Highland Jewel (The House of Pendray Book 3)

by Anna Markland

  At first light, Garnet strode across the meadow intending to ascertain the whereabouts of their captain from the three dragoons. As luck would have it, the officer had just arrived. “Barclay,” he said, extending a hand. “We met last night.”

  “Captain Bruce Andrews,” the tall soldier replied, accepting the gesture.

  Garnet got straight to the point. “We believe the fugitives plan to sail to Holland, from Aberdeen.”

  “There’s no safe place for them in Scotland,” Gray added as he and Murtagh joined them.

  Garnet felt it necessary to make introductions when Andrews frowned at the newcomers. “This lad is the lass’s brother, and Murtagh their guide.”

  “Pendray,” Gray said, proffering his hand.

  Andrews arched a brow as he returned the handshake. “Son of the Earl of Glenheath?”

  “Aye. How do ye ken that?”

  “’Twas my troop captured Axton and Balford at Airds Moss thanks to yer father’s help. We must hope they dinna discover yer sister’s identity.”

  “Ye’ve an advantage over us,” a stern-faced Murtagh interjected. “We dinna ken what the wretches look like.”

  “I tend to agree with ye about Aberdeen,” Andrews replied with a nod. “My men are ready to ride, but the fugitives have a few hours head start.”

  “We’d save time by sailing across the Firth,” Garnet suggested. “Instead of going around via Stirling.”

  “What do ye have in mind?” Murtagh asked.

  “The Arbroath galley.”

  “Too small for my men and our horses,” Andrews replied.

  Garnet persisted. “My feeling is they’ll make for the safety of the Cameron family farm in Fàclann. Some of us could go by sea while you and your soldiers ride overland.”

  “Sounds like a good plan, but ’tis unlikely the drunken sot who captains that boat will agree to help,” Andrews replied.

  “I’ll make him an offer he canna refuse,” Garnet assured him.

  Pursuit

  Jewel flinched when something hard poked her in the back. Still half asleep, she crawled away, sickeningly certain the pig had come to investigate. The painful prod came again, accompanied by a harsh voice she recognized.

  “Wake up.”

  Hatred stiffened her spine. John Balford was kicking her with the toe of his booted foot.

  “Stop that,” she spat, sitting up in the straw.

  “Get a move on,” he said.

  She narrowed her eyes against the bright sunlight. “I canna go without my shoes.”

  “David has them.”

  Avoiding even looking at the snoring pig, she picked her way through the byre, surprised to almost collide with the farmwife who held out a tattered blanket.

  “’Tisna much,” the crone said, “but ’twill get colder as ye journey.”

  Convinced now her suspicion about a northward trek to Aberdeen was correct, she furled the blanket around her shoulders. “’Tis a kindness.”

  “God be with ye,” the woman murmured before returning to her hovel.

  Axton had already mounted, her shoes nowhere in evidence. “Ye’ll ride with me,” he declared, holding out his hand.

  “I canna go barefoot,” she replied.

  “While ye ride, ye can,” he said. “When ’tis time for ye to walk, I’ll give ye yer shoes.”

  “My feet will free…”

  She nigh on lost her balance when Balford’s mount nudged her in the back. “Get on the confounded horse,” he commanded.

  Determined to deny him the satisfaction of seeing her annoyance, she clutched the frayed wool around her shoulders and reached for Axton’s hand. Seated behind him, she grimaced when the odor of his body assailed her nostrils. He may have slept and eaten but he certainly hadn’t bathed. “Ye reek,” she announced as he set the animal in motion behind Balford’s steed.

  “My pardon,” he replied sarcastically. “There’ll be opportunity enough to bathe when we reach Holland.”

  “’Tis a forlorn hope ye harbor,” she retorted. “My brother and our Highlanders will track ye down.”

  “What’s a lass from Ayrshire doing with a bunch of Highlanders?” he asked, making her wish once again she’d controlled her tongue.

  She lifted her chin and feigned interest in the landscape. “None of yer business.”

  Worried he might know of the history of Kilmer and her grand-uncle, she moved to another topic. “Yer friend doesna ken how to treat a lady.”

  He hesitated before replying. “John’s afraid. Fear can make a mon forget all about good manners and courtly behavior.”

  “He should have thought about that before killing the archbishop.”

  “I dinna expect ye to understand,” he replied. “Sharp claimed to be a man of God, but he was in league with the Devil. The blood of Covenanter martyrs was on his hands. ’Twas John’s duty to kill him.”

  “And what about ye?” she risked. “Are ye afraid?”

  “Nay. I look forward to the day I leave this world and receive my reward in heaven.”

  “A reward for killing a man.”

  “’Tis true I was there when Sharp was assassinated,” he replied. “But I didna raise my hand against him.”

  “Ye did naught to aid him, and folk say ye made sure his daughter watched.”

  “Aye, that was unfortunate. In truth, ten of us were planning a different attack when news came the Archbishop’s carriage was on the road. John took it as a sign. If we were wrong, the Lord will judge us, nay ye.”

  The gruesome notion of ten men participating in the brutal stabbing of another made her shiver.

  He produced her shoes from his saddle bags. “Time for ye to walk for a wee while. That’ll warm ye up.”

  She slid from the horse, accepted her shoes and sat on a fallen log to put them on. Walking in borrowed footwear was preferable to inhaling the unpleasant odors of horse and man, but she feigned annoyance. “I’m surrounded by gentlemen,” she hissed.

  “Have a care, Miss Jewel Ward, or whatever yer name is, ye ken naught about me, and I might decide John is right. Ye ask too many questions.”

  Marveling at the efficiency of the Highlanders as they struck and packed their tents, Garnet stroked Scepter’s nose. “I ken ye dinna like long rides,” he cooed to the animal, “but I’m confident ye’ll persevere in the search for yer mistress.”

  The horse whinnied as if in agreement.

  Jock had taken excellent care of the gelding’s foreleg and Murtagh agreed Garnet should ride Jewel’s beloved horse.

  “’Twill be our talisman,” the gruff Highlander declared with unmistakable tears in his eyes.

  “Aye,” Gray rasped. “Scepter will sense if we get anywhere near my sister.”

  The necessity to ride slowly through the crowded streets of Edinburgh aggravated Garnet’s impatience to get to Leith. He prayed the galley wasn’t out on the North Sea and was relieved when they reached the noisy tavern to catch a glimpse of the captain, already unsteady on his feet early in the morning.

  Murtagh furrowed his brow when Garnet pointed out the man they sought. “Are ye sure we want to trust our lives to him? He’s drunk.”

  Garnet took the pouch of emeralds from his satchel. “’Tis a short crossing, and we must save time. Wait for me outside.”

  He palmed the pouch and held out his hand in greeting to the inebriated sailor, then withdrew it quickly when bleary eyes brightened. The velvet had done the trick. “Tipsy ye may be,” he said, “but I ken ye recognize what I can offer. Will ye come outside to talk business?”

  Sensing the sot would need persuasive assistance, he put his arm around bony shoulders and steered his quarry through the boisterous crowd to the entry doors.

  Once they pushed their way to the outside, Murtagh’s troop quickly formed a circle around them.

  “What mischief’s this?” the swaying sailor asked.

  Garnet dangled the pouch. “Ye can earn two of these beauties.”

  T
he captain scowled when Garnet pulled the pouch away from his grasp. “To take ye to Arbroath?”

  “Nay. To ferry my companions and our mounts to Kinghorn.”

  Greed glistened in the man’s eyes as he licked his lips. “Men aye, horses nay.”

  Garnet picked out a small emerald and sat it on his open palm. “For that ye get one stone.”

  The captain’s eyes darted here and there. “A rough bunch,” he growled, scraping blackened fingernails through the stubble on his scrawny neck.

  “Honest men and true,” Garnet assured him. “On a mission to save a lass who’s been kidnapped.”

  The sailor spat into the dirt. “Two for the horses, ye said?”

  “Aye. Ye get the stones when we arrive safely on the other side of the Firth.”

  “Away, then. We canna miss the tide.”

  Jewel’s hopes for rescue lifted when she espied a large castle in the distance—but they were fleeting.

  “Stirling,” Balford declared. “Best we take the route less traveled.”

  The detour turned out to be a rocky, up-and-down path that most travelers sensibly avoided. Exasperated and footsore, Jewel sat down on rock. “I can walk no further.”

  Axton held out a hand. “Ye’re a stubborn lass. I didna think ye’d last this long.”

  She allowed him to pull her up behind him and they continued their journey in silence until the shadows lengthened and rolling hills loomed in the near distance. These were the magnificent vistas she’d longed to see, but they meant nothing without Gray…and Garnet. One kiss had carved a place in her heart for a Highlander she barely knew. Regret rose up her throat when she contemplated never seeing him again. Her parents talked incessantly about soul mates and now she was beginning to understand what they meant.

  “The Ochils,” Axton explained, as if sensing her curiosity about the hills. “Nay far now to Dolair.”

  They began a gradual climb to a castle perched on the hillside.

  “Looks like a ruin,” she said.

  “Aye. Castle Gloom. Burned out by Royalists thirty years gone.”

  A memory surfaced. “Mary Queen of Scots stayed here,” she said. “My tutor told me.”

  “Ye must be from a wealthy family to have a tutor,” he replied. “Mayhap they’ll pay a hefty ransom. I admit I never heard of the Wards from Ayrshire.”

  Again, she’d said too much. “If I recall correctly, its proper name is Castle Campbell.”

  “Aye, but after we spend the night there, ye’ll understand why they call it Castle Gloom.”

  Glorious History

  They’d barely finished coaxing the horses aboard the galley when Garnet espied Quinn Guthrie hurrying along the dock towards them, Aristotle trotting at his heels. When he came abreast of the vessel, he lifted the dog. “Take him with ye,” he shouted. “He has a keen nose.”

  Garnet disembarked and Quinn thrust something into his hands. He recognized it as the cap Jewel had worn as part of her disguise. He held it to his nose, filled with regret when he inhaled traces of her scent lingering in the wool. “Aye,” he rasped, tucking the cap inside his doublet.

  Quinn gulped air. “I was afraid I’d be too late. Captain Andrews told me of yer plan to sail across the Firth.”

  The puppy licked Garnet’s face enthusiastically when Quinn handed him over.

  “He does seem happy to help,” he quipped. “But Beatris and yer lasses will miss him.”

  Quinn inhaled deeply. “We’ll be fine. Vermeer is taking good care of us. The head of the Privy Council has already assigned laborers to repair our house. Aristotle was Meaghan’s idea.” He clenched his jaw. “I wish I was coming with ye. If I could get my hands on…”

  “Cast off,” the captain bellowed.

  Garnet passed the dog over the side of the galley into Jock’s hands. “I understand. Dinna fash. I’ll make sure they pay for their misdeeds.”

  “See that ye do,” Quinn replied. “’Tis fitting ye’re wearing my plaid.”

  Garnet shook his new friend’s hand and jumped aboard as the galley eased away from the wooden dock.

  Aristotle raced to the prow, barking into the wind as the vessel picked up speed and the crew unfurled the sails.

  “He’s keen to play his part,” Murtagh observed with a chuckle.

  The horses whinnied and snorted when the boat entered choppy open waters. Their fear didn’t surprise Garnet, but he had to laugh when Aristotle turned a disdainful eye on them and they quieted immediately.

  “How far is it?” he shouted to the captain.

  “Six miles, give or take,” the sailor answered, his stern gaze fixed on the three crewmen handling the sails.

  “Never would have thought it possible,” Murtagh said close to Garnet’s ear. “He became a different man once he stepped aboard his boat.”

  “Aye,” Garnet agreed with a wink. “We might survive the crossing after all.”

  “They say the Romans built a bridge across the Forth with five hundred boats,” Gray said.

  “Further inland,” Garnet replied. “Near Queensferry. They secured the boats with long mooring ropes to Inchgarvie Island in the middle of the Firth, then same thing to the other side.”

  Murtagh arched a brow.

  “An interesting bit of information I picked up at university,” Garnet explained.

  “Lady Jewel said ye were a university mon.”

  Staring into the dark waves, Gray clenched his jaw at the mention of his sister’s name.

  Aristotle’s bark drew their attention to a ruin just discernible on the distant shore.

  “Kinghorn Castle,” Murtagh said. “Once the seat of the mighty Canmore dynasty.”

  “Ye’re also interested in history,” Garnet replied.

  “Aye,” the blacksmith answered. “I doot any country has a more glorious or more tragic history than ours. Did ye ken King Alexander died near Kinghorn nigh on four hundred years ago?”

  “In a battle?” Gray asked.

  “Nay. He was on his way in the dark to visit his new wife when he apparently fell off his horse. They found him dead on the beach, his neck broken.” He arched a brow. “Sometimes a woman can distract a mon’s attention from what’s important. ’Twas her birthday the next day and he was anxious to help her celebrate.”

  Gray gaped until Murtagh guffawed and punched him in the arm. “Let that be a lesson to ye, laddie.”

  “All jesting aside,” Garnet added. “’Twas a great loss for Scotland. Alexander died without heirs which led to bitter wars of succession.”

  The village of Kinghorn came into view not long after, but the tide was out. “Canna reach the dock,” their captain informed them as the crew hauled down the sails. “I’ll heave to as close as I can.”

  Garnet contemplated the steps of the small stone dock and the vast expanse of beach below the village. “We could row in,” he said to Murtagh, “but persuading the horses to swim will be a different matter.”

  No sooner had the anchor been dropped when Aristotle leapt off the prow and began paddling to shore.

  “Heart of a lion,” Murtagh chuckled.

  Garnet patted the pouch concealed inside his doublet. “Ye’ll get yer reward once we and our horses are safe on the beach,” he reminded the captain.

  The scowling mariner ordered the loading ramp lowered into the water. “We’ll help ye get them off my galley, then ’tis up to ye to make sure they dinna drown.”

  Garnet didn’t have much choice, but Murtagh reassured him. “The lads’ll mount up and get the horses off safely. They did it before when we had to cross the Firth of Tay after the disastrous defeat at Dundee.”

  While thirty years had passed since then, Garnet deemed it wiser to keep his doubts to himself. Gray had already mounted, clearly trusting Murtagh’s words.

  The blacksmith leaned forward in the saddle. “Ready for a wee swim, Striker?” he said softly.

  The horse snorted then began its slow walk down the ramp and was soon headin
g for shore. The remaining animals followed without much fuss.

  Having shaken the water from his coat, Aristotle ran back and forth along the beach greeting each horse with an encouraging bark.

  The captain rubbed his hands together.

  Garnet retrieved the pouch. “I thank ye,” he said as he put two stones in the man’s palm. “Ye’re a wealthy mon, now, my friend. Dinna waste it all on liquor.”

  “Aye,” the sailor replied, licking his lips, his eyes darting from the emeralds to his crew.

  Suspecting the mariner would make straight for the tavern once he reached Leith, Garnet mounted Scepter and rode off the boat.

  As they trotted through the shallows, he noticed Aristotle cocking his leg against the stone dock. “Matters not a whit to yon dog that a king died on this beach,” he quipped.

  If her situation hadn’t been so dire, Jewel might have laughed. She and her captors sat huddled around a campfire in a corner of the ruined Great Hall of what was once a mighty stronghold.

  Balford had roasted an unrecognizable creature on a makeshift spit and she’d been too ravenously hungry to ask what she was eating.

  The flames provided some heat, but her back was icy cold, despite the frayed blanket around her shoulders. The stone floor and the tales Axton told of the castle’s bloody history aggravated the chill.

  “This became the lowland seat of the Earls and Dukes of Argyll,” the fugitive told her, his voice echoing in the empty cavern. “Thanks to the first earl’s marriage to a Stewart.

  “Colin Campbell didna like the name Castle Gloom, so he asked King James if he could change it to Castle Campbell.

  “The second and third earls added many grand buildings and gardens to the site, but then the fourth earl embraced the Reformation and became one of the leading protestant lords of the day, a friend of John Knox.”

  Jewel recalled her father’s tales of John Knox and his crusade to bring Calvinism to Scotland. She sensed the conflicts that resulted in Gloom’s eventual destruction were centered on religious disagreements. Yet, she snuggled further into the blanket, anxious to hear the rest of the story. There was much about her country’s history of which she was woefully ignorant.