“And you are the artist of these?” The soldier pointed at my canvases, held up by his comrade who had joined us.
“I am,” I said proudly, uncertain where this line of questioning was leading. I glanced toward Collin for guidance, but he had moved away from me, closer to the paintings, eyes narrowed with— displeasure?
“How is it, then?” the soldier questioned. “That you were able to capture in such vivid detail—”
“Bealach Druim Uachdair.” Collin reached out, not quite touching the canvas but running his finger along the twisting road I’d painted until it disappeared between two mountains, near the top and beneath the bluest sky filled with the most glorious clouds. I always named each of my paintings, and this one I had dubbed “Top of the World.” I imagined that one could see forever, in all directions, if he followed the path I’d created.
Collin turned to me, question in his eyes. “You said you didn’t remember Scotland.”
“I don’t.” My voice rose in pitch at his frown. “I am telling the truth.” I looked from Collin to the soldiers, then back again. “This place is from my imagination.”
“No, lass.” Alistair had joined us. “It’s from the Highlands.”
“Similar, you mean? Mere coincidence, I am sure.” My heart beat wildly as I stared at the partially hidden path. I had always wanted to see what was beyond, to journey to the top of that mountain, but of course I’d known I couldn’t. It wasn’t real. The idea that it might be, or something similar, was almost too joyous to contain.
“A blight on the cursed land.” The soldier grabbed my painting and thrust his foot through it.
I gasped. “How dare you!” I stepped forward to wrest what was left of the painting away from him, but Collin’s firm hand on my arm restrained me.
“I’ll dare that and what e’re else I please,” the soldier spat. “You’re a traitor like your father. Jacobites hid in the crags of those mountains, ambushed a group of English soldiers as they came through that pass, killed them all. But I’m sure you know that already. Perhaps this painting was the trophy from that attack, meant to hang over the fireplace while the tale is shared over and over again.” He broke the frame and continued to rip at the canvas until there was nothing left but scraps blowing about on the ground.
“She was a child then,” Collin said quietly. “She’ll know nothing of it.”
“Her father, then.” The soldier began destruction on my second painting— an ancient castle perched on the edge of a bluff— while I stood paralyzed with grief and fear.
“One of their own had betrayed them— a Campbell perhaps?” The soldier scrutinized all three of us.
“No,” Alistair insisted, feet planted firmly and standing proud. “Check your history, and you’ll find we had men killed that day as well.”
The wind picked up a piece of the torn painting and carried it skyward. I snatched it from the air and held it tight in my clenched fist. The beautiful place I’d imagined wasn’t a blight. It was my refuge from the world when I wished to escape the troubles around me. I’d never thought it might be real. And now it was simply gone.
I closed my eyes but not before silent tears escaped to slide down my cheeks.
I was starting to understand what it meant to be Scottish.
* * *
After much discussion the English soldiers chose not to detain us, but decided it best to accompany our group to the border, escorting us safely out of their country. No longer mine. Though the soldiers were angry about the painting, it appeared they still believed enough of my story to let us pass.
“Good riddance it is,” the cruel redcoat said. “Don’t expect to be coming back.”
Collin knelt beside me on the ground, handing me items as I repacked my trunk. He said not a word when he reached the sketchbook, but placed it in my hands, along with my other possessions. I still shook with anger, though the bitter tears had dried on my cheeks. I tried to be grateful that the soldiers had not confiscated my paints and brushes. At least I still had the possibility of painting something new. I could recreate what they had destroyed, and this time I would have the real landscape to draw from.
When we had placed the last of my possessions in the trunk, Collin offered me his hand and helped me rise.
“Are you all right?” His dark eyes reflected sincere concern, which for some reason brought a fresh wave of tender emotion. If only he truly did care about me. I battled to keep more tears at bay.
“Well enough,” I said, looking at the ground, as that felt less painful. “I am sorry to have caused trouble. I meant to keep us from it.”
Collin touched my chin, lifting it gently so I was forced to look at him. “Alistair’s told me what you did, what you said. It was wise— and brave. You couldn’t have known about the painting.”
“I didn’t,” I said, desperate for him to believe me.
“I know.” His hand fell away from my face, though his other still held the tips of my fingers. “I’m glad to have seen them— your paintings— before they were gone. Since we took you from your home I’ve felt I shouldn’t have, that it was a mistake to bring you back. But now...”
“Yes?” Silently I begged him to keep talking.
Collin shrugged. “Scotland, the Highlands, they’re in your blood, too— whether you realized it or not, whether either of us wished it. It’s your destiny to be there.”
With you?
Perhaps he might have said that, but three redcoats were approaching. Collin dropped my hand and stepped away. “I’m your cousin, aye?” His mouth quirked in that near smile of his. “Best be behaving like one, then. And not the man who stole you from home.”
“Get that trunk on there, or it’ll be left,” one of the soldiers ordered. Quinn and Moireach came forward to help, while Collin and Alistair accompanied me to the coach.
I was pleased to realize Collin intended to ride with us, though I had a dozen questions swirling around in my mind. What of Alistair’s horse? Where were the other MacDonalds? How had they not discovered the weapons? I dared not say anything within the confines of the carriage. As it was, I worried what might happen were the soldiers to discover even one MacDonald among them.
We started again, our progress slow this time, restrained by the pace of the redcoat riders surrounding us. As full dark descended, my agitation proved no match for the sleepiness threatening. I did my best to sit upright and as far from Collin as possible, but as evening’s chill descended I found my eyelids heavy and the open carriage less than delightful.
“Rest your head against me, Katie,” Collin said when mine had bobbed abruptly in sleep for the second time.
For a moment I battled within myself— resolve to protect myself from Collin, versus the appeal of being able to sleep, being warmer, and being close to him. The latter won out, though I knew there would be consequences later. But Collin felt like gravity, and I an autumn leaf falling from the tree above. I couldn’t help myself, couldn’t stay away from the ground, though I realized it would cost me and I would become first brittle and then crushed.
But oh, how thrilling the fall would be.
I scooted closer to him on the seat. In a slow, awkward movement, I leaned toward him, then rested the side of my head against his arm. With a sigh of both longing and contentment I closed my eyes.
The little lass came to stand before him, an outlawed plaid wrapped around her and trailing behind. Perhaps, for their loyalty to England, the Campbells had been allowed to keep their tartan.
“You wanted to see me, Grandpa?”
He had? When? The two of us had been here for the better part of an hour, during which time we had spoken only to each other.
“Aye, lass. You’re listening well.” The laird smiled at her but lifted his gaze to mine. “She has the Campbell gift, you ken. She’s able to hear without being told and able to see what is coming.”
This made no sense, but then I’d already determined the old man was mad.
He
was also worried. “This gift puts her life in grave danger.”
Chapter Eleven
“Katie, wake up.” Someone gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, then a firmer one, then finally a shake.
I opened groggy eyes and found my head tucked next to Collin’s chest and his arm around me, the weight of which was both warm and comforting. The beat of his heart reassured me. I felt safe and cared for. This was how I’d imagined marriage to be.
He helped me sit up, but his arm lingered. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, actually.” Better than I had any night since we’d wed. I was surprised to note that we had been inside the carriage the entire night. The sun was already up and forcing its way through the trees, and Alistair no longer sat in the seat across from us. “How long have we been stopped?”
“Only a short while.” Collin’s arm slid away, and he stretched. “Wanted to put some distance between us and the friendly English at the border, so we kept going. Sorry to wake you, but I’ve got to help with the horses and see to Ian.”
The absence of Collin’s arm, or perhaps the mention of his brother made me shiver. Collin leaned close, retrieving a blanket I’d not noticed before from the seat beside me. He pulled the cloth over my shoulders, pinning it in front with his hand.
“What happened to all the weapons?” I asked as the prior evening’s events made their way to the forefront of my mind.
“They’re still here.” Collin brought his other hand up and began tying the ends of the blanket in a knot. “When the seat is lifted, an empty compartment is revealed— on purpose. But within the seat itself is a padded case, and beneath the false floorboard as well. Easy to open, but difficult to find if you don’t know it is there.”
“Clever,” I said.
“Necessary.” Collin finished with the knot and turned as if to go.
I was reluctant to let him. I reached out, touching his sleeve. “I am doubly sorry now that you’ve ruined your carriage for me when it is so useful.”
“Don’t be.” He shook his head as if it wasn’t important. “We’ve no need for a carriage in the Highlands. The roads are too poor, and we’re not much for social calls and tea parties.”
“And you believe that is how I spent my days, prior to your arrival?” I raised my chin, challenge in my eyes, refuting his ridiculous assumptions.
“I did not say that.” He met my gaze and held it with one equally stubborn. “Given your dislike for carriage rides, I should assume you attended very few social calls.”
He was right. It was Anna who had gone out with Mother, before our circumstances had changed and invitations had ceased. I begged off going anywhere that wasn’t absolutely necessary and so was left at home with the servants, and later Timothy, to come up with my own means of amusement. I’d never minded. “You are correct,” I said, my voice softer. “Still, I am sorry about the damage to your carriage.”
Collin grasped the door handle. “Better a carriage than any of us. I believe its poor state encouraged the dragoons to be careless in their search. To them it likely didn’t appear we’d be able to afford one weapon, let alone a carriage full. All is not always as it seems.”
Had Alistair not said the same to me two days ago? I sensed that both he and Collin were hinting at something, but I’d no idea what.
Collin opened the door and jumped from the carriage. “Rest in here as long as you’d like. We’ll be on our way again at midday. Everyone is eager to be home.”
Was he eager as well? To be back on MacDonald land with Mhairi as his companion instead of me? “And where is my home to be?” I pulled the blanket tighter around me.
“With the Campbells, of course,” Collin said without hesitation.
“Not the MacDonalds— with you? I’ve taken your name, but I won’t live with your clan?”
“It would not be safe for you.” He closed the door firmly.
“You might have told me,” I said, forgetting my resolve not to let him know that I cared. “When a woman is married, there is an assumption that she will live with her husband.”
“Who says you’ll not?”
“You.” Exasperated, I leaned out the glassless window. “You’ve just told me I’m to be left with the Campbells. While you return to the MacDonalds— and Mhairi.” It seemed impossible that, as laird of his clan, he could live elsewhere.
Collin’s face registered surprise, and he stiffened, even as he stepped back from the door. “Who told you such lies?”
“You,” I repeated. “And Ian. I heard your conversation at the inn two days ago. You said I was to be deposited with the Campbells in exchange for my dowry. And Ian said Mhairi would be angry with you for marrying me. And then, not a minute later, you scolded me for defending myself against Ian.”
Collin’s jaw tensed, and a flicker of anger sparked in his eyes. He stepped forward again, nearer the carriage, and bent his head close to mine as he spoke in a harsh whisper. “Provoking Ian was not defending yourself. It’s taken me the better part of two days, keeping him away from you, to calm his temper.”
This was why Collin had been avoiding me? I felt myself shrinking into the seat.
“And that you would think I would just leave you and take up with another woman— does my word mean so little? We’ve spoken vows, Katie.”
He almost sounded hurt. The anger in his eyes dissipated to something else— sorrow, uncertainty? The emotion I felt was far clearer. Guilt washed over me. How could I have been so wrong? Had I spent the past two days in a haze of jealousy, needlessly despairing? But Collin still hadn’t explained Mhairi. And now I dared not ask.
Perhaps if he had spoken more to me, or had refuted his brother’s criticism, then something other than Ian’s Collin doesn’t want you might have taken root in my mind during the four days since we’d wed.
“I’m sorry.” I looked at him directly, hoping he might see that I meant it.
“As am I,” Collin said, staring at me a long moment before he left, leaving me still wondering if he really did regret our marriage.
* * *
While I lingered in the coach berating myself for the better part of an hour, the men gathered wood, tossing the logs into a large pile. By the time I found enough courage to leave my seclusion and face Collin again, a fire was roaring in the center of our temporary camp.
By some taciturn agreement, two of the Campbells and two MacDonalds worked around each other, preparing food for the men in their parties. Until now I had taken my meals in the coach or with Collin at whatever inn we happened to be staying at. As I strolled about the edges of our camp, attempting to look both occupied and useful, I wondered which party— if either— would offer me something. I’d eaten nothing since noon the previous day and felt ravenous, so much so that the smells from the campfire started my stomach grumbling.
Some minutes later the Campbells finished their cooking first and beckoned me over to join them. I started towards Alistair’s outstretched hand only to have Collin grasp mine and pull me back.
“We’ll eat with the MacDonalds.” He dropped my hand as quickly as he had taken it.
Why does it matter who we eat with? I knew better than to ask. The past few days had taught me that every word and action that happened between the Campbells and MacDonalds mattered a great deal.
I nodded, then sent an apologetic glance over my shoulder at Alistair. He was scowling at us— or rather at Collin— but when he saw me looking at him, he smiled quick enough and waved me away as if my refusal to dine with my mother’s clan was not the insult it likely was.
Breakfast— on our side of the camp, anyway— proved to be a solemn affair. The meal consisted of burnt meat— the origins of which were rather suspect— moldy cheese, and crusty bread. The MacDonald men ate quickly and in silence, devouring their food as Collin did— as if it were either their last meal or the first they’d had in a very long time. I wondered if any of them worried this might be their last meal. Where were we to obtain food hencefo
rth? Only a day across the border, and already I’d seen the differences. Though the countryside was beautiful, abandoned crofts, surrounded by fallow fields, dotted the landscape. I wondered what had happened to make so many families leave their homes. Was the land really cursed, as I’d heard some of Father’s friends say before? The entire country couldn’t be this way, could it? Would it be worse or better when we reached the Highlands?
“Do the MacDonalds farm much?” I asked, after choking down a particularly tough piece of meat.
“How else do you think we eat?” Ian said.
“What do you grow?” I asked, ignoring both his rude tone and the sniggers coming from the others around the circle. Collin hadn’t joined them; neither did he rise to my defense.
“Barley,” another Macdonald said. “Makes a good mash for whisky.”
“That sounds like a fine crop, certainly something one can live off.” I’d spoken with sarcasm, but the others nodded their heads in agreement.
“It’s the one thing the other clans will always trade for,” Collin said. “There are always sorrows to be drowned.”
“And what of the bodies that need to be nourished?” I asked.
“Whisky’s as good for the stomach as it is for the mind,” Ian said. “Soothes ‘em both.”
“I see.” I glanced around the circle, trying to look past the fierce eyes and scraggly appearance of most of the men. Collin’s face was still discernible beneath the few days’ growth, but many of the others were hidden behind thick beards. If they ever did smile, I’d never know. Though given our conversation, that possibility seemed less and less likely.
What were the sorrows they endured that made their whisky so popular? They’d lost the war, but what differences had that really brought about? George II had been king before the uprising, and he’d retained his throne after crushing it. How much had he done to crush the clans? I wished I’d listened closer to Father’s arguments against the crown and for Scotland. If he’d taken up their cause, he’d had to believe it just.
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