gray glanced at his companion but saw no sign of sarcasm in the lad’s eyes. If anyone knew about loss, it was Giles Raincourt whose parents had died in a fire in Birmingham. “Will ye miss Esther?” he asked.
“I suppose I will,” Giles admitted. “Though all that weeping and wailing was embarrassing.”
Gray chuckled. “Aye, but ’tis good to know a lass cares if ye come back or nay.”
“Ye’re lucky,” came the retort, “yer lass was brave enough to come with us.”
It was on the tip of Gray’s tongue to reply that Faith wasn’t his lass, but he thought better of it. If Giles wanted to believe there was something between them…
“I think a woman should be strong when she sends a mon off to war.”
“We’re hardly off to war,” Gray replied, “though I admit this foray isna without its dangers. We dinna ken how much support the earl has among the islanders.”
Seemingly undeterred, Giles carried on. “Like yer mother, for example. Sad to see us leave, but full of encouraging words.”
“Ye’re right,” Gray replied, appreciative of his mother’s strength. Even Jewel had managed to control her tears. “I suppose gushing sobs make a mon feel the lass is convinced he isna coming back.”
Faith had never made any secret of her affection, but it struck Gray like a thunderbolt that perhaps, deep down, he’d always loved her. Yet, he’d stupidly played along with the suggestion he marry Meaghan.
“Is that a ruined castle yonder?” Giles suddenly asked as they neared Ardrossan at dawn.
“Aye,” one of the dragoons replied. “I’m from these parts. Name’s Fergus Stanley.”
Fergus coughed up spittle and spat into the dirt. “The castle stood for centuries until the cursed Cromwell destroyed it and carted the stone off to build a fort in Ayr. Funny coincidence; I met yer brother-by-marriage at Kilmer. He’s a Barclay, right?”
“Aye,” Gray replied.
“Yon castle belonged to the Barclay family for generations.”
“Did ye tell Garnet about it?” Giles asked.
“Aye. Fergus Barclay—I’m named for him—fought for Robert the Bruce. He died in Ireland, God rest his soul, but his son, also Fergus, was one of the signatories to the Declaration of Arbroath three hundred years ago. His son, Godfrey, died without male heirs, so the castle passed through marriage to the Eglinton family.”
“Ye ken a lot about history,” Giles remarked. “Like my foster father, Munro.”
“I met him too. We had a good chinwag. A mon should be proud of the history of his birthplace,” Fergus replied. “Now, as for my own family, the Stanleys…”
Gray only half listened as they neared the dock where a small galley lay at anchor. He’d sailed across the Firth of Forth with Garnet in pursuit of the fugitives who’d kidnapped Jewel. After her rescue, they’d boarded the galley that plied back and forth from Arbroath to Leith. However, the waves out in the Firth of Clyde looked considerably more menacing, and the wind was getting wilder by the minute.
Giles had grown uncharacteristically quiet.
Faith stirred and inhaled deeply. “I can smell the sea,” she murmured in a sultry voice that had him wishing they were waking together after a night of endless pleasure. Instead, he had to content himself with the swell of her breasts against his back.
“Did ye ken the remains of the Spanish Armada sailed up the Clyde after Drake defeated them?” Fergus asked. “Most of the ships were wrecked on the rocks and sank with all hands, but some crewmen were rescued off Farland Head.” He pointed north. “Ye can see it yonder. Local folks took care of them, and a few never went back to Spain.”
Faith shivered and tightened her grip around his waist. “I never sailed before,” she confessed.
He patted her thigh—a highly inappropriate gesture, yet it felt right. “I willna let anything happen to ye.”
Giles’ pallor must have alerted Fergus to his discomfort. “Dinna worry, lad. We crossed safely in this galley. Atholl chose us because we’re men of the sea and ’tis just a few hours to Kintyre.”
Gray had pored over maps for days and knew they’d make faster progress by sea, but now wished they were going overland.
Atholl
Giles and Faith proved to be better sailors than Gray. After they dismounted, the lad took care of calming their mounts as the galley rode the choppy swell in Kilbrannan Sound.
&nb
sp; Gripping the side of the vessel, Gray swayed, determined to hold down the contents of his belly. Beside him, Faith sensed his discomfort. “Ye look a wee bit green,” she said softly.
She produced a linen from her satchel. Before he could say nay, she leaned precariously over the side to dip it in seawater. He didn’t have the heart to scold her when the cold compress applied to his forehead soothed the roiling in his gut.
Then she was on her feet, walking to Giles, astonishingly capable of keeping her balance as if she’d spent a lifetime at sea.
She came back to his side with a small vial, uncorked it and put it to his lips. “I wondered why Giles wasna seasick,” she shouted over the spray. “He concocted this remedy.”
Gray was aware that in the years since his arrival at Kilmer, Giles had continued to receive instruction in the apothecary arts from his foster mother. He sniffed the vial. “Smells awful,” he whined.
Faith insisted. “But ye can see ’tis effective.”
Gray took a swig and swallowed, feeling like a bairn being cajoled to take his medicine. Yet, the concern in Faith’s amber eyes wasn’t motherly love, nor was it the hero-worship he’d experienced four years ago.
Faith’s feelings for him ran deep; the epiphany was humbling. He knew his parents and siblings enjoyed loving marriages, but the exhilaration of being so loved struck him full force. He’d never believed it would happen to him, and now he craved Faith’s regard.
The first challenge of the crossing had been met without any help from him. His mother was right; Faith was courageous and possessed an inner strength most people overlooked. He’d been as guilty of that as anyone.
She stuck the stopper back in the vial. “Better?”
“Aye,” he replied truthfully. “I’m a new mon.”
When they finally disembarked at Campbeltown on the Kintyre Peninsula, he complimented Giles on weathering the voyage well.
“’Twas the tincture I took just before we cast off,” the youth confessed.
“But ye didna offer me and Faith a dose.”
“I wasna certain ’twould work,” the lad replied with a wink. “And I didna wish to poison ye.”
Gray laughed at the thinly veiled reference to the crime he’d been falsely accused of in Birmingham.
Giles patted his tunic. “I’ve another vial for the return trip.”
Gray sobered when a tall man in uniform strode towards them at the head of a half dozen soldiers of rank. His age, height and bearing convinced Gray this was John Murray, Marquess of Atholl, a man who’d fought alongside his grand uncle during the rebellion against Cromwell. He bowed. “Grainger Pendray, my lord.”
Atholl acknowledged his deference with a nod. “I brought my men across from Islay to Kintyre earlier today,” he declared, as if sensing Gray’s surprise at his presence. “Argyll’s ships arrived off Islay two days ago. I surmised he planned to land at night in an effort to surprise us, but we decamped before he had the chance. He’ll have come ashore by now. Let him run all over Islay trying to recruit an army. ’Twill increase his frustration and the likelihood of more dissension among their leaders.”
Gray had never met a man who came so quickly to the heart of the matter. “Will he be successful?”
“Most of the locals we encountered didna seem enthusiastic about joining the Rising. They’re more interested in tending their sheep. Introduce yer companions.”
Gray put a hand on Giles’ shoulder. “May I present Giles Raincourt and Faith Cameron, my foster nephew and niece. They…”
“Yes, yes. I have Guthrie’s report. I ken why they’re here. ’Twas my idea.”
Evidently, Gray had misjudged Quinn.
Faith bobbed a curtsey, but said nothing.
“Lovely,” Atholl declared. “Ye’ll do nicely.”
Giles bowed. “My honor to meet ye, my lord.”
The marquess raised a brow. “I heard Munro’s foster sons were English lads, but ye sound like a Scot born and bred.”
Giles grinned, blushing profusely, but Atholl was on to the next topic before he had a chance to reply. “How’s yer mother, Pendray?”
It was typical of a member of the Scottish aristocracy to ask after his famous mother before inquiring about his Welsh father. “She’s well, though worried about Argyll.”
“No need. Brave woman. You must be proud. I hear ye’ve been making preparations at Kilmer.”
“Aye,” Gray replied, hurrying to follow Atholl as he strode off towards a cluster of more than a hundred tents. He deemed it wiser not to mention his father’s ancient cannon.
“I doot Argyll will get that far. Still, it never hurts to be prepared. My plan is to let Argyll wear himself out traipsing all over the isles, then I think he’ll head for Bute. He isna known as a patient mon.”
“And ’tis well-known there’s dissension among his co-conspirators.”
Atholl merely nodded. “His progress depends on how many men he recruits. We’ll stay one step ahead of him. His target on the mainland will be Greenock, then perhaps Glasgow, but we’ll stop him afore that. I predict in a month ’twill all be over. Ye should plan to enlist here in Kintyre.”
Gray felt a ludicrous pang of pity for Argyll who faced constant wrangling from his committee. No one in the Royalist camp would dare argue with Atholl’s strategy. “Any word on Monmouth, sir?”
“Nay. He’s still in Holland as far as we ken. Now, off ye go to the Cook Tent, and then ye can set up yer camp after ye’ve eaten. The morrow will come soon enough.”
He marched off, barking orders as he went.
Giles grinned. “I wonder what’s to eat? I’m ravenous.”
“Better fill yer belly,” Faith quipped. “I’m nay known for my cooking skills.”
Gray laughed. “Never thought of that.”
The Tent
Enjoying a hearty bowl of beef broth in the Cook Tent, Faith began to think the life of a camp follower might not be so bad. The crowd crammed into the large pavilion consisted of forty or fifty men, women and bairns. The din of conversation might lead the casual observer to believe a celebratory family feast was in progress. Clearly, there was no sense an enemy lurked nearby.
However, as dusk fell, she noticed the soldiers departed separately, leaving the women to clean up the mess. “I suppose I should help,” she said to Gray.
“Here, ye’re nay expected to,” he replied, “but ’twill be a different matter once we join Argyll’s army.”
Another awkward question nagged at her. “Er…what about sleeping arrangements?”
He shrugged. “In this camp, the women and bairns will go off to their own tents.”
“The families dinna stay together?” Giles asked.
Gray shook his head. “This is a disciplined military unit. Atholl willna allow his men to be distracted by marital concerns.”
Faith’s spirits fell. “Then, I’ll be alone once ye enlist.”
Gray’s red face betrayed his discomfort. “We’ll have to wait and see. Chances are Argyll’s army of recruits willna be as disciplined. For tonight, the three of us will share the tent we brought.”
The prospect bolstered Faith’s courage, but she eyed Giles, wondering what he thought about them sharing a tent.
“So,” the lad mused, “if the men canna sleep with their wives at night, they must find other times…”
Gray’s glare cut him off. “That doesna concern us. Faith, you stay here until we’ve got the tent set up.”
In their absence, she busied herself collecting bowls and utensils, not sure what to do with them until an older woman bustled the crockery out of her hands. “Ye’ll be wondering where the latrines are for the women,” she said gruffly.
Heat rose in her face. “Aye.”
She followed the directions to the ditch behind the bushes, hastily saw to her needs and returned to camp. Having taken no part in gathering the equipment for the mission, she stared open-mouthed at the tiny tent Gray and Giles had pitched, wondering how th
ree people were going to sleep inside it. They’d be obliged to lie touching each other. It was a shamefully exhilarating prospect—except for Giles’ presence.
Gray handed the blankets to Faith, realizing he should have kept a closer eye on the servants who’d gathered the equipment for the mission. They clearly thought he and Giles would be billeted in army tents. He ought to explain, but her blush, visible even in the lengthening shadows, sent devilish thoughts swirling in his head. The problem at his groin was further compounded when she bent to crawl inside the tent, hampered by the blankets she carried. The wiggling bottom was even more appealing than the front view.
In a loud voice, he suggested to Giles they find the latrines in order to give Faith time to arrange the bedding inside the tent.
His selfish hope they’d spend the night lying close enough to touch was dashed when he lifted the flap several minutes later. Swathed in a blanket up to her chin, she’d wedged herself into one side of the cramped space.
“I made a place for Giles between us,” she said.
There was a hint of annoyance in her voice, but Gray decided she was right. Lying beside her would be too tempting. “Good idea. In ye go, laddie.”
Giles crawled in and drew the blanket over his body.
Gray followed.
He lay listening to the sounds of the camp for a long while and thought Giles and Faith had fallen asleep until the lad whispered, “May the Lord watch over us.”
And Faith responded, “Amen.”
The three nights they spent in the tent reminded Faith of sleeping with her sisters in one narrow bed. Except then she hadn’t been plagued with an insistent urge to climb over Giles and snuggle into Gray’s warmth.
She suspected he could easily have asked for and obtained a second tent from Atholl, but he hadn’t. It was of some consolation he seemed to want to prolong the forced closeness.
Danger loomed on the horizon, but she found courage in simply listening to Gray’s steady breathing while he slept.
Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4) Page 6
