The Rebel Wears Plaid

by Eliza Knight

  Jenny looked incredulous. “I am no’ worried for myself.”

  “I know, but I am.”

  She didn’t look at him, her eyes wide and fixed on the gate slowly being opened. Her brother had thought the use of a gate to be entirely too old-fashioned, and perhaps it was, but it was for their safety, and she was glad now that she’d insisted he not tear it down.

  “Go and hide the women,” Jenny said. “If they will take one, it will be me.”

  “I’ll not leave ye.”

  She glanced up at him then, her expression earnest. “Sometimes one sacrifice is better for the greater good than all of us perishing. A great woman taught me that.”

  Toran’s gut soured. Did she mean his mother?

  “Go, Fraser. That’s an order.”

  Toran ground his teeth and planted his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not leaving ye to sacrifice yourself.”

  She shoved against his chest. “Go!”

  “Nay.” He grabbed her hands, pulled her close. “I already lost one woman who meant the world to me in this war. I’m not losing another.”

  Her face crumpled in grief, and she looked ready to argue with him. He was so bloody ready to press his mouth to hers, to tell her that she belonged with him, that he couldn’t even consider leaving the room.

  But they were both distracted once more by the men in the courtyard. The voices had grown louder. Not because there were more of them, but because they were closer.

  The courtyard had completely cleared save for Dirk and a handful of Mackintosh men who stood at the head of the dozen mounted dragoons, including Boyd.

  “Where are your weapons?” Boyd demanded. “By our right, we’ve come to divest ye of any excess arms.”

  Dirk kept his hands at his sides as he spoke. “They’ve been sent to Laird Mackintosh to serve the king. We keep only what is necessary to fend off any outlaws.”

  Boyd narrowed his eyes, clearly disbelieving. “Where do the men sleep?”

  “In what was once the barracks.” Dirk nodded toward the building.

  Boyd dismounted and started marching toward the barracks and stables, likely to investigate their weapon hoard himself. He waved at his men, who dismounted and joined him in the search. They shoved open the doors of various outbuildings. They were going to toss the place. Toran knew the drill. He’d witnessed it plenty of times. They would be entering the castle. They would commandeer anything they wanted. And if they found any guns, they’d line the residents up and either shoot them or take them to the garrison where they would wish they’d been shot.

  “Ye need to leave, Jenny. And so do the women upstairs.” His voice was calm, deadly serious.

  “What?” She looked at him, confused.

  “Boyd is coming into the castle. He’ll find ye. He’ll find everything. ’Tis what he does.”

  “How do ye know this?”

  “I know it because…I’ve been with him when he’s done this before.”

  She backed away from him then, shock and outrage on her face. “Ye brought him here.” She pointed at him, accusing and angry.

  “Nay,” he adamantly denied, shaking his head. “I would no’ have done such a thing.”

  “I dinna understand.”

  “I want to explain it to ye, but I’ve no time right now.”

  “’Tis no’ just the women who we harbor here,” Jenny said. “Have ye forgotten about everything we’ve been doing? Collecting?”

  Ballocks!

  “Where is it all?”

  She hesitated, as though she didn’t want to tell him. She no longer trusted him, and that tore at his heart. Finally, she said, “In the tower room.”

  “Hidden?”

  “Aye. But if they are looking, they will find it.”

  “All right, then we need to create a diversion.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your mother. Most of the Highlands knows she’s been ill. We need to have her more than just sick of heart. Perhaps a case of the measles is in order.”

  “And she’s been quarantined in the tower.”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll move the women there. Ye find a way to make certain Boyd comes nowhere near us.”

  Toran agreed. “’Tis the least I can do.”

  “And when he is gone, we will talk.”

  “Aye, Jenny. We will.”

  He turned and left then, feeling a heaviness in his chest. Mo chreach, but he hoped this would not be the last time he saw her. Their plan had to work.

  Toran hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen, where he found the staff huddled in the pantry, hiding. “I need a message to be spread among everyone who works at the keep. ’Tis from your mistress.”

  The women perked up, nodding, though fear still filled their faces.

  “Lady Mackintosh has been struck with the measles these past five days and is in quarantine in the tower. Make certain all know it. We canna have the dragoons going up there.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “But I just saw her this morning…” One of the maids, not very quick to catch on, started to say before Cook swatted her. “Oh, I see. Aye, I’ll not say a word.”

  Toran grimaced. “See that ye stick to the story, else they will burn this castle to the ground and not one of us will be walking away alive.”

  “Aye, sir.” They nodded vigorously and dispersed, not once questioning. Their loyalty to their mistress was admirable and made him swell with pride.

  The English had yet to infiltrate the castle, but he could hear them making a ruckus outside.

  From the nearest window, Toran peered out, observing Boyd in the center of the ruckus, pointing to his men, giving orders.

  A loud moan echoed through the courtyard, eerie and otherworldly. The men all stopped and turned to stare up at the castle.

  “What was that?” Boyd asked sharply.

  “The Green Lady,” one of the men said with a shiver. “She haunts us.”

  A maid ran around the side of the castle with a bundle in her hands, making for the front stairs to the tower.

  “You there, stop!” Boyd demanded.

  The woman stopped short, nearly toppling backward.

  “Aye, sir?” She turned slowly, terror on her features.

  “What have you got there? Where are you going?”

  The maid did a fantastic job of glancing back up at the castle tower, her eyes wide with worry as she tapped at her bundle.

  “Herbs for my mistress, sir. She’s been near death’s door with the measles these past several days.”

  Boyd stiffened, and the men around him backed away from the clansmen they’d been harassing.

  “Measles?”

  “Aye. We’ve been trying everything we can, but nothing seems to ease her suffering.” The lass lifted her arm, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Me own ma just passed last week from it. An outbreak we’ve had. Three of the wee ones and Sarah’s grandda.”

  Boyd took another step back at the mention of death and outbreak.

  He glanced sharply at Dirk. “Is this true? Why did you not warn us?”

  “Aye, ’tis,” Dirk said, not missing a beat. He shook his head sadly and crossed himself. “I thought ye’d already know. We’ve been spreading the word to all those around.”

  “Seeing as how you’re dealing with this, we’ll be on our way.” Boyd edged closer to his horse. “But do not think this is a reprieve. I expect, as loyal servants of King George, you will send a message to the garrison and let me know when all is well so I might return.”

  “Aye, of course,” Dirk said.

  Toran counted the seconds until the English mounted their horses and withdrew as swiftly as they’d come. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached Lady Mackintosh’s room.

 
He raised his hand to knock, and Jenny threw open the door before his knuckles touched the wood.

  “We did it,” she said in a high whisper, and then she tossed her arms around his neck.

  Her body crushed to his, the scent of her flowing around him, her lush breasts pressing against his chest, and he couldn’t help but envelop her in his arms.

  “’Twas your servants who deserve the credit. I only delivered the message. They came up with the specifics of the scheme themselves.”

  “We are safe for now,” she murmured against his shoulder, still holding tight to him.

  “Aye, safe for now.” He drew in one last longing breath and then eased away from her grasp. “I just wanted to make sure ye were aware the English had left.”

  “We are.” She smiled up at him in a way he’d not seen before. Conspiratorial, proud. And he longed to see that same look on her again.

  But not until he’d told her the truth. In their celebration, she’d momentarily forgotten her mistrust of him, and he’d basked in his reprieve for however short it was.

  “I’ve a need to speak with ye about something. ’Haps another walk in the gardens after the evening meal.”

  “Aye. We need to.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, but before she could say more, her friends called her back into the chamber.

  Toran rushed down the stairs, pausing in the middle when he thought of maybe returning to her. He forced himself the rest of the way down instead. Tonight he’d tell her the truth. All of it.

  In the barracks, Camdyn lay on his cot, his face pale. When he saw his brother, he exhaled visibly in relief. “I was worried,” he said.

  “’Twas a close call and will no’ be the last,” Toran said. “I know that’s no measure of comfort, but it is the truth.”

  “I know, and I’m glad ye give it to me straight.”

  Toran sat down beside his brother, listening to him tell a tale of how he and the other men had hidden beneath their cots with swords, ready to cut into anyone wearing red. While Camdyn spoke, Toran caught snatches of conversation from the men around them who spoke about times past when the dragoons had come to their doorstep.

  They started to talk about one woman, a great friend of Lady Mackintosh, who’d joined the rebellion. Toran slowly turned toward the conversation, listening intently, as did Camdyn, who knew about his mother’s involvement in the rebellion. Both of them hungry to learn if this woman they discussed was their mother.

  “Och but she had hair as red as fire,” an older soldier said. “I flirted with her over a pint one night, and she nearly unmanned me with her dagger when I leaned in for a kiss.”

  “What was her name?” Toran asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Moire.”

  Toran felt all the blood draining from his head, and he had the overwhelming urge to retch.

  Beside him, Camdyn sat back hard.

  “Och, but she was a firebrand,” the older man said wistfully.

  “Aye, she was a great mentor for our mistress,” Mac said. “Used to accompany us on our routes.”

  “What…happened to her?” Toran forced himself to finally ask.

  The room grew somber, those present hanging their heads low. It was Dirk who spoke, emotion filling his voice.

  “The redcoats caught up with us on the road.”

  Toran narrowed his eyes. This was not the story he’d heard.

  “She was so brave… Telling everyone to run and that she’d distract them. Jenny and her fought that night, but Moire”—Dirk shook his head—“she had it in her head that she was going to save everyone. And she did. She saved the weapons and coin too. They…they killed her.”

  “Dragoons killed her?” Toran stiffened.

  “Aye.”

  “Ye’re sure?”

  Dirk narrowed his eyes and sat forward. “What kind of bloody question is that?”

  Camdyn sat in stunned silence, and Toran was glad for that. “We heard she was killed by the rebels.”

  His mother had been a part of the rebels, he knew, because his uncle had been very vocal about her abandoning her clan. How much she’d kept from them. Did this mean she’d willingly gone to her death? If that was the case, then it meant that Jenny was not to blame for his mother’s death. That his burning need for revenge had been concentrated on the wrong person.

  Nearly every man in the barracks erupted in a roar of fury.

  “’Twas that bloody Boyd,” Dirk growled. “When I get my hands on him…”

  Toran felt like he was going to retch. All this time, the man he’d pledged allegiance to had been the one responsible for his mother’s death…and Boyd had to have known. Had to have been laughing behind his back as he reveled in the murder. What a bloody fool Toran had been. It had been the reason Toran had been so willing to lure the Fraser rebels to the garrison so he could question them in their part…except there had been no part.

  Guilt riddled him, and he felt completely powerless. All the lives put in peril at his own hand—his own people’s lives—because he’d believed lies.

  Toran sat up straighter, rubbing his hand through his hair and then over his face. Nausea swirled in his gut, blurring his vision. Perhaps he should give himself up now. Surrender as an enemy and allow Jenny to take a sword to his neck.

  He needed air.

  “What’s wrong?” Camdyn asked, following him.

  Toran glanced at his brother. “Came close today.”

  Camdyn patted him on the back. “I’ve always wanted to be a soldier, like ye. Like our da. But I never knew that even our mother… I mean, I just didna understand.”

  “Ye’re already a fine soldier, lad. And she’s a woman ye can be proud of. Dinna believe anything but that.”

  Camdyn smiled, needing that comfort. “What of Uncle? Do ye think he’s looking for us?”

  Toran shook his head, cursing himself for the lie. “Nay.”

  Toran would bet every coin to his name that his uncle wasn’t going to bide his time much longer. The man never could stomach waiting on anyone else. He’d be irritated that Simon was taking this long. He might be declaring himself for the Stuart return now, but the Fox could only be counted upon to vacate one den for another when cornered. And that was now.

  Toran decided that Camdyn was old enough to share some of his thoughts. “I fear Uncle will align himself with Boyd soon.”

  Camdyn nodded, as if he’d been expecting that. “What happens when we get out on the battlefield and Uncle is there?”

  “We face him. We have made our choice, and by then he will have made his.”

  “They say clan and country first. What if your clan is at odds?”

  “Our clan is not. Me, ye, Isla, Archie, we are Frasers who stand on the side of right.” As the words flowed off his tongue, he knew them for the truth they were.

  “The right side.”

  Toran clasped his brother’s shoulder and squeezed. “The prince’s side. Mistress J’s side.”

  Camdyn grinned. “Ye like her.”

  “Everyone likes her, look around.” He indicated the men seated in groups around them.

  “Nay, I mean ye really like her.” Camdyn waggled his brows.

  Toran ruffled his brother’s hair. “I’ll not be letting a lass distract me from our mission.”

  “Ah, so ye admit it, ye like her.”

  “I find her…intriguing.”

  Camdyn’s grin grew wider. “Who wouldna? She’s incredible.”

  “Dinna get your hopes up, lad. Ye’re too young for her.”

  Camdyn touched two fingers to his jawline, running them up and down the bone. “I am edging into manhood, Toran, ye’d best look out. We both know I’m the better-looking Fraser.”

  Toran laughed aloud at that. “Full of yourself too.”

  “Only because it’s the truth.�
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  Toran playfully shoved his brother backward, and Camdyn rose to the unspoken challenge. They started to wrestle, Toran letting him get in a few good licks before pinning his brother to the ground and looming over him.

  “Ye almost got me.”

  Camdyn laughed. “One day the roles will be reversed. Just ye wait, Brother.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  Fifteen

  Jenny stared up at the purplish sky. The color would be striking for a gown.

  Beside her, Toran stood quietly. They’d walked together toward the vineyard, and the scent of wine grapes filled the air.

  “Ye said ye wanted to tell me something.” What was this feeling of dread in her belly? She couldn’t face him, fearful of what he would say.

  “My mother’s name was Moire.”

  Finally, he’d decided to confess that to her. “Moire MacGillivray.”

  “Aye. Ye knew?”

  “I only just learned recently. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Tears filled her eyes as the memory of that day came back to her.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Jenny nodded, understanding how much he needed to hear it. “We were in the middle of the road, wagons loaded with the weapons and provisions we’d stolen from the redcoats.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “In the distance, we heard the marching of the dragoons coming to find us, to fight us. I said we needed to run, to hide. But your mother…she wanted to stay and fight, told the rest of us to leave. That she would be a distraction so we could get away. I begged her not to. But she shoved me to the ground and told me I would die if I stayed, and so would everyone else. That I needed to run to save the lot of them. I regret to this day not staying.” She chanced looking up at him, taking in the anguish on his face and anticipating hatred, which thankfully wasn’t there. “She was a brave woman. Perhaps the bravest I’ve ever known.”

  “She was.” His voice sounded tight. “But that is not what I wanted to tell ye, Jenny. I have a confession that’s been weighing on my mind, and I fear I canna stay here any longer without having told ye.”

  Her mouth went dry, and she stared at him, waiting, feeling her head wobble in a small nod.