The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (18 page)

Glenlyon lowered his gaze to his hands as he shuffled the deck one more time. “Three pairs it is. I’ll play with Sandy—Hunter and Hugh—Brodie and Og.” he bellowed loud enough to be heard by the cattle outside. Then he threw his head back with a hearty laugh. “I’m feeling lucky this eve.”

Hugh reached in his sporran and pulled out a handful of coins, slapping them onto the table. “Then let’s have at it. When this pile is gone, I’m heading to my bed—there’s a storm brewing, and I’d prefer not to sleep under Brodie’s table as I did last eve.”

“Me as well,” said Og. “In the past fortnight I’ve had enough to drink to keep my head swimming until spring.”

Cuthbert snorted. “I’ve never seen anyone match the captain like you MacIain MacDonald lads.”

Og raised his cup. “Had a good teacher.”

“Och aye,” agreed Glenlyon. “Your da can put it away for certain. I’ll be dining with him in the manse on the morrow.”

Hugh knew that to be true. He and his brothers were guests as well—detailed by Ma’s shaking finger. “You wouldn’t want to miss a table prepared by Ma. She’s even pulled the rhubarb from the cellar for a tart.”

Everyone at the table responded with mms, and smacking lips. Glenlyon rubbed his belly. “I’ll look forward to such a feast with great anticipation.” He sipped his whisky, then his rheumy eyes popped. “Mm. You distilled this yourself?”

Hugh nodded. “Aye. A man needs a great many talents to survive in these times.”

The captain dealt the first round. “Many talents, indeed.”

On and on the game continued while Hugh’s pile of coins grew rather than dwindled for a change. Until Brodie answered a demanding knock at the door.

“Captain Drummond with a missive for Captain Campbell.”

Hugh’s gut turned over as his fingers brushed the hilt of his dirk. And across the table Og ground his fist into his palm. Sandy set his cards down and slipped his hand into his sleeve.

Aye, the bastard who’d detained Da and his men on their way to Inveraray stepped inside, brushing a healthy dusting of snow from his cloak. Then he pulled a missive from the cuff of his gauntlet and handed it to Glenlyon.

No one spoke while Campbell sliced his finger under the red wax seal and read. Brodie stood beside Drummond without offering the man a seat or a tot of whisky.

All eyes watched Glenlyon.

A single eyebrow arched as he folded the missive and stashed it in his waistcoat. Looking up, he grinned. “At long last my orders have arrived.” He looked to Brodie and stood. “The burden we’ve put on Clan Iain Abrach has been lifted, but I’ve much to do afore the sun rises on the morrow.”

Every man stood and Hugh extended his hand. “It has been our pleasure to receive you and your men as guests.”

“Aye,” the captain belted in his usual loud voice. He shook Hugh’s hand, though his gaze wandered sideways. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. My only regret is I haven’t relieved you of that pile of coin yet this eve.”

Remembering his manners, Hugh bowed his head to Drummond, and to the tune of laughter, the brothers said their farewells. Then Hugh mounted his horse and headed the mile up the mountain for his bed. Lord, he was bone weary. At last, Glenlyon and his regiment of foot would be off to impose on some other poor Highland blighters.

Charlotte hadn’t taken the evening meal with the officers in a fortnight. She’d hardly said a word to her father, and hadn’t visited his study at all. Only twice had he popped his head in to her chamber—to see if she was still with the living, no doubt.

Well, she’d had enough of the present stalemate. Hiding in her chamber wasn’t helping anything and only served to worsen her misery. Regardless if the colonel intended to keep her under house arrest for the rest of her days, this evening she traipsed to the officer’s dining room with one purpose.

Deliberately she arrived ten minutes late, but upon opening the door, Charlotte gasped. “Where is everyone?”

Doctor Munro lowered his knife and looked up, his face somber. “All out on a mission. Left me here with a handful of stragglers.”

“Is my father away as well?”

“No. I gave him a tonic to settle an upset stomach as well as something to help him sleep.”

Charlotte let out a long breath and tapped her fingers to her lips. At least she wouldn’t have to wait until after the meal.

The physician stood and pulled out the chair beside him—the one where Charlotte usually sat. “I’ve missed enjoying your company during supper.”

“Unfortunately, I will not be dining here this eve.” Charlotte clasped her hands and squeezed. “Though I did want to have a word with you.”

His face brightened, making her take two steps back, a knot between her shoulder blades clamping taut.
Just out with it
. “I’m afraid I must tell you that I cannot possibly consider marrying you.” She hesitated, taking a deep breath.

His face fell.

The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Roderick, but the damage had been done. There was no use listing all the reasons she didn’t think their union would work. “Forgive me.”

She pushed out the door and dashed to her father’s study.

John Hill sat in his chair with a near empty bottle of wine beside him. He looked up, his eyes red, his features grey and pinched to the point of anguish.

She wanted to run to him, but something in his expression warned her against it. “I’ve refused Doctor Munro’s proposal of marriage.”

Papa nodded and reached for the bottle, taking a healthy swig.

“Is something amiss?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he slurred, his gaze unfocused.

Charlotte had never seen her father so completely despondent. “Are you inebriated?”

“Perhaps.” He swirled the wine in the bottom of the bottle, holding it to the lamplight.

Steeling her resolve, she stepped further into the study. “Regardless if I have your blessing, I have made up my mind. I love Hugh MacIain. It is he whom I will wed.”

Papa guzzled the remaining dregs. Slamming the bottle to the table with a belch, his gaze wandered to the hearth rather than to Charlotte. “No.” He drew the word out and it hung in the air and chilled like death. “You cannot marry a corpse.”

Chills fired across her skin. “What in God’s name are you saying?” Charlotte clutched her trembling fists to her abdomen. “You cannot send a man to the gallows for loving a woman!”

Da pushed back his chair and stumbled to the door. “There’s no need for me to do so.”

***

Unable to breathe, Charlotte stood alone in the center of Papa’s study. How could he be so heartless, and then just up and walk out with no explanation? Clamping her hands to her crown she paced. Should she barrel into his bedchamber and demand answers? Heaven’s stars, she’d never been allowed to enter his bedchamber. A flicker of brass caught her eye. The key to Papa’s strongbox was still in the lock.

Why were all the men gone…and if they were on a mission, why had they marched without Papa? Her head swarmed with questions and her father was in no condition to answer a one.

“
You cannot marry a corpse
.” The words echoed in her head and crawled over her skin like slithering serpents. Never had she heard her father be so insensitive.

Charlotte’s palms perspired as she moved to the strongbox. The key slipped in her fingers, but she tightened her grip and turned until the click echoed off the study’s walls. She paused for a moment, listening to the whispering silence. Then she steeled her nerves and opened the lid.

Piles of missives stacked so high they almost spilled over the edge—and to the side a leather money pouch appeared to be stuffed with coin, a tag affixed to it read “dowry”.

Aside from being surprised of its girth, she couldn’t care less about the contents of the pouch. On top of it all was a map of Glencoe. To the east marked the Devil’s Staircase with Hamilton’s regiment. To the south, mountains. To the west was a mark showing Major Duncanson’s battalion. North denoted Captain Drummond and his men, with Glenlyon’s regiment marked with an X in the center of Hugh’s home.

Lord in heaven, there must be a thousand men deployed
.

Reaching in a trembling hand, Charlotte pulled out two missives bearing the seal of John Dalrymple, Master of Stair. Moving to the chair, she opened the first letter, dated 21
st
January, the year of our Lord 1692:

In response to your correspondence of 16
th
January, I have but one thing to say. The king does not agree that all is at peace in the Highlands….Pray, when anything concerning Glencoe is resolved, let it be secret and sudden…cut off that nest of robbers who have fallen in the mercy of law. They did not come forward in the time prescribed. This pleases the king, for now you are at will to take action…I apprehend the storm is so great that for some time you can do little, but so soon as possible you will be at work…Deal with them…and by all means be merciless.

Charlotte shook as she read the signatures at the bottom. Both the king and the Master of Stair signed with bold strokes of their quill.

Is this why Papa is so despondent?
Charlotte looked to the window, snow still clung to the panes. It had hardly stopped snowing all winter.

Hands trebling out of control, she opened the next missive, signed only by the Master of Stair and dated 26
th
January:

I reject your appeal to my letters concerning the dispatch of Glencoe. You cannot receive further directions…be as earnest in the matter as you can…be secretive and sudden…be quick…You are hereby ordered to proceed to put all under the sword under seventy before dawn on the 13
th
February. Ensure the old fox and his sons on no account escape your hands…Lieutenant Colonel James Hamilton has received a copy of these orders to ensure you do not undermine my authority yet again…This time you will not hesitate…

Choking back bile, Charlotte dashed to the strongbox, dropped the missives inside and filled her pocket with coins. Then she grabbed her father’s cloak from a peg on the wall, dashed to the door, slipped into her overshoes and ran for the stables.

By the grace of God, Charlotte found Farley at the alehouse. She hastened toward him only to be stopped by a vile, stringy-haired man with foul breath. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, lassie?”

Another blackguard grabbed her arm. “Aye, ’tisn’t often we see a morsel as tasty as this come through the door.”

Someone tugged on her cloak. “And she’s wearing an officer’s mantle.”

“Did you steal it, lass?”

Charlotte tried to wrench her arm away. “Leave me be, you vile beasts!”

“Och, coming into an alehouse with a stolen cloak and demanding to be treated as a lady?”

“Stop!” a deep voice boomed from the rear. Farley stood with both palms resting on his table. “That there’s the governor’s daughter. You lay a hand on her and you’ll have every dragoon for a hundred miles breathing down your neck.”

When the grimy hands released her arm, Charlotte hastened forward. “Thank you, Mr. MacGregor.” She clapped praying hands together. “I urgently need your help—Mr. MacIain is in trouble. We must leave at once!”

A rumbling laugh snorted through the big man’s nose. “How would a wisp of a woman like you be able to help a scrapper like Hugh MacIain?”

“You do not understand.” Glancing over her shoulder, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I am privy to confidential information—news I should not be aware of. I
need
you to take me to Hugh’s cottage in the mountains immediately.”

Farley swayed, blinking his red eyes. “Are ye daft?” he slurred. “Besides there’s storm a brewing”

“Good Lord, is everyone in his cups this eve?” She wasn’t about to allow this big bear to turn her away. Charlotte stepped around the table, grasped his doublet in her fists and shook. “You
must
help me,” she seethed. “Hugh told me if anything went awry to send word with you…well, this is
life
and
death
.”

He straightened and blinked. “You’re honest to God scared?”

“Truly I am frightened down to the tips of my toes, now let us saddle your horse and be on our way.” She tugged his arm, but he stood there solid as a stubborn oak. Curses, she’d beg if forced. “Please. I can pay you an entire month’s wages.”

“Now why didn’t you say you had coin?” His eyes bugged wide. “What’s afoot?”

She tugged with more force. “I’ll tell you once we’re outside. No use starting a riot.”

“Riot?” He guzzled his remaining ale as if she were but a fly yanking on his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me ’twas that grave?”

With a groan, she led the way out the door. Spouting the words life and death hadn’t been grave enough? “Where’s your horse?”

“Stabled out the back of my cottage.”

Charlotte untied the reins of the gelding she’d borrowed. “Come then, we’ve no time to lose.”

“We?” He stepped in beside her, taking her reins and leading her down a narrow close. “You won’t be going anywhere but back to the fort.”

She clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Is that so?”

“Aye, now give me your message and I’ll decide if it can wait until morning.”

“’Tis grave.” Her gaze darted side to side as she hastened to keep pace with his long strides. “They’re putting all of Glencoe to fire and sword—before dawn on the morrow. Captain Campbell is there now—other regiments are moving into place as we speak.”

Farley stopped dead in his tracks and regarded her as if dumbstruck. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”

Practically jumping out of her skin, she grabbed his wrist and tugged. “There’s no time to waste. I must warn Hugh forthwith.”

“Och, no, lassie.” He yanked his arm away. “You do not ride into the midst of fire, not when you’re outnumbered by a thousand to one.”

Stepping in she shook her finger at his big nose. “You cannot back away from this. If you do I’ll…I’ll have no recourse but to go alone.”

“Bloody Christmas.” He marched ahead, then lashed the gelding’s reins to the post outside a small cottage. “Wait here whilst I go tell Emma I’ve a job to do.”

Charlotte clapped her hands to her chest with a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

With a grunt, Farley slipped inside the ramshackle cottage. Charlotte clutched Papa’s cloak tighter around her shoulders and looked back along the close. Their footprints had already been covered with snow and she could scarcely see but ten feet ahead.

The door opened and Emma stepped outside with a plaid wrapped around her shoulders. “Miss Charlotte, please return to the fort. Leave this to Farley. He’ll warn Mr. MacIain for you.”

She dug her heels into the snow. “I’m going.”

Farley came out, pulling a woolen bonnet over his head. “You’ll slow me down.”

“I can ride as well as any man, and I’ll pay you two month’s wages.” Bless it she would not back down on this.

“Bloody hell,” said Farley. “Where did you come up with all this coin?”

Charlotte raised her chin. “’Tis mine.” That’s all he needed to know—besides there was much more where that came from.

With a sigh, the big man looked to his wife. Emma shrugged and removed her blanket. “The least I can do is give you a plaid to throw over your head and shoulders.”

“Thank you.”

Farley stuck his finger an inch away from Charlotte’s chin. “If what you say is true, the perimeter of Glencoe will be crawling with redcoats. Worse, we’ve already seen an inch of snow in the past hour. That means our only chance at success is to skirt around Loch Leven and up the hills to find Hugh.”

“Will we arrive before dawn?”

“I know not, but one thing’s for certain.”

“What’s that?”

“If you’re pulling my leg, I’ll be needing more than two month’s wages.”

***

Though Charlotte wore her father’s cloak, overshoes, and atop it all, Emma’s thick woolen plaid draped over her head and clutched taut at her neck, she’d never imagined a human being could be so cold. Worse, Farley’s “back way” taking them around Loch Leven added far too many miles and precious time to the journey.

They’d been riding for hours, and if she asked one more time how much longer their journey would take, she feared the big tracker would knock her off her horse and leave her lying in a drift of snow. He’d practically alluded to as much with his grumbling responses to her questions, so Charlotte had kept her mouth shut for what seemed like an eternity.

Ahead, the big man rode on, his hand gripping her horse’s lead line as he trudged through abominable conditions—it wasn’t only inky dark, the snow blasted on the wind in sideways sheets. Farley had insisted he take charge of her mount in case they hit heavy snow, all the while griping about her worthless sidesaddle. Charlotte watched the mane in front of her. About an inch had built up again, like it had a few times thus far—the white flakes would accumulate and then grow overwarm and slide down the gelding’s neck. She could see a foot, mayhap two ahead, and could swear ice crystals formed beneath her nose with every exhale. Her hands were too numb to move—not to mention her feet. Goodness, even her eyelashes were incased in frost.

With no mantel clock to tell her the time, all Charlotte could do was pray. They must arrive well before dawn. She was so distraught, she wanted to slap Farley’s horse’s rump with her crop and demand a faster pace.
Curses, curses, curses!

How could men stand to travel like this in the dead of winter? Were all of the officers in Britain out of their minds, ordering an attack in the midst of a blizzard? Lord, she couldn’t decide what made her more miserable—the fatigue sweeping through her entire body, demanding sleep, or being so cold she could no longer move. She ground her chattering teeth and tightened her grip on the plaid. In no way would she utter one word of complaint. The MacGregor man should be abed with his wife right now, but no, Charlotte had insisted he ride at once and take her with him.

She would freeze to death before she uttered a word of complaint.

They
would
make it to Hugh’s cottage.

They must.

With resolute fortitude, Charlotte shook her head and focused on the only thing she could now see—her horse’s ears. How Farley could pick his way through this squall in the darkness of night, she had no idea, but she trusted the tracker. If Hugh trusted him, then she did, too.

“The fires are burning atop Signal Rock.” Farley’s grumbling voice came from the silent darkness.

Charlotte peered ahead, but saw not a thing. “How can you tell?”

“There’s a faint glow up and to the left.”

“Are we almost there?” Charlotte asked, straining to see anything with snowflakes clouding her eyes.

Farley cleared his throat.

Curses, she’d vowed not to ask a gain. “Apologies.”

A low chuckle rumbled. “Hugh’s cottage is about a mile ahead.”

Her heart skipped a beat. They were so close! Hugh was right to trust the tracker—Farley was a good man, despite his gruff mien. “Do you have any idea what time it might be?”

“Afore dawn.”

“I could have told you that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I supposed if we’re so near the cottage, you might have a better idea than I.” Charlotte tapped her heels and urged her mount closer to Farley’s. “We must arrive well before the sunrise.”

His white-shrouded outline twisted and regarded her. “Aye, and how many times are you aiming to remind me of that fact?”

“Forgive me.” She bit her lip. “I’m ever so anxious.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t end up dead, diving into the midst of this mayhem.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m praying we arrive soon enough to thwart the whole thing.”

Farley tugged the lead line without another word.

Truth be told, I’ll wager the tracker’s as nervous as I
.

The following mile took an eternity to traverse—probably because the visibility was so poor. Charlotte didn’t even see the cottage until they stopped at the door. Lord, the tracker could have probably led them there blind.

With a rush of her pulse, she snapped from her frigid cocoon and dismounted without assistance. Dashing to the door, she hammered on it with both fists, ignoring the shooting pain of ice cold knuckles. “Hugh! It’s me!” With no immediate answer, she turned the latch and pushed inside.

Coals glowed from a small hearth, casting a dim light. Charlotte turned, spotting another door. Racing through, she found him beneath a heap of bedclothes. “Hugh!” She shook his shoulder. “You must wake.”

He sat up with a start, dirk in hand.

Charlotte skittered away, well aware of what a man could do when roused from deep slumber.

“Charlotte?”

“You’d best listen to her,” Farley said from the doorway, holding an oil lamp. “We’ve ridden all night in a bloody blizzard.”

Hugh lowered his weapon. “What the devil?”

“I-I-I read a missive from the Master of Stair. They’re going to put all of Glencoe to fire and sword—before dawn!”

“My God.”

“’Tis worse.” She clutched her fists beneath her chin. “Orders are to kill the old fox and his sons—put everyone under seventy under the sword.”

“You’re certain of this?” Hugh swiped his hand across his face. “But I saw myself—Glenlyon received his marching orders only this eve.”

Dashing to the bed, she grasped his hand, squeezing it between her palms. “He received orders to murder you.” She sucked in a gasp. “Major Duncanson is moving in from the west, and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s battalion is climbing the Devil’s Staircase to block the pass to the west.”

“With the amount of snow building up, I doubt Hamilton will make it to the party,” said Farley.

Hugh leapt from the bed, belting his plaid atop his shirt. “What about the south?”

“Just a wall of mountains,” Farley said.

Hugh shifted his gaze to the wall clock. “Jesus Christ. ’Tis only two hours ’til dawn.”

A shot rang out in the distance—followed by another and then a volley of fire.

He pulled a sword from a hiding place inside the roofing thatch and belted it across his shoulder. “Take Charlotte southwest behind
Meall Mòr
.” Shoving daggers into his sleeves and hose, he continued. “There are a pair of ramshackle hunting shielings hidden in the hills.”

Charlotte jolted as the musket fire increased.

Hugh snatched a powder horn from the wall and charged two pistols, shoving them into his belt.

“You must go with us!” Charlotte grasped his arm. “Do you not hear? ’Tis madness to ride down there.”

His eyes blazed as he met her stare. “I cannot abandon my clan.” Hugh gripped the back of her neck, planting a fierce kiss on her lips. “Go with Farley. I’ll meet you there.”

She grazed her fingers over stubbled cheeks. “But you could be killed!”

“No. ’Tis nay time for me to die.” With a clang of weapons, Hugh raced for the door. “Farley will keep you safe. God help me, I
will
be there.”