Highland Crown

by May McGoldrick

  But why, then, this game of cat and mouse? If he was certain of her identity, then why not simply arrest her and drag her off to Fort George and from there to Edinburgh?

  Unless he wasn’t sure.

  Another thought occurred to her. Perhaps he didn’t think he and his sergeant were sufficient to escort the notorious traitor to prison. He had to know the radical dissenters would be loath to see her in the hands of the British authorities.

  She’d seen no other soldiers in the tavern. Perhaps he was waiting for help to arrive. The sergeant still stood by their bags. She wondered if they thought she could be carrying weapons. Another punishable crime.

  “I have no recollection of you. We came here to see John Gordon. So unless you know his whereabouts, our business is finished.”

  She turned to Jean and motioned toward the door. But before either of them could grab their bags, the sergeant stepped forward and took hold of Jean’s arm in a bruising grip.

  “Let go of her! This instant!”

  Isabella’s bark was commanding enough to cause Davidson to release the old woman’s arm and take an involuntary step back.

  “But I do know of John Gordon’s whereabouts,” Lieutenant Hudson said icily, unaffected by Isabella’s wrath. “He was arrested this morning and is on his way to Fort George at this very moment.”

  “Arrested?” Jean gasped, having found her voice. “On what charge?”

  “Assisting in the flight of an individual wanted for high treason.”

  All of Isabella’s fears ignited within her like some molten fireball. To protect the girls, she’d wished to be kept ignorant of their hiding place. But now, John Gordon’s arrest exposed everyone. She thought of Sir Walter and wondered if he ever imagined that by assisting her, he was putting himself at odds with the same king who’d just knighted him.

  “Treason?” Jean wailed. “We’re simple, honest folk. What do we know of treason? Who could my nephew know that would be involved in such nonsense?”

  Isabella’s mind was on the two people who mattered most to her, the ones she’d sworn to protect. And now she was helpless to do anything for them. Neither Maisie nor Morrigan had any charges against them. But she knew that wouldn’t stop these brutes from using them to force damning information out of her.

  The lieutenant walked to a side table. He moved with lithe, catlike grace. Retrieving his sword, he strapped it on and picked up a pistol.

  “We’ll be going soon. But before we do, would you care to explain to this woman who you are?” he asked, tucking the firearm into his belt. “Or does she already know? Which of course makes her an accomplice, as well.”

  The avalanche of so-called British justice was already cascading down on them. For Isabella, there was no protection. Her courage was depleted. But she couldn’t allow Jean to become a casualty in this tragedy. She sent her companion a look of silent gratitude.

  “This woman knows nothing of any of this,” she said, facing her captors. “She has nothing to do with any of it. I only paid her to bring me here. Let her go.”

  Before another word could be uttered, a loud knock sounded, and the door swung open. The innkeeper stood awkwardly on the threshold.

  “Beg yer pardon, sir, but—”

  “Out!” the sergeant roared, beginning to close the door.

  “But I’ve a gentleman here. Says he’s a ship’s master. Making a ruckus, he was, in the taproom. Says he has a complaint about two women.” He paused and stared at Isabella and Jean. “About these two, or I’ll be hanged.”

  “I warned you that we were not to be interrupted,” Davidson barked.

  “Wait,” Lieutenant Hudson ordered. “What complaint?”

  “The gentleman says these two shot him with a pistol. Then they trussed him up and threw him in the back of their cart, he says. Left him there to die.”

  Suddenly, the innkeeper was pulled back from the doorway, and Cinaed walked into the room, causing the sergeant to step back.

  “I can speak for myself.” His voice was hoarse and weak.

  Isabella was never happier to see anyone in her life, but he was not in very good shape. His coat and vest were gone, and there was fresh blood on his ruined shirt.

  He closed the door, but as he turned and took a step into the room, he staggered. Isabella caught him by the waist before he fell. The man was burning with fever, and he leaned heavily on her.

  “You are bleeding again,” she murmured. This wasn’t good. After all he’d gone through, the stitches had to have ripped free. He tried to take another step, but he was too heavy. She couldn’t support his weight, and he began sinking to the floor.

  “What is this?” Hudson demanded, coming closer. “What do you have to say, man?”

  Cinaed sat, holding her as she eased him down. “These two women kidnapped me.”

  He had to be delirious with fever. Last night he’d tried to choke her, so she knew Cinaed was capable of anything in this state.

  Isabella started to open his shirt, but he caught her wrist.

  “Let me see what’s happened to your wound,” she said.

  Their faces were close, and their gazes locked. No word was spoken, but she saw clarity in his blue eyes.

  “Who is this?” Hudson leaned over to see for himself. “How do you know him?”

  Isabella didn’t see Cinaed’s hand move, but suddenly he was holding the officer’s pistol with the muzzle pressed up under the lieutenant’s chin.

  CHAPTER 9

  So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

  Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

  —Sir Walter Scott, “Lochinvar,” Canto V

  The man’s ice-blue eyes reflected the barely restrained fury of a killer. Not just any killer, he was an officer in one of the British empire’s elite mounted regiments, trained in the craft of death.

  Isabella had good reason to be afraid.

  “Your weapons,” Cinaed ordered. “Place them on the table and step away.”

  Luckily for all of them, he was smart enough to realize Cinaed wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

  “Do it, Davidson,” the lieutenant growled, never losing eye contact.

  Whether he killed this man or not, Cinaed’s life was changed forever. His decision was made in the taproom. He could have walked away and gone to Inverness and gotten a berth on the next ship to Halifax. But he didn’t. When he stepped into this room, he was giving the British authorities a face. A face that he’d kept hidden from them for all the years of his illegal activities. The face they’d been searching for since he’d stolen a revenue cutter and ran it aground eight years ago. He was now a target.

  And the man on the other end of this pistol was capable of destroying him.

  Davidson put his pistol and saber where he was told, but his eyes were darting across the room, looking for some advantage.

  “And that knife in your boot.” Cinaed waited until the sergeant complied, then spoke to the officer. “Now you. Slowly.”

  The lieutenant unfastened his sword and slid it onto the table. He, too, was carrying a knife, which he tossed up with the other weapons. Cinaed released his grip on the man’s coat, and the officer stood up, straightening his clothing.

  “I am Lieutenant Ellis Hudson of the 10th Royal Hussars. You’ll hang for this.”

  “Too bad you won’t be around to enjoy it.” For years now, his hangable offenses against the crown had been piling up. He could die only once. He gestured toward Davidson. “The penalty is the same if I kill you both right now.”

  Behind him, Jean quickly latched the door. He had no worry about the innkeeper. The man and his wife were too frightened to cross him now. They’d taken his money and would do his bidding, but he’d made it clear they’d be dead if they failed him.

  “Back up.” Getting on his feet was painful, but Isabella looped his arm around her neck, helping him up.

  He stole a look at her. A touch of color was slowly creeping back into
her fair complexion. It must have been terrifying, finding these two waiting for her. He surveyed the dining room. Not the best of situations. There was only the one door. The space around the table was narrow, and if one of them upended the table, or grabbed Isabella or Jean, the field of battle would change drastically. And, by the devil, the stakes were high. They could all quite easily die here at the hands of these soldiers.

  The sergeant was edging toward the table.

  “Don’t.” Cinaed pointed the muzzle directly at the commander’s heart. The man stopped. If they decided to charge him, he couldn’t take out both men, not in his present condition, but he’d make sure the officer was dead.

  A wave of light-headedness washed over him. He was unsure how long he’d be able to remain standing.

  “Jean, slide the weapons down to the end of the table.” A moment later she had them out of reach and was holding the pistol with both hands.

  “You,” he barked at the sergeant. “Join the lieutenant. Both of you stand by the window.”

  “You’ve made a grave mistake.” Hudson’s voice was as low and dangerous as the growl of a mad dog. “A fatal mistake.”

  “One of us has,” he replied. “But I’m holding the pistol.”

  Cinaed needed to buy some time. In spite of his tough words, his body was failing him. For a moment, he thought his knees were about to give beneath his weight, but Isabella caught him around the waist. He focused on his adversary’s face. Nothing went unnoticed by the lieutenant. He was an adder ready to strike.

  “Who are you?” Hudson demanded, ignoring the taunt. “And who sent you?”

  “No one sent me. I work for no one but myself.”

  The officer looked at Isabella. “If no one sent you, then that makes you a vile opportunist and a mercenary.”

  He could call him whatever he wanted, Cinaed thought, so long as he followed instructions.

  “Then you must know,” the lieutenant continued, “that the Crown is willing to pay far more for her than any sum the rabble is offering.”

  Hudson’s superior tone was becoming irksome, but Cinaed waited. He had questions about exactly who the “rabble” might be, but this was not the time to ask. He noticed when the man’s attention turned to Jean. Still holding the pistol, her hand shook excessively but she stayed true with her aim.

  “The old woman is with you?”

  “The old woman is with me.”

  “If she didn’t shoot you, then you must have enemies nearby. They’ll surely be after you to finish what they’d started.”

  Hudson was stalling. He was waiting for the message to Fort George to come back with results. He was also biding his time, looking for an opening. Cinaed noticed the man focus on his bloody shirt. Most likely, he’d already decided where he’d punch or kick to make him drop the weapon.

  Cinaed leaned against the table, forcing himself to stay alert.

  “You recognized Mrs. Drummond and thought you’d make a quick profit from some treasonous radicals. We can protect you if you’re willing to make a deal. A far better deal.”

  Mrs. Drummond. Cinaed shot a glance at Isabella and tried to decide why the reformers would have placed a bounty on her. Her stoic expression gave nothing away. Drummond must be her husband’s name.

  “Whatever they’ve offered you, the Crown can do better,” Hudson repeated, inclining his head slightly toward his subordinate. “Tell him, Davidson. Tell him how much this woman is really worth.”

  “A thousand pounds sterling, sir.”

  As the words floated in the air, Cinaed felt Isabella’s body go tense. No wonder she was worried that everyone was chasing after her. It was true.

  “But you’ll never collect it,” Davidson continued.

  “Shut up,” the lieutenant snapped.

  “He won’t, sir. Not after drawing on a king’s officer.”

  “Or after shooting one?” Cinaed suggested, his voice icy as the grave. “Along with a worthless sergeant?”

  Isabella walked away from him and stood by Jean. He hoped she wouldn’t fall for the game he was playing.

  “Why does the Crown want her so badly?” he asked.

  “She’s the wife of Archibald Drummond, a ringleader of some radicals causing trouble in Edinburgh.”

  Cinaed had been right in assuming she was connected to the reformers in the city.

  “Do you want her in order to get to her husband?”

  “The scoundrel Drummond is dead, his body dumped into a paupers’ grave with the rest of that scum.” The officer directed his reply toward Isabella, and Cinaed realized he was deliberately gauging how much pain he could inflict. “He was killed resisting arrest the day my men rooted out his den of spies and troublemakers.”

  The room began to spin, and he squeezed the handle of the pistol harder, trying to bear down. He needed to hold on for just a while longer. “You killed the husband. What do you want with the wife?”

  “She was a collaborator in her husband’s seditious activities. She knows the names of all the traitors. She’s the key to crushing this subversion of the king’s laws in the city.”

  Now he understood why the radicals would also place a bounty on her head. She knew too much.

  Hudson took a step away from the window, and Cinaed raised the pistol until it was pointed directly between the man’s eyes.

  “If you attempt anything so foolish, Lieutenant, I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.”

  “You’re the fool,” Hudson replied, his voice low and threatening. “This woman is nothing to you, and we’ll never allow you to take her.”

  Cinaed glanced down at Isabella, impressed by her show of courage. She didn’t cringe at all but met the man’s gaze with matched hostility.

  “This is my final offer,” the lieutenant said, turning his attention back to him. “You will leave behind my sword and pistol and walk out that door. In return, I shall pretend the past few minutes have only constituted a slight misunderstanding. In addition, I shall have Davidson make arrangements for you to collect the reward.”

  “The thousand pounds?” Cinaed raised a brow to make sure they confirmed the amount. “All of it?”

  “All of it.”

  “You do take me for a fool, Hudson,” Cinaed scoffed. “You’ll have me arrested the moment I appear to collect the money.”

  “Nay, sir. I swear to you, on my honor.”

  “Allow me to be the first to tell you, Lieutenant, that your word of honor is meaningless in the Highlands.”

  The first gong of the kirk bell seemed to come from a long distance. He hoped he hadn’t imagined it. But another one followed soon after, and then the next. Cinaed allowed his relief to show with a smile as the tolling of the bell filled the sudden silence in the room.

  “Bloody hell,” the sergeant cursed, looking out the window. “Why’s that bell ringing?”

  Hudson held up a hand to silence his subordinate. “This is your final chance,” he threatened. “Take the pistols and go. And we’ll let you take the old woman with you, too. But you must leave Mrs. Drummond.”

  “You clearly know nothing of the Highlands, Lieutenant,” Cinaed taunted, before pausing and listening. “And the bells.”

  With the pistol still leveled on the two men, Jean moved to the windows at the end of the room and threw open the shutters.

  “Oh, they’ll be coming soon now,” Jean predicted triumphantly.

  “Who’ll be coming?” Hudson snapped. “What is this nonsense?”

  Davidson shifted uncomfortably. “The locals here use the bloody church bells to call for help, among other things.”

  “To help whom?” the lieutenant asked, not comprehending.

  “To help us.” The old woman cackled.

  Hudson smiled and motioned triumphantly to the window. “Let them come. The more Highlander blood we draw in one day, the more cause for celebration. For you’ll soon know I’ve sent for troops, as well. They should be here any time now.”

  In any
brawl, in any battle, the sweetest moment was when a man knows he’s bested his opponent. Taken him by surprise. Beaten him at his own game. This was that moment.

  “The lad with your message was waylaid,” he replied, tossing the letter he’d taken from the boy onto the table. “I believe your request for help somehow fell into the wrong hands.”

  Angry patches of red appeared on the lieutenant’s cheeks. His hand went for the place where his saber should have hung. Coming up empty, he sent a murderous glare at his subordinate. The bell continued to ring out.

  “The Highlanders in this area will be coming, Lieutenant,” Cinaed assured them. “And they’ll be armed too, even though the British authorities are foolish enough to think there are no firearms to be found around here.”

  For the first time since he’d walked into the room, Isabella addressed them directly and disdain dripped from her words. “When they catch you and I tell them who and what you are, you’ll be treated with as little mercy as the scores of innocent people you’ve murdered. You will disappear without a trace, and true justice will be served.”

  As she finished, Hudson took a step toward her, hate flashing in his eyes. But the sergeant pulled him back.

  “So now let me tell you my final offer,” Cinaed said, pausing until he had the man’s attention. “You will go out that window behind you, and you will run as fast and as far as your legs will carry you before the men I’ve summoned get here.”

  Isabella started to protest but stopped as a furious pounding commenced at the door.

  Cinaed waved his pistol toward the window. “And I wouldn’t recommend using the coach road, for out here on your own, unarmed, you’ll be quite vulnerable. And every Highlander knows the only enemy of the common folk is you.”

  The hammering on the door grew louder, and the sound of shouting in the hallway was the last straw for the sergeant. “Please, sir. We need to go now.”

  Dragging Hudson to the window, he scrambled through, pulling the furious officer after him.

  * * *

  “How could you let them escape?” Waves of anger for these soldiers washed over Isabella as she watched them disappear beyond a rise in the fields. She whirled on Cinaed, speaking over the continued banging on the door. “Hudson was at my house in Edinburgh. He’s a murderer and…”