A Hint of Heather

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  She calculated the time that had passed since she’d last seen Auld Tam and his two companions. They had an hour’s head start on her. Maybe more. But she could catch up to them. They were older and slower. And she knew a shortcut to the Sutherland border. Jessalyn shifted uncomfortably in her chair, then caught Andrew’s gaze and deliberately set her writing desk aside. She spared him further embarrassment by remaining seated, but she sent Andrew a message just the same—one that brooked no argument. His gory descriptions of murder and mayhem visited upon rival clans by her father had long since shifted from the realm of fact into fantasy and beyond. The story had lasted long enough and now, it was time for him to acquiesce to his laird’s wishes and bring the epic tale to an end.

  Jessalyn cupped her hand around the flame to shield the candle from the drafts as she traveled swiftly through the maze of passages beneath the main floor of the keep. Like most old castles, Castle MacAonghais contained numerous hidden rooms and an elaborate network of corridors and stairs, some barred by iron doors known as yetts, designed to mislead and confuse the enemy. Most of the below-stairs passages led to the old dungeons, the cellars and the lower latrines. Others led to stone walls, but Jessalyn followed the one tunnel she knew led beyond the castle walls and directly onto Sutherland land. Her ancestor had had it built many years before so that he might meet and court the youngest Sutherland daughter and had later used the passage as a quick means of kidnapping her from her father’s land and claiming her as his bride. The door leading to the corridor and the secret room off it were locked and only the lord and lady of the keep had keys. Jessalyn tugged two silver chains from beneath the bodice of her dress. A silver key dangled from each chain. She pulled the chains over her head and used the keys to unlock the two locks in the thick iron latticework of the yett. Gripping the keys in her fist, Jessalyn pushed the door open and slipped inside the corridor, carefully locking the door behind her. At the end of the corridor were two more locked doors, both made of thick, heavy oak. The one on the left led to the outside and the one on the right led into the Laird’s Trysting Room. Although the privy council knew of the passage’s existence, no one outside the laird’s immediate family was ever allowed entrance and no one outside the laird’s immediate family knew which corridor led to it or where it ended. In times of peace, the Trysting Room was used as the laird’s very private chamber; in times of war, it became a sanctuary from enemies and traitors. Jessalyn learned of the passage shortly after the death of her mother. Her father had handed over her mother’s keys, pointing out the unusual silver key and the secret passageway and the room hidden behind its locked door. He hadn’t shown her the room, nor had she asked to see it. Her father’s grief had been too raw, the memories too dear and the Laird’s Trysting Room too private a place to share. He had given her a key and shown her the way and that was enough. For years she’d worn the key on a silver chain around her neck. Now she wore two chains—one thick and one thin—and both keys. Her mother’s and her father’s.

  Jessalyn unlocked the door on the left and stepped into the passageway that led to a cavern hidden in the hills separating her land from the Sutherland’s. She was careful, once again, to lock the last door behind her before she replaced the keys around her neck, secreting them beneath the worn fabric of her bodice. She extinguished her candle and hid it in a niche carved high into the wall and made her way through the last passage and into the cave in the dark. The entrance to the cave was covered by a dense thicket that had kept it hidden from view for over a hundred years. Jessalyn traced the outline the keys made on the soft fabric of her dress. It seemed fitting somehow that the keys were together. She inherited one upon her mother’s death and the other exactly seven years later. Seven years. Seven children. Her family was reunited now. Her parents and six brothers were together in death. She had been the only girl. The different one. The loner. The outsider. Now, she was the survivor. The only one left. She had gone from being the MacInnes’s only daughter to being the MacInnes and tonight she must gain the respect of her clan by becoming the leader they needed. Auld Tam, Alisdair and Dougal had tried to protect her by organizing a raid against the rival Sutherland clan without her knowledge, but Jessalyn couldn’t allow herself to be coddled and protected by the elders of her clan. She increased her pace, picking her way in the dark until she reached the mouth of the cave. She pushed her way through the brush and raced down the hills, across the cattle path and onto Sutherland land.

  Jessalyn reached the Sutherland land in good time, but to her surprise, her small group of clansmen were nowhere to be found. She searched for some sign of the MacInnes Ancient Gentlemen, but there was none. Jessalyn had been so certain she knew where her kinsmen were heading, but she was mistaken. There was no doubt that the old men had taken it upon themselves to go raiding, but where? The Munros and the Sutherlands were the MacInnes’s closest neighbors, but the MacInneses rarely raided the Munros, because the Munros didn’t have much to raid. A few shaggy ponies that the MacInneses didn’t bother to steal because they couldn’t feed them. The only other thing of value that the Munros possessed was the recipe for and the ability to make the best whisky in the highlands. But as long as the Munros were willing to share their whisky with their neighbors, there was no reason to raid them and as far as Jessalyn could tell, the MacInnes men were amply supplied with Munro whisky. That left the Sutherland. Unless … Jessalyn glanced toward the southern horizon and caught a glimpse of shimmering waters where Loch Ness curved into MacInnes land. Around and just beyond that narrow strip of land lay Kilchumin. Jessalyn shook her head as if to dismiss the ridiculous notion. Impossible. Surely three old men on foot wouldn’t chance it. But her kinsmen weren’t where she expected them to be. Although Jessalyn thought it more likely that her clansmen would go to drink with the Munros rather than raid them, Auld Tam, Dougal and Alisdair might have decided differently. The Munros were easy targets for experienced warriors, but the MacInnes Ancient Gentlemen were also old and tired. Perhaps, they no longer wanted or needed a challenge. Either way, she’d made a mistake. She’d been so convinced that her clan meant to raid the Sutherland that she’d forgotten all about the Munros.

  If members of her clan had gone raiding the Munros, she would have to find and join them in the battle, but first she needed a horse. Casting her gaze toward the Mighty Sutherland’s cavernous stable, Jessalyn realized she knew exactly where to find one.

  A quarter of an hour later, she carefully guided her “borrowed” mount along a treacherous rock-strewn path commonly known as the dangerous route because the path skirted the Munro boundary, cut across a corner of the Sutherland’s domain and led deep into MacInnes lands. In the old days, Clan MacInnes had posted armed lookouts all along the path to deter raiding neighbors and unwanted visitors, but now the route was left unguarded. The MacInneses had nothing left to steal and the Munros didn’t bother to protect what they had. Only the Sutherlands were wealthy enough to raid and the Mighty Sutherland saw no need to guard a barely passable cattle trail that separated his lands from his neighbors. Which of his neighbors could summon the manpower or the courage to raid him?

  Jessalyn heaved a deep sigh and bit her bottom lip. She had dared to raid the Sutherland of some of his finest horseflesh and perhaps her kinsmen had dared as well. She rounded the bend in the track and came face-to-face with another rider. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat and her heart began a frantic tattoo against her ribs until she recognized the horseman as one of her missing kinsmen.

  Young Ian MacCurran sat astride a highland pony bearing the Munro marks. He had one fist firmly anchored in the pony’s mane and he kept the end of a length of sturdy rope wrapped around his other fist. Another length of rope was tethered around Ian’s waist and tied at the end of the two ropes were a freshened milk cow and a young bullock. A calf stood, untethered, alongside the mother.

  Young Ian’s face whitened as he recognized her, then reddened in embarrassment with the knowledge that his new laird ha
d overtaken him and caught him taking a pony, a bullock, a cow and a calf from Munro lands. He wasn’t ashamed of taking the animals, but he was deeply ashamed of being caught at it. If his laird had been a Munro or a Sutherland, he’d be dead.

  Jessalyn felt a rush of compassion for young Ian when she saw the chagrin on his face. She wanted to put her arms around him and reassure him. She wanted to show him how much she appreciated his courage, but she knew that doing so would cause him more humiliation. Ian would not want his laird treating him like a child. He had participated in a raid with the Ancient Gentlemen of the Clan and as far as the MacInneses were concerned, that made him a man. Jessalyn must therefore do her best to treat him like one.

  She smiled at him as she reined her horse in close to his, then nodded at the cow and calf. “You’ve done well for yourself. Your father will be pleased. Now tell me where the others are and be on your way with these before the Munros discover they’re gone.”

  Young Ian opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out.

  “Ian MacCurran, your laird wants to know where her kinsmen have gone and you must answer,” Jessalyn told him. “Are the gentlemen still raiding the Munro stock?”

  Ian gave a quick shake of his head. “Auld Tam and the other gentlemen dinna raid the Munros.”

  Jessalyn raised her brow at that. “You’re riding a Munro pony, driving Munro livestock.”

  Ian grinned suddenly, no longer a young warrior on the cusp of manhood, but a proud ten-year-old boy. “Magda, Flora and I raided the Munros,” he announced. “We captured nine ponies, a cow, a calf and this fine young bull.”

  Magda and Flora had been her best friends from childhood. So they were in on the conspiracy as well. Jessalyn hid her surprise and her sense of betrayal. “Where are Magda and Flora?” she asked. “And where are the other ponies?”

  “Magda and Flora rode ahead to deliver them to the Ancient Gentlemen.”

  Jessalyn frowned. “I came across Sutherland lands and I saw no sign of them.”

  “That’s because they dinna go that way,” Ian told her. “They went south.”

  Jessalyn turned toward the south and caught sight of a glimmer of moonlight dancing off the waters of Loch Ness. “But there’s nothing south of here except the loch and Kilchumin.” As soon as she said the name, she knew without a doubt where her kinsmen had gone. The English fort at Kilchumin. She turned to Young Ian for confirmation. “Tell me they didn’t.”

  “Aye,” Ian confirmed. “They did.”

  Jessalyn swallowed her horrified gasp and automatically tightened her grip on her mount. A deep foreboding and an undeniable sense of urgency filled her. Her kinfolk, three old men and two young women, were on their way to raid a British fortress. Jessalyn pointed her horse toward the south and nudged him forward. “Go back to Glenaonghais,” she instructed Ian. “Take the livestock and go. Stay out of sight. I’m going after them.”

  “I’ll go with ye.”

  “No,” Jessalyn answered. “Go back to the village.”

  “Ye’ll never catch ’em,” Ian shouted as Jessalyn rode away.

  “Maybe not,” Jessalyn agreed beneath her breath as she pushed her mount into a canter. “But I’ve got to try.” She sighed. Her clansmen had obviously lost the good sense they once possessed. They were raiding the British once again and if she couldn’t stop madness, the only thing left for her to do was to join them in it.

  Chapter Four

  She rode hard, covering the moor at a furious pace in her desperate attempt to overtake her kinsmen before they engaged the British in an act of supreme folly, but Jessalyn knew she’d never make it to Kilchumin in time. She glanced up at the sky. The moon had risen and the darkness that protected the raiders had receded.

  “It’s not much farther.” Jessalyn sagged in the saddle and patted her tired horse on the neck, crooning encouragement, urging him forward. She gazed into the night, then blew out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as she recognized the approaching raiding party silhouetted in the moonlight. The raid was over and her clansmen were returning. Jessalyn reined her horse to a halt, then closed her eyes and uttered a heartfelt prayer of thanks that her kin were safe—at least for the moment. She straightened in the saddle, tightened her grip on the reins and gritted her teeth, preparing herself to intervene if needed, bracing for the sight of scarlet uniforms and the inevitable sound of gunfire and the metallic clang of swords sparking off one another. But there was no sign of pursuit. Fort Augustus was quiet. Unusually so. The only sounds Jessalyn heard were the muffled sounds of mounted riders, the soft burr of Scotsmen in conversation and the throaty grunts and groans of weary travelers.

  Weary travelers with captives. She couldn’t believe her eyes at first, so Jessalyn stood in the irons and leaned forward to get a better look. She clenched her jaw and bit back a groan of her own. A rumor had been circulating since the end of the Uprising and the beginning of the construction of Fort Augustus that the British planned to imprison Jacobites at Fort Augustus. They hoped to set an example to the other clans by keeping highland lairds and chieftains incarcerated in a fort built on land that had once belonged to them. Jessalyn had heard her father and the Ancient Gentlemen rage at the arrogance and the injustice of it. Learning that Auld Tam, Dougal and Alisdair had planned and carried out a secret raid to free unfortunate highlanders held at Fort Augustus didn’t surprise her. It infuriated her. Not that Jessalyn didn’t feel compassion for her fellow highlanders, but she needed the Ancient Gentlemen. Clan MacInnes needed them. Now she understood. Auld Tam, Alisdair and Dougal had gone behind her back, planned and executed this secret raid because they knew she would never allow them to risk their lives in such a foolhardy adventure.

  But there at the head of the raiding party was Auld Tam riding one pony and holding the reins of another who carried a blanket-wrapped bundle tied facedown across its back. Tam was followed closely by Alisdair, Magda, Dougal and Flora. While Alisdair and Dougal were empty-handed, the women were not. Magda and Flora each led ponies with blanket-wrapped bundles tied across their backs. Jessalyn’s eyes hadn’t deceived her. Her kinfolk had raided the British fort and rescued captive highland warriors.

  Jessalyn sighed and rode forward to meet them.

  Auld Tam moved ahead of his companions and reined his horse in close to hers as soon as he recognized the woman seated atop the big grey gelding as Jessalyn.

  “Good evening, wee Jessie.” Tam’s spirits were soaring as he signaled his companions and waited for them to pull abreast of him. He doffed his bonnet. “I see ye got wind of our secret and sought us out.”

  “Aye.” Jessalyn’s one word answer was clipped and terse as she tried to hang onto her anger and lost. “We must talk.”

  “Not here, Jessie.” Tam took one look at the anger etched on Jessalyn’s face and feigned a worried glance over his shoulder. “We maun keep moving lest the Sassenachs give chase.”

  “Da, you know the Sassenachs won’t …” Magda corrected.

  “Wheesht, child!” Tam silenced her. “Our raid was successful, but that willna prevent the Sassenachs from giving chase. We willna be safe until we reach the village. Keep moving.”

  “But, Da!”

  Jessalyn raised a skeptical eyebrow as she glanced from father to daughter and back again.

  “Ye heard yer da,” Dougal admonished. “Keep moving.”

  “Well, Jessie?” Tam asked, a hopeful note in his tone as he nudged his pony forward and waited for Jessalyn to do the same. “Do we cross swords now? Or will it keep?”

  “It’ll keep.” She clipped out the words. “Until we get home.” She turned her horse and followed as Tam led the rest of the raiding party across the moor toward the almost invisible cattle track that led to the village of Glenaonghais.

  But it didn’t keep for long. The raiding party had barely ridden into the old bailey of Castle MacAonghais as dawn broke before Jessalyn confronted Tam. The anger that had been simmering throughout the lon
g night rose to the boiling point and Jessalyn paid little heed to the fact that the bailey was alive with the kinsmen and women beginning their work days. “Tam MacInnes! Have you lost your mind? What have you done?” Jessalyn’s mount shifted his weight and nervously pawed at the ground as she waved her arm to include Tam and his co-conspirators.

  “The same thing you’ve been doing if your fine horseflesh is anything to go by,” Tam replied.

  “I did not raid an English fort,” Jessalyn reminded him.

  “Aye,” Tam agreed. “You raided and made an enemy of the Sutherland.”

  Ignoring Tam’s comment and the crowd gathering in the bailey to witness the confrontation between the laird and her ancient gentleman, Jessalyn focused her attention on the raiding party. Turning, she fixed her gaze on Tam’s daughters. “Magda! Flora! I canna believe ye joined your father in this madness!”

  “Twasn’t madness, Jessie,” Magda protested.

  “The five of you raided an English fort to rescue men from other clans! Who’ve you got there? MacMillans? Gordons? Stewarts? Ye could have been killed!” Jessalyn’s voice quivered with barely controlled anger and more than a little fright.

  “We were safer than you were raiding the Sutherland,” Flora replied, eyeing Jessalyn’s mount. “We were in no danger.”