The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  “Aye, but that’s half past four this time of year. Swenson thought—”

  “I don’t give a damn what Swenson thought. Quickly, wake Mrs. Kerr. Tell her we leave anon—there’s not a moment to dally. Next, haste to the stables. Have the coachman hitch up a wagon straightaway.”

  “A wagon?”

  “To take us to the mine—but keep that wee bit of information under wraps.”

  MacVie shook out John’s kilt. “Aye, m’lord.”

  “Leave that. Haste ye above stairs!”

  With no time to worry about making pleats, John wrapped his tartan around his waist and belted it. “Evelyn!” he bellowed, kicking open the door between their chambers. “You have two minutes to don your clothes.”

  She sat up, her hair mussed, her eyes barely open. “Wha…?”

  He ran inside and drew down the bedclothes. “Two minutes to dress. Dragoons are in pursuit.” He offered his hand. “Put on the kirtle and arisaid you wore last eve.”

  She slid to her feet. “But I didn’t think the soldiers would be here for days.”

  “Nor did I.” He sprinted back to his chamber, grabbed the case with his pistols, strapped his sword to his hip, and shoved a tricorn atop his head, then tossed the satchel he’d packed last night over his shoulder.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, moving back into Evelyn’s chamber.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I need help with my stays.”

  “Shove the contraption in your satchel.” He grabbed the kirtle from the back of the chair and held it up. “Here.”

  She ducked her head under and tugged on the front laces. “Did you say we have two minutes?”

  “Less. Where are your shoes?”

  “The withdrawing room.”

  John dashed inside, found a pair of stockings and a pair of sturdy riding boots. “Put these on—they’re the most practical.”

  “Where are the garters?”

  “There’s no time for bloody garters.”

  “On the dresser.” She pointed. “At least we can bring them, else my stockings will be hanging down around the tops of my boots.”

  John stuffed the garters in the satchel, handed her the arisaid, and took her hand. “Come. We must fetch the lads.”

  “We’re taking Thomas and Oliver with us?”

  “I’m not bloody-well leaving them here.” John ascended the spiral stairs two steps at a time while a plan formed. “We’ll slip out the canal—we have to continue from there.”

  By the time they stepped into the nursery, both lads were up—John and Evelyn helped them finish dressing, while Mrs. Kerr collected their effects.

  “Are we not taking a coach to Ayr?” the governess asked.

  John ushered everyone down the servants’ stairs leading to the kitchens. “We’re all boarding the boat from the mine.”

  “But what about the horses?” asked Evelyn.

  “We’ll have to buy some after we’ve sailed across to Airth.”

  “Airth?” Evelyn asked. “But isn’t that the wrong direction?”

  “Any direction not in the path of the queen’s dragoons is the right direction.” John picked up Oliver and looked from Thomas to Mrs. Kerr. “Can you run to the stables from here?”

  “I’ll beat everyone,” said Tom, shoving out the kitchen door.

  Mrs. Kerr gave a stoic nod. “Let us make haste.”

  As John had asked, the wagon was already waiting, thank God. “Take us to the mine,” he said, setting Oliver in the back.

  “The mine, m’lord?” asked Callan, armed to the teeth. “Shall I follow with the Erskine regiment?”

  “Stay here. Guard the tower.” John hoisted Thomas up as well, as he shifted his attention to the coachman. “Can you man a wherry sail?”

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  “Then help the ladies alight and make haste for the canal.”

  Sitting beside the coachman, John kept his pocket watch open. It had taken fifteen minutes to dress and spirit the family out of the tower, and another five minutes to reach the canal at the mine.

  As they filed into the boat, he heard the thunder of horse hooves in the distance. He grabbed the oars while the coachman manned the sail of the shallow-bottomed boat, but it was too wide for one man to reach both oars. Evelyn moved to the rowing bench beside him. “I’ll help. It may take some time for the sail to catch the wind.”

  “Good lass.” A breeze whipped at his face. “With God’s grace we will soon be across the River Forth.”

  “If I may make a suggestion.” Mrs. Kerr drew the boys back to her side. “You may recall my father is a vicar in Linlithgow. We could take the lads there for safekeeping. ’Tis only across the Firth and a great deal closer than Ayr, not to mention, he keeps workhorses. I’m certain he’ll have a pair of geldings that will suit Your Lordship nicely.”

  “Linlithgow?” John said, mulling it over. The idea was tempting. And if they stepped ashore at Bo’ness, the town was only a few miles inland from there.

  “Do you think the boys would be as safe with the vicar as with your cousin?” Evelyn asked him.

  “Perhaps more so.” The sail picked up the wind and together he and Evelyn drew in their oars. “I’d reckon the only person who kens where Mrs. Kerr hails from is Swenson.”

  “Then you like the idea?” asked the governess.

  “We’ll pay a visit to the vicarage. But your father must be amenable.” As they sailed into the churning waters of the river not far from where it emptied into the Firth of Forth, John glanced over his shoulder.

  Thank the stars the dragoons hadn’t found his mode of escape.

  Yet.

  Argyll had caught Mar unawares, and that wouldn’t happen again.

  This morn’s near miss served as a harsh alarm. Until he cleared his name, his family would not be safe.

  Evelyn had no idea where they were on a map, aside from the fact they’d traveled south when Dundee was northeast. While they were riding on a hay wagon to Linlithgow, John had confided that Sir Kennan wasn’t expected to return from France for a fortnight. Such news was as much of an alarm as it was a relief.

  But it had purchased time to see to Thomas and Oliver’s safety, and that was worth more than anything. Once Mrs. Kerr’s father learned not only that the Earl of Mar was there to request his help, but that he was being pursued by dragoons, the old Jacobite vicar was eager to help.

  Two stocky garron ponies stood saddled and tied to a fence post while the boys chased an enormous deerhound around the paddock. Evelyn ran her fingers through the mane of the horse fitted with a weathered sidesaddle. “These fellas look a bit shaggy and ornery to me.”

  John used a leather thong to tie the satchel to the back of his mount. “There’s none better to negotiate the Highlands. They mightn’t be as pretty as the horses in my stable, but they’re sturdy, and that’s what we need.”

  “Will we be traversing the wilds of the Highlands?”

  “I hope it will not be necessary.” He gave his horse’s hip a pat. “But not to worry, the Highlands are in my blood—I’m as comfortable there as I am in Alloa.”

  Hundreds of questions played on the tip of Evelyn’s tongue, but she dared not utter a one. Though John had realized she’d been tricked by Dubois, this state of affairs was still her fault, and she refused to predict doom or utter a word of complaint.

  The vicar tottered out from his stone cottage, carrying a parcel. “You’d best take some bread and cheese along.”

  “My thanks.” John accepted the offering. “But will you have enough?”

  “Plenty,” said Mrs. Kerr, following. “My da’s a hoarder. Besides, with the coin you gave us, we can eat like kings for a month or more.”

  The boys dashed up and Oliver threw his arms around John’s leg. “Don’t go.”

  “Truly, you’re welcome to stay,” said the vicar. “With a bit o’ prayer the holy Father will send fire and brimstone to smite those dastardly dragoons.”

  �
�I wouldn’t want to test it.” John chuckled while he patted Oliver’s back. “Besides, the longer I tarry, the more dangerous things grow for my sons.”

  Evelyn kneeled and pulled Thomas into her arms. “You’ll look after your brother until we return?”

  “Aye.” He squeezed her tightly while nodding his head. “But we left Brutus behind. What if the redcoats take him?”

  John kneeled as well. “Och, the old dog would never let one of those vile beasts near him.”

  “I can attest to that,” Evelyn agreed. “And Swenson will take care of him.”

  Thomas swiped away a tear. “But he always bites Swenson’s heels.”

  She kissed the boy’s cheek. “Perhaps they’ll bond a bit whilst we’re away.”

  John gathered both of his sons in his arms. “Now I want you to be mindful of everything Mrs. Kerr asks of you, for disobeying her is akin to disrespecting me. Ye ken?”

  “Aye,” they echoed in unison, sniffling and wiping their eyes.

  “W-when will you be back?” asked Oliver.

  “As soon as I possibly can. But in the interim pay a mind to your studies. I’ll want to hear all about what you’ve accomplished—and I’ll reckon the vicar has ponies for you to ride.”

  “Me as well?” asked Oliver.

  John tweaked the rascal’s nose. “If the Father sees fit, you as well.”

  Evelyn dabbed her eyes with her kerchief, then gave each boy a hug of her own. “Neither of you have any idea how much you mean to me. But your father and I will be thinking of you every moment. And when you look up at the stars and the moon, you can rest assured that we’re looking at the same and sending you our love.”

  Thomas dropped his head back and turned in a circle. “What about during the day? What about the clouds and the sun?”

  “The clouds and the sun, too.” John tugged Evelyn to her feet. “We must away.”

  Though the good-byes were torturous, once they were mounted, Evelyn settled and used the position of the sun to find her bearings. “Are we not headed west?”

  “We must go west before we can turn north. After Falkirk we’ll take the road to Stirling.”

  Evelyn bit her tongue. There was no use asking questions to which she knew very well there were no answers. She simply needed to stop doubting.

  They’d been riding at a steady trot for quite a while when John pointed to a fortress atop a mighty hill. “There sits Stirling Castle.”

  “Oh my, she’s magnificent.”

  “She’s seen many a battle over the centuries.”

  “If only we could lock ourselves behind her doors and keep out the dragoons.”

  “Unfortunately the place is crawling with them at the moment.”

  But Evelyn hadn’t imagined the worst of it. As they passed beneath the ominous castle walls, the redcoats had set up an inspection point at Stirling Bridge.

  Pulling on the reins, John motioned to Evelyn to slow her horse. “Bless it, there’s not another crossing for miles.”

  “But we’re in disguise…my darling Mr. Ramsey,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes as she spoke the alias John had dreamed up.

  “Aye, but we’re not far enough away from Alloa. One of them might recognize me.” John laid his reins across his horse’s neck. “We’ll head north. The river branches at Doune. This time of year the water is low and we can ride across there.”

  “How much further is that?”

  “Eight to ten miles.”

  “Good heavens, the horses will need rest.”

  “And they’ll have it—right after we’ve crossed the river and found a place to camp.”

  But the sound of horse hooves thundered behind.

  “Ho! Stop in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Anne!” bellowed the lead rider.

  “God on the cross.” John reined his horse to find a half-dozen dragoons riding straight for them as if they were chasing down a band of outlaws. “Well, lady wife, now’s our chance to test our disguises.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  John dipped his shoulder and twisted, turning away from the soldiers while he reached across his midriff and wrapped his fingers around his pistol’s handle.

  A lieutenant walked his mount forward. “It looks as if you were trying to avoid the queen’s barricade.”

  A hundred retorts came to John’s tongue. If uttered aloud, every last one of them would send him to the gallows without a bloody trial. “What gave you that idea?” he asked, quietly thumbing the cock.

  The man’s chin raised arrogantly. “You were heading for the bridge. I saw you.”

  “Beg your pardon, sir, but you are mistaken.” John squinted. Blast it all, the lieutenant looked like a Campbell with his long, narrow nose. If he were placing wagers, he’d swear the lieutenant was kin to Argyll.

  The red-coated varlet hopped from his horse and approached. “Where are you headed?”

  “My croft. Up past Doune.”

  “Stuart lands, aye?” the man asked, setting his trap. He was sly, for certain. Stuart lands bordered Doune, but to agree would be folly.

  “Drummond,” John corrected, eyeing a copse of trees but fifty paces north. “Now if ye do not mind, me wife and I would like to continue on our way.”

  The lieutenant rested his hand on John’s horse’s bridle and looked up, suspicion filling his eyes. “Why such haste?”

  “Ye ken Scotland, a Highlander takes advantage of fine weather whilst he can.” John cued his horse to back, making the dragoon drop his hand. “Besides, have you not anything better to do than pester a poor crofter and his wife?”

  “To be honest, we haven’t.” The lieutenant’s gaze shifted to John’s fingers…and his blasted signet ring. “God’s stones,” the man said as if he’d found a buried treasure.

  Before the lieutenant could raise his voice, in one motion John drew his pistol, shot the bastard’s hat off, kicked his heels, and grabbed Evelyn’s bridle. “Run!”

  Together they raced for the trees while John leaned over his horse’s withers. “Put your head down!” he shouted.

  Just as they dashed into the protection of the forest, the soldiers’ muskets fired.

  “Do not slow down,” he growled, releasing his grip on the bridle.

  “This way!” he shouted, finding a path.

  John led her up a steep hill. At the top, he chanced a backward glance. Blast, the dragoons were too close. Ahead was open lea all the way to the river—forest and hills to the north, rugged and craggy Highlands to the east.

  “Where to?” Evelyn asked.

  “We’ll outrun them—follow me.”

  They barreled down the hill at full tilt, but still the sound of thundering hoofbeats rumbled behind them. Once they hit the meadow, John took the lead. “Give your horse its head,” he shouted. If Evelyn lightened her grip on the reins, her horse might keep pace with his. She was lighter, but she still had the disadvantage of riding aside.

  Out in the open they were an easy mark, but there was little other choice than to try to outrun them. The problem was the garrons were no match for the taller hackneys except in the hills.

  Crack! A shot came from the east.

  Evelyn ducked, her head almost even with her gelding’s neck. “Lord save us.”

  John’s gut sank as reinforcements rode straight toward them.

  Crack, crack!

  “Are you shot?” he asked, kicking his heels and demanding more speed.

  “I’m fine.” Evelyn slapped her reins and gained behind him. “Faster!”

  Crack, crack, crack!

  The riders from the east veered toward the soldiers.

  John glanced over his shoulder. Merciful saints, those were Highlanders cutting off the lieutenant and his men. “Ho,” he shouted, pulling on his reins.

  Evelyn stopped beside him. “The soldiers are running.”

  Half the Highland retinue continued the chase while their leader turned with a contingent of men. John squinted. “Holy Moses, Tullibardine?”<
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  The marquis’s white teeth glinted in the sunlight. “Thought I might find you somewhere nearby.”

  “Truly?” John asked, leading Evelyn as they fell into step with the man’s horse.

  “When I learned you’d escaped out through the River Forth, there really was no other way for you to travel other than through Stirling—not with Argyll and the queen’s dragoons already blocking the road from Alloa to Dundee.”

  “Is that what Argyll thinks as well?”

  “I reckon he has no idea where you’re headed. At the moment the bastard is in the process of establishing blockades at every major road in bloody Scotland.” Tullibardine led them into the forest on a narrow path—one John hadn’t traveled before. “We must haste. My men will cover our tracks, but those dragoons will send up the alarm soon enough.”

  John peered through the trees, estimating their direction. “I was planning to cross the river at Doune.”

  “Callander is better.”

  “Up the path to the Highlands?”

  “Aye. You can change horses there.”

  “And swap out my plaid.” While he was thinking about it, he slid his signet ring off his finger and slipped it into his sporran. “I had been thinking about taking Evelyn to my lodge up near Gordon territory.”

  “Nay, Argyll kens every estate you own. If I were you, I’d head to the old hunting cottage at Loch Katrine. Do you ken it?”

  “All the way up there? Has the winter snow melted as of yet?”

  “’Tis the end of June. If it hasn’t, ’tis likely to still be there come fall.”

  John regarded Evelyn over his shoulder. Riding like a champion, she’d kept up so far, but the woman was bred of English nobility. She might soon wither. “I’m not fond of the idea of taking Lady Mar up into the wilds. She’s not accustomed to our rugged hills.”

  “Do not worry about me,” she said. “I am far sturdier than I may look.”

  Tullibardine chuckled. “I like your spirit, m’lady. It reminds me of my lovely wife, Maddie.”

  John recalled the marquis’s bride. The illegitimate daughter of the Earl Marischal, Magdalen Keith had been accused of treason about seven years past, and Tullibardine had been the one to prove her innocence. “It seems you’ve become quite the Robin Hood for the cause.”