The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (22 page)

The fair-haired maid stepped forward, her face inquisitive. “But you were too late?”

Charlotte nodded. Thank heavens someone showed a bit of curiosity before condemning her. “I arrived at his cottage only moments before the shooting began. Mr. MacIain fought off the six dragoons who were sent to murder him and burn his house.”

The nice girl’s jaw dropped. “He fought six soldiers all by himself?”

Still sitting with her hands folded, her fingers began to throb. “My guide helped.”

“While you watched?”

“I hid in the…” Charlotte shouldn’t say Hugh’s bedchamber “In the rear room.”

“Oh my.” The maid actually looked as if she were sympathetic. “That must have been terrifying.”

“Aye,” said another. “You were in the thick of it?”

Charlotte looked down, her old shyness creeping up the back of her neck. “Yes.”

Mrs. MacCallum clapped her hands. “We must leave Miss Hill to her bath before the water chills.”

As the chambermaids filed out the door, Charlotte hopped up and tapped the friendly maid on the shoulder. “What is your name?”

“Alice, miss.”

“Thank you, Alice. Not many people have had a kind word for me in the past few days.”

She curtsied. “I figured there was a good reason Laird MacIain brought you with him.” The tension in the chamber eased with her grin. “Imagine that, Colonel Hill’s daughter is a Jacobite.”

Snapping a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp, Charlotte watched as the door closed and left her alone.
Holy Mother. If I’m in love with Hugh, I must be a Jacobite.
She paced in a circle.
I surely do not condone the king’s orders, nor do I appreciate the way he’s ignored my father since he took the throne
.

With her realization, she discarded the borrowed robe and sank into the bathwater. Charlotte had always loved baths, but this one sent her sailing with the clouds. Even the lilac soap smelled like a gift from heaven. She slid down until the water reached her chin. Her entire body reveled in soothing warmth for the first time since she’d left Fort William.

After spending the day devising plots against the government troops with Robert Stewart, Hugh had accepted a change of clothes, washed and shaved. Seeing his reflection in a looking glass had been frightening. True, he’d gone without shaving many times before, but the dark circles under his eyes and drawn, hollow pitch to his cheeks was new. He could have passed for a beggar on the streets of Edinburgh.

How the devil had Charlotte put up with him? He not only looked like a rogue, he’d been treating her like thresh on the floor. Now cleaned up with a good meal in his belly, he scoffed at his behavior. The lass had done nothing but volunteered to help him and his kin, and they resented her for it. He’d resented her, too, but couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

And now, he again sat in the great hall in anticipation of the evening meal. He wouldn’t be so daft as to refuse Sir Robert’s fare, but his throat thickened at the thought of his clansmen and women huddling in that miserable hovel up at Meall Mòr. If only Clan Iain Abrach of the Coe had a fortress like Castle Stalker none of this would have ever happened. No, the Master of Stair and the Campbells had singled out the MacIain sept of Clan Donald because of their close proximity to Fort William and their lack of a motte and bailey defense. Hugh clearly remembered telling his father Glencoe was both a fortress and a trap. God, he’d had no idea how right he’d been.

Beside him, young Stewart pushed back his chair and stood, a soft whistle blowing through his lips.

Looking up, Hugh sprang to his feet, the screeching the floorboards behind him.

“Holy Moses,” Robert swore. “Why didn’t you tell me Colonel Hill’s daughter was as ravishing as a princess?”

Hugh clenched his fists as he watched Charlotte exit the stairwell and proceed to the dais. The talk in the hall ebbed to complete silence. “Devil’s bones,” Hugh mumbled like a simpleton.

The woman had a bloody bath and turns herself into a goddess? Smiling like a fairy nymph, Charlotte floated across the floor, every male chin dropping as she walked past, her red gown shimmering with every step. Bloody hell, the scooped neckline displayed too much of her milky white bosoms. She seemed oblivious to all the attention she commanded as her gaze focused on Hugh. Christ, the woman could win the heart of any man in all of Britain, and she thought she wanted him—a chieftain without a home?

Sir Robert clambered to the dais steps and offered his hand. “My word, Miss Hill you are a vision.”

She blushed as if she’d never heard a man tell her she was beautiful. Blast it, the slathering pup practically drooled on her as he led her to a seat—not beside Hugh, but the one to Robert’s right. That would be the way of it. Hugh would have to spend the entire evening watching a pup who hadn’t even reached his majority fawn all over his woman.

And Charlotte smiled at him as if she enjoyed his adolescent drool.

“Mother’s gown fits as if it were made for you.”

Charlotte sat as Sir Robert pushed in her chair. “Thank you ever so much for lending it to me. The color is beautiful.”

“It compliments your fair coloring.” Sir Robert turned to Hugh. “MacIain, why didn’t you tell me Colonel Hill’s daughter was bonnier than a mountain of heather in bloom?”

Hugh plopped in his chair. “It took a bath for you to notice?” He leaned forward and caught her gaze. His damned heart leapt. “And your gown does bring out the blue-violet in your eyes—ever so much.” There, let Stewart chew on that.

Robert’s brow furrowed. “You do seem an unlikely pair. How in God’s name did you meet? I doubt Colonel Hill would have been anxious to make the introductions.”

“Mr. MacIain was—”

“Let’s just say I was an unwilling guest at Fort William for a time.” Though the prisoners from the battle of Dunkeld had been pardoned, Hugh still didn’t want anyone knowing the reason for his incarceration or the fact that Charlotte had helped him escape. He was in enough trouble with the government. No use piling on more reasons for her father to send him to the gallows.

Sir Robert filled Charlotte’s glass with wine. “Word from the fort is your father is anxious for your return.”

She leaned forward and glanced at Hugh. “I should send him a letter.”

“You should go to him,” Hugh said. “Hiding in the hills of Glencoe is no place for a lady as fine as you.”

“Did you think I would give up so easily? I cannot just walk away and return to my father as if nothing happened. I would be an utter hypocrite.”

“MacIain has a point. You are far too delicate a lady to be suffering with a mob of refugees in the hills during the midst of winter.” Robert held up his glass. “You are welcome to stay here, if you’d rather.”

Hugh slapped his palm on the table a bit too hard, making wine slosh out of his glass. “She’s either going back to Fort William or staying with me.”

Charlotte leaned forward, arching those damnable eyebrows at him. “So now you’re making decisions for me?”

“I will if you will not make the right ones.”

“I beg your pardon?” She pushed her chair back. “I shall not dine with someone who thinks so little of my sensibilities.”

Now he’d gone and shoved his foot in his mouth. “I didn’t mean—”

“Please stay.” Robert put his hand on her elbow—a far too familiar gesture. “I most certainly didn’t mean to upset you with my remark. Perhaps you are right. You should pen a missive to your da. I’d be happy to have my runner deliver it on your behalf.”

Looking at Hugh, she gave a curt nod. “That would be ever so kind of you, Sir Robert.”

Wonderful. Hugh ground his fist into his palm. Now he’d been made to look an unmitigated arse to the woman he loved.

A servant placed a tray of sliced roast beef in front of Stewart and he promptly picked it up, offering Charlotte first choice. “The Baronet of Sleat will arrive from Duntulm Castle on the morrow.”

She selected a small portion. “’Tis good to hear the head of all the MacDonald septs is showing his support.”

“Aye,” Hugh agreed, helping himself to a juicy cut—the largest on the patter. “We’ll certainly know more on the morrow. ’Tis worth spending another day away from our kin in the mountains.”

“You both are welcome to stay as long as you need.” Sir Robert reached for the salt cellar and used the tiny spoon to sprinkle his food—ever so civilized of him.

Hugh practically kicked himself under the table.
For Christ’s sake, the man is opening his home to us
. “My thanks. Your hospitality will nay be forgotten.”

“Indeed.” Charlotte reached for her wine and sipped. “Do you often invite minstrels to play on your gallery?”

“Pipes mostly, though I do enjoy a good fiddle.”

“Oh, so do I.” She grinned vibrantly as if she hadn’t ridden down from hell earlier that day.

Young Stewart’s gaze dipped too low—where was her damned privacy panel now? “Are you musically inclined?”

She blushed like a wee maiden. “I play the violin some.”

“Honestly?” Sir Robert looked like his mouth had burst with sweet flavor. “Why, there’s a fiddle up on the gallery just waiting to be played.”

Hugh cleared his throat and shoved a bite in his mouth. The wet-eared chieftain would have her agreeing to stay at the damned castle for an eternity soon.

“Would you do me the honor of serenading us? These halls haven’t been filled with a merry tune since Christmas.” Robert elbowed Hugh in the shoulder. “What say you, MacIain?”

It would be a very long time before Hugh was ready to kick up his heels and dance jig to a raunchy fiddle. Charlotte ought to know that. Hell, did the ride down the mountain wash away the horror of what
her
father’s men had done to his kin? Bloody hell, a sennight had not yet passed.

Robert and Charlotte looked at him as if he were daft. Hugh flicked his wrist toward the gallery. “Go on then. If it would please our host.”

Charlotte stood, casting Hugh a disapproving frown before she turned and headed up the steps. Hugh’s gut twisted. Ballocks, he was acting like an arse—but what did everyone expect? Should he cast aside the cannonball-sized hole in his chest and make merry as if nothing had happened? He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t rest until he saw justice—until Glenlyon got his comeuppance. He wouldn’t rest until every Jacobite in Scotland pulled together and took a stand.

Damnation
.

Robert leaned in. “She has eyes for you.”

Och, by the hostility in her glare, Hugh seriously doubted it. “I owe her my life.” Christ, where did that line of drivel come from? He guzzled his ale. He did owe Charlotte his life and he wasn’t a damned bit happy about it.

Or was he?

Bloody hell, he needed air.

“You look a bit piqued,” said Robert.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh?” Robert pushed a bit too far.

“Bugger off.” Hugh set his tankard down and shoved a cooked carrot in his mouth.

Robert leaned back in his chair. “Well, I suppose I’d be as sore-headed as you, given the same circumstances.”

An eerie pitch sang from the gallery. One long, lonely note resounded and swirled throughout the hall as if an angel swept down and requested their silence.

Hugh’s breath caught as Charlotte used the fiddle, not to produce a foot-stomping ditty, but the strings sang a ballad so melancholy, gooseflesh rose across his skin. Aye, he’d heard countless minstrels when they’d stopped in Glencoe to play, but he’d never heard anyone make a fiddle sing hauntingly like the entire world wept.

Not a servant moved, not a word was whispered while she moved the bow back and forth across the strings, her fingers never pausing. The notes rose painfully high and woefully low, louder and louder the song grew, until all at once a note rang out so low it could hardly be heard. After one last refrain of gut-wrenching sadness, complete and utter silence filled the hall.

A tear leaking from his eye, Sir Robert led the applause. “Did you ken she could make a fiddle sing like that?”

Hugh shook his head. “’Tis the first time I’ve ever heard her play.”

***

After Charlotte had come down from the gallery, Hugh was already gone. She’d politely excused herself and was met in her chamber by Alice.

The young maid stood and curtsied. “I hope you don’t mind. Mrs. MacCallum assigned me to be your chambermaid whilst you’re visiting Castle Stalker.”

Charlotte smiled and took a seat on the vanity stool in front of the mirror. “I’m delighted. Mrs. MacCallum is too somber and I fear the others are worried I’ll pull a pistol from my sleeve and shoot them.”

Alice removed a hairpin. “Do you have one?”

“A pistol?” Charlotte chuckled. “Heavens, no.”

“How long do you figure you’ll be here?”

Well aware any information about Hugh that managed to seep through the castle walls could result in his capture—or worse, she shrugged. “Not sure. So many supplies are needed, it could be a long time before we’re ready to go back.”

“And you’re planning to return to the mountains with him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Now that Alice had removed all the pins, she took a brush to Charlotte’s tresses. “You do not need to hide.”

“I suppose that’s the way with love.”

Alice sighed. “I kent there had to be a fairy tale in the making.”

“Yes, though presently it seems more like a nightmare.”

A loud bang came from the next room. Gasping, Charlotte whipped around toward the noise. “What was that?”

“Not sure. ’Tis Mr. MacIain’s chamber. Would you like me to go rap on his door?”

Hugh was in the next room? Charlotte’s heart skipped a beat, though she feigned calmness. “No—that should not be necessary.” She stood. “Please help me out of my gown.”

Alice proved as efficient at unlacing as she was at lacing, and soon left Charlotte standing alone in her chamber, wrapped in the red dressing gown.

All the while there had been more noise—thuds, as if Hugh were pounding his fist into the mattress—or the furniture—or Lord knew what else.

A suppressed yowl rumbled through the walls. Was he hurt? Would he be all right?

Charlotte wrung her hands and paced.

Would he want my succor? He doesn’t seem to appreciate anything I do. He hated my violin. I just know it. I cannot do anything to please him.

The yowl came again, wrenching her heart.

Should I return to Fort William and leave him to pick up the pieces while I wait in my father’s house like a hypocrite?

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

Dear Lord, why did this have to happen?

Muffled grunts of pain seeped through the walls. Charlotte could take no more. Tightening the belt around her waist, she tiptoed to the next door and hesitated. If she knocked, he’d send her away for certain. With a burst of courage, she pulled up on the latch and slipped inside.

Lit only by a candle on the mantel, Charlotte blinked taking in the furnishings. Hugh lay curled on the bed, his fists hiding his face. His chest bare, he wore only a plaid around his waist. Tension radiated off him as if his every muscle were pulled taut. Deep growls came from his throat—expressing the agony she knew twisted his insides until they could not withstand another turn.