The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (9 page)

“At least we do not have to spend another night in this unsavory establishment.” Hugh pointed to the men. “See to it the ponies are ready to ride. We’ll return anon.”

He tightened his sword belt and walked beside Da to the courthouse. Not long and the sheriff entered, brushing snow from his cloak. “A man alights from his galley and told to head to the courthouse afore he’s had a chance to light a fire in home’s hearth. This had best be good, MacIain.”

Da pulled Governor Hill’s missive from his buckskin and slapped it on the board. “I’ve been six days waiting for someone with cods enough to take my oath to King William.” He then went into great detail about Hill’s refusal at Fort William and being unlawfully detained at Barcaldine Castle by Drummond’s patrol. “To top it off, me and my men nearly lost our lives riding through the worst blizzard since God Almighty created Scotland. ’Tis a wonder I’m standing here afore you this day.”

The Campbell sheriff frowned and stroked his fingers down his chin while he pored over Hill’s missive. Then he sat back in his chair and casually tossed the parchment on the table. “I’m afraid ’tis too late to take the oath. The writ clearly states it must be sworn to before the first of January.”

“Did you not hear a word I said?” Da took in a deep inhale, puffing out his chest. “I tried to swear the oath to anyone who would listen. Why Colonel Hill, the Governor of Fort William, could not administer it, I’ve no idea. Why Captain Drummond saw fit to lock me in the hold against my will for an entire day is unforgivable.”

“But ’tis the fifth of January.”

Hugh’s fingers itched to draw his sword and level it under the smug sheriff’s chin. Why the hell was he stalling? Da had the letter from Hill explaining what had happened. Damnation, he’d held his tongue long enough. “You
want
us to fail, no matter that in good faith my father tried to take the oath afore the deadline.”

“You, sir, have not been addressed. And had you been in
Inveraray
on the thirty-first of December and not
Fort William
, I might just be so inclined to issue the oath to your errant father, regardless of my profound distaste for the man.”

Hugh thrust his finger at the codfish. “You see? You admit—”

“Silence!” Da bellowed loud enough to wake the dead buried in Glencoe’s hills.

Even the “sheriff of the damned” jolted in his seat, his grey wig toppling cockeyed.

Da took a step forward, spreading his palms wide. “Please.” His voice warbled like never before. “I’ve come to you in good faith. We’ve lain low and kept to ourselves. Administer the oath to me and upon my honor, I will promise that I shall order all my people to do the same. Those who refuse, you may imprison or send to Flanders as soldiers.”

Hugh closed his eyes.
What words did Da have with the colonel when I was in the passageway with Charlotte? And after with Captain Drummond? Da’s never been afraid of anything, but I ken fear, and if the tremor in Da’s voice isn’t downright terror, then I’m no Highland scrapper.

Sheriff Campbell straightened his wig and looked up at the great chieftain’s face.

“Please, I beg of you,” Da continued. “I have endured great hardship to stand before you this day. I’ve patiently awaited your return. I’d like nothing better than to head home to my lady wife and have this business behind me.”

With his frown, the sheriff shook his head. “Boar’s ballocks, my duty is but to record the oaths given in my presence. Come to me on the morrow and it will be done.”

“Why wait until the morrow?” Hugh started forward to be met with Da’s steely grip on his upper arm.

“One more day at the change-house, lad.” Then Da looked to the sheriff. “My thanks.”

Once outside, Hugh led his father off the path to a bench where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Devil’s fire, I’ve never seen you bow to anyone like I just saw in there. Bloody hell, Da. We’re MacDonalds. Fearless in the eyes of God. Does that account for nothing?”

The proud old man’s shoulders sagged while he swiped a hand down his face. “Bless it, son. Do you not ken this is all for you? All of it!”

Hugh’s brow pinched. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Master of Stair is moving forty thousand troops to rain fire throughout the Highlands. He aims to snuff out those who do not make the pledge.” A spark flickered in his eye. “And Drummond laughed in my face when he told me Glencoe was first on the master’s list of upstarts.”

Hugh shuddered like a snake had just slithered up his spine. “Christ. Will they never leave us be?”

Da grasped the plaid draped across Hugh’s shoulder and twisted it in his fist. “By God, I will see to it that my sons thrive, and their sons, and their sons after. You
will
succeed me, and our clan
will
rule the Coe forever.” His grip tightened until the plaid nearly split its woolen fibers. “Understand one thing. I’d drop to my knees and beg if it meant our kin would be free from King William’s wrath.”

For the most part Charlotte enjoyed the officers’ banter during the evening meal. She always listened thoughtfully, careful to keep her opinions bottled and corked, especially when her views didn’t mirror the others’. Why they all managed to believe they were still at war with the Jacobites, she couldn’t fathom. Not every clan had taken the oath, but most had—especially those thought to be a possible threat, and Papa expected little in the way of retaliation from the others who hadn’t yet come forward.

In her opinion, the threat of war had never been so unlikely. Besides, the weather made any such improbable retaliation unlikely.

Charlotte cut her roast lamb with precise slices as her ears piqued. The generally lighthearted banter had taken a turn to matters at hand. Why soldiers oft insisted on making a stir just to agitate that which would otherwise be idle, she would never fathom.

“We need to make an example of the laggards to show all the Highlanders that disobedience will not be tolerated,” said Doctor Munro, seated beside her.

Papa and Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton exchanged pointed frowns. “I daresay I agree,” said Hamilton. “However, no small clan will do. The king’s action needs to be on a grand scale—a statement by the army that ends any question to James’ claims to the throne forever.”

Charlotte swirled the bite of lamb and turnip in her mouth, contemplating what might happen if she spat it at the insensitive cur. Make an example of an entire clan? And to what end? To show the kindly Highland folk that the king’s men could be the most immeasurable asses in all the world?

Papa leveled his eating knife in the young officer’s direction. “Watch yourself, sir. There is a lady present.”

She stopped mid-chew. Papa’s rebuttal sent heat firing across the back of her neck. Did her father condone such an act of barbarity? Worse, the two men again locked gazes, communicating about something to which everyone at the table was obviously not privy. She rested her fork on the side of her plate. “Fortunately, the MacIain and the Cameron Clans have sworn fealty. Did they not pose the greatest threat?” she asked, dabbing the corner of her mouth. Surely the lieutenant colonel could occupy his time with things other than plotting against the local clansmen and women—or her father for goodness sakes.

Hamilton stabbed a turnip as if he were thrusting a dagger. “Alasdair MacIain was late to pledge the oath. Word came from Inveraray he didn’t manage to sign until the
sixth
of January.”

Charlotte took in a deep breath, straining against her corset, yet unable to capture the deep breath she needed to settle her trembling fingers. “Not for want of trying.”

“He knew better than to come to Fort William,” the blackguard continued. “Governor Hill could no more record his oath than I could.”

“And why not, pray tell?” She leaned forward. “You are both high ranking vassals of the king.”

“Enough.” Papa reached for his goblet of claret. “I’m happy with the number of chieftains who pledged their fealty to William.”

“Honestly, Governor?” Hamilton eyed Charlotte from across the table. “I think since Miss Hill inquired, it should be made clear no favors will be extended to men who are themselves criminals, living in a den of thieves.”

For the love of everything holy, her stays had become two sizes tighter since the meal began. Though her head swooned, she would uncover the truth of Hamilton’s abhorrence. “Oh? And why is it you have taken such a dislike to Clan Iain Abrach of Glencoe?”

The smirk on the young officer’s face gave her pause. Oh, how hatred and prejudice twisted relatively attractive features into ugly darkness. If Hamilton’s heart were the color of his features, it was black and compassionless. “I believe I’ve mentioned the rogues not only fought against us at Killiecrankie, they ventured home by way of the Glenlyon Campbells and all but ran Captain Robert into bankruptcy. The Laird of Glenlyon is a good friend of mine.”

“Is that so?” Charlotte situated her fork and knife across her plate—busying herself to allay her urge to scream. “I understand Sir Robert is a gambler and a drunkard.”

“Charlotte!” Da admonished. “You will apologize for that remark.”

See what happens when I engage these men in conversation? Now I’m made out to be the muttonhead.
“Forgive me.” She folded her hands in her lap and glared at them. Clearly Hamilton harbored abhorrence for Hugh’s clan. Be it a raid on a raider’s lands, she had no idea, but something told her his prejudice delved far deeper than he’d let on.

“I daresay it was quite brilliant of Captain Drummond to stall the old man on his journey to Inveraray.” Hamilton held up his wine glass with a wry grin as if he’d won the battle of words. “Here, here to that.”

“Here, here,” repeated the men at the table, all grinning like a pack of mindless baboons dressed in red coats.

Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to partake in such a heartless celebration of another’s misfortune. Out of the corner of her eye, Papa frowned and swirled his claret. Something didn’t sit well with him either.
At least there’s more than one compassionate soul at the table
.

“Things in the surgery have been quite busy.” Doctor Munro reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. “Now that I have the bloody flux under control, influenza is upon us.”

Papa shoved a bite of bread into his mouth. “Bring it under control. I cannot have an entire battalion of men abed with fever.”

“Aye, and ’tis terribly contagious.” The physician shot her a pointed look. “Charlotte, I do not want you anywhere near the surgery until the epidemic is over.”

She wouldn’t mind that at all. In fact, she hadn’t visited the surgery in sennights. “Very well. I’ve plenty to keep me busy now I’ve taken up mending uniforms.”

He leaned toward her until his shoulder touched hers. “On a lighter note, I do believe the sentries have cleared away the snow from the wall-walk. Would you take a turn with me atop the battlements? After, we could warm our insides with some of Mrs. MacGregor’s raspberry leaf tea.”

If nothing else, Charlotte needed to clear her head and the physician seemed to be the most amiable officer at the table. “I do believe a spell of frigid air would revive the soul.”

“Be careful not to stay out too long. With the influenza about, I do not want you catching a chill, my dear.” Papa stood and took Charlotte’s hands, giving her a peck on the cheek.

The physician stood as well. “One turn and then a warm cup of tea. I promise.”

After donning their cloaks, Doctor Munro grasped Charlotte’s hand and led her up the narrow stairwell. His hands were always clammy and cold. But it would be insensitive for her to pull away now.

“How long do you think the influenza outbreak will last?” she asked.

“Only God knows. But sure as the rain, we have an outbreak during winter every year which, on average, puts a soldier on his back for a sennight, with another sennight of sniffles, coughing and muscle weakness.”

“How dreadful.”

Doctor Munro stopped and took both of Charlotte’s hands between his palms, holding them against his heart. “I meant what I said about staying away from the surgery until the epidemic is over, but what troubles me more is I haven’t enjoyed the gift of your presence in over a fortnight.”

She stared at their joined hands and felt nothing. Her heart didn’t race as it had when Mr. MacIain held her fingers against his heart. Was she attracted to rogues and villains? Perhaps not entirely. Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton’s blue-eyed stare did make her shudder—as opposed to the tingles that made her heart swell when she gazed into Mr. MacIain’s eyes.

But she must face the fact that though she felt no abhorrence, she experienced no giddy heart pounding when the physician held her hands and gazed into her eyes. She truly wished he wouldn’t be so familiar with her. Yet, wasn’t that how a man was supposed to act when courting a woman?

What a dreadful state of affairs.
If only I could return to London now and not wait until the snow melts. Why, it’s so deep, it may not melt until July for all I know
.

“I fear your thoughts are a hundred miles away.” Doctor Munro’s gaze drifted aside. “Have I done something to drive you away?”

She stared at his chin. “No.”

“Then what is it? Do I displease you?”

“Oh, Doctor Munro—”

“Roderick.”

Charlotte gulped. She could no longer pretend. “Forgive me, Roderick, but I must tell you it is unfair of me to continue this pretense of courting given my inattentiveness.”

“Is it Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?” The physician’s brow furrowed. “He is quite a handsome gentleman.”

“Most certainly not.” She gave an exaggerated shake of her head. “I fear that man’s heart is evil.”

“He seems to be a most ardent soldier.”

Growing suddenly warm, Charlotte pictured herself like a kettle with steam billowing out the top of her head. “With bloodlust as large as his love of advancement.” Yes, she’d given a curt reply, but someone in this fort needed to call attention to the errant, power-loving wiles of that braggart.

A timid smile played across Roderick’s face. “Though it is a relief you harbor no feelings for Hamilton, I want to strengthen our bond. Do you not find our friendship invigorating?” His eyes grew dark as he slowly lifted her hands to his mouth and plied them with a purse of his lips.

Charlotte tried to smile. But honestly, did he have to kiss her hands and look so miserably forlorn? And why couldn’t she find it in her heart to love him? He was educated, from an esteemed family, and would always maintain a stately home. Life with Roderick Munro would be comfortable.

“What must I do to gain your adoration, my love?”

Grow ten inches taller, carry an enormous sword with which you would always vow to protect my honor and speak to me with a rolling Highland burr
. Charlotte cringed. Was she so shallow, she could not see beyond all the things that attracted her to Hugh MacIain? For goodness sakes, she hardly knew the Highlander, and more than once she’d heard tales about his fierce battles. Perhaps if she could spend an afternoon strolling the wall-walk with Hugh, she’d discover his true self and discern if her unabashed attraction consisted of a foundation of stone or sand. Alas, she’d probably be sailing back to London before Mr. MacIain ventured to Fort William again, if he ever did.

“Charlotte?” Doctor Munro brushed her cheek with the back of his finger. “Are you deep in thought about my ardent love for you, or are you elsewhere.”

She stepped back and cleared her throat. “Forgive me. Your question made my mind swarm. Please, if you need an answer from me forthwith, I must say no, for my feelings for you run no deeper than friendship.”

His eyebrow arched. “’Tis said friendship is a delightful place to start a marriage.”

Her stomach squeezed and not with a tingling sensation. It clamped with dread. Marriage? Of course courting led to marriage. And she wasn’t getting any younger. If she didn’t accept a proposal from Doctor Munro, she just might end up a spinster. “No,” her lips blurted, seemingly governed by a force outside her body.

“Not ever?” The man blinked rapidly as if she’d slapped him.

Drawing a hand to her chest, she took a deep inhale. “I am not yet ready to speak of marriage, and it would be selfish of me to expect you to wait whilst my feeble mind tries to make a decision.”

“May I suggest you defer to your father? He waited until middle age to marry. He might be best to advise you, since
I
obviously am struggling to make you see reason.”

Charlotte moved back and folded her arms. “You think I am unreasonable?”

“Not so much that, but I do think you need a mature person with whom you can consult.” Roderick took her elbow and proceeded along the wall-walk. “Until then I am not planning to leave Fort William any time soon. I’ve another two years on contract with the army. I’ve nothing but time, my love.”

With such selfless encouragement, Charlotte almost agreed—until a picture of Hugh MacIain shackled to a cot in the surgery soaking wet and shivering popped into her head. Doctor Munro might be genteel with her, but there were grave matters upon which they fiercely differed.

***

A score of clansmen and women sat in Da’s drawing room, most on wooden chairs, some of the younger ones on the floor. Ma, Sandy and his wife, Sarah, occupied the overstuffed couch across from the hearth. As children, Hugh and his brothers used to fight for such a comfortable spot beside Ma when Da started in on one of his stories. But none of that mattered anymore. Hugh sat on a stool jutted up against the whitewashed stone wall.

Da took a long pull of ale from his prized drinking cup of French silver—a relic from his time in Paris where the sons of Highland chiefs were sent to polish their God given autocracy and pride. A place where honor and chivalry were a part of the curriculum, but only second to leadership and absolutism. Hugh had the honor of a term in Paris where he made allies with men like Donald MacDonald of Sleat, Iain-a-Chraggain Grant of Glenmoriston, and Kennan Cameron of Lochiel—all young bucks like Hugh, and all men upon whom the good fortune of being the first born heirs of a clan chieftainship befell.