Scotch Rising (22 page)

Phil walked me to the door of the cottage, past all of the curious stares and calls from the villagers. Into the hands of Freya, who caused an even greater fuss over my appearance than she had with the state of the drawing room earlier, bullied me up the stairs and into bed immediately. I argued the whole way. Knowing a fever would soon set in and I would be incapable of writing the urgent letter I needed to send to Colonel Manners. It would be the only way to save the town from a militia. I needed to tell him of all the recent events.

After arguing for at least an hour. Freya threw up her hands and relented, bringing up my writing case and setting it on the bed, with a dire warning over my further health if I tried to get out of bed. She stomped down the stairs to make her feelings known. Now I sat staring at a sheet headed with the date and the direction of Manners written over the top, several different openings rolling through my brain. Through my increasingly painful headache, I wrote out the events as I saw them, giving as much detail as I could, leaving out the McGreevys. I reassured him all would be well from now on, although I knew he would be disappointed at not knowing the names of the conspirators in Edinburgh.

I promised him I would search through Beathan’s papers. I knew he would not be clumsy enough to leave evidence behind. His Scotch arms scheme worked for years and it might have continued if not for Logan’s suspicions. Informing Manners of Logan’s death. I infused my words with as much annoyance as possible without stating how disappointed I felt in his lack of trust. If only I knew he had acted as a double agent. I would have caught Beathan earlier.

With my last burden finished, I sealed the envelope with wax and set it next to the bed. Freya would know to send it off immediately. I fell to sleep, my body burning from fever. I watched as different nightmares passed through my brain, confused images of Phil’s body lying dead as Onatah’s, of Beathan’s burnt body as my own, until peaceful rest kept my mind calm.

Sleeping through the night and into the next day, I woke with a sneeze and fell back into the soft pillows. I cracked one sore eyelid open and looked around the darkened room. Waiting until the pounding in my head lessened before sitting up. My muscles felt sluggish and by the soreness in my throat. I knew the grip of fever possessed me, probably from all the time spent out of doors yesterday and being wet for most of it. I shivered lightly. Remembering how cold I had been. I weakly checked under the blankets and realised Freya, probably with the help of the barber. Must have dressed me for bed. By the subtle noises downstairs I realised she must be around.

I tried to pour myself a glass of water from a carafe and only succeeded in knocking the whole pitcher over. For a second I thought perhaps my clumsiness might have gone unnoticed. It was not to be. I heard Freya’s familiar heavy steps on the stairs and braced for her arrival.

With a motherly frown placed firmly on her face. She looked at me differently. I wondered if her look had anything to do with Beathan’s death.

She bustled over to the side of the bed and hardly gave the carafe a glance. Instead she put a hand to my forehead. “Och, Captain, yer still burning with a fever.” She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Though the barber disnae believe ye are in any serious trouble this time, only cold and tired. Ye need tae get yer rest.”

My voice cracked and sounded rough as my throat felt raw from sickness. “Tell me, Freya, did you post the missive I left on the table to London? And what has happened since yesterday?” I made to sit up straighter. “I need to speak with Phil.”

“Ye created such a fuss over the letter. I posted it this morning on the packet to London.” Freya smiled reassuringly. “And as fur the rest, the tale of Beathan’s doings has been making the rounds, and his part in the McKinneys, Logan and Turner’s deaths.”

I sat and watched Freya think for a minute. A myriad of different emotions passed over her features and curiosity made me ask. “There seems to be more to the story than what you are telling me. Why don’t you say, since I will be up from this bed soon enough?”

“Nae without having a long rest, Captain.” Freya assumed her best motherly tone. “The barber left strict instructions fur ye tae take yer time in recuperating. Ye had tae many near-death experiences. Yer system is in shock, fever, gunshots, drowning, fever!”

I lay back on the pillows in an action of appeasement. “As you can see. I am resting now, so what is it you’re not telling me?” I grew worried. I could usually ferret anything out of the woman.

“It’s only the whole village is in a state over Beathan and his schemes. Logan’s death, people are divided, some say he is a martyr.” I looked at Freya hard and she continued quickly. “Nae everyone, mind, nae me. I liked Mr Turner though he was a Sassenach. Some say he shouldnae be buried on sacred ground.”

Frowning, I said. “Beathan’s burial is a matter for the church, Father Tadgh should have everything in order.” I thought of the fanatical priest. “He seems to know his business.”

“He does, though he is saying Beathan’s actions are not treason. They are the work of the Lord on earth to aid Francis Stuart to the throne of Scotland and England, and drive out the heretics.” Freya remained quiet for a minute. “Logan’s funeral is this evening. I am sure Father Tadgh will use it to gain supporters.”

Using both hands I rubbed my forehead, pressing my fingers into my eyes. Everyone has an agenda. Whether I am in the New World, in ballrooms in London or in a small village in the middle of the Highlands.

My second thought made me lift the covers on my bed and slowly shift my legs to the side. I could not let Phil face all of this alone. I needed to be with her. I had promised her yesterday, we would face the future together. I gave Freya a stern look. “I know I need rest, however some things are too important.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she turned and walked out the door. Throwing over her shoulder. “I will wait fur ye downstairs, Captain. We can walk up together.” It was her way of showing allegiance.

It took twice as long to shrug into in my formal red dress uniform as normal. The bruises and scratches made my fingers clumsy. For the most part, they looked as if they would only leave minor scars. I shaved with care in the mirror once again avoiding the cuts left healing on my cheeks and forehead. I looked much more battered than I had previously thought.

Buttoning up my red frock coat. I wore it to make a statement. A continuation of the decision I came to when faced with Beathan’s choice. I would no longer run from who I am or what I represent. Even though they took someone I loved. Here I had an opportunity to be the man I always wanted to be.

Freya and I walked slowly up the muddy road, the weather grown milder in the last day or so. Melting the snow and frost making some places in the track impossible to navigate. We used the verge on the sides to pass. Deoch stood quiet, the workers beginning to walk to the church after the day’s work. The buildings looked forlorn to me, not the usual bastion of solidity I had come to know, only shells.

A crowd gathered in the churchyard, workers and their families dressed in their Sunday best stood in groups. The men, with black cloth still tied to their arms. Men and women spoke in low voices. Elders scolded children.

I waited at the gate, Freya went through, and looked back at me before continuing to meet a group of women chatting and minding children. I waited and watched until Phil finally looked up and saw me standing at the gate. She smiled and relief made my eyes water. I had worried our promises might have only been part of the fever. I might have read her feelings incorrectly or she changed her mind after the shock of her brother’s death.

Excusing herself from the group of men. She walked through the people. Some watched curiously, others ignored her completely until she came and stood at the gate. She smiled again and held out her hands. “Esmond, please join me.”

I assured myself the explosion left no lasting damage to Phil’s face; a few scrapes marred her otherwise perfect complexion. I took a deep breath, and hauled her into my arms, burying my face in her shoulder; the embrace lasted only a few seconds, my strength sapped.

“You are safe and whole.” I cradled her face in my hands and watched as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “I could hardly think of anything other than you from the moment I woke.”

Phil smiled, and stepped away brushing efficiently at the tears on her cheeks. “I am as well as can be expected, my brother is dead. The foreman of Deoch is dead. My faither is too ill tae rise from his bed.” She looked at me. “I worried fur his health when I broke the news.”

The bell in the church tower began to toll and mourners broke away from their groups and entered the church. I looked up at the dusky sky and frowned at the dark, bruised, clouds. “A storm is coming. We should get inside before the first drops fall.”

In response Phil tucked her arm under mine and led me through the small graveyard and into the church, her warm body next to mine reminding me I was not alone.

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction, in saying this I have tried to stay true to the atmosphere of the time. The early 1700’s were an incredibly important period, not just for England and Scotland but also for the world over. The excitement over scientific discoveries made by pioneering scientists would have lasting effects on society and where man saw himself positioned in a world that appeared to be getting smaller. The characters and Markinch itself are products of my imagination set in the historical context of the story’s time.

PRETENDER AT THE GATE

COMING IN

NOVEMBER 2014

Esmond’s fight to save Markinch and the women he loves takes him from the small highland village he has come to call home to the dangerous streets of Edinburgh in the Spring of 1708. Commanded to bring the rest of the Scotch smuggling ring to justice, Esmond searches through the dangerous back alleys and the glamorous drawing rooms of Edinburgh’s capital.

His loyalty to the English crown in question, Esmond desperately enlists the aid of a pair of old foes from Markinch. Along with a man whose own loyalties appear obscured, Esmond fights to find the truth under the ever-present threat of invasion from France.

Esmond’s growing fears and paranoia over whether one of his closest confidences has been betrayed is fuelled by the news Francis Stuart has left the French coast. The old Pretender has enough French mercenaries and Scottish allies to take Edinburgh and most of the highlands. Esmond will face the ultimate choice, save the woman he loves and the town that saved his life, or stay in Edinburgh and fight alongside his English brethren.

The sequel to Scotch Rising, Pretender at the Gate will be available to purchase on Amazon. Check back soon for more details!

Please come visit me at
http://sjgarland.wix.com/s-garland

CAPTAIN HAWK

COMING IN

May 2015

Singapore 1823. The East India Company is in full pursuit of wealth and glory expanding the dominance of the United Kingdom around the world. Sir Thomas Stanford Raffles saw the potential in a tiny settlement on the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula and knew it would be ideal for a free port. It would soon become one of the busiest and most lucrative ports in the East India Company’s portfolio, attracting merchants and pirates to its wharves.

Nathaniel Hawk arrives just before Christmas in order to spend the holidays with his father, Captain Sebastian Hawk, a famous East India Company Captain. Trained to captain his own ship, Nathaniel turned away from a life at sea in order to chase a life of gambling and adventure on land. He arrives in the East India Company’s latest free port intent on continuing his hedonistic pursuits.

When word reaches Singapore Captain Sebastian Hawk has finally been bested in a battle at sea with a ghost ship, none is more shocked that his son. Nathaniel will look for answers in the newly built colonial houses of the rich merchants as well as the opium dens of the slums looking for answers to his father’s disappearance. Only a return to sea will lead to the truth, but does he have the skill to seek out the ghost ship and learn its secrets?