The Highland Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  “Because you are squeezing my palm like you’re trying to crack a walnut with your bare flesh.”

  She eased her grip. “Forgive me. I suppose I am nervous.”

  “’Tis natural.” He pulled her farther inside. “This is the entry—a rather small vestibule—to the right is the library, to the left is a spiral staircase leading above stairs, and straight ahead is the great hall. Beyond it are the kitchens.”

  “How many floors?”

  “Five.” His lips pressed against the back of her gloved hand. “I was thinking of starting at the top of the tower and showing you our lands, but I think it would be more fitting if I asked where you would like to begin?”

  Facing what suddenly struck her as an insurmountable task to learn the paces and layout of every floor, Emma bit her lip. “Lead on to the tower. I do not think I’ll memorize five floors of rooms all at once.”

  He tugged her to the left. “No one expects you to do so.”

  Up and up they went with Albert walking beside her, the endless winding stairs reminding her of the labyrinth at Achnacarry. At least she’d have Ciar to help her if she grew hungry in the middle of the night. “Will I be sleeping in my own chamber?”

  He pulled her out through the door, the wind picking up the ribbons on her bonnet. “I’d rather assumed you’d sleep with me, unless you’d prefer—”

  “Nay, nay.” She shook her head. “I had visions of being lost and ending up in the wrong chamber.”

  He pulled her into his arms, plying her with a gentle kiss. “The only chamber I want you to stumble into is mine.”

  Oh, how his soothing voice could put her at ease. “I like that.”

  He pressed his hand into the small of her back and led her onward. “We are now atop the tower, the highest point for miles aside from the mountains to the west.”

  “Is that what you like most of all?”

  “The seasons change on the foothills—the heather at the end of summer, the autumn colors, the brown and skeletal tree limbs of winter, and the verdant promise of spring. I like that as far as the eye can see, these are our lands, tilled by our kin.”

  “I hear cattle.”

  “You’re correct. A herd of yearlings is grazing on the slopes yonder. Providing our winter isn’t too harsh, they’ll fetch a good price come next Samhain.”

  He continued around the turret, urging her to face the wind. “If I had to pick my favorite, I’d say this view is the best. Right now we are looking out across the Firth of Lorn, straight at the narrows of the sound of Kerrera.”

  “Kerrera? But we cannot see Gylen from here, can we?”

  “You remember. Indeed, we can only see the isle’s north shore, but there is a view of the Isle of Mull and the Sound of Mull leading out to the North Sea.”

  “And we just sailed through those waters.”

  “Aye.”

  A gust of wind blew Emma’s bonnet, and she threw up her hand to keep it in place. Goodness, the castle was so strange. Presently she didn’t know north from south or east from west. And they’d had to walk up such an inordinately steep hill to reach the keep. “I do not smell the horses.”

  “That is because they are stabled down the slope.”

  “But I didn’t notice them by the water, either.”

  “They’re on the opposite side of the hill.”

  “Is Dunollie on a peak?”

  “Of sorts. It sits atop a rocky outcropping, which gives us an advantage against attack.”

  “Attack?”

  “Och, ’tis why no one has attempted to put the castle to fire and sword in over six hundred years. There are simply easier targets to raze.”

  “Like Gylen.”

  “Indeed. Mind you, it was less than seventy years ago when Cromwell laid siege to her.”

  Emma rubbed her outer arms. The perils of war were never far away.

  “Beg your pardon, m’laird,” said Livingstone from behind. “Roderick Chisholm has arrived with a message from the Earl of Mar.”

  Emma’s stomach clenched as she moved her hand to her throat. The Jacobites were expecting Mar to raise the standard in favor of Prince James.

  Please, no. Not now!

  “His timing is impeccable,” Ciar grumbled.

  “I told him the same.”

  “Take him to my solar, and I’ll meet you there forthwith.”

  “Straightaway.”

  As Livingstone’s fading footsteps echoed from the stairwell, Ciar took Emma’s hand between his palms. “I’ll show you to your chamber.”

  “But the tour has only begun.”

  “Forgive me. I promise we’ll resume just as soon as I’ve met with Chisholm.”

  Emma pulled on Albert’s lead. “Very well.”

  She counted two flights of stairs before they exited into the corridor. “Are the servants’ quarters on the top floor?”

  “Some, though many stay in cottages down by the stables.”

  “Is there not enough room for them?”

  Ciar cleared his throat. “Well, the nursery is on the fifth floor.”

  Nursery? Emma’s throat constricted. Perhaps one day soon their children might occupy those rooms. God save they have the gift of sight.

  Stopping, Ciar opened a door. “Here we are.”

  Emma cued Albert to walk on, but the dog only went a few paces and sat. She studied him. “I would have thought you’d want to explore every corner.”

  Ciar stepped behind her. “Your trunks have arrived, but Betty’s not yet here.”

  “She’s most likely with Mrs. MacClarin.”

  “Indeed. I’m sure she’ll be here directly.” Ciar took Emma’s hand and led her deeper inside, turning left, right, moving forward, then seeming to walk in a circle. “In the interim, why not make yourself comfortable on the settee.”

  She brushed her fingers over the velvet upholstery. “Must you go?”

  His lips whispered over her cheek. “The sooner I meet with Chisholm, the faster I will return.”

  Emma gave a nod while Ciar slipped out the door. As it closed, a shiver coursed through her.

  Should she start counting steps and learning the layout of the chamber? But how could she with her trunks strewn about?

  “What are we to do, Albert?”

  The dog yowled and lay at her feet.

  Dropping the lead, Emma tried to retrace her steps, but when she thought she’d reached the door, there was nothing. Where was the bed? Where was the window? Perhaps she ought to wait.

  “Albert?”

  The dog shook.

  Starting toward the sound, something caught her foot. “Ack!” she screeched, flinging out her arms, grasping for anything to stop her fall. But down she went, tumbling facefirst to the floorboards.

  Flat on her belly, Emma fumbled, completely disoriented. Her nose throbbed as she rolled to her side and sat. “Ow,” she mumbled, drawing her hands to her nose. Hot, sticky blood oozed through her fingers.

  “Albert!” she cried.

  The dog’s toenails tapped the floorboards as he hastened to her.

  Emma groped for her kerchief. If only she’d had her cane or at least hadn’t dropped his lead. She held the cloth to her nose and tipped back her head. “How could I have been so daft?”

  And now her face must look a fright, her gown ruined.

  A sob pealed from her throat. She’d been so excited to arrive at Dunollie Castle, and there she sat alone on the floor in a foreign chamber, bleeding profusely.

  For the first time since her wedding day she missed Moriston Hall. She didn’t belong here. Aye, she’d heard the whispers from the servants. They had been shocked to see a blind woman. She’d felt their eyes upon her in the courtyard, judging her as if she were not worthy of Ciar’s love.

  Albert circled and lay down beside her, but Emma pushed him away and buried her face in her kerchief. “What am I doing here?”

  * * *

  In his solar, Ciar shook hands with Roderick Chisholm—
son of the Chisholm, a stalwart Highland chief. “I’m told you have news from Mar?”

  The young man was solidly built, of good Highland stock like his da. “I do. He’s in London.”

  “Still?” Ciar had hoped the earl would be on his way to France.

  “He’s under Argyll’s watchful eye. The duke and his allies have mobilized Britain’s army and navy alike to ensure George makes the crossing from Hanover without incident. Their orders are to use whatever force is necessary to stop any insurrection.”

  “But what of our supporters in parliament?” Ciar asked. “Is there a chance of rescinding Anne’s mindless succession legislation? Any chance of peace?”

  “The prospect of war nears with each passing day. Mar broached the subject in the House of Lords and was met with the threat of immediate arrest for treason.”

  “Good God. Has the world gone completely mad?”

  “It appears the entire kingdom has.”

  Ciar dropped into his chair at the head of the table. “It all began with Cromwell’s wars. Ye ken the bastard murdered my grandfather and MacDougall clansmen at Gylen Castle—and for naught.”

  Roderick slid into the chair beside him. “Aye, and we’ve been left to pick up the pieces.”

  “What else does Mar say? Keep our armies at home and our mouths shut whilst the new king strangles us with taxes?”

  “He cautions us to remain vigilant. See what George has to offer. Find out how he stands with Scotland.”

  “That sounds like Bobbin’ John—never one to take up the sword when the sword needs to be wielded.”

  “Mayhap caution is best for the moment. The Jacobites can raise an army, but not one powerful enough to face Argyll when they’ve already organized their conscripts,” said Chisholm. “Mar believes it is best to bide our time and, if need be, attack when the opportunity presents itself.”

  Ciar slammed his fist on the table. “But the Hanoverian usurper has not yet been crowned. If we act now we can instill fear in his heart.”

  “I agree with you, but there is one more critical item to be considered.”

  “And what is that?” Ciar asked.

  “Thus far, we’ve received no word from the prince.”

  Ciar raked a hand through his hair. “What an unmitigated disaster. Someone must sail across the channel and confront him, bless it.”

  “We were hoping you would.”

  “Me?” Good God, why do they always come crawling to me begging for favors? “I’ve been home for all of two hours at the most. Moreover, my new bride is waiting in her chamber. I cannot possibly leave for the continent.”

  “But you are allies with more clans than anyone in the Highlands.”

  “So that is my due for being good-natured.”

  “We need you.”

  “My wife needs me—and ye ken she’s no ordinary woman.”

  “True.”

  Ready to spit, Ciar gripped the chair’s velvet armrests. “My vote is for you to go.”

  “I beg your pardon?” The man sat back. “But I am not yet a laird, sir.”

  “Why not sail across with your father?” Ciar asked, his mind drumming up a plan. “Chisholm is a respected name throughout the Highlands, just as is Dunollie. You must take a letter with you—one pledging our fealty and our arms and signed by the chieftains. James must know we will stand behind the true heir.

  Ciar looked his ally in the eye. “Will you do it?”

  “Aye.”

  Chisholm rapped his knuckles on the board. “I’m certain a pledge of support will encourage him to set sail for Scotland once again.”

  For the next two hours, Ciar made a list of the Highland clans and their numbers, estimating how many men each clan might bring to arms. Roderick left with the folded piece of parchment tucked inside his doublet, but the heavy weight of duty hung from Ciar’s shoulders like an anvil. Was he the best man to visit James? Perhaps he was. Nonetheless, he could not commit to sailing across the channel mere hours after he’d brought Emma to the castle.

  Damnation, Ciar might be a loyal vassal of the true succession, but clan and kin must always come before king and country. He had a new duty now.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ciar’s heart flew to his throat when found Emma collapsed on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. “God, no!” he cried, dropping to his knees and gathering her into his arms while Albert stood and hovered. “What happened?”

  She jolted, sobbing as she wiped a bloody kerchief across her brow. “No!” she bawled, struggling to catch her breath. “T-this cannot possibly work. They haaaate m-m-meeeee!”

  “Easy, lass. Calm yourself.” He rocked her as his blood turned icy. How had she transformed from happy bride to nearly hysterical in a few hours? “Who did this? I swear I’ll slice my dirk across their cowardly throats!”

  “No.” She pounded her fists on his chest as she sniffed, tears streaming from her eyes. “You…you…do not understaaaaaand.”

  Ciar sat cradling her for a moment while a tic twitched in his jaw. The last thing he wanted was for Emma’s first experiences at Dunollie to be miserable. What the bloody hell had happened, and why had no one come? The sight of her unhappy, bleeding, and crying made a boiling rage pulse through his blood. He must act swiftly to ferret out the scoundrel who’d hurt her. But first he needed to see to her care.

  He pressed his lips against her forehead. “Shhh, mo leannan.” Tightening his arms, he rose and carried her to the bed.

  After he fluffed the pillows and ensured her comfort, he hastened to the bowl, but there was no water in the ewer. “Where the blazes is Betty?”

  “She’s…” Emma patted her chest, trying to control her staccato breaths. “…with…the houskeeeeeeper.” Albert jumped onto the bed, and she immediately wrapped her arms around him. Thank God the dog had been there to comfort her.

  Ciar could have kicked himself. He’d suggested Mrs. MacClarin take the lady’s maid under her wing because it seemed like a good time for it. Of course, he had no idea he’d be called away only moments after arriving.

  Dashing to the door, he jerked it open. “Bring water at once!” His bellow made the timbers rattle. “Livingstone! Come up here with a pair of bloody useless footmen!”

  When movement hastened on the floors below, he hurried back to Emma’s side. Carefully, he removed her bonnet and inspected her forehead. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  As Emma’s tears began to ebb, she drew in a few deep breaths. “I wanted to see the layout of the chamber.”

  “Without your cane?”

  “I had Albert, but I dropped the lead in frustration and tried to retrace my steps.”

  Ciar brushed away a lock of her hair. “And you fell?”

  “Aye, flat on my face. Ended up with a bloody nose and feeling hopeless…and useless…and lost!”

  He clenched his fist. Bless it, he never should have left her alone with so many obstacles carelessly tossed into the chamber. “But what was it you said about them hating you? Who are they?”

  Emma shook her head and curled forward. “I-I heard the servants’ whispers when we arrived. They fear me, just like Robert said everyone outside of our kin would do. I ken they think I’m a demon.”

  Sitting, he surrounded her with his arms, rubbing a hand up and down her spine. “Och, nay, lass. They haven’t had a chance to come to know you is all. I tell ye true here and now, every servant in this castle will come to adore you as I do.” He braced his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear. “You are the most astounding, selfless, and loveable woman I have ever met.”

  Behind him, the hinges of the door screeched, and Livingstone clambered inside. “Forgive me. I was down at the stables.” As his gaze shifted to Emma, his eyes popped wide. “God’s bones, what happened?”

  “’Tis my fault. I left Her Ladyship without helping her grow accustomed to her new bedchamber.” Ciar gestured to the trunks. “Worse, some idiots saw fit to carelessly strew her things
about as if someone else would tidy the mess.”

  “I’ll have that fixed straightaway,” said Livingstone, ushering in a pair of footmen. “Shall we move these to the garderobe?”

  “Please,” Ciar replied, taking Emma’s hand. “Might I suggest they take your harps to the lady’s solar, or would you prefer them here?”

  A flustered, hapless expression crossed her face. “I have no idea. They were in the music room at Moriston Hall.”

  “Perhaps we can turn your solar into a music room. It is yours for your own particular use.”

  “Very well. The solar should be fine at least for the time being.”

  “Livingstone, where is the ewer of water?”

  “Here,” said Betty from the corridor.

  “’Tis about time you appeared,” Ciar groused, hopping to his feet while the footmen picked up the first trunk. “Pour it into the bowl.”

  “Oh, my heavens, my lady!”

  “I fell,” said Emma, tapping her fingers over her face. “I suffered a bloody nose is all. Goodness, I must look a fright.”

  The maid quickly poured the water and doused a cloth. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here. I thought His Lairdship—”

  Ciar took the cloth from Betty’s hand. “I’ll tend my wife. You set to washing the floor and finding Her Ladyship a clean gown as well as her cane.”

  “Very well. Put that down, please,” she said, stopping the footmen and then opening the trunk. “Here is her walking stick. I put it on top because I thought she might need it straightaway.”

  “Clearly she did.” Ciar snatched the piece of hickory and set it across the foot of the bed.

  Betty continued on with the footmen while he tapped Emma’s arm. “I’m going to clean your face. Are you ready?”

  Her half-cast eyes opened for the slightest of moments. “Is it awful?”

  He cleaned one side. “There might be a bit of bruising, but once we cleanse the blood away, you’ll be as bonny as ever.”

  She clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Bruising?”

  “’Tisn’t bad, lass, and bruises fade.” He gently ran the cloth under her nose. “You gave me a fright, though. When I first saw you I thought you’d been bludgeoned.”

  “I’m ever so clumsy.” She forlornly shook her head. “Leave it to me to be bludgeoned by the floor.”