The Highland Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  When the door creaked open, she moved through with an air of complete confidence, walking until Albert stopped. No matter how much she quaked on the inside, after years of studying Robert as he assumed and grew into their father’s role, she knew in her bones she must not cower in the face of adversity. “Good morning, governor. I am Emma Grant, sister to the chieftain of Clan Grant, and I am here on grave matter.”

  A man cleared his throat to her left, and she immediately turned toward the sound. “I knew Dunollie was likely to have visitors, but a woman?” he asked. “And one with…”

  “I assure you, sir,” she said, in a voice so confident, she had no idea from whence it came. In no way would she allow him to discredit her because she was unable to see. “My blindness has no effect on my mental capacity.”

  “I rather doubt that,” he mumbled rather sardonically. “Won’t you sit?”

  Since the man hadn’t the decency to touch her arm and hold the seat, she’d look even more inept if she fumbled around trying to find a chair. “I’d prefer to stand, thank you.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take a seat and finish my coffee.”

  Nodding her assent, she moved farther into the chamber and gave Albert a silent command to sit. “I understand Ciar MacDougall has been falsely accused of murder.”

  “Hardly.” A cup tinked against a saucer. “There are three witnesses to his crime.”

  “And these are honorable men?”

  The governor groaned. “I cannot abide Scottish Highlanders and their all-encompassing honor.” Wilcox belched. “Indeed, if you must know, the men are the king’s dragoons, highly trained members of the fiercest army in Christendom.”

  That can be debated. “I see. However, I have been acquainted with Dunollie all of my life and not once have I known him to lie. Most certainly, the man is no murderer. And he is definitely not a thief. I can confidently attest to his character and will bear witness as such.”

  Emma’s fingers tightened around Albert’s lead to keep her hands from shaking. Heaven give me strength.

  Wilcox snorted. “All Highlanders are thieves. It is inherent in their blood.”

  A bolt as hot as a branding iron shot up her spine. Perhaps the answer to her little prayer had come with fire. “Is Scotland not a part of Britain? Tell me, sir, how did you come to this ill-begotten opinion of my countrymen? I’ll have you ken we are renowned for our hospitality.”

  “Hospitality? Hmm. You are speaking to a decorated veteran of the War of the Spanish Succession, not to mention my many military exploits in Ireland. I am well aware of the traitorous nature of Highland clans, and I’ll tell you I’ve found in no uncertain terms that they are exactly like the Irish. Your kin cannot even manage to get along with each other, let alone the government that upholds the laws of the kingdom.”

  “So, you condemn a man without bothering to investigate?”

  “Not when I have three, I repeat, three witnesses within my own ranks.”

  “I see.” Unfortunate that Robert hadn’t taught her to wield a dirk, else she might show the man just how inhospitable Highlanders could be. And such a pity she hadn’t thought to teach Albert to attack on command. “I trust you will at least grant me leave to visit the prisoner.”

  “You may. However…”

  “Yes?”

  “I expect you and your footman to leave Fort William by dawn on the morrow. None of Dunollie’s men or women are allowed within twenty miles. And I warn you, if you should return to the fort, I will have you arrested for disturbing the peace.”

  Could the man be more discourteous? “I assure you I have no intention of remaining in this…this…this foul-smelling pigsty any longer than I must.” She tugged the leash. “Come, Albert.”

  As the dog guided her out the door, Emma held her chin high. Though her hands shook with the intensity of her convictions, she did her best to project an air of undaunted confidence. Never in her life had she been so quick-tongued, nor could she recall a time when she’d stood her ground with such assertiveness. Perhaps she had inherited the renowned Grant backbone after all.

  * * *

  Ciar’s new accommodations were substantially better than the pit. At least the tiny shed they’d locked him in wasn’t damp with rats scurrying about. It even had a wood floor, though that was the only comfort. Along the back wall was one barred window. Across from it, the black door had a small barred hole about the size of his family Bible.

  He’d slept in worse conditions in the mountains. He’d weathered snow, rain, sleet, hail. At least this roof didn’t leak, though he’d not turn away a bit of hay to ease the pressure on his hips should anyone care to offer it.

  It had been so quiet, he jolted when a sharp rap came at the door. “You have a visitor.”

  Ciar pushed to his feet. Livingstone? But Wilcox had sent a retinue to Dunollie—he’d said MacDougall men would be shot if they set foot in Fort William. It couldn’t be one of them.

  His question was answered as the hinges of the door screeched open.

  He blinked in disbelief. “Miss Emma?”

  A nervous smile tightened at the corners of her lips as she stepped inside, leading Albert. “I came as soon as we received word.”

  “Wait a moment,” said the guard. “You must leave your satchel and the dog.” When the sentinel reached for Emma’s bag, the dog growled like he intended to eat the man for breakfast.

  “Come behind.” Emma held out the strap of her bag. “You may take this, but unless you want to have your hand bitten off, I suggest you leave Albert with me.”

  The sentinel eyed Ciar. “Ye ought to put a muzzle on him.”

  Stepping between the two, Ciar put Emma at his back. “That will not be necessary. The pup is harmless.”

  The man straightened his grenadier hat. “Orders are your visitors are allowed no more than five minutes.”

  “Duly noted,” Ciar said, backing Emma into the chamber.

  As soon as the door closed, he spun around and grasped her shoulders. God, it was so good to see her, yet infuriating as hell. “You are the last person I expected to visit.”

  Within the blink of an eye disappointment reflected in her features. “The last?”

  He dropped his hands, peering through the tiny window on the door. “Who’s with you? Surely you didn’t come alone.”

  “Alone? I wouldn’t have made it beyond the gate.” She ran the lead through her hand. “I asked Sam to help. He’s acting as my footman and my guide.”

  She’d brought a child? Ciar raked his fingers through his hair. “But why are you here? I cannot believe Janet allowed you out of her sight. Ye ken how dangerous it is to leave the castle. ’Tis the reason Robert had you stay at Achnacarry. The roads are full of lawless fiends and will be until…” He couldn’t bring himself to say “until George of Hanover is crowned.” Such words rubbed against the grain.

  “After everyone was asleep I slipped out of my chamber, found Sam, and away we rode through the night.” She moved a hand to his cheek. “One of us had to do something. All the men are away. Janet sent missives to Robert, her father, and to Mr. Livingstone, but I didn’t feel it was enough.”

  “Who else kens I’m here?”

  “I have no idea. We received word of the charges against you from one of Lochiel’s men who was returning from Inverlochy with supplies. I imagine the news has spread by now.” Emma slid her fingers to his chest, the soothing sensation almost making him sigh. “Livingstone has taken your men back to Dunollie, has he not?”

  “Aye. But Wilcox has sent half his army there as well. He told me if one of my men sets a foot in Fort William he’ll be shot.”

  “Goodness, the man is vile.”

  “Aye, and he believes a handful of contemptable scoundrels’ testimony over my word.”

  “He told me the same, but I don’t accept a word of it. Tell me, what happened?”

  Ciar relayed the details about finding the dragoons on the road to Spean Bridge after
they’d killed Tommy MacIntyre. “I didn’t get a good look at the victim’s face at the time, but once I heard the name of the poor sop, I realized I’d met him. Had an ale with MacIntyre and MacDonnell at the Inverlochy tavern last year.”

  She pulled a kerchief from her sleeve, making him realize he’d lost the one she’d given him when they’d taken his sporran. “Good heavens. There must be something we can do to prove your innocence.”

  “There is, but I’m powerless caged in this box.”

  “What if…” Emma inclined her ear to the door.

  “What if?”

  Her eyebrows arched with intelligence as she wiped the kerchief along his jaw. “I have an idea.”

  He caught her wrist and stilled her hand. What was she doing? “I cannot abide your involvement in this mess. I’d never forgive myself if you were caught up in the middle of it.”

  “But I can help.”

  How in God’s name could a sightless wisp of a lass be of any help? She’d already taken too much of a risk in coming. “Nay. ’Tis too dangerous.”

  “You already said simply riding on the roads is dangerous.” She pulled her hand from his grasp and moved the kerchief to Albert’s nose. “Ciar.” She shook it. “Ciar.”

  The dog sniffed and wagged his tail.

  “Ciar,” Emma said again and then tugged the dog’s nose toward the hem of his kilt. “Ciar.”

  “Arf!”

  “He seems to like this game,” Dunollie growled. “But this is nay child’s play, and Albert is not keen enough to break me out of this fortress if that’s what you’re thinking. You’ll be arrested and locked in the pillory if you try it.”

  The guard rapped the door. “Time’s up, miss.”

  Emma clamped her hands to his cheeks and pulled his face downward.

  Ciar’s breath caught as he pursed his lips. But she didn’t kiss him as he expected. She pressed her lips to his ear and whispered, “Tonight. Be ready.”

  “Did you not hear what I just said?” Before Ciar could ask what in God’s name she was planning and put an end to her well-intended but ludicrous ideas, the door swung open.

  “Aw, now isn’t that nice,” said the sentinel. “A kiss for the condemned.”

  Emma backed away, holding her head high like a queen. “Come, Albert. Thank you so much for allowing us a modicum of time, sir. Would you do me the kindness of accompanying me on a walk of the perimeter? This wee beasty needs to stretch his legs.”

  Ciar smacked his head with the heel of his hand. The lass was astonishing. Good Lord, Emma would be nice to an asp. He gave her hand a squeeze before she was ushered out the door. “Always remember your safety is all that matters to me.”

  The door shut in his face and the lock screeched into place, and he watched through the tiny window as she walked away, chatting with the guard.

  God save she do something we’ll both come to regret.

  * * *

  “Do I hear the gentle waves of a loch behind us?” Emma asked as the sentinel’s keys jangled.

  “Aye, Loch Linnhe,” he said.

  “Let us start there, shall we?”

  “I’m here, miss,” whispered Sam, following. “The fort is surrounded by stone ramparts. ’Tis as sound as they say it is.”

  Emma had assumed as much. Regardless, she continued to persevere. “Do you receive your stores by water?” She counted three steps from the door to the corner of the building, then eight to the rear.

  “Some,” said the sentinel.

  They stepped off a gravel path onto grass. Albert stopped when they reached the wall.

  The man’s steps slowed. “This way.”

  “Why turn right and not left?” she asked innocently.

  “Because the pit is south. No lady such as yourself ought to venture near it on account of the smell.”

  Emma sniffed. “I smell horses.”

  “That’s because the stables are on our right.”

  She counted forty-five paces to the corner of the ramparts—and it was hidden by the horse barn. How fortuitous. “Since the wall abuts a loch, is there a sea gate for unloading supplies?”

  “Aye, ’tis just up here along the north wall.”

  “North? Isn’t that odd?”

  “Oh, no, the River Narin empties into the Linnhe, and the inlet is a good place to moor our galleys.”

  “Does the governor have a galley?”

  “Several royal boats owned by the crown, of course.” The sentinel stopped. “Here it is, we call it the sally port—on account of its security.”

  There were eleven paces from the corner to this gate. That summed up to seven and sixty steps from Ciar’s cell to the sally port, which was much better than the one hundred twenty she’d calculated from the main entrance.

  “How interesting. Have a look at that, lad,” she replied. “The fortress is very secure, is it not, sir?”

  “Indeed, miss. ’Tis the most secure garrison in the Highlands.”

  She affixed a genuine smile. “You must like it here.”

  Sam grunted. Evidently he didn’t care if the sentinel liked his situation or not.

  “The cold annoys my rheumatism a bit,” replied the man. “But it isn’t a bad post for an old soldier.”

  “I imagine your knees ache terribly after standing guard outside Dunollie’s door hour upon hour.”

  “He’s not going anywhere. His cell is sound with bars on the windows. Besides, this is a fort, miss. After sundown the gates are closed, and the wall is patrolled at all hours.”

  “I see. Very impressive, indeed.”

  Emma gave the soldier a polite curtsey. “Thank you ever so much. I truly had not realized how monumental Fort William is.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Are you certain no one can hear us?” Emma asked, listening to differentiate the myriad of sounds around them.

  Sam’s spoon tapped his bowl. “We’re alone at the rear of the alehouse, and the crowd at the bar is making such a ruckus, I can scarcely hear you.”

  “Good.” She ate a bite of stew. “Mm. This is delicious.”

  “It is. But I’m so hungry, I’d eat anything at the moment.”

  She washed down her bite with a sip of ale. “I’m going to need your help tonight.”

  “After we return to Achnacarry?”

  “We’re not going back. Not tonight, anyway.”

  Emma slipped her hand into her satchel and pulled out a pouch of guineas. “First, I need you to purchase a horse.”

  “For you to ride? How will you—”

  “The beast is not for me,” she cut him off. “Ye ken who.”

  “Dunollie?”

  “Wheesht.”

  “But he’s behind bars, guarded by an army.”

  “Aye.” She found the lad’s arm, shifted her hand upward, and patted his cheek. “And that’s why I asked the sentinel to give us a wee tour of the fort.”

  “Ye cannot be serious. I’m only sixteen and have never been more than twenty miles away from the stable at Achnacarry. And you, holy hellfire, Miss Emma, you are not thinking clearly.”

  “I am of sound mind, and if we do not act, that horrid governor will hang an innocent man—an upstanding member of the gentry, no less.” Emma sipped her ale, scrunching her nose at the bitterness. “I have it all planned. We shall use the sally port. Remember, the sea gate? I told you to have a look at it as we passed.”

  “I do, but—”

  “Can we lead a horse down there?”

  “I think so. The shore of the river is lined with sand and stone.”

  “Excellent.” Emma took another bite of stew. “But to be certain, after you purchase the horse, ride down the path and make sure.”

  “Does Dun…er…the laird have a plan?”

  “Aye.”

  “What is it?”

  Emma dabbed the corners of her mouth. She didn’t want Sam in any deeper than he already was. She’d told the sentry at the gate the lad was her footman, and that’s a
ll they knew of him. If something went wrong, they’d have no idea where to find him. “’Tis best if I only tell you what you need to know.”

  “Ye ken the sally port is barred and locked.”

  “What kind of lock?”

  “How should I know?” Sam asked with his mouth full. “A black one.”

  “All right.”

  “Do ye have a key?”

  “Aye, of sorts.” She grasped his hand and squeezed. “Mention this to no one.”

  “But do you not think one of Lochiel’s men will be looking for us soon? At least for you. We ought to be heading home, else they’ll take a pound of flesh out of me hide, they will.”

  “This is all my doing, and I shall vouch for you if need be. But Achnacarry is so large, it will take them half the day to figure out I’m not there. By the time anyone may or may not reach us, I’ll have taken care of what needs to be done. I’m certain of it.”

  * * *

  The church bell struck twice, piercing through the night air like the first call of a tern at dawn. Keeping close to the wall so they wouldn’t be seen, Emma and Albert followed Sam while he led the horses over the boggy land. Beside them, the river gently trickled. Ahead, the lake water slapped the shore. An easy breeze stirred the seagrass.

  “The sea gate’s just ahead.” Though he spoke softly, the lad’s voice carried with the resonance of a deep F from a harp string.

  “Is there a guard?” she asked.

  “None I can see.”

  “Can you please direct me to it?”

  “It will be on our left. But aren’t we close enough?”

  Emma brushed her fingers over her chignon, locating three hairpins. “I need to pick the lock.”

  “You what?” he asked, the tenor of his whisper shooting up with disbelief.

  “Secure the horses as close to the wall as possible so the patrol on the wall-walk will not see them, then follow me. I need your eyes.” Emma urged the dog across the uneven ground until he stopped at the wall. She reached for the gate, but placed her hands on cold stone.

  “Three feet to your right,” whispered Sam, bless him.

  She paused for a moment and held very still. No sound of anyone approaching as yet.