The Rebel Wears Plaid

by Eliza Knight

  “How is Toran?”

  “He is recovering nicely. He suffered a fever for several days as well as infection. But we were able to save him. He’s resting now, but I’m certain he will want to see ye when he wakes.”

  Jenny wanted to see him too. That ache in her chest whenever she thought of him, that desperation to see his face and know he was alive, it gnawed at her insides. Scared her. Perhaps she’d do better to keep herself busy and avoid him, if only to save herself from putting voice to the emotions.

  In the quiet of her father’s study, she penned a letter to A. M. to let him know what had happened and to make certain the prince was aware of their continued loyalty.

  A week later, she had her reply. The prince had personally sent a message to Jenny and Toran that he would make his way to Inverness and thank them both for their efforts and personal sacrifices as well as to collect their bounty. He requested that she continue in her recruitment of men and resources, since she was one of the most successful in doing so, and that when the time came, he would ask her to join him on the battlefield. The thought that he would visit, that he would acknowledge them, was what spurred her on in her nightly quest to gather more support for him.

  Dirk had told her two days previously that Toran was well enough to begin watch again, so Jenny had put him on night watch on the wall rather than have him join them on their nightly recruitments. She was hoping to avoid him at all costs. Watching him suffer, knowing what he’d done for her, had changed her irrevocably, had touched her very soul. She feared meeting him again, what she would say and how she’d say it. How to tell him how grateful she was, how to tell him she was so sorry and to beg his forgiveness for having been the reason he was subject to such a punishment.

  Was she a fool for having told him they couldn’t be together until the war was over? Who knew if either of them would make it that far at the rate they were going? They’d spent the span of the month she’d known him in constant peril. Now that the prince had declared himself for the throne in his father’s name, their situation was only bound to get worse.

  The pessimism she was feeling was unlike her, and she knew it had entirely to do with Toran—and with the need to face her own fears and feelings for him. So what better way to avoid them than by avoiding him altogether?

  Aye, she knew it was foolish, and right now, she was willing to be a fool. At least when it came to her heart. Because she couldn’t give up on her duty, either, and she saw no way to meld the two. Love and duty? She shook her head. How could she possibly?

  Only now, at the end of the secret passage, stood the shadow of a man blocking the exit.

  It wasn’t just any man but the tall, muscular frame of the very man who occupied her thoughts most parts of the day and night. The one she’d only just finished convincing herself once more that she needed to avoid. Jenny paused, her heart thumping at the sight of him. How had he gotten in here? The men behind her didn’t seem alarmed, as though they’d been expecting this intrusion.

  “Toran,” she said. He must have been waiting there for them, anticipating her nightly routine.

  “I’m going with ye.” His voice was steady, and she wanted to sink against him.

  But she had to stand her ground, remain strong. “Nay.” There was no way in bloody hell she was going to let him get hurt again because of her. Which meant he had to stay behind.

  Toran stalked forward, stopping a few paces away from her. “Ye can go and I’ll follow, or ye can let me walk beside ye.”

  “Or I can order ye back to the wall where ye should be.”

  The men behind her backed up a few paces in the pretense of giving them some privacy.

  Toran stalked closer, and she stood her ground, thrusting her chin up. She passed her torch behind her, and someone took it from her hand so she could cross her arms defiantly in front of her.

  “Dinna try to intimidate me,” she warned.

  “Och, lass, ye have the wrong of it. I’m trying to do no such thing.” He stopped about a foot away from her, no discernable limp or slowness or stiffness in his gait to show that he’d been in bed for nearly a fortnight with severe injuries. His back had to still be covered in scabs and would certainly scar heavily.

  “Then what exactly is your aim, Fraser?” She could smell him, that strong woodsy, spicy scent that belonged only to him.

  “Ye’re my aim, Jenny. My Mistress J,” he said.

  She didn’t want to think about the implication in those heated words. The intimacy of them. “I am everyone’s Mistress J,” she corrected him.

  “Aye,” he murmured, “everyone’s leader, but not everyone’s woman.”

  She gasped at so public a declaration. “I am no one’s woman, Toran Fraser, and especially not yours. I’ll not be claimed.”

  He chuckled.

  “’Tis not funny. I am serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why do ye laugh?”

  “Because ye’re not a verra good liar.” He stepped back then, taking all the air from the tunnel with him. “Shall we?” He swept his arm out as if they were simply going into the great hall for dinner and not to recruit for their rebel army.

  Jenny was about to argue some more, but he’d already walked ahead, and the men behind her were getting restless.

  “Fine. Just this once,” she conceded.

  He grinned at her, the grin of a man very satisfied to have gotten his way.

  She expected him to try to corner her once they were on their way, to kiss her, and she’d already decided she would let him. Her lips tingled with the anticipation of it. But not once that night did he try. He didn’t even ride beside her. In fact, he gave her more space than she’d ever had from him before, save for the way he was completely crowding her mind.

  Was this his game? To toy with her head instead of her body? Oh, she just wanted him to kiss her already.

  She spoke passionately at each place they stopped, rousing the crowd with stories of the dragoons’ cruelty.

  When they returned home that night, he volunteered to take the horses back to the stables, avoiding her again and only making her want him all the more.

  He was right—she was a bad liar.

  * * *

  Part of Toran’s plan for the following two weeks, now that he was on his feet again, was to get Jenny to admit she wanted him and to show that he was interested in her—hell, more than interested. But she was not the type of woman who wanted a man to stake his claim on her. Nay, she wanted to come to him, and he understood that. He’d play it her way.

  And not just because he wanted to bed her. Mo chreach, but he wanted to walk beside her in this life, in this battle, in all things.

  For the first time in his life, Toran wanted a wife, and not just any wife. He wanted Jenny.

  When they’d been confronted by the dragoons on the road, he’d known in that moment that he would die before letting those men touch her and that he loved her, that he would do anything for her.

  He was fairly certain Jenny could live without him if she chose, but he was doing everything in his power now to show her she wouldn’t want to live without him.

  He had started by leaving a flower on her chair at the evening meal so she might find it when she sat down to eat. He fed her hound treats at every meal, and as a result, Dom followed him around the castle grounds like a loyal servant. Whenever Toran was invited to dine with the clan, he challenged her to a game of chess afterward, and she always agreed. While they played, he tried his damnedest to beat her, but each time she won. The lass was good, but he was starting to understand the way she played. One of these days, he was going to win.

  In the mornings he greeted her at the bottom of the stairs with a full report, a task he’d convinced Dirk to allow him to do.

  He had Dirk’s full support, and the servants were now providing him with flo
wers to choose from. He’d begun leaving them not only when she dined at night but also at her door in the morning, tucked into Dom’s collar, pressed to her pillow, threaded through the stirrup of her saddle. Anywhere he could possibly find, he planted one.

  And he was fairly certain that his efforts were working. Or at least he hoped. Her smile for him grew brighter every time he saw her, and the one morning when she’d come downstairs and he’d been late, she had looked disappointedly around until he’d appeared.

  Their nighttime recruitments had been fruitful as well, and updates on the prince were giving them all hope. Soon he’d be seated in Edinburgh and London, on the throne of the Kingdom of Great Britain, uniting England and Scotland. Already the prince’s army had taken Edinburgh and defeated the government’s army at Prestonpans. The prince was now planning to head southward with a large retinue, taking towns as he went, all the way to London.

  As the leaves of autumn turned and the weather went from pleasant to cold, they worked steadily toward their goals.

  Simon was still in the cell below the castle, though he was being fed well to keep him alive. Toran needed the man alive and planned to keep him to exchange for any rebel prisoners, just deserts for his cousin’s plan to do the same with him.

  On two occasions now, Mac had accompanied him to the outskirts of Fraser lands where, dressed in disguises, their hair darkened with soot and a beard full grown upon his face, they’d subtly asked about his uncle’s doings. And he was right. The old Fox was working with Boyd. The Fraser chief had yet to make it a formal commitment, but Boyd and his men had been seen coming and going from Dùnaidh Castle steadily for months. The Frasers at the garrison, his uncle’s men, had also been released, Toran learned. The exchange price he couldn’t discern, but he was certain it was for his uncle’s soul.

  Toran had volunteered to take a wagon run to meet their informant A. M. who had arranged to meet them along the road at the request of the prince. The false bottoms were filled with supplies for Prince Charles. Toran, along with John, took the first wagon. Jenny sent Archie out the following week with the last of the supplies for Prince Charlie’s journey southward into England. Everyone hoped that by year’s end King George’s supporters would have surrendered.

  The redcoats had made no further visits to Cnàmhan Broch, and they had the weather to thank for that. The first snowfall came in October, which bothered none of them in the least, and continued on through the month of November, until the ice came in December. The clans were all Highlanders, and they were made of hearty stock. But the English could hardly stand the Scottish winter, keeping indoors and huddled around their fires for months.

  Sassenachs weren’t built for such a life, which made the work the rebellion was doing all the easier.

  Twenty

  “We’re going to war.” Jenny stood at the head of the table in the great hall and made her announcement after the room had cleared of all except her closest consultants and family.

  Toran and Dirk looked shocked, while Archie, Mac, and Cameron looked excited. Isla looked worried, and Jenny’s mother kept her gaze steady. Jenny’d already spoken to her mother earlier that day, and while Lady Mackintosh was worried and had at first balked at the prospect, she had, in the end, deferred to Jenny’s decision.

  “The prince’s attempt on London was unsuccessful, and he has withdrawn to Glasgow. There’s to be a gathering there, from which we’ll march on Stirling Castle. We shall rally and defend our prince. This is the moment we have all been working for. We are strong, and the English will not expect it. The dragoons stationed in the Highlands will not be prepared, as they’ve spent the past two months hiding inside and away from a bit of nippy weather.”

  “Will ye be leading the men?” Dirk asked.

  “Aye.”

  She slid her gaze toward Toran, feeling her belly warm with just that one glance. They’d been dancing on a fine edge for months now. She wanted desperately to pull him into her arms and say enough was enough, that she was ready for him to claim her, but still she held strong. To give in just yet could mean the end of all they’d worked for.

  Though the look in his eyes was not the one she expected, not after how much he’d been in support of her lately. He looked shocked. He and Dirk eyed each other, a silent exchange in their expressions that had her wanting to slap them both.

  “This is my army, and I’ll no’ send them off without me. If this were your army, no one would expect ye to stay home.” She directed her statement at the two of them. “Can a woman no’ fight for what she believes in, sir? I am willing to die for Prince Charlie’s cause, just like any soldier. Are ye?”

  Toran stared at her blankly a moment before his expression changed, softening to understanding and some other unrecognizable emotion. “Aye, Mistress J. ’Twill be an honor to follow ye into battle. Your passion and patriotism are exactly what this land needs.”

  She nodded. “Thank ye.”

  Camdyn stood then. “I am also a passionate patriot and wish to fight. The Sassenachs took my mother from me. Allow me the honor of bringing them to justice.”

  “Nay,” Toran said firmly.

  Camdyn ignored him, lifting his leg over the bench he sat on to come before Jenny’s table and kneel on the floor before her, his hand over his heart.

  “I pledge to ye, Mistress J, my honor, my loyalty. I am a loyal vassal of the Stuart crown, to our prince and cause, and humbly beg your permission to fight on the crown’s behalf.”

  Jenny looked down at Camdyn. Sometime over the past few months he’d become a man. Over his head, Toran stared at her with a pained expression. She didn’t need his permission to grant Camdyn the right to fight, but she wanted it all the same.

  Camdyn beamed up at her, delight and admiration in his eyes.

  “’Twould be an honor to fight beside ye, Camdyn,” she said. “Ye’re an excellent soldier, but for now, I need ye to remain behind to protect the castle and the women. I know that might be disappointing to ye, but trust me when I say that it is the most important job to keep our people and our home safe.”

  Though disappointment flickered in the lad’s eyes, he nodded all the same. “I will honor your order, Mistress.”

  “Ye’re more a leader than Hamish ever was,” her mother murmured, making Jenny’s heart swell at the same time a great sadness filled her. Her heart was like a well that was overflowing.

  Her brother had no idea what he had left behind when he’d sided with the enemy. Or perhaps he did. But it was hard to believe that he would have chosen treachery over honor.

  A calmness poured over her. Over the next two days, they set about preparing for war. There was only one thing still to do before they rode out, and that was to claim what was hers. After calling for the clan to gather in the great hall, she faced her people and accepted their pledges of loyalty. Toran was the last in the line of those who wished to pledge themselves.

  He sauntered forward and without hesitation dropped to his knees before her. “For all the days of my life, to thee I pledge,” he said. “I will honor thee, follow thee, fight for thee. I pledge my fealty to ye and to the Stuart crown.”

  Coming from him, it was a declaration that made her heart skip a beat. She swallowed hard, finding it difficult to make her mouth work. She held out her hand, and he took it, kissing her knuckles. For just the briefest of moments, she closed her eyes and reveled in it before muttering her acceptance and asking him to rise.

  Toran took his place with the men, but even with him offering her that small reprieve, she found it hard to breathe.

  “My father and his father before him were men of honor, men of integrity. They fought for our Scottish king in the first uprising. If either of them were alive today, they would fight again. They believe in the Stuart line as I do, as do ye. We are their living legacy, and we will honor them in death just as we honored them in life.”

&n
bsp; A resounding cheer filled the room, shaking the rafters. The clansmen tapped their fists to their hearts and then raised them in the air.

  “To that end,” Jenny continued, “it is with my father and grandfather in my heart that I must humbly ask that ye support my claim to my place as laird of Clan Mackintosh. My brother has dishonored us by siding with the English. He has allowed our enemies to infiltrate our lands and home. He dishonored the legacy left by our ancestors, who sacrificed themselves for us to be free from the oppression of the English. He robs us of weapons and provisions that are used to fight against us. Hamish is no longer worthy of the title.”

  Jenny’s hands were clammy, but that was the only sign she’d been nervous about claiming what should have been hers all along. Ripples of excitement and pleasure wound down her spine, and the exhilaration of the people in the great hall warmed her heart and made her want to sing and dance. How long this had been coming, and now it was here. It was hard to stand still, hard to keep her face serious when all she wanted to do was shout with joy.

  “I submit to all of ye that Jenny Mackintosh, daughter of Jon Mackintosh, should be named laird,” Dirk shouted, followed by her mother bellowing, “I second the motion.”

  What had been bellows of pleasure turned to “ayes” for a changing future.

  Jenny gripped her mother’s hand, pulling her up to stand beside her, and hugged her tightly. Dirk came around the table a moment later and effortlessly lifted Jenny up to sit on his shoulder as he paraded her around the room, ending with her right in front of Toran. She slid down from her perch to face the man she’d fallen hopelessly in love with.

  “What say ye, Toran MacGillivray Fraser,” she said, “of a woman as laird?”

  “I couldna be prouder of ye, Laird of Mackintosh,” he said with a sweeping bow.