Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4)

by Anna Markland

  He’d taken to wearing the traditional plaid at Sarah’s suggestion; trews bothered his still-bandaged wound.

  When he didn’t reply, she took his hand. “A short walk out of doors.”

  He frowned. “Looks like rain.”

  Ten days of gently prodding and encouraging had increased her confidence. “’Tis almost the beginning of July and there isna a cloud in the sky.”

  He put his arms around her waist and drew her into his embrace. “Ye should have been named Patience,” he said, nibbling her ear.

  She laughed. “Someday, I’ll tell ye why that’s funny.”

  “Seriously, I’m like a stag with a broken antler. I dinna ken why I’m so down.”

  She cupped his bearded face. “The wound ye suffered would have killed a lesser mon. Ye’ve borne intense pain without complaint.” She paused, hesitant to mention her other concern. “Besides, Quinn unexpectedly cut ye loose. No man likes to think he can be easily replaced.”

  He touched his forehead to hers. “Maybe Sage would have been a better name for ye. I do feel useless.”

  Once outdoors, she lifted her face to the warm summer sun as they walked slowly to the perimeter wall of the garden where they’d shared their first tryst. “Seems like a lifetime ago since we sat here together,” she said shyly.

  “Aye,” he replied wistfully.

  She wished her words unspoken. They had to look to the future. “Can ye manage the gardens?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’d rather keep to the path. Maybe once around the house.”

  It was tempting to link her arm with his as they walked, not simply to provide support, but to press her breast against his arm, to experience the thrill of touching him. However, he’d make progress more quickly if she let him find his balance and regain his strength.

  They eventually rounded the corner of the house and looked across at the armory.

  “That’s odd,” he remarked. “I thought they’d brought Papa’s cannon here. Have they moved it again?”

  She’d been preoccupied with Gray’s care and hadn’t paid much attention to anything else. “I dinna ken, but Madison willna be pleased to see the door’s been left open. Wait here.”

  Lifting her skirts, she walked briskly across the wide swath of grass that separated the armory from the house. The earl often repeated the story of the deadly explosion he’d witnessed while an officer in Cromwell’s army. Carelessness with gunpowder had been the root cause. The cautionary tale was in her mind now as she stepped over the threshold and reached for the heavy iron door handle.

  Pausing, she peered into the shadows, momentarily blind after the bright sunshine. As her vision adjusted to the dark interior, she realized she was staring at James Madison who lay on the stone floor, blood trickling from his temple.

  She turned, knocked off balance when someone seized her arm and dragged her into the armory.

  Nauseated by the reek of male sweat, she clawed at the arm clamped around her neck, prevented from crying out when a rough hand covered her mouth.

  “Not a sound, girl,” her captor rasped, kicking the door shut.

  Even in her terror she recognized the English brogue of the man who held a pistol to her head.

  Rumbold!

  For the briefest of moments, Gray thought Faith was playing some sort of teasing trick. His heart lurched when the heavy oaken door of the armory slammed shut. Relying heavily on the wooden staff, he limped across the grass as fast as his legs would carry him.

  As he reached for the door handle, a movement off to his right caught his eye. In the far meadow, a group of men were struggling to drag his father’s gun carriage up the incline into a copse of trees.

  It was nigh on comical. A few desperate remnants of Argyll’s militia thought to arm themselves with the ancient cannon. It bordered on lunacy, but also meant Faith was probably in the hands of rebels intent on stealing munitions.

  Anger surged. He’d be damned if he’d allow anyone at Kilmer to fall victim to Archibald Campbell’s failed Rising at this juncture—especially Faith.

  Staff raised, bellowing a Gaelic war-cry, he thrust open the door.

  Sgian Dubh

  Faith’s knees buckled when Gray loomed in the doorway of the armory—partly from relief and partly because she feared for him.

  However, as Rumbold dragged her backwards, she saw an intensity on Gray’s face she’d never seen before. He was no invalid brought low by an enemy’s bullet. This was an angry Highland warrior.

  The wild-eyed rebels slinging the stolen bandoliers of powder across their bodies cringed as his terrifying gaze swept over them. They dropped several muskets in their haste to flee through the rear door.

  “Cowards,” her captor hissed.

  “Let her go, Rumbold,” Gray commanded.

  Perhaps it was surprise at hearing his name that caused the Englishman to loosen his hold. Faith seized the opportunity and lunged forward.

  Before the rebel commander could grab her, Gray jabbed the knot of Murtagh’s wooden staff into his nose. The pistol clattered to the floor.

  Faith scrambled to retrieve it, her heart beating wildly.

  The seemingly superfluous and unnecessary sgian dubh tucked into Gray’s knee sock suddenly took on a vital role. Her champion plunged the eating dagger into Rumbold’s shoulder.

  The soldier grabbed the staff and shoved his assailant away.

  Gray lost his footing and fell, suddenly at the mercy of the Englishman who reached for his sword.

  Faith leveled the pistol at Rumbold and cocked the lever. “Stop,” she shrieked.

  He swayed, one hand on the sword’s hilt, the back of the other stemming the flow of blood from his broken nose. “I know you,” he growled, his good eye fixed on her face. “Both of you.”

  Faith doubted she had the courage to fire at close range, but Rumbold apparently thought she did. He slunk away through the same door his comrades had used.

  “They’re heading for the copse,” Gray rasped, easing the pistol from her manic grip.

  Still trembling, she realized he’d managed to get to his feet by himself.

  “We must sound the alarm,” he said softly, taking her into his embrace.

  “But…yer leg,” she stammered.

  He shrugged. “Never gave it a thought, to be honest,” he admitted, tightening his hold. “All I could think of was ye.”

  She melted into him, knowing she would always be able to rely on his strength. “Ye rescued me for a third time.”

  He chuckled. “Aye. We’ll have to get word to Murtagh. His staff saved the day.”

  “Nay,” she replied. “’Twas ye.”

  He laughed. “The moral of the story is, never go anywhere without yer sgian dubh.”

  Gray leaned heavily on the staff. The torment in his leg had resumed with a vengeance, but the pain was tolerable now he knew he had the strength to overcome it. He’d allowed the wound to control his outlook on the future, but it had lost its power over him the moment he’d realized Faith was in mortal danger.

  It might take a while, but he was determined to one day walk without a limp. “I’ve been a coward,” he admitted.

  “I would never have fallen in love with a coward,” she replied, lifting his free arm over her shoulder. “Can ye make it to the house, or shall I go ahead to raise the alarm?”

  She was right. A man afraid of the future wasn’t worthy of a courageous woman like Faith Cameron. “We’ll both go. Rumbold willna get far. His comrades looked in rough shape.”

  “Desperate men,” she agreed, helping him keep his balance as they set out for the house.

  “Their enterprise was folly from the outset.”

  Munro and Garnet hurried out of the manor house to relieve Faith of his weight as they neared the entryway.

  Gasping for breath, Faith explained what had taken place in the armory.

  “Ye should have seen her with the pistol,” Gray boasted. “Caused Rumbold to turn tail. They
were trying to steal Papa’s cannon.”

  “What?” his father exclaimed as he joined them.

  “’Tis likely still in the copse,” Gray said. “I wounded Rumbold in the shoulder.”

  “And broke his nose,” Faith added.

  Munro and Garnet took Gray’s weight. “Ye did?” Garnet asked with a grin. “The mon who can hardly walk.”

  “I’ll muster the militia,” Munro decided. “They can’t have got far.”

  “They probably had horses hidden in the trees,” Gray suggested.

  “Which is hopefully where they’ve abandoned my cannon,” their father replied. “Let’s get this brave son of mine back to bed.”

  “Nay,” Gray protested, noticing the welts flaring on Faith’s neck. “I’m tired of lying abed. Ask Sarah to fetch a salve for Faith. Rumbold was rough with her.”

  Grateful for the ointment that had taken some of the sting out of the scrapes on her neck, Faith looked forward to an early bedtime after the evening meal.

  She sat across from Gray in the gallery. He looked tired, having insisted on being out of bed when news came of the pursuit.

  Much to everyone’s relief, Munro and Garnet led the militia home after two hours. They’d tracked Rumbold and his small troop as far as the outskirts of Kilmarnock, then handed over the chase to a company of dragoons.

  “Good,” the earl declared. “Let the government deal with them. I hope that’s the last we’ll see or hear of the rebels. Trying to steal my cannon, indeed.”

  “Well,” Munro replied. “They abandoned it, so ’tis safe now inside the armory.”

  “Madison will be relieved to hear it when he recovers,” the earl announced.

  “So, we can all make our way to the dining room and enjoy our evening meal,” the countess announced. “People have gathered, waiting for word.”

  “I’ll bathe first, if ye dinna mind,” Munro replied.

  “And me,” Garnet agreed.

  Faith worried. This would be Gray’s first appearance in the dining hall since his injury. “Would ye prefer to eat in yer chamber?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he replied, pulling himself upright with the aid of the staff. “’Tis important we all be together. Go ahead. I want to speak to my parents.”

  She filed out with her sisters, a little put out he’d dismissed her without even a kiss on the cheek.

  An Unlikely Heroine

  Before Gray had a chance to voice his desire to marry, his father spoke. “Your mother and I know what you want to say, son, and you and Faith have our blessing, of course.”

  Gray swallowed the lump in his throat. “I do love her.”

  “We’re aware of that,” his mother replied. “We already know and trust Faith and she has certainly proven she loves ye. Ye’re a fortunate mon.”

  “Believe me, I ken it.”

  Glad the formality was over, he relaxed and shook his father’s hand.

  However, his mother’s next words put him on edge again. “Strictly speaking, ’tis Garnet’s permission ye need. He’s her foster-father.”

  “Right,” he agreed reluctantly. “I intend to make the announcement in the hall, so I’d best go find him.”

  “You stay here,” his father offered. “I’ll send him to you.”

  Left alone in the gallery after his smiling mother kissed his cheek, Gray hobbled a few paces until the discomfort in his leg forced him to sit.

  He was dismayed when a wave of heat rolled over him.

  Why am I so nervous?

  He anticipated Garnet’s approval, but Jewel? He used to think he knew what was in her mind. Since she’d married and had bairns of her own, there’d been a distance between them. Perhaps it was to be expected after the years spent apart. Soon he’d be a married man, with a wife and family. It was the natural way of things. Jewel should see that.

  His confidence fled when his sister marched into the gallery looking harried. He struggled to his feet and braced himself with the staff, frantically trying to organize the thoughts that seemed clear only a moment ago.

  She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek—a good omen. “Will this take long?” she asked. “The babe is fussing.”

  How to tell her he’d prefer she hadn’t come?

  His spirits lifted when Garnet strolled in, his long hair damp from the bath, and offered his hand.

  Gray accepted the gesture and decided to come to the heart of the matter while he had a firm grip on Garnet’s hand. “I’d like yer permission to wed Faith.”

  His statement was met with stony silence.

  “I ken I dinna really need it,” he added, wishing he hadn’t when Jewel’s scowl deepened.

  Garnet folded well-muscled arms across his chest. “Ye’ve no source of income now ye’ve lost yer job in Edinburgh. How do ye plan to provide for a family?”

  It was a good question. “At this precise moment I dinna ken,” he admitted.

  “Yer wound will limit ye,” Jewel said.

  The insinuation from the sister he’d always loved raised his hackles. “Ye needna fash about that,” he retorted. “I can assure ye I intend to be walking as well as yer husband in a few weeks.”

  “So,” Garnet said sternly, clamping a brawny hand on Gray’s shoulder. “Ye expect us to give our blessing, despite all the reasons we shouldna.”

  Anger tightened Gray’s throat. “Aye, for the simple reason I love Faith and she loves me. I feel like I’m talking to two people who ken naught about being consumed by need of another person. I canna imagine life without Faith.”

  To his surprise, Garnet grinned. “Why did ye not say so in the first place? Do ye think I had an inkling how I was going to provide for Jewel when we got wed?”

  “My husband’s toying with ye, brother,” Jewel said, pecking a kiss on his cheek. “Indeed, we both are.”

  Confusion held Gray in its thrall. “Does this mean…?”

  “Forgive us,” Jewel begged. “I canna think of a finer mon for Faith, but I couldna resist tormenting ye. ’Tis what sisters do.”

  Garnet shook his hand. “Aye. Blame yer sister.”

  Gray held out the staff and stroked the wooden knot. “Ye took a chance. I broke Rumbold’s nose with this when he tried to come between me and the woman I love.”

  Faith sat in her usual place in the dining hall. Gray’s close encounter with death had brought about many changes in the Pendray household, not least of which was a softening of Esther and Rachel’s manner towards her. They were polite and solicitous. Esther rarely mentioned Giles, except to point out his contributions to Gray’s care.

  Faith wasn’t sure what to make of this new side of her siblings, but was grateful they weren’t badgering her as she waited for Gray and her foster parents to arrive.

  The earl and his countess were already seated, which meant Gray had spoken with them. So, where was he?

  “The countess keeps smiling at ye,” Maggie remarked.

  “Does she?” Faith replied, as if she hadn’t noticed.

  She knew something was afoot when the latecomers arrived, all exchanging sly glances as if they shared a big secret.

  A cheer went up as Gray made his slow way to his customary seat. The encounter with Rumbold had banished his hesitancy. Despite the limp, he walked proudly, head held high. She offered a silent prayer of thanks for the return of his confidence.

  The people of Kilmer clearly loved him and were glad to see him up and about—a sure sign he was on the mend. He bowed to acknowledge the cheering. Their eyes met when he raised his head.

  In his gaze she saw the love he bore her. His teasing smile left no doubt in her mind the lass who’d done her best to remain in the shadows was about to become the center of attention.

  An expectant hush fell over the crowd.

  Gray clutched the staff, hoping he could stay on his feet long enough to make the most important announcement of his life. Faith’s nervous smile gave him the strength to ignore the pain in his leg. She clearly had a suspic
ion of what he was planning. He felt like a bairn bursting to share a secret.

  Expectant faces turned away from him as his father stood and announced, “I know everyone is pleased to see my son well on the way to recovery.”

  Loud cheering and applause greeted his words.

  “However, you’ve had a long and difficult day, Grainger, so I suggest you sit.”

  Gray needed to take the weight off his leg, so he obeyed, frustrated by having to delay his happy news.

  He nodded to Faith whose lovely face was now endearingly pink.

  “I do not need to tell you of my son’s sacrifices during the recent troubles.”

  More applause and shouts of Aye.

  Gray was certain his face was now as flushed as Faith’s.

  “Indeed, many members of this household showed great courage in the face of Argyll’s treachery. Like me, Giles Raincourt was not born in this country, yet, time and again, he has demonstrated his loyalty to Scotland and to the Pendray family. His skill and quick thinking saved my son’s life.”

  Cheers accompanied the banging of tankards on wooden tables as Giles stood briefly and bowed.

  “However, men are expected to ride to the defense of all they hold dear and women are not often given credit for their bravery. Many years ago, my dear wife, your countess, risked her life for king and country.”

  “And thumbed her nose at Cromwell,” a man shouted.

  Laughter rang out as everyone stood to applaud Gray’s mother.

  His father waited until people had regained their seats before continuing. “Now, we have a new heroine in our midst.” He paused for effect. “You all know Faith Cameron.”

  Gray didn’t think it possible, but Faith’s blush deepened as every head swiveled to her.

  “She’s an unlikely heroine. Quiet, unassuming. Yet, she willingly undertook a dangerous mission on behalf of the Privy Council. She provided intelligence that helped bring the Rising to a swift end.”