by Eliza Knight
The gates closed behind her and the couple dozen men she had with her. The group scattered for their positions before Hamish’s scouts were close enough to see their movements. The guards upon the wall—two—blew their horns again, long and loud and ominous. Enough that her brother’s army would hear the bellowing cry and know their approach had been spotted. The men on the wall pointed their crossbows toward the advancing army, and Jenny took off running.
Hidden in their places, each of them knew what they had to do. Jenny’s heart was pounding, palms slick, and she couldn’t stop biting the inside of her cheek. Time was slowly ticking by in what felt like hours.
Would it work?
The ground beneath her feet started to rumble. They were close.
Shots started to ring out, still some distance down the road. The first of her hidden men. Shot after shot cracked the air, followed by shouts in varying voices, men calling for the advance of their allied troops—troops that did not exist. Horns and pipes blew, drums beating. It sounded, for all intents and purposes, as though they were in the middle of a vast melee.
And then it was her turn. She fired one pistol after another, dropping them once empty and firing more. Deepening her voice, she called out orders for advancement.
Some shots hit their marks, and her brother’s troops turned in circles trying to find the hidden army that was slowly diminishing their numbers. Boyd bellowed for his men to stay put, to fight—and Simon, the scoundrel, rode off in the opposite direction.
And then she saw him, Hamish, sitting tall upon his horse as his men fell at his feet. He had a pistol in one hand and his sword in the other as he turned this way and that, trying to locate her or her army. She lifted her musket, settling the butt against her shoulder, and blew out a long breath as she took aim. His heart was within her sights, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he was looking right at her.
There were his emerald eyes to match her own, above a frown that could cut through stone. His hair was pulled back in a queue, and a ridiculous powdered wig sat atop his head. She couldn’t believe he’d stooped to wearing such a thing. It didn’t suit him, and yet it did.
Anger burned inside her as she watched him, the brother who’d betrayed her family and clan. Hamish, who’d gone against his own country and rightful heir to the throne. He sat there, his advance halted, confused. She touched her finger to the trigger, knowing that all it would take was the tiniest bit of pressure and she could end his life, end this battle.
Still, she hesitated.
Ending his life would not end the war. She lowered her aim to his knee. If she shot him in the leg, he wouldn’t die, but he would hopefully retreat.
Just as she was about to pull the trigger, he fired into the air and shouted, “Retreat! Retreat!”
His call was echoed by Boyd.
Jenny’s mouth fell open, her finger relaxed, but then she firmed up again and took aim at a new target. She pulled the trigger, her shot ringing out louder than any others, and the bullet meant for his heart hit the ground beside his horse’s hoof. The horse whinnied, rising up on his rear legs. Her brother dropped his pistol as he grappled for the reins in an effort to stay seated.
“Attack!” Jenny bellowed, continuing with the ruse, and fired from six more of her pistols, all toward the hooves of her brother’s horse.
When her brother was finally able to gain control of his mount, he sent it galloping at full speed down the road, the men in his unit racing after him either by horse or on foot. She and her men continued to shout and fire their weapons until the last of her brother’s men disappeared from sight. And still they waited, in hopes the men wouldn’t return when they realized the nature of the ruse.
She’d ordered her men to wait an hour for Hamish’s return, with weapons fully loaded. He’d not arrived with the full force of his army, after all, perhaps only a hundred. But her brother did not return. Jenny stared out at the road, at the dropped weapons and other accouterments, the blood of the wounded staining the ground. The few attackers who had been felled had been carried off by her brother’s men. At least they’d had the decency to care for their own wounded and dead.
Jenny emerged from her hiding place in the trees and picked up the pistol her brother had dropped, running her hand over the snow-chilled iron. The hilt was carved with the Mackintosh wildcat symbol and beneath it, JM. Their father’s weapon. How dare her brother use their father’s weapon against the very people it had been made to protect? Fitting, then, that he should drop it and she should pick it up.
Jenny tucked the pistol into her frock coat and then started to gather some of her guns and carry them back to the castle, passing wagons that had been hitched to retrieve the weapons they’d distributed as well as the discarded items from her brother’s routed force. The rush of battle still coursed through her veins, giving her energy to make several more trips to retrieve weapons before she felt exhaustion setting in.
Dirk approached her, dragging a man by the scruff of his neck. “I brought ye a present, Mistress, though I think ’tis more a gift Toran will enjoy.”
Simon.
Toran came from around a wagon he’d been loading and stared in disbelief. Then a slow grin filled his face. “And I’ve got just the plan for ye, dear Cousin.”
Simon muttered curses that fell on deaf ears until Dirk hit him over the head to silence him.
When they returned to the castle at last, the prince was waiting in the courtyard, a beaming smile on his face. Dirk took Simon off to the cell he’d made a home out of before, and Jenny curtsied to the prince with Toran beside her.
“You, Lady Jenny Mackintosh, are a hero. You saved my life this day, and that is a feat I will not forget,” the prince said.
She smiled, remembering her silly conversation with Annie and Fiona, naming themselves Prince Charlie’s Angels. Perhaps there was some truth to that nickname after all.
“I have merely done my duty, Your Highness. And it is no’ over yet. They will return when they realize it was nothing more than deception.”
“They may, but not before I have gone and not before the rest of Scotland has heard that your brother’s army was beaten by a few dozen men.”
Jenny felt a little light-headed and swayed on her feet, feeling the strength of Toran’s hand on her back to hold her steady. They’d done it. They were alive, and her brother was gone. Boyd had returned to the garrison. How much longer would she be able to keep her seat? She’d already fought against her enemies twice now and been lucky to come out of battle barely scathed.
She bowed her head, overcome with emotion and uncertain what to say. “I am honored to have served,” she said simply, for she was. She couldn’t think of any other way to have supported her prince than by fighting for him.
Still, her heart was heavy. She’d hoped, though only faintly, that she might be able to bring her brother around, to make peace with him. Yet the look in his eyes when she’d thought he might be staring right at her had been one of hatred.
Hamish was firmly on the side of their enemies, a King George supporter to his very marrow, and there would be no changing that. Not if she had a hundred years to try to convince him.
* * *
Toran felt Jenny tremble slightly beneath his hand, though from all outward appearances, she was standing strong. When drinks were passed around and cheers sent up for their success, she barely sipped. The kitchen served a great feast, which she barely ate.
“Your Highness, if ye’ll excuse me, I’m going to relieve the men on the wall.” She stood abruptly from the table and curtsied to the prince, who was thoroughly engaged in a conversation with Lady Mackintosh.
Her mother started to protest, but Jenny waved her away, and the prince regained her mother’s attention when he said something flattering about Jenny’s dedication to the cause.
Toran slipped from the room, following Jenn
y outside. She’d already disappeared up the steps to the wall, two guards coming down.
“Anyone else up there?” Toran asked.
“Just the laird, she told us to get something to eat.”
“Rest up too, lads. I’ll take watch with her.”
The men nodded and headed toward the castle doors. Toran took the stairs two at a time. When he reached the top, he found Jenny standing, hands braced against the crenellations and staring out toward the night sky, which was bright with thousands of tiny golden stars.
“When I was little, I used to stand up here and try to count the stars,” she said, not even turning around.
He loved that she could sense him nearby, just like he could sense her.
“Did ye ever finish?” He stepped beside her, sliding a hand over her spine, gently massaging the knots of tension he found there.
Jenny glanced up at him, a wry smile on her face. “Nay. But there were a few times I was certain I was close.”
He tucked his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Jenny laid her head against his chest and then turned into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his middle, her cheek pressed to his heart.
“Ye did well today, and I know ye’ve heard it from everyone else, but I needed to tell ye myself. Ye’re strong as hell, Laird Mackintosh. Dinna ever let anyone tell ye otherwise.”
“I didna feel strong when I had my musket pointed at my brother.”
“That had to have been hard.” He couldn’t imagine pointing his pistol at Camdyn, let alone having to consider pulling the trigger.
“I could have killed him.” Jenny’s voice sounded small.
Toran hugged her closer. “But ye didna.”
“I couldna do it.”
“Ye didna need to.”
“He’ll return.”
“Aye.” There was no doubt about that, and this time he would bring the full force of his army.
“What if he returns and takes the castle?”
“We’ll no’ let that happen. The prince has already recalled some of his men north to protect him. If Hamish wishes to capture Prince Charlie, he’ll have a harder time of it than he realizes. And knowing that your castle is going to be vulnerable, I’m certain his Highness will allow ye more men to guard it.” Even as he said it, Toran wondered if that was true.
The prince was charming and kind, but he had a greater goal in mind. Would he consider Jenny and her clan to be a minor casualty on his way to the throne? Toran hoped not. The lass had worked her arse off for the prince. If he were to betray her, how could he expect she’d keep her allegiance to him?
“Aye. I sent missives to my men, recalling them to Cnàmhan Broch.”
“That is a good idea. Until your brother is dealt with, at least.”
“Is it foolish that I had hopes of reconciling? That I had hopes of changing his mind?”
“Nay, no’ at all. He is your brother, your blood. Ye may have differences of allegiance, but that doesna take away the bond of kinship. ’Tis only natural that ye’d want him to be on the right side of things.”
She looked up at him, her chin resting on the center of his chest, and unable to help himself, he dipped down to kiss her. Her mouth was warm and inviting, and she tasted a little of the wine she’d sipped at supper along with an array of alluring spices.
“I love ye, Jenny. I want to spend the rest of my life with ye. Whether it’s to be running along the road with my arms full of pistols or standing here and staring up at the stars, I canna imagine a moment of my world without ye in it. I ask ye again, will ye do me the honor of having me for a husband?”
She studied him for a long time before she spoke. Enough time went by that she must be figuring out a way to deny him. And to think that when they’d first met, he’d been determined to think of her as his enemy. What a fool he’d been. He wouldn’t be surprised if she said no, but he wouldn’t stop asking. He wouldn’t stop fighting for her, if he had to do it until the very last breath left his body.
“I am yours, Jenny,” he murmured, “whether ye want me or nay. Do with me as ye please. Love me, marry me, put me in the barn, or send me on my way, but know that every day for the rest of my life, I am yours.”
Her face transformed then, her eyes crinkling. “Sending ye away is not an option, Fraser, for when I’m not with ye, I feel that a piece of myself is missing. I canna live in a world without ye. And yet I dinna know how to be all the things I must at once. A laird, a warrior, a wife, a mother.” She shook her head, bit her lip, and the fan of her lashes closed off her eyes from his view.
“Ye dinna have to be everything, ye know this. But if ye want to try, I’ll be right there with ye, aiding ye in every way ye want.”
“I want it all, Toran. Is that selfish of me?” She blinked, eyes wide and imploring.
“No’ at all. I want it too. Warrior, leader, husband, father…lover. Ye’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. If anyone can do it, ’tis ye, and I swear, ye dinna have to do it alone.”
Jenny lifted up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. She slid her arms over his shoulders and threaded her fingers in his hair, tightening her hold on him, kissing him hard and deep. There was so much emotion in that kiss, so much flooding of relief, and yet at the same time, it was frantic. Their tongues slid over one another, caressing, tasting. It felt like meshing, as though in this kiss they were declaring to one another that they were on the same team—that pleasure and happiness would be the end result.
Toran turned them slightly, pressing her rear against the stones and pressing the hardness of his arousal against the apex of her thighs.
“Just one kiss, just one touch of your lips on mine and my body reacts. I want ye,” he growled, sliding his lips over to her ear where he bit down gently on the lobe. “I need ye.”
“Aye,” she crooned, lifting her leg around his hip to give him better access to her heat.
But she was in trews and he was in his kilt, and they were standing atop the wall, on watch in case of a nighttime ambush.
“We canna,” he said, disappointment thick in his tone.
“We can,” she crooned back, her hands sliding down the muscles of his chest, one circling around back to grip his arse and the other in the front to stroke his hardened cock.
Toran groaned, wanting nothing more than to lift her up and pound into her, to hear their flesh slapping against the stone and her whimpers of pleasure against his ear.
“I need ye, Toran, and I’ll go crazy if I dinna have ye. I want ye for life. I want ye to be my husband.”
Those words alone were enough to send him into a whirlwind. She’d said aye.
He had two options now—make love to her right here where anyone could find them and where they might miss the signs of an oncoming army or carry her into the castle and demand some of the men take their spots.
As if they’d been listening to his thoughts, Camdyn and Dirk’s voices broke him and Jenny apart only seconds before the two men appeared. Toran shifted his sporran in front of his tented kilt, trying to hide the evidence of his arousal, even though in the dark it was unlikely they would be able to see.
“We thought we’d take over,” Dirk said with a wink.
“Aye, my laird, if ye dinna mind, I was hoping to have my first watch.” Camdyn had the nerve to wink at his brother too.
The bloody mongrels had been spying! But he didn’t care, let them spy on two people in love. Toran grabbed Jenny’s hand, muttered his thanks, and whisked her down the stairs.
They walked briskly across the courtyard, murmuring good evening to those they passed until they reached the inside of the castle. No one stopped them on the run up the stairs to her bedchamber, thank the saints, because Toran wasn’t above tossing someone down the steep incline.
Jenny led him at a run down the corridor to her room and
thrust it open, shoving him against the wall inside before crushing her body and mouth to his.
Tugging at her frock coat, he still managed to shut the door and flick the key in the lock. They stripped each other in desperate, frantic movements, tossing clothes to the floor and stumbling toward the bed, their mouths claiming one another over and over. Toran tumbled them to the bed, Jenny’s legs coming up around his hips at the same time he entered her.
They cried out together in pleasure at the heated contact, both too far gone with desire and need to be quiet or to go slowly. He pumped into her. A hand on her breast, massaging, the other beneath her rear, lifting her higher so he could drive deeper.
Their coupling might have been hurried, desperate, but no less pleasurable for all that. Jenny raked her nails down his back, arching her spine as she broke apart beneath him, her slick channel tightening in rapid flutters around his cock and pushing him over the edge.
“Dinna withdraw from me,” Jenny demanded.
Toran obeyed her command, shuddering into her.
They collapsed onto the bed, both still breathing hard. Toran rolled to the side, tugging her with him, where he tucked her perfectly against him. This was a dream, exactly where he wanted to be for all the days of his life. How the hell had he gotten so lucky?
“I’m happy, Toran.”
“Me too, mo chridhe, me too.”
His heart.
* * *
They were married the following morning with Prince Charles and much of her Jacobite army present. Despite the cold and snow, great bonfires were lit from one end of the Mackintosh lands to the other.
Fiona and Annie arrived just before the nuptials began, hugging her tightly and squealing about her being the first of them to wed and what luck to have wed a man such as Toran Fraser.