Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4)

by Anna Markland

  Suddenly, Argyll turned to Rumbold. “Ye ken,” he said with a jovial smile, “a pox on this foreign food for breakfast. A good bowl of steaming oatmeal is what we need.” He turned to another man. “Do ye nay agree, Ayloffe?”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer replied with a distinctly English accent.

  “Indeed,” Rumbold seconded.

  Hume and the others at the table scowled.

  Faith thought it curious the Scottish earl seemed to be on friendlier terms with the Englishmen in his company than with his fellow Scots.

  For three days, Faith brought news of the bitter arguments raging in the castle. From time to time, Gray watched the co-leaders of the Rising stroll around the castle precincts. Faith had told him the eccentric Scottish earl seemed inclined to chat amiably with the Englishmen Rumbold and Ayloffe. What he witnessed confirmed it. The antipathy between Campbell and the other Scottish noblemen was painfully obvious.

  There was apparently no push to organize the horse regiment, there being nowhere in the village to do so, allowing Gray to spend most of the day wandering around the campsites, keeping his eyes and ears open. If he crossed paths with Fergus, he quickly muttered news of the ongoing arguments and exchanged only a brief nod. When Faith wasn’t required in the castle, he accompanied her into the village to haggle for fresh fish.

  Giles, on the other hand, was kept busy by the insurgents. Summoned to one infantry muster after another, he returned to the camp every night, tired but bearing the latest news. The foot soldiers were organized into three regiments. “Word is,” Giles whispered one night, “Argyll plans to attack Inverary.”

  “He wants his ancestral castle back,” Gray replied. “Hume still isna willing to sanction it.”

  On the fourth afternoon, more than two thousand men crammed into Tairbeart’s village square to be told most of them would be marching north to deal with Atholl, while a smaller force would sail south to begin recruiting in the Lowlands. Thanks to Faith’s reports, Gray had surmised this news was coming, but was dismayed to learn he’d be going south while Giles would march north into what could be heavy fighting.

  They spent another uncomfortable night on the rocky slopes, awakened before dawn by loud voices raised in anger. Gray crawled out of the tent and peered up at the castle. The earl and another man were on the battlements, exchanging verbal abuse. It became clear the plan had been abandoned. In the faint light, Gray eventually recognized the second man as Sir John Cochrane, one of Argyll’s most ardent supporters, who was clearly upset the troops wouldn’t be sailing south.

  Giles appeared, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “We may as well go back to bed,” Gray replied. “Seems things have changed.”

  “I canna sleep.”

  “Neither can I,” Faith said with a yawn as she crawled out of the tent. “And I’m already late for my duties.”

  “Still, sounds carry up here. Less chance of being overheard if we go back into the tent for a quick parlay.”

  “I’m relieved ye’re nay going north,” Faith whispered to Giles when the three were huddled together under canvas.

  “Me too,” he agreed. “I’m nay cut out to be a soldier, especially in such a disorganized army.”

  “I can understand the earl’s indecision,” Gray said. “As far as we ken, he’s had no firm news of Monmouth, and the presence of Atholl’s troops in his stronghold of Argyll has probably deterred recruits.

  “His Highlanders willna want to fight in the Lowlands while the marquess threatens their homes. He’s turned the Rising into a personal crusade to regain his lands and we can readily assume the other exiled noblemen resent that. He isna widely liked, not like Monmouth.”

  “Well,” Faith added. “From what I’ve seen, he is torn by indecision. He and Hume clearly detest each other. ’Tis almost as if they are determined now not to agree. I’m nay an expert, but the army canna stay here much longer. There’s discontent brewing in the village over the theft of cattle and sheep. They’re running out of food and supplies.”

  Gray tapped a finger to his lips when they heard the Laings stirring. He left the tent and greeted Domnall. “Seems we’re nay going anywhere,” he said.

  “Margaret reckons we’re off to Bute,” the elderly man replied.

  Evidently, Faith wasn’t the only one who’d been listening intently.

  Bute

  The process of ferrying men, horses and equipment to the more easterly isle of Bute began that same afternoon. Faith was left alone when Gray and Giles went down to the hill to ascertain what was going on. They hoped to bump into Fergus in order to exchange what little information they had. Despite the interminable drizzle, she could see from her vantage point that the first to leave, apart from the leaders, were those camped closest to the port—Argyll’s Highlanders. With so few boats, it would take days to complete the transfer of more than two thousand men to the three sailing ships.

  On the second day, Fergus reported Cochrane and Hume had crossed from Bute to Great Cumbrae to requisition more vessels, only to find a group of dragoons from Largs had staved in all the local boats. Gray must have sensed Faith’s ignorance regarding the places he mentioned. “Cumbrae’s a small island to the east of Bute,” he explained. “Largs is on the Ayrshire mainland.”

  “At least I’m learning more about the geography of my own country,” she quipped.

  In the meantime, Giles came down with a sore throat and runny nose. Gray was clearly discouraged and frustrated. Faith had never in her life been so cold, dirty, wet and miserable, but she determined to keep a smile on her face.

  She plied Giles with onion tea brewed by Katrin, whose grandbairns had also fallen ill. With his knowledge of apothecary, she expected him to be disdainful of the folk remedy, but he rambled on hoarsely about Sarah once curing Munro with onion tea.

  Margaret was convinced the rats had caused her children’s sickness. The smoky air in the kitchens aggravated their malady, further exasperating the unpleasant cook.

  Faith was simply grateful the rodents hadn’t emerged again from their hiding places.

  Their turn to board came the afternoon of the third day. As they stepped ashore hours later at Kilchattan Bay, she said a silent prayer of thanks for Giles’ tincture. It had ensured both her men weathered the voyage without suffering seasickness on the choppy waters—a miracle considering the hundreds of souls packed together on the deck of the Anna. Gray had kept his arm firmly clamped around her waist, ensuring they wouldn’t become separated.

  However, Giles was fading fast. A cough now plagued him. Faith insisted they take turns riding behind Gray as they made their way north to the main village on Bute, where the earl had set up his headquarters in Rothesay castle.

  When it was her turn to walk, she kept up as best she could, alarmed by a number of burnt-out cottages visible from the trail.

  “What’s gone on here?” she asked Gray.

  “The Highlanders who came over first probably stole the crofters’ sheep.”

  “But why burn the houses? That willna encourage recruits.”

  He simply shook his head and shrugged.

  Gray was troubled as he surveyed the army encampment below Rothesay castle. As in Kintyre, tents were pitched wherever there was space, with little regard for form or order. Men sat around campfires; shrieking bairns chased each other hither and yon, seemingly oblivious to their mothers’ admonitions to behave. Horses, donkeys, chickens, and goats wandered at will, foraging where they could. A few moorland sheep had ventured into the midst—a risky proposition given the presence of so many hungry mouths to feed.

  It was an anthill without a queen.

  “I’m thinking we may as well give up on the mission,” he told Faith. “There’s scant chance the Rising will succeed at this rate.”

  “Should ye speak to Fergus first?”

  He scanned the encampment. “Aye, but I havena seen him for a few days.”

  “I think he left Tairbeart be
fore we did,” Giles croaked.

  “Yonder a spot,” the younger Domnall Laing declared as he joined them. “Follow me.”

  Gray watched with amusement as Faith helped Margaret and her bairns shoo two stubborn goats and a sheep away from a grassy clearing. Katrin had a fire lit by the time the tents were pitched.

  He understood Faith’s growing affection for the Laings. They were hardy, taciturn folk, but they cared about others and had taken the “newlyweds” under their wing from the outset.

  Breaking bread with them, sharing the hardships and the workload had become accepted rituals, as had the nightly gathering around the campfire.

  “Seems every inhabitant of Rothesay has fled the town,” the older Domnall remarked, sucking on his pipe. “Terrified of the earl’s Highlanders.”

  Gray had grown up with his grand uncle’s Glenheath Highlanders, and knew them as hardworking, loyal and honorable men. One had saved his father’s life years ago. His sister was married to a Highlander. However, voicing his high regard for Highlanders might lead to questions he didn’t want to answer and raise doubts about his background.

  The flickering flames lit the uncertainty on Faith’s face and he sensed she too wanted to protest that not all Highlanders were destructive thieves. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. The burning wood crackled and hissed. The wind carried the smoke towards them, making Giles and the Laing bairns cough all the more. Faith buried her head against Gray’s shoulder and he blinked away his own watery tears.

  Giles scrambled to his feet. “I’m for bed,” he rasped, disappearing into the tent.

  They sat in silence for a while after the wood caught and the smoke cleared.

  Male voices raised in anger indicated arguments had broken out elsewhere in the encampment. Bairns wailed.

  “I heard they’ve set up a whisky still,” Katrin said. “The devil’s own brew. There’ll be many a bruised knuckle and broken nose this night.”

  Gray licked his lips. He wasn’t overly fond of strong spirits, but a warming tumbler of whisky was tempting. So was returning to Kilmer and putting an end to this pointless, dreary exercise. The only bright spot was Faith’s abiding optimism.

  Gray’s mother had warned Faith that the life of a spy wasn’t always about danger. After four days working in Rothesay’s kitchen, she was heartily sick of peeling and slicing vegetables, and scouring pots and pans. Even in her mother’s kitchen she hadn’t worked so hard. Her hands were chapped and if she never saw another onion…

  Having learned from the valet the cook’s name was Kok, she addressed him thusly, which seemed to soften his stern demeanor.

  When she shared this information with Gray, he chuckled. “Kok is Dutch for cook,” he teased.

  “Cock means something else in English,” Giles added, his face beet red.

  “Aye,” she agreed. “’Tis another name for a rooster.”

  The lad laughed so hard he aggravated his cough, but a stern glare from Gray quickly ended his amusement.

  “What’s so funny about a rooster?” she asked Gray, but he simply shrugged and went on to another topic.

  The temperamental Nederlander banned Margaret’s ailing bairns from his kitchen, thus all the waiting at table fell to Faith. Kok had evidently decided to tolerate her presence, directing his ire instead at the Argyll Highlanders who frequently came scrounging food. She avoided the bad-tempered, foul-smelling bunch, unnerved by the ogling sneers.

  The intelligence she was able to pass on to Gray kept her going. The rebel leaders finally agreed on a plan. The earl would sail north with his Highlanders to set up a supply base on Eilean Dreag. Gray explained this was an island in Loch Riddon in Argyllshire.

  From there, Rumbold would lead the cavalry and some of the infantry in a push to capture Inverary Castle.

  Cochrane was to take two hundred men to the mainland, then ride for Greenock.

  Gray passed the information to Fergus, who promptly disappeared after agreeing it was an appropriate time to abandon the mission. He undertook to return with a boat when he could.

  Fire And Fury

  When only a few tents remained in the campsite, Gray decided to be forthright with the Laings. “We’re going back to Ayrshire,” he told Domnall. “Giles is too sick to carry on. I canna justify risking his life. Faith would never forgive me.” All of this was true, and it came as a relief he didn’t have to lie to this family they’d shared so much with.

  The old man sucked on his pipe for a while before replying. “I dinna fault ye. We’re of the same mind. Margaret’s at her wits’ end and I have nay respect for these Highlanders. Rough bunch. Why should I risk my life to help Campbell regain his lands and castle? Never was much of a laird anyway.” He tapped his temple. “Nay right in the noggin.”

  Gray nodded. “Ye wouldna be the first levies from Kintyre to desert. None of us have been paid.”

  Domnall snorted. “And, I doot there’s even twenty Islay men still in the ranks. I answered the call to fight for the true religion and to oust the Catholic king, but look at what’s happening here. They’ve looted and burned every croft. Then Argyll wonders why so few enlisted. There willna be anything left of Rothesay when they’re gone.”

  “Except the castle,” Gray replied. “Faith’s there now, helping the cook pack up the last of his supplies.”

  Domnall stood with surprising agility. “Best get that lass out of there. They’ve set it alight.”

  In seconds Gray was on his feet and running up the hill, his heart thundering in his ears. He swallowed the fury rising in his throat and fixed his gaze on the entry to the keep, willing Faith to appear safe and sound. He’d promised to protect her. She’d become an essential part of his life.

  Faith smelled smoke before she heard rowdy cheering and the sound of glass shattering. A knot of fear tightened her throat. “Quick,” she told Kok. “They’ve set fires.”

  He stared at her blankly. His inability to speak her language had never seemed as infuriatingly silly.

  Understanding widened his eyes when he sniffed the air. “Brand,” he exclaimed, grabbing his carving knife. The color drained from his ruddy face when two burly Highlanders staggered into the kitchen through the outer door. The drunken grins on both faces turned to hungry growls when they espied Faith. Any illusion she harbored that Kok would defend them both quickly disappeared when he dropped the knife and made his escape into the great hall.

  Dread pooled in her belly as she stooped to pick up the blade. “Dinna come any closer,” she warned, brandishing the weapon.

  They guffawed.

  One took a step towards her, but toppled over when the other shoved him out of the way. “Me first, Hamish. I like a spitfire.”

  She retreated until the warmth of the chimney bricks seeped into her back. The knife was her only option. His lecherous smile turned to a grimace when she slashed at him wildly. She doubted she’d done much damage until blood seeped into his shirt. He grabbed her wrist and twisted, grasping hold of the blade. “Bitch,” he yelled, his nose an inch from hers. “Ye’ll pay for that.”

  She closed her eyes, nauseated by the reek of whiskey and rotting teeth. The breath whooshed from her lungs as he slumped against her. She might suffocate before he had a chance to…

  Suddenly, the weight was gone. Afraid to breathe, she opened her eyes.

  Gray dropped the cast iron pan he’d used to clobber the drunkard and strode over the Highlander’s body at her feet. “Faith, my darling lass,” he rasped, scooping her into his arms.

  She smiled weakly at Giles who stood with legs braced, his musket pointed at the second assailant still lying on the stone floor.

  The impulse to nestle against Gray’s broad chest was powerful, but… “The fire,” she croaked.

  “Aye, can ye walk?”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely sure her trembling legs would support her.

  He kept his arm around her waist as the three made their escape through
the kitchen door and joined scores of others fleeing down the hill. The echo of his words kept her going. He’d called her his darling lass.

  They reached the safety of their campsite and leaned on the nearby rocky outcropping. Gray enfolded Faith in his playd and cradled her as they surveyed the chaotic scene. Inhabitants of Rothesay who’d previously abandoned the town swarmed up the hill towards the castle, voices raised in anger. Others continued to flee the billowing smoke.

  Giles bent over in an effort to regain his breath. “They’re wasting their time risking life and limb if they think they can put that fire out,” he eventually panted.

  “’Tis natural they want to save the structure,” Faith said. “They have to try.”

  Relieved to hear her speak calmly, Gray nuzzled her hair. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I promised to make sure naught bad happened to ye.”

  She leaned into him. “Ye saved me from those brutes, ’tis all that matters. No one could have predicted they’d fire the castle. The people of Rothesay are nay their enemy. Why would they do such a thing?”

  “We’re of the same persuasion,” Katrin said as she joined them. “We’re all just honest people trying to eke out a living on these isles. We dinna want any part of Argyll’s marauding army. We’re heading back to Kintyre.”

  It was only then Gray realized the Laings had struck their camp and loaded their animals. “How will ye get home?”

  “There’s a number of us. We’ll find a way to cross.” She held out her arms to Faith who went into her embrace. “I’m relieved to see ye safe, lass.”