by Amy Jarecki
“No.” Emma’s strangled whisper caught in her throat.
She clutched her hands around her neck. Lochiel had sailed to London with his son. Robert was in Inverness. She inclined her head toward Sam. “I must speak to Janet straightaway. Albert, come.”
With the dog at her side, Emma swiftly climbed the stairs into the keep and found Janet in the library. “Dunollie is in Fort William’s gaol, charged with murder!”
“What in heaven’s name?” Janet’s voice shot up. “It can’t be.”
Emma hastened through the door. “One of your father’s guards just returned with the news.”
“Dear God.” Janet’s voice warbled as the gravity of the situation became clear. “Robert said things would be riotous, but I never thought something like this would happen. Dunollie a butcher? Nay, nay. It smells of skullduggery.”
Emma dug her fingers into a chair’s upholstery. “Of the worst sort.”
Janet strode across the floor. “I’ll dispatch messengers to intercept Robert. But my father and Kennan might be another matter. I’ll wager they’re at least halfway to London by now. We must also send word to Braemar Livingstone straight away.”
“Let us hope they have already been informed. Surely someone in Fort William has carried the news to Dunollie Castle.”
Emma dropped into an overstuffed chair and gripped the armrests. How could this have happened? Ciar had been on his way to Spean Bridge. Alone. “He has no one to speak for him.”
The quill tapped the ink pot. “Dunollie can take care of himself.”
“In Fort William’s prison?” Emma pushed to her feet and stumbled over a footstool. “They’ll hang him for murder before your letter reaches Robert. We must take action straightaway. We absolutely have to make haste. We’ll request an audience with the governor and testify in favor of Dunollie’s character.”
“Oh, no. Have you lost your mind? We cannot possibly leave Achnacarry.”
“But we must do something. What if…” Emma couldn’t finish, could not allow herself to imagine the worst.
“Do not even think it. Dunollie is one of the most respected chieftains in the Highlands. Wilcox kens that for certain.”
Janet’s words did little to ease the bitter roiling of Emma’s stomach. There must be something more they could do than send messengers and write letters.
Chapter Ten
Feeling like a rat plucked from the dregs of the middens, Ciar walked with his hands and ankles in manacles, a length of chain linking them together. God’s stones, he’d never committed a crime in his life, and there he was being escorted by four dragoons, the rear arse prodding him in the back with his musket.
“Keep pace, ye maggot,” said the arse. “You’re lucky I haven’t my bayonet attached.”
Ciar ground his molars as his eyes shifted. He could take the lot of them even in irons if he’d had a decent meal in the past…Lord, how long had he been in this hellhole?
They passed a placard reading Governor Wilcox, Fort William’s Dragoons. Ciar didn’t need to read it to know where they were headed.
Even his knees ached as he climbed the wooden stairs, the man behind him shoving him into a small room. The lead dragoon knocked on the far door. “Ciar MacDougall here as requested, governor.”
The door opened and a small man peeked out. “Bring him in.”
Ciar wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. He reckoned he had one chance to plead his case, and this was it.
A prod came from behind. “Move, ye flea-bitten swine.”
It would take but a heartbeat to spin around, grab the damned musket barrel, and feed the butt end to the arse. But that would do nothing to further Ciar’s plea of innocence.
He shuffled through the door, throwing his shoulders back and holding his head high.
Wilcox bent over a map with two other officers. Ciar had encountered the governor before when the man rode through his lands on one of the army’s peacekeeping visits. He had a long nose and an unpleasant frown etched into the weathered lines of his face. He straightened, frowning deeper. With an arch of his brows, his gray periwig shifted a bit. “Well, well, Dunollie, I smelled you before you ascended the stairs.”
“Mayhap you should provide a wash bowl for the poor blighters in the pit. A cake of soap might help as well.”
The arse with the musket jabbed him. “Shut it.”
“That’s enough, sentinel.” Wilcox pointed to the lead man. “Taylor, you remain. The rest of you wait in the entry.”
Ciar smirked at the man over his shoulder.
Wilcox sauntered around his table, shoving a wooden chair aside with his knee. “The evidence against you is overwhelming.”
“Aye, after I’d been bludgeoned from behind, I figured your men would fabricate a story against me.”
“You mean to say that three of the king’s dragoons are lying? Each of them has testified under oath that they witnessed you mercilessly killing a man in cold blood and taking his purse.”
“Lies.” Ciar started to spread his palms, only to have them halted by rigid iron. “I was taking a message to Coll of Keppoch when I found two men standing over a dead body. A reedy cur named Manfred was congratulating a redcoated bastard he called Riley. I should have kept going, but my conscience wouldn’t allow me to pass, and when I confronted the murderers, a third struck me from behind.”
“Hmm.” Wilcox smoothed his hand over his immaculately groomed periwig. “I didn’t expect such a compilation of drivel from the great chieftain of Dunollie. Though I don’t know why. All condemned men profess their innocence, no matter their station.”
The corners of Ciar’s mouth tightened. He and his clansmen did their best to stay clear of government troops for this very reason. For years the government troops had “kept order” in the Highlands by sending regiments out on peacekeeping sorties, when all they really did was instill fear in the hearts of kindly folk. People were untrusting and suspicious, and was it a wonder why? English officers like this man claimed to be ridding the Highlands of lawlessness when in truth they were seeding it.
Wilcox smirked then held up a piece of parchment. “I signed this document this morning. Do you know what it is?”
Ciar’s gut squeezed, sending bile up his throat, but he said nothing.
“’Tis your writ of execution.”
He’d expected as much, though the words slayed him as if the governor had plunged a blade into his heart. Was this it? His life over? Dear God, there was so much left undone.
“However, hanging you now would only serve to create anarchy at a time when the kingdom cannot afford it.” The governor tossed the writ onto the table. “My duty is to keep the peace in this ungodly place. Therefore, I have no choice but to hold you until George has been crowned.”
As he jolted, the chains between Ciar’s manacles rattled. “Without a trial?”
Wilcox smirked, tipping up his chin and making his nose appear inordinately long. “Do you really want to parade before a jury of my soldiers and listen to the evidence against you? What evidence have you to refute the testimony of, must I repeat, three soldiers?”
“I have my reputation. I have my honor.”
“Of course.” The governor rolled his eyes and smirked. “Very convincing argument, that.”
The officers in the chamber chuckled.
Wilcox motioned to Taylor. “Take him away.”
The dragoon prodded Ciar’s shoulder. “Out.”
“And one more thing,” said the governor. “I’ll be sending a retinue to your lands to establish a clear message. If any of your men are seen within twenty miles of Fort William, they will be shot.”
Ciar met the man’s gaze with a steely-eyed stare. “’Tis not my men you should worry about. ’Tis every Highlander in Scotland.”
“Why do you think you are still breathing?” Flicking the lint off his red doublet, the man snorted. “I will not be remembered as the cause of a rising. My duty is to keep the peace above al
l else. Though if I were to set you free, my superiors would sever my cods.”
Ciar’s eyes narrowed with his scorn. “Lovely thought that.”
Wilcox moved around the table as if he were dancing a minuet, the fop. “As you are a member of the gentry, I am bound to concede and move you to a private cell—one reserved for officers.”
“Most accommodating of you.”
“I wouldn’t advise being smart with me. I can easily throw you back into the pit with the animals.”
Ciar scowled. He’d rather be in the rodent-infested bowels of this shitehole with the prisoners than in present company.
* * *
“Are you still awake?” Emma whispered, though she knew Betty was fast asleep and had been for quite some time.
The mantle clock chimed twice as she slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the garderobe. Last evening, Emma had sent Betty to fetch a glass of wine and a plate of biscuits and, while she’d had a modicum of time to herself, she prepared everything, ensuring her cloak and kirtle were at the top of her trunk.
Albert’s toenails clicked on the floorboards as she shrugged into the dress and tied the laces. She found the dog’s lead right where she’d put it beside her boots. After she put them on and pulled her cloak around her shoulders, she clipped the clasp to his collar. She took her satchel with her coin, an iron pick, and the biscuits from last eve, then held very still for a moment, not daring to inhale. Only when confident Betty’s light snores filled the chamber did Emma allow herself to breathe.
“Come,” she whispered and led the dog out the door, careful to ensure it closed without a sound.
Once they passed through the corridor, she loosened her grip on Albert’s lead a tad. “Take me to Sam.”
The pup had learned his lessons well and, rather than tug against his collar, he rubbed his body along Emma’s leg while walking at heel. He took her straight to the big oak door, and as she opened it a whoosh of frigid wind bit through her cloak. She clutched the neck tighter and pulled up the hood. “Walk on, laddie. We’re nay about to let a wee jolt of cold stop us.”
As they entered the stable, the air grew warmer without the breeze. Hay crunched beneath her feet. “Where is he, laddie?”
A horse nickered. Another kicked the wall of its stall.
She let the dog pull her forward. When he stopped she reached out, her fingers meeting with the rungs of a wooden ladder. “The loft?”
“Arf!”
“Sam?” she called. “Are you up there?”
Emma wrapped her fingers around the rung and raised her foot, only to be hindered by her skirts. “Sam?” she asked, louder.
Rustling came from above. “Miss Emma?”
“Aye, ’tis me. I need your assistance straightaway.”
“But it is in the wee hours. You should be abed.”
Her spine shot rigidly straight. “Not when Dunollie is at the mercy of Governor Wilcox.”
Emma stepped away while the lad climbed down the creaking ladder. “Do ye ken the governor?”
“I know of his reputation, and that is enough.”
Sam hit the ground with a thump. “Good, because I reckon you do not want to meet him. No one does.”
“On the contrary.”
“Huh?”
“I need you to take me to Fort William straightaway.”
“Ye mightn’t have noticed, but ’tis black as ink outside. Besides, I’ll have to ask for permission to do that.”
She’d thought he might balk, but if she didn’t take charge and do this immediately, Janet would be sure to stop her on the morrow. “No, we cannot possibly wait. If we leave now, I will pay you a gold guinea.”
“A guinea?” the lad asked, sounding more interested. “That’s more than I make in a month. More than I make in two months.”
“Will you take me?”
“Come first light I will.”
“It must be now.”
“Now? Can you ride?”
She’d have preferred to ride in a cart, but hitching up a rig would cause too much of a commotion, not to mention take too much time. “I’ll ride double with you.” After all, she’d ridden double with Robert plenty of times. “But we must leave at once.”
“I suppose I’m awake now, but ye make no sense at all.” Grumbling a Gaelic curse, the boy moved away. “Give me a moment to saddle a mount.”
Emma waited while he brought a horse out of a stall, the muffled clop of hooves approaching. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“I hope it will not be for naught,” Sam said. “By the saints, what do you intend to do in Fort William when you can’t…?”
“Can’t see?” she asked, running her hand over Albert’s coat. “You’d be surprised what a blind woman can manage when she sets her mind to it.”
Mayhap he’s right. But if I do not do something, who will?
A myriad of scents filled the air as the lad worked—the musky smell of wool from the blanket, oiled leather. Emma even detected the sharp trace of iron from the bit.
Sam took her hand. “Step over to the mounting block.”
She tugged the dog’s lead. “Albert must come with us as well.”
“Not on the back of the horse. The animal will spook for certain.”
“But I’ll need him,” Emma insisted.
“If you want to bring him he’ll have to walk.”
“How far is it?” she asked.
“Twelve miles, near enough.”
“That’s awfully far.”
“He’s a dog. He’ll be fine,” Sam said.
She bent down and removed the clip from Albert’s collar. “Are you certain?”
“Positively.” Sam urged her up the two steps. “Climb aboard.”
Emma ran her fingers over the smooth saddle with one hand and found the stirrup with the other. “I’ll sit astride.” She swung her leg over the horse’s back and quickly did her best to straighten her skirts and cover her knees with her cloak. She’d ridden astride with Robert at home. He always said it was safer. “If Albert begins to lag, we’ll have to find a way to let him ride.”
Sam mounted behind her. “Och, next you’ll be asking me to throw a sheep over the gelding’s withers as well.”
He reached around her and took up the reins. “Come behind, Albert. We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”
Chapter Eleven
The ride was slow going as Sam let the horse pick its way through night’s darkness. But at least they were on their way.
“We’re approaching Fort William now,” Sam said as he tapped the reins.
Emma sat a bit taller. She’d heard the dog’s gait when they’d crossed the bridge over the River Lochy five or so minutes ago, but she didn’t hear him now. “Where is Albert?”
“Still beside us.”
“Are we on grass?”
“He is. The road is packed earth.”
“Very good.” She ran her fingers through the horse’s coarse mane. “I’d like you to take me straight to the fort.”
“Are you certain? The sun rose only an hour past. ’Tis still early.”
“The sooner we arrive, the better. Let me tell you what I need you to do.”
When Emma had slipped out of her bed and gone to the stables, all she’d had on her mind was finding a way to free Ciar. Obviously, pleading with the governor was at the top of her list. She was the first to admit it was a rather paltry plan and, though it might still be her best option, after four hours of riding, she’d decided that once she entered the fort, she must learn everything about the layout as quickly as possible.
Sam nudged her with his forearm. “Why do I suddenly have a feeling a guinea wasn’t enough?”
“Wheesht and listen.” She shifted against the lad, her backside already sore from sitting astride for hours. “Once we’re inside, I need you to be my eyes. Take note of where the sentries are posted, where the gates are, and especially if you see any…”
“What?”
“Well, Ro
bert always says every fortress has a weakness.”
“Like the postern gate at Achnacarry?” Sam asked. “If I were to lay siege to the castle, I’d attack from there. ’Tis not heavily fortified, and there are more guards posted near the front gate.”
“Exactly. You will act as my footman, but in truth you will be my spy.”
“That sounds exciting, except I might remind you that you’re blind, and I’m no spy. Together we’ll be about as useful as Albert.”
“Albert is very useful.” She ran her fingers through the horse’s mane, letting the coarse hair slide over her palm. “After the dragoons take me to meet with Wilcox, I want you to learn all you can about Fort William’s weaknesses. Can you do that for me?”
He gulped. “I’ll give it a go, but they mightn’t like me wandering about.”
“I don’t think they can arrest you for that. If they give you a difficult time, tell them you were lost.”
They had no trouble being admitted by the sentry at the fort’s main gate, but gaining an audience with Governor Wilcox proved to be a challenge. They ate the biscuits Emma had brought while waiting on a bench outside the officer’s rooms.
Albert pawed Emma’s knee.
She gave him a nibble. “Forgive me. I suppose we should have stopped at the inn to break our fast.”
“This won’t tide me over for long,” said Sam with his mouth full. “For breakfast I usually eat three eggs and a helping of bacon and toast with Cook’s elderberry jam.”
Emma’s mouth watered for the delicious jam. If only she were sitting in the kitchens across from Ciar now. “We’ll eat after we’ve finished here.”
Two hours had passed when she was finally called. “Wait and observe,” she whispered.
“Excuse me, miss, but you cannot take a dog into the governor’s chamber.”
Affecting her most haughty expression, Emma gripped the lead in her fist. “I can and I shall.”
The sentinel grumbled something uncouth under his breath. “This way.”
“Walk on, Albert,” she said, urging the dog forward and stretching to her full height. If ever she needed to draw upon the Grant fortitude and tenacity, now was the time.
