by Eliza Knight
Fourteen
Mistress J,
Oh, can you believe it! The day is upon us! I hope to see you at the Glen, where Finnan will be awaiting a dance with you. He is ever so bonnie. Do you remember that august moment, not so long ago—we might have only been nineteen at the time—where we stared up at the stars and declared ourselves aligned with the angels? I still think about that.
I cannot wait to see you, my angel friend.
Devoted,
A. M.
When Fiona arrived at Cnàmhan Broch that morning, supposedly to take tea with Jenny, she had Annie with her.
“Do ye know what this means?” Jennie held up the note. “He is here. Arrived on our shores, and we should meet him soon! The nineteenth of August at Glenfinnan.”
“I like that she’s calling ye an angel. Anyone who’s been at the point of your pistol will no’ agree,” Annie teased.
“Prince Charlie’s angels, that’s what we all are, working toward our cause and helping our prince.” Jenny twirled in a little circle that ended with her thrusting a pretend sword into the enemy.
Fiona snorted. “More like Prince Charlie’s hellions.”
Annie and Jenny both laughed at that and then flopped down in their chairs at the table, sipping delicately at their tea.
“I have so much to do,” Jenny said. “We’ll have to leave here in a sennight if we’re to arrive in time to watch the prince declare his claim to the throne. And my mother and I’ve been spending several hours a week training the crofter women how to protect themselves when we’re gone.”
“How is your mother?” Annie eyed the closed door behind them.
“She knows all, and she supports me. In fact, I think it has helped her in dealing with my brother’s betrayal.”
“Will she wish to attend?”
“The battle?” Jenny shook her head. “Nay, she’ll remain behind to keep the castle in order in case my brother or any dragoons come by.” She told her friends then about the close call she’d had after the tavern visit.
“Ye could have been killed,” Annie said, her face going pale.
“Ye take too many risks,” Fiona added with a shake of her head.
“This coming from the two of ye? We have all taken many risks that could get each one of us killed.”
“Aye, but ye’re the only one who’s come so close so far.”
Jenny frowned. “I dinna know what else I can do. I canna stop.” She glanced at the letter again, the carefully crafted message that sounded so much like society lasses gushing about an upcoming ball. “I canna let anyone down.”
“Aye, we’ve all come so far. And we made an oath, one we intend to honor,” Annie added.
“Will the two of ye come with me to Glenfinnan?” Jenny asked.
“I will be there,” Fiona said. “I have had a missive from A. M. myself.”
“As have I,” Annie confessed.
“The same one?”
“Aye,” they both said in unison.
“We shall meet upon the road then and travel together. There will be safety in numbers, especially if the English have caught wind of this.”
“Will ye be bringing the supplies?” Annie asked.
Jenny nodded. “I think I should.”
“Aye.”
The door to Jenny’s solar burst open, and Isla rushed in, stopping short when she noticed they were not alone. The poor lass looked ready to retch or run at having burst into the room without knocking.
“Oh, I’m so verra sorry.” Her cheeks burst into flames of red, and she started to back out of the door. “I was looking for my knitting.”
“Who is this?” Annie said, with a kind smile in an attempt to calm the lass.
“Come in, Isla, meet my friends, Annie and Fiona.”
Isla dipped a curtsy to them both, and each of them fussed for her to stand and not bow to them.
“Would ye care to join us for tea?” Jenny asked, eyeing each of her friends, who gave wordless affirmations. It was best they not appear too conspiratorial. Knowing who her brother was, Isla couldn’t be too much in the dark, but all the same, it wouldn’t be worth scaring the poor lass if she was oblivious to everything going on around her. “Ye seem to have something on your mind.”
“Aye, thank ye so verra much.” Isla grabbed one of the stools and scooted close.
“I’ll go get an extra cup for tea,” Jenny said.
“Oh, I can go,” Isla gushed.
“Nay, stay here and have a biscuit. I’ll be right back.”
She exited the solar, slipping down the back stairs toward the kitchens but pausing on the stairwell when she caught sight of Toran in the courtyard. He was leaning casually against the wall by the gate, chatting with a few of the men. They were obviously jesting about something, all laughing, and she found herself mesmerized by the easy nature of it. The normalcy. This was a rare moment of joy in times of worry.
The men abruptly stopped laughing, their bodies jerking to stiff pillars.
It was then she saw the riders coming down the road, the same moment the men on the wall gave the warning signal. The red coats of their impending guests shone brilliantly crimson in the summer sun; their golden buttons flashed. And though she couldn’t hear from this distance, she could from memory add in the chink of bridles, swords, and spurs.
Dragoons.
Jenny would bet her right arm that Boyd was at their head. Bloody bastard.
She hurried back up the stairs to warn the women, but by the time she burst through the door, her friends were already at the window, their faces pale.
Jenny pulled A. M.’s note from her sleeve and tossed it into the banked fire still smoldering in the hearth, where it crumbled to ash.
“Isla, go to my mother. Dinna go outside at all. Lady Mackintosh will keep ye safe.”
Isla didn’t argue as she rushed from the room and headed toward the stairs going up.
“If Boyd sees me here, we’re lost,” Jenny said. “He knows me for the wench at the croft and the rebel at the tavern.”
“Then let me pretend to be ye, he willna know that I’m untrue,” Annie said. “Go with your mother and Isla.”
Jenny worried her lower lip. “Nay, he’ll kill ye if he finds out, and I canna risk that.”
“He canna kill a lady without cause.”
“He will think he has cause, this I know.”
* * *
Bloody bastards.
Toran grabbed Archie by the arm and gestured for Dirk to follow him into the barracks as the rest of the men hurried to go about their duties—farmers rather than soldiers training.
In the dim light of the barracks, Toran turned to Dirk. “Boyd knows me. He believes me to be loyal to the English.”
Thunder rolled over Dirk’s features, and Toran watched as the man vacillated between competing desires to kill him or question him. “And are ye?” he growled.
“Nay,” Toran answered without hesitation.
Dirk frowned. “Were ye?”
Toran worked hard to keep his voice steady and to not show any of his frustration. In fact, he was surprised it had taken Dirk this long to force the story from him. “I admit to having been a party to both sides in the past.”
Simon rounded the corner then, clapping slowly, a look of satisfaction on his face. “At last, the truth comes out. Father knew ye were a traitor.”
“I should kill ye now,” Dirk said to Toran.
“I’d rather ye didna.” He fixed his stare on Simon. “Him, however, I’d help ye.”
Dirk slanted a glower at Archie. “And what about ye?”
Archie frowned. “I’ve always been loyal to the Stuart crown.”
“I should have known, with your uncle being the Fox,” Dirk said to Toran. Then he glanced at Simon. “And ye, your da is
known as a double agent. What’s to say ye’re not the same?”
Simon shrugged. “What’s to say?”
“I know ye’ve something to do with this. Toran rushed his cousin, ready to put him down, but Dirk grabbed the back of his shirt, putting a falter in his step, though it didn’t stop him completely. However, Archie joined, holding Toran back from finally killing his cousin.
“Is he speaking the truth, Simon?” Dirk asked. “Did ye have something to do with the dragoons coming here?”
“Ye’re harboring a fugitive.”
“Mistress J,” Dirk said.
Simon scoffed. “Nay—Toran. He’s the traitor. Allow me to escort him out the gates and save all of ye the trouble of having to scuff your swords. My father and I are loyal to the Jacobite cause, while this whoreson was willing to kill a dozen of his own clan.”
Hearing Simon call his mother a whore was enough to send the rage billowing out of Toran like cannon fire. He shot forward, breaking free of Dirk and Archie’s hold, and tackled his cousin to the ground. With his hands at Simon’s throat, he growled, “I know about the ransom.”
Simon paled, his mouth going into a firm straight line. “Give yourself up, and I’ll make certain Isla and Camdyn are safe.”
“Ballocks. I’ll just kill ye and never think about ye again.”
“Like the men ye thought ye’d killed?”
Toran reared his fist back and slammed it into Simon’s temple. The jackal’s eyes rolled back in his head, his body going slack.
Mac burst into the barracks. “What the bloody hell?” He glowered down at Toran. “The two of ye have cost us enough time. Shall I put them in a cell, Dirk?”
“Just the unconscious one.”
Mac nodded, and Toran climbed off his cousin, watching as Mac lifted him up and carried him out of the barracks.
Toran wiped the sweat from his brow, still panting, and turned around to face Dirk and Archie. Both of them were looking at him incredulously.
“I intercepted some information,” Toran said. “My uncle was going to ransom the men in the garrison in exchange for myself and my siblings. Simon was only biding his time.”
“And ye didna tell anyone?” Dirk asked.
“Aye. Foolish, I know, but I thought I could handle it myself.”
“In this outfit, we dinna handle things on our own.” Dirk grimaced and looked away.
“Understood. There’s no point in arguing the matter. The fact is if Boyd sees me, he’ll be suspicious of ye all. I betrayed him when I saved Archie.”
“Fine. Stay out of sight.” Dirk bared his teeth, and Toran had the distinct feeling the man wanted to tear into his flesh. “Does Jenny know about your past?”
“Some of it.”
“Ye’d best tell her the rest soon, else I’ll be telling her and ye’ll no’ want to deal with my fury on her behalf,” he warned. Rounding on Archie, he asked, “What of ye?”
“Boyd will recognize me since I escaped his prison.”
“Fine, then the both of ye stay hidden. Probably best if ye go into the castle and keep the women safe. We’ll try our damnedest to keep Boyd out. If he makes it far enough to get to you, it’s because he’s stomped on our heads.”
Toran agreed, and Dirk marched out of the barracks with the two of them on his heels. When Dirk headed for the gate, Toran and Archie hurried for the castle.
“Is what ye said true about Simon?” Archie paused just inside the entrance of the castle.
“Aye,” Toran said without hesitation. “I intercepted a missive from Uncle agreeing to terms with Boyd for the exchange. Boyd will get more than he bargained for with Simon added to our ranks, and he wants me dead. So does Uncle because I went behind his back.”
Archie nodded. “But why Isla and Camdyn?”
“That I canna understand.” He shook his head and pressed his fist to the cold stone wall. “Simon has been keeping track of everything I do. I think he’s behind Boyd’s visit today.”
“He could be.”
“God, I wanted to kill him.”
“He’ll get what’s coming to him. Maybe we’ll all forget he’s rotting in a cell.”
“Wishful thinking.”
They made their way up the stairs and paused outside Isla’s door. There was no answer when he knocked, but Jenny’s door jerked open, and her beautiful head popped out, worry creasing her brow.
“What are ye doing in here?” she asked.
“Where is my sister?”
“She’s safe with my mother.”
“Dirk requested we keep ye safe.”
“I dinna need ye to protect me. But my mother and your sister would likely find comfort in your presence.”
He wanted to ask why she wouldn’t find comfort in his presence, but since that night when they’d had their last kiss, they’d been avoiding each other. It’d been nearly two weeks since, each keeping busy with their own tasks, each doing their damnedest to pretend the other didn’t exist. Only she was everything he thought about in the morning when he woke and the very last thought he had before he fell asleep. If he slept at all.
And Toran had done what he did best—keeping an eye on Jenny while she talked with her nonexistent friend, the one who snuck in and out of the castle—and found out exactly when the prince would be arriving, which was now. Charles Stuart was here, on Scottish soil. And at any moment, the woman was going to insist on meeting him, on bringing all of her planning to bear. Och, but he couldn’t blame her. In fact, he admired her for it.
If Simon wasn’t responsible for the dragoons on their doorstep, was this the reason why? They’d not seen even a shadow of a redcoat since their nighttime run, and now the bastards were here.
Toran walked closer to her. “I have my orders from your second-in-command,” he murmured.
Jenny snapped to attention and then turned to speak to someone else in her room. “Annie? Fiona? Would ye show Archie to my mother’s chamber? I need a moment alone with Toran.”
He leaned a shoulder casually against the corridor wall even when he felt anything but. The healer he’d met at the croft passed him, followed by the woman he’d seen sneaking into the castle weeks ago. That one flashed him a teasing smile.
The two women hurried down the corridor with Archie. As soon as they’d cleared the stairwell at the end, Jenny grabbed the front of his shirt, dragged him into her chamber, and shoved him up against the wall.
“Ye’re strong,” he teased.
“What are ye doing?” She glowered at him.
“Boyd will recognize myself and Archie. We thought it best our duties be to the ladies inside.” He didn’t tell her about Simon, not just yet.
“I dinna mean what are ye literally doing. I mean what are ye doing?” She waved her hands between them. “This. Coming to find me. Ye’re a distraction, Toran. There are redcoats here at Cnàmhan Broch right now, and instead of helping, I’m in here with ye.”
“Ye canna help. He’ll recognize ye.” He narrowed his eyes. “With all due respect, Mistress J, ye’re not going out there. I saw what happened to ye at the croft. I was there when he chased us over the moonlit moors. The man wants ye, and then he wants ye dead.”
“Why did ye no’ say anything about Boyd before?”
“I thought it was no’ my place to ask. If ye were willing to share it, ye would have.”
“I thank ye for no’ saying anything.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “What makes ye think he willna recognize Dirk?”
“Dirk wasna at the croft. And he was well ahead of ye when they spotted us outside the tavern.”
“And Boyd would know ye and Archie because of your arrest?”
“Aye.” He gritted his teeth. Boyd knew him for a hell of a lot more. Now was the time to tell her about his past, and he was still unable to find the right words. Especia
lly since Jenny’s temper was high enough that she’d likely run him through before even asking questions.
Jenny backed away from him, going to her window to peer out from behind the curtain.
“Boyd is like Cumberland’s own spawn,” she murmured.
“Aye.” He drew closer, leaning on the opposite side of the window frame. “Your prince has arrived on Scottish soil.”
She flicked her gaze toward him. “How do ye know?”
“I listen too, Jenny.”
She grunted. “I suppose that makes sense, given your background.”
He stiffened.
“If my uncle were a great spy and renowned double-dealer, I’d have picked up a thing or two as well.”
Toran winced. “My lady—”
“Jenny,” she corrected.
“I have need to tell ye something.” It was now or face her blade.
“They are here.” She pressed her face to the window, and he did the same. Now was definitely not the time to hope for her understanding. Later. When Boyd had gone, he’d sit her down and confess all.
The men on the wall called down to the visitors, the echo of their voices like a dusting on the wind. Jenny unlatched the window and let it swing open a little, the wind blowing in gently over his fingers where they rested on the casement.
“Open the gates in the name of the king,” Boyd shouted.
“We’ve paid our taxes and committed no crime. Our laird, Hamish Mackintosh, serves King George at Stirling,” Dirk called down.
With each word, Jenny’s brow wrinkled deeper. The men would try as they might to shove the dragoons off, but Boyd wanted in.
Boyd drew his pistol and pointed it at Dirk, up on the wall. “I said open up.”
Jenny shivered beside Toran, and he wanted to pull her close, to hug her against his body and hold onto her until all of this was over. To tell her there was nothing to worry about and that the redcoats would soon leave them be. But how could he promise something he was unsure of?
“I willna let him hurt ye,” he whispered. That much he would make certain of with every last breath in his body.