The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (26 page)

Colonel Hill faced him with a quirk to the corner of his mouth. “I thought that would be your response. I would have expected the same from your father.”

Puzzled, Hugh looked to Charlotte.

“What are you saying, Papa?” she asked.

“I’ve already written a missive rejecting Stair’s proposal. I just needed Mr. MacIain’s blessing before I dispatched it.”

Hugh flicked his hand through the air. “Tell the cur to call off his dogs while you’re at it.”

“I’ll do more than that.”

“How?” Hugh stood as well, towering over Hill.

“I’ll push for a pardon.” The Colonel stepped in. “News of your calamity has spread, and it has drastically sullied King William’s reputation. Stair may think otherwise, but there could very well be anarchy in Highlands if you do not receive some sort of recompense—including the return of your lands.”

Charlotte stood and moved beside Hugh. “Do you think the king will grant us a pardon, Papa?”

“Us?” Hill cleared his throat. “I will push for Hugh MacIain and his clan to have his lands reinstated, to have the crimes waged against him heard by the Privy Council in Edinburgh, but…”

Hugh narrowed his gaze. “Aye?”

Hill pointed at Hugh’s sternum. “You have to swear to me you will keep your nose clean.”

“Bloody hell.” Hugh threw up his hands. “Do you expect me to gather my kin and rain fire and sword on Glenlyon?”

“That’s exactly what you must not do!”

Hugh wasn’t about to tell the bastard there were only a handful of weapons between his men. “Agreed.”

“I
can
gain you a pardon. I can seek amends for your kin and make your clan whole again. And unlike Breadalbane, I am a man of my word. Though it may take time, I will not rest until I see this done.”

“You would do that for us?” Charlotte asked.

The colonel’s eyes turned dark. “I have one condition.”

Standing with his feet wide, Hugh moved his fists to his hips. “That is?”

“Charlotte returns to Fort William with me.”

“Are you jesting?” Charlotte grasped Hugh’s hand. “We are to be married.”

“This is no place for a well-bred English woman.” The colonel began to pace. “Bless it, Charlotte, you’re living like an animal!”

Hugh pulled her behind him. A pardon for the entire clan? An alliance with Fort William? No longer living in fear of another massacre? There had to be some way to negotiate this without losing Charlotte. “If my lands were to be reinstated. If I built a fine home to offer your daughter—would you give your consent for us to marry?”

Dashing forward Charlotte kneeled before her father, holding her hands up in prayer. “Please, Papa. Help us. ’Tis the least you can do after your part in the MacIain Clan’s demise.”

“Rise, daughter. Begging does not become you.” Taking Charlotte’s hands and pulling her up, Colonel Hill gave Hugh a stare devoid of emotion. “I might agree to that.
If
your lands and title are reinstated and you have a proper home—one that suits her station as the daughter of the Governor of Fort William—the fifth son of an earl,
and
you attempt no retaliatory action, I will consider your suit.”

Charlotte yanked her hand away. “Consider? I refuse to—”

“Stop,” Hugh shouted.

She whipped around and faced him, fists clenched at her sides. “I beg your pardon?”

Hugh gestured to the door. “Colonel, if you will please excuse us, I need a word with your daughter.”

Charlotte couldn’t believe her father had the gall to come to Meall Mòr and demand conditions. Standing inside the shieling, she thrust her finger toward the door. “My father owes you a new home, and he thinks he can place terms on his offer to help?”

Hugh regarded her with too much intensity in those dark eyes. “He hasn’t condemned my proposal for marriage.”

“But what if it takes years for you to regain your holdings? Are we to put our lives on hold for an indeterminate amount of time?”

“No.” Hugh took her in his arms for the first time in days. His strength, the power in his body surrounded her like a wall of protection from all the evil in the world. His big hand slid up and down her back. “Och, Charlotte. If only I weren’t in this predicament.”

She slid her arms between them and tried to pull away, but he kept her wrapped tight. “What are you saying?”

“Would it be so awful to go back to Fort William, even just until the end of winter?”

“Are you serious?” She stamped her foot. “Snow still covers the ground—spring may never come.”

“Bless it, Charlotte, I cannot even touch you. Have you any idea how much it twists me up inside to have you lay beside me each night, your scent filling my nostrils and yet I cannot pull you into my arms and make love to you?”

Oh yes, she knew very well how frustrating things were. Some nights she could jump out of her skin for wanting him. “At least we’re still together. It isn’t right for my father to use me as a bargaining chip to help you or not.”

“Nothing is free,
mo leannan
.”

Curses, she hated it when he lowered his voice and rumbled his Gaelic endearment. Well, she only hated it this once, but Hugh could weaken her resolve merely with a few words. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Nor do I want you to go, but we need your father on our side.
I
need him.”

She groaned and finally broke free. Pacing, she shook her fists. “This is so unfair.”

“But you said yourself you could trust him.” Hugh caught her arm and pulled her back into his embrace. “I need allies—the snow will soon melt. You ken how short the growing season is. If we can head back to the glen and rebuild afore the autumn winds start howling, it would be a blessing.”

“And what happens if Papa is unable to bring about a pardon?”

Hugh’s jaw hardened. “I shall give your father my word there will be no retaliation whilst he sends his missives and represents our cause.”

“If he fails?”

“I do not believe there is a need to utter it.”

Charlotte knew Hugh would take up the sword and fight alone if he had to—but he knew as well as she, the Highland clans were in no position to wage war. If Hugh took the path of vengeance now, he and his men would not live a sennight. She slipped her hands around his waist and rested her head on his chest. The drum of his heartbeat served to calm the jitters firing across her skin.

“Go with your da,” he whispered.

“Will you come to Fort William?”

“With a price on my head?”

Every dragoon in the Highlands knew who Hugh MacIain was now. There’d be no slipping through the gates in disguise. “I’ll not go without your promise as to when I will see you again.”

“With so many uncertainties, how can I make such a vow?”

She stood back and ticked up her chin. “Before the autumn winds.”

“I—”

“Swear it!”

He nodded and took her hands in his palms. “Sooner, God willing.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate this.”

“As do I, bless it.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Come here.”

The Highlander had shown her how to kiss, could set her loins afire with a look. With the slow tilt of his head, he claimed her lips and gradually increased the pressure. Cradling her tight in his arms, Hugh showed her the depth of his love for her. Charlotte watched his eyes as they closed with the deep pinch of his brow. Lord, he was hurting so much, yet he must ignore his own desires and put his clan first.

With a ragged inhale, he touched his forehead to hers. “I love you more than the air I breathe.”

“And I you.” She cupped his cheek with her palm. “We shall weather this, just as we have everything else that’s been thrown our way.”

“Now that is what I like to hear. You’re the strongest woman I know and I will not rest until you are again in my arms.”

A lump the size of her fist formed in Charlotte’s throat. As tears streamed down her cheeks, all she could do was pull him close for one more raw, passionate kiss.

***

Charlotte spent a total of one day locked in her chamber feeling miserable about her lot in life. However, as soon as her tears dried, her head also cleared. Come to think of it, as she’d ridden down the mountain with her father, the snow in the valleys had melted. Spring indeed was on its way.

Infused with a brilliant idea, Charlotte sprang from her bed with purpose and hastened to eat the breakfast Emma had brought.

How could she be so dim-witted when the buzzing village of Inverlochy lay just beyond Fort William’s gates? And what did they have there? Just like any town west of Scotland’s Great Divide, Inverlochy was full of Highlanders.

She’d witnessed Sir Robert’s generosity, and Hugh had told her about the Baronet of Sleat’s reaction to being “
Glencoed
”. Yes, Highlanders had actually started using it as a verb. She’d even heard Emma say, “The clans are scared. No soul in all of Scotland wants to be Glencoed.”

Well, Charlotte would harness that generosity. “Emma, I need your help.”

“Oh no.” After tucking in the bed linens, the chambermaid held up her palms. “You’ve only just arrived. Your father would murder Farley if he took you back to Meall Mòr.”

Charlotte groaned. “My, you are unduly preoccupied with that.”

“Well, ’tis the only thing I can imagine you’d need help with, considering how you carried on yesterday.”

Charlotte rested her spoon beside her bowl. “This morrow is a new day and there is much to do.”

Emma wiped her hands on her apron. “Och, I do not like the sound of that either.”

“Hear me.” Charlotte hopped up and held a chair for Emma.

The chambermaid arched her eyebrows, then gave the bed a thump and tottered over. “This must be quite a scheme you’re plotting.”

“It is.” Charlotte slid back into the chair opposite. “I’m going to set up a stall at the market. Papa will give me a table and canvas for a tent.”

“Are you planning to sell something?”

“No.” Charlotte smiled—oh heavens, did it feel good. “We’ll paint a sign that says:
Help the Glencoe Victims
.”

“Collect alms for them?”

“Alms would be nice, but they also need everything from shoes and clothing to cookware, tableware, tools and seed to plant come spring.” Charlotte left out weapons on purpose—if she even hinted at supplying the MacIains with arms, her father would hear of it and then her plan would be foiled.

Emma drew a hand to her chest. “Ooo, I do like it, Miss Charlotte. And what a good use of your time whilst you wait for responses to your father’s letters.”

Charlotte rose and clapped. “We must start straight away. First I’ll ask father for the supplies we need—and I know exactly where I can find a board and a bit of paint for the sign.”

“And I’ll ask Farley to spread the word through town. Everyone can part with
something
.”

Charlotte clasped Emma’s hands. “Make sure he stops at the churches—I’d love to hear the reverend preach about it on Sunday.”

Emma grinned, her eyes dancing with excitement. “I do believe you’ve come up with a brilliant idea to help those poor souls.”

Easter week came quickly as the snow in the mountains began to melt. Again slipping to Loch Linnhe under cover of darkness like the scourge of the Highlands—an outlaw on his own land, Hugh and Og met Sir Robert Stewart and boarded his galley. They sailed through the Sound of Mull and up the west coast, all the way to the tip of the Isle of Skye.

The grand fortress of Duntulm Castle loomed atop a rocky promontory with sheer cliffs on three sides. Better yet, its remote location ensured it was out of sight by all but the government-arse-kissing MacLeods. Though that mattered not at all. Tents bespeckled the foreground, giving the impression of a grand fete including Highland games. Nary a ship sailing past would suspect an Easter celebration to be a gathering of Jacobite forces—unless they knew Hugh and Alasdair Og MacIain were present.

Unsure whom they could trust, Hugh and Og kept to the shadows without participating in any games. Lord Donald MacDonald wanted nothing to appear suspicious, thus the festivities took place while Hugh waited. His brother seethed angst out his pores as together they sat on the hill looking down on the games. All the while, Hugh rubbed his fingers over the kerchief Charlotte had made for him. The heather she’d embroidered reminded him of her eyes.

God, he ached for her.

Hugh made use of his time, sizing up the contenders, making mental note of those who showed physical superiority. By all rights he and Og should have been competing. Hugh had never met a man who could best him at wrestling, or Og at the caber toss.

Hugh had just about spent his patience when on the second eve, the Baronet of Sleat called a meeting of the chieftains in the great hall. His guards bolted the door and guarded the entrances from the kitchens and the stairwell. Not even a single henchman was allowed inside—not even Alasdair Og.

All the men sat around the table on the dais with Lord Donald at the head. Hugh took note of those in attendance. Christ, he’d been watching them for two days. He knew who was worth their salt and who needed an army behind him.

The baronet pounded on the table with the butt of his dirk. “We all know why we’re really here.”

“Aye to plot against the Williamite bastard who Glencoed MacIain.” This came from Ewen Cameron, the oldest man in attendance—even older than Da had been. He didn’t partake in the games, but his son and heir, Kennan, had been the best marksman of the lot.

“I say we all fall upon Glenlyon and eliminate his entire line of Campbells,” said Ian Grant, a knife thrower, with hair black as coal. He very well could be the deadliest man in all of Britain.

“Attack every red-coated stronghold from here to the border—that’s where we should set our sights.” Och aye, if Hugh wanted anyone to have his back it would be Coll MacDonald of Keppoch. A mammoth beast, the man had won the wrestling tournament—might even be as good as Hugh himself.

Shouts of outrage rose to the rafters as Lord Donald pounded on the table demanding silence. “Meeting the government troops on the battlefield is all well and good, but I’ll not take up my arms until I’m sure we can win. My father buried enough of our kin after Killiecrankie and Dunkeld and, presently, I need some lads to come into their majority afore I march into battle.”

“What do you propose?” asked Lachlan MacPherson. Hugh didn’t know the ruddy chieftain from Newtonmore very well. MacPherson hadn’t won a single game, but had placed in them all.

The baronet must trust him, otherwise, his birlinn would not have made it ashore
.

“We need organization,” said Lord Donald. “You all have armies at your disposal. How many men can we pull together at a moment’s notice?”

After going around the table, Hugh tallied three thousand. “We need ten times that.”

“What about the Earl of Seaforth?” asked Allan MacDonald of Clanranald. The bonny young lad by rights should still be a squire at the age of ten and six, but his father’s untimely death left him with responsibility far exceeding his years.

Hugh scratched his chin. “Indeed the earl would bring a sizeable army—and the MacRaes would follow for certain.”

Donald frowned. “I sent Seaforth an invitation to our gathering, but received no response.”

“Mayhap if you pay him a visit,” suggested the old Cameron chief. “An earl needs his ego stroked a bit.”

“Very well.” Donald pointed to Robert Stewart who sat with parchment, quill and ink before him. “Our first entry will be to recruit more Jacobites to our cause.”

As the victim who had been “Glencoed”, Hugh thoughtfully listened while the banter continued through the night—every man expressing his objections to King William and sharing widespread misdeeds by government troops. Though none of them had been put under fire and sword, they’d all had a gut full of red-coated dragoons taking their livestock in the name of the king, as well as countless other transgressions.

It was far past the witching hour when Lord Donald asked Robert to read the creed the Jacobite chieftains toiled to compile that night. The most important tenet listed at the top of the final slip of parchment:
To protect Highland families and their lands
. This was followed by things that all free men would expect:
To support free trade
.
To rise against tyranny
.
To demand justice and equal rights for all
. And finally, the last entry, the one by which every chieftain held up his tankard and pledged his oath:
To support the reinstatement of the Stuart line on the throne of Scotland
.

In the wee hours they formed a secret society. They agreed to meet four times per year under the guise of Highland games. After everyone had sufficiently liquored up with whisky, the baronet opened a long wooden crate in the center of the table and pulled out the brands. “Hugh MacIain designed the sign of the Jacobite warrior. Every one of your fighting men will bear this brand.”

“And each of us will be the first to be marked,” shouted Ewen.

“Och aye.” Hugh held up his tankard. “Every Highland Defender shall be branded. No missive will be accepted except from a Defender!”

“Sláinte!” bellowed every man at the table, including young Allan.

The Baronet of Sleat placed the brands in the fire and the men shared another tot of whisky while they waited until the iron turned flame red.

Hugh stood and handed the brand to Donald. “I’d like to be the first.”

“Agreed. ’Tis proper for the son of Alasdair Ruadh MacIain MacDonald to be the first to pledge his oath.”

Hugh removed his doublet and rolled up his sleeve.

“Place your arm on the table.” Donald held the brand so close, the heat singed the fine hairs on the underside of Hugh’s arm. “Do you swear to uphold the creed of the Highland Defenders, inscribed this night by the chieftains who live by its doctrine?”

“I so swear.” Hugh gnashed his teeth as his flesh sizzled under the agonizing pressure of the brand. Sweat dribbled from his brow as his entire body shook. But he uttered not a sound.

One by one, each of the two and twenty chieftains in attendance presented their arms for branding. There may have been a few restrained grunts, but every single man bore his pain with stoic determination.

With the sun’s rise, pounding resounded from the hall door. Lord Donald nodded to the guard who opened it to a runner waving a missive. “I’ve a copy of the Paris Gazette sent up from our allies in Edinburgh.”

The baronet beckoned the man forward and read the article. Then he looked up and grinned. “If this does not light a fire under William of Orange’s arse, I fear we’ll all be damned.”

Sir Ewen picked it up and read aloud, translating the French:

“
The Liard of Glencoe was butchered several days ago in the most barbarous manner, although he was amenable to the present Government…
” The article went on about Glenlyon’s involvement and the men, women and children who were murdered and how such barbarity made all nations see what little trust could be placed on those in power. Unfortunately it named Governor Hill as an accomplice in the massacre—the very man Hugh was counting on to help him gain his lands back. Nonetheless, it was a black mark for the Williamite Party—one that would sour the king’s reputation across Europe.

Sir Donald spread his arms and faced the table of chieftains, now sallow with pain from their seeping brands and a night without sleep. “This is a fortuitous day, indeed. With our new alliance and with the strength of this message from France, we shall be heard.”

“Sláinte!” the men bellowed.

“Information is our strongest ally. I will ensure every Scottish town crier receives a copy of the Gazette.”

***

A storm tossed the birlinn through choppy seas on the voyage back to Appin. After they sailed through the Sound of Mull and into Loch Linnhe, Hugh looked to the north. His heart twisted into a goddamned knot. Hell, looking up toward home hurt worse than if he’d had his entire body branded.

As they approached Castle Salker, Hugh’s mouth watered. Eight miles up the coast was the outlet to Loch Leven. And around that bend was home.

Moreover, twenty miles further up was Fort William and his Charlotte. God, he’d missed her in the few weeks of her absence. He missed the subtle calming brushes of her fingers, her ever present, stalwart support as he battled with his men to provide for the survivors. If only he could sail there now.

But he was still a wanted man.

Would he ever be free from the shackles that kept him from freedom? Would the words of the Gazette and letters from Colonel Hill be enough to exonerate him?

Thousands of times he’d told himself Charlotte was better off with her da. She could sleep in a warm bed, bathe in a proper tub. She had Mrs. MacGregor to tend her and beautiful gowns as any woman of her station should be clad. Charlotte wouldn’t have her food rationed and she could warm herself by a hearth of stone on cold nights.

If only Hugh could have provided her with enough warmth.

But he was still living in poverty. The plaid on his back had worn and hung on his limbs like a rag.

What was Charlotte doing now? Had the physician resumed his pursuit of her hand?

That bloody, pasty codfish. I’ll wager he never put in an honest day’s work in his life.

“Are you coming ashore, or are you aiming to stare northwards for the rest of your days?” asked Og.

“Huh?”

“You haven’t moved since we sailed into Loch Linnhe. Everyone’s stepped ashore except you, brother.”

Hugh cleared his throat and straightened his sword belt. “Then there’s no time to waste. We’ve supplies to haul up the mountain afore daylight on the morrow.”