The Dreamer

by Greyson, Maeve

  “I canna believe we’re safe,” whispered Beitris.

  “Shh,” hissed Effemy and Teasag in unison.

  Gretna agreed. Conversation at this time was too risky, no matter how relieved they all felt. They weren’t out of harm’s way just yet.

  “Halt!” shouted a tired, disinterested voice. “Which ship be yer cargo headed?”

  Gretna held her breath. Beitris grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed.

  “No ship yet,” Ian said. “This here load’s headed for Mackenzie’s warehouse.”

  “Mackenzie?” The voice sounded more interested now. “Since when does the Mackenzie trade in wool?”

  Catching her bottom lip between her teeth, Gretna prayed the dock master’s man wouldn’t insist on searching the wagon. The Mackenzies were known smugglers of whisky, rum, and whatever else brought in the most coin. Ian’s brother, Alasdair, was the Mackenzie’s solicitor and made sure their profitable business dealings at least appeared legal.

  “The Mackenzie deals in whatever he wishes,” Ian replied in a cold, deadly tone. “Shall I tell him ye question his practices?”

  Beitris trembled beside her, shaking so hard, the straw around them shushed like a hissing snake. Gretna squeezed the frightened lass’s hand tighter. They had to stay calm. Panic would only give them away.

  “Nay,” the dock guard hurried to answer. “The Mackenzie can do whate’er he wishes. On wi’ ye now.”

  Gretna eased out the breath she’d been holding. Thank goodness the reputation of the powerful Mackenzie clan had saved them from being searched. The wagon lurched into motion, continuing the slow, bumpy ride.

  After a short time, the wagon halted again. The soft bundles atop them shifted, then lifted away, as did the blanket covering their faces. “Come to me, m’love,” Ian said, reaching out to her. “Come and let me hold ye.”

  Gretna scrambled into his arms. An overjoyed sob escaped her. “Thank God for ye, mo ghràdh. I feared I’d never see ye again.”

  He lifted her out of the wagon, but rather than set her to her feet, held her tight. “I wouldha moved heaven and earth to save ye.” He rained kisses across her upturned face. “I love ye fierce, mo chridhe.” A sternness settled across him, drawing his brows together. “And I’ll be hearing ye swear that ye’ll listen to me from now on, aye?” He gave her a gentle shake. “I know ye’re a wise woman who fears nothing, but I beg ye, for the sake of my heart, never go against what I ask of ye. Not ever again, understand?”

  “I swear,” she said without hesitation. “And I’m so verra sorry. Can ye ever forgive me?”

  Ian answered with a kiss that made her wish they were back in their bed rather than standing in the middle of what looked to be a warehouse full of barrels, crates, and bundles.

  A throat cleared somewhere behind them.

  Ian slowly ended the kiss, and Gretna tucked her head to the crook of his neck. She reveled in his muscled hardness holding her. The scent of him. His warmth. She wept with joy for this man she loved so.

  “Shall we fetch more supplies, Master Ian?” Sawny asked. “We werena expecting more than just Mistress Gretna.”

  “Aye,” Tom said in a lowered voice. “We’ve no’ got enough clothes, that’s for certain.”

  The women stood huddled together, wrapped in the blankets.

  “Let’s get them settled first.” Ian strode down a long, narrow aisle between wooden crates stacked almost to the rafters. He gave Gretna a smile that made her feel more than a little loved, then nodded toward the back portion of the massive building. “We’ve food and clothes. Enough for a wee start, anyway. We’ve much to discuss and decide.”

  “We’ll not head back to Tor Ruadh right away?” Gretna wasn’t sure how she felt about staying in Inverness. Was that truly the best plan? The need to see her sons safe was strong. She also worried that the despicable townsfolk of Ruadh might have gotten hold of her babies as well.

  “The boys are fine,” Ian assured as though reading her mind. “Alexander, Magnus, and Sutherland promised to guard them. Graham and the men will fetch them for us quick as they can. Tom’s headed to Graham now to give them the word that ye’re safe and to go get the lads.”

  “Get them?” Gretna hugged closer as Ian turned sideways with her to enter the narrow door of the warehouse office. “Why would Graham bring them back here?”

  “Let’s settle ye first, and then I’ll explain.” Ever so gently, he deposited her onto a cot against the back wall. He waved the trio of ladies, waiting just outside the doorway forward. “Come, ladies. Sit whilst I light the brazier and pour ye some ale.”

  Gretna’s three former prison mates sat beside her, tucking their blankets close to hide their bare state as best they could. Teasag gave Gretna a shy nod. “Thank ye so much for no’ leaving without us,” she whispered. “Thank ye for caring.”

  “Ian,” Gretna said with a smile. “Come close, m’love. Allow me to introduce ye to my friends.”

  Ian set aside the tinder box, added another brick of peat to the growing flames, then turned and gave all three a gallant bow as if he was meeting royalty. “Ladies. Ian Cameron, at yer service.”

  Gretna motioned to each of the women in turn. “Beitris Connor, Effemy Gordon, and Teasag Chisholm.” She rested a hand on Beitris’s trembling shoulder and nodded toward Teasag’s mangled hand. “When ye send the lads for supplies, any sort of healing herbs or salves they could find would be most welcome as well.”

  Jaw hardening, Ian’s eyes narrowed to angry slits, but he nodded. “I shall see it done.” He rattled around the office, found enough drinking vessels, then filled them with ale. He followed that by pushing a small table over in front of them and uncovered a basket filled with bannocks, a wedge of cheese, and a small crock of honeyed butter. “Eat yer fill. There shall be plenty more. As much as ye wish. I’ll see to that, too.” He stepped outside the office for a moment, then stepped back in. “Sawny’s gone to gather everything we might need.”

  Buttery bannocks washed down with ale had never tasted so good, but nothing satisfied Gretna as much as being back with Ian. She brushed the crumbs from her hands as she rose and eased her way around the table. Taking his hand, she pressed it to her heart. “I’ve had plenty for now. Let’s leave them to eat in peace and dress themselves, aye?” Without waiting for his answer, she nodded at Teasag. “Eat yer fill, then parse out those clothes. I’ll be just fine in this shift until Sawny brings us more.”

  Tears streaked down Teasag’s face as she nodded, then gave Ian a tremulous smile. “Thank ye, Master Cameron. Ye couldha just as easily left us behind, but I’m more than grateful that ye didna. I’ll serve ye the rest of my life. There’s no way I can ever repay yer kindness.”

  “Aye,” Effemy added. “Me, as well. Consider me yer servant for life.”

  “I’m beholden to ye, too, Master Cameron,” Beitris said quietly. “I’m ever so proud Gretna’s married to such a man as yerself.”

  “Ye are quite welcome, ladies. I’m glad we were able to save ye.” He tucked Gretna’s hand into the crook of his arm and escorted her to the door. “Come, dear one. I know of a perfect place for us while the ladies tend to their needs.” With a grim look, he led her out and closed the door behind them. “I can tell ye’re champing at the bit to talk about what comes next.”

  “Ye know me well, husband.” Gretna leaned against him, the gnawing weariness so much easier to bear now that he was here.

  “Come. Here’s a pallet of wool and hides perfect for sitting, aye?” He helped her sit, then settled beside her and pulled her close.

  She rested her head against his chest. “This is perfect,” she said with a contented sigh. The steady sound of his beating heart beneath her cheek was the sweetest music. “Ye know I was ready to either yank ye in the pit or stone ye, ye ken? When ye pushed back the covering to save us?”

  Ian rumbled with an impressed chuckle. “And I have no doubt ye could accomplish either attack ye had chosen, m’love.”<
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  “Ye were so quiet, and the guards had just dumped the coals among us. How did ye overcome all of them without a sound?” She struggled to keep her eyes open. The warmth and safety of his embrace was more relaxing than any drug.

  “A man with a slit throat makes verra little noise.” Ian hugged her tighter. “I just wish Colin Neal had been among them.” He shifted again, as though fidgeting to serve out more revenge. “I shall see to Neal’s fate before this is ended.”

  “I dinna wish to even think of that bastard now.” Her eyelids grew heavier. She gave a very improper, hitching yawn, struggling to stay awake. “Now, tell me, why is Graham fetching the boys and bringing them to this evil place?”

  “I’m nay so certain Tor Ruadh is safe for any of ye,” Ian said quietly. “And I didna think ye’d wish to return to live among so many who had turned their backs on ye.” He leaned forward and peered down into her face. “Do ye wish to go back there and start life anew? Would ye be able to move past how many in the village failed to lift a finger to help ye?”

  “I dinna think all of them knew,” she whispered, suddenly very much awake. “Mam Hattie was the only one I heard speak.”

  “Aye,” Ian agreed. “But did anyone step forward to save ye? Did anyone other than Graham or the guards attempt to stop the witch hunters?”

  “I heard none,” she sadly admitted. “Mercy and Catriona would’ve fought for me had they been there. So would Flora.” A few more names came to mind, but so very few, she kept them to herself. She sounded pathetic, like a wee child trying to convince herself that she had friends to play with. “But, if we dinna live there, where shall we go?” She’d never lived anywhere other than in the Highlands on the slopes of Ben Nevis.

  “I’ve sent a message to Duncan MacCoinnich asking him if we might come and live with him and his wife on their island.” Ian tensed beneath her cheek.

  Gretna sensed he feared her adamant refusal. A sad smile tickled its way across her lips. What Ian didn’t realize was she’d learned her lesson and learned it well. She’d hear him out and give his words the thoughtfulness they deserved.

  “Their island?” she repeated, more to herself than him.

  “Aye.”

  “Isn’t it past the East Indies somewhere? I believe that’s where Catriona said.”

  “Aye.” Ian paused. “The Archipelago of El Perdido, the Island of the Lost.”

  She’d never been on a ship. Never been outside of Scotland. And if they went, would it be forever? Would she never see her beloved Highlands again? “Catriona said Duncan’s made himself a pirate now. Calls himself Devil Fraser Sullivan. Are ye saying ye wish to throw in with him and become a pirate, too? Ye’d stay asea most of the time? I’d rarely see ye?” Heart pounding, exhaustion victimized her with panic and fear.

  “Shh, now, calm yerself, dearest. I’d never desert ye on an island.” He caught her up and rocked her in his arms as though she were a fretting babe. “I didna say I’d become a pirate. All I know for sure is I’ll be protecting my family by keeping them out of the clutches of those who would do them harm.” He rocked slower. “After what I witnessed today and what Graham told me he discovered had been done to others in the name of hunting witches, I’d put nothing past those crazed men who seem to have no conscience. France wouldna be safe for the same reason. Neither would Ireland. Duncan is kin, my cousin, and I’m sure he’ll help. He’ll understand the situation completely.”

  “How will he understand? Was his wife been accused of witchery, too?” She sounded more shrill than she intended, but what Ian suggested was so…frightening.

  “Nay.” Ian cleared his throat. “Duncan is wanted for the murder of an English soldier. He was sentenced to hang and escaped. And that was under the benevolence of King William’s reign. I’m nay so sure Queen Anne wouldna be worse.”

  The more Ian talked, the more confused Gretna became. She was the one who was wanted by the witch hunters commissioned by the crown. She hadn’t killed anyone. Then it dawned on her. “Did ye kill an Englishman since last I saw ye?”

  “Nay,” Ian answered quietly. “At least, I dinna think so. The men I killed were all Scots. But, one I wounded was an earl known to have the ear of the crown.”

  Gretna went quiet, struggling to muddle through all Ian had proposed.

  “Mo ghràdh?” He shifted her and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Are ye all right?

  “I dinna ken,” she whispered, snuggling closer. “Just hold me, aye?”

  “Aye, m’love. Gladly.” He pressed his cheek against her and returned to slowly rocking. “I’ll never let ye go again.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  As the dark pillar of smoke widened and shifted directions, Ian snorted in a vain attempt to clear his nostrils. The smell of burnt flesh still tainted the air, but that hadn’t been the worst of it. The tortured screams had taken far too long to die away. He glanced back at the warehouse, hoping it was far enough removed from the carnage to shield Gretna from what had happened. At least there were no windows on this side of the building.

  After the witch hunters had discovered their guards murdered and their prisoners escaped, they’d wasted no time in executing their remaining captives. More than two dozen in all, Sawny had said. All of them burned without the benefit of strangling or having their throats slit first. Ian wished he could’ve saved them, but there had been no way.

  Sawny and Tom hadn’t handled Inverness’s cruel cleansing of its witches well. Both had paled and vomited from what they had witnessed.

  “Any rumors about the escape around the docks?” Ian asked. Maybe if he got the weak-stomached pair’s minds on something other than the burning, they’d recover.

  Sawny spit again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Most say the witches flew away. Some say they changed into rats and got on one of the ships.” He cleared his throat. “No word from Tor Ruadh yet. ’Course—Graham just left yesterday, so I reckon no sense in expecting word back this soon. How long will it take to hear from a place as far away as the Indies?”

  “Could be a month or longer.” Ian pulled his hat lower over his eyes and turned aside as a pair of men walked by. Gretna’s safety depended on his not being recognized by anyone—especially not any rebel Neal bastards who might’ve arrived in Inverness.

  He scratched his jaw as he strolled farther along the waterline, studying the area. His beard was still a mite sparse, but he’d done what he could to hide his identity by donning the clothes of a man working on the docks. Dark trews, worn jacket, threadbare tunic. Scuffed boots. Battered black tricorn. He’d left his kilt tucked around Gretna while she slept. Mistress Effemy had promised to tell her he’d be back shortly, if she awakened before he returned.

  Turning to Sawny and Tom, he stole a glance back at the warehouse. “I dinna ken how long we’ll be held up here waiting for word from Duncan or Tor Ruadh. That’s why we must find other accommodations. Quickly. That building isna fit for a prolonged stay.” The lads might be content enough with sleeping atop bales of wool in storage, but he needed the privacy of a room with his wife. Ian scowled at the bustling docks. They needed an entire house for four women and three men. And that didn’t even take into account the three children that would be headed their way soon. He scrubbed his jaw again. Damn, what a mess.

  “What will ye do with them when ye leave? The other women?” Sawny asked. “We hadna planned on saving anyone other than Mistress Gretna. Ye dinna think those three are real witches, do ye?”

  “They seem pleasant enough,” Tom said. “Will they be traveling to the East Indies with ye, too?” He sidled back and forth in a tight circle like a dog about to shite. “Or will we need to take them to their homes? Or maybe find them somewhere else to live? Do ye reckon their families will take them back? Or are they the ones that turned them over in the first place?”

  “Shut it! Both of ye ask too damn many questions.” Ian’s head already ached from the past few days, and these two only made it pou
nd worse. He should’ve left them to their puking so they couldn’t speak. He pointed at the lane leading deeper into town. “Hie yerselves to the White Lion and ask for Mistress Morna Mackenzie. She’s the Mackenzie’s own sister and favorite aunt to Duncan’s wife, Tilda. Tell her who we are and ask her if she knows of any lodging we might secure for a month or so. Make certain no one hears what ye’re saying except her, ye ken? The lot of us canna stay at the White Lion. ’Tis too public. We’ve not only the witch hunters to avoid but the turncoat Neals, too. And Breadalbane might be a conceited bastard, but he’s nay the fool. It willna take him and Colin long to realize the connection between clans MacCoinnich and Mackenzie.” Ian cringed. Come to think of it, that was another reason to get out of the Mackenzie warehouse.

  Looking relieved that they’d been given a task, the two hurried off.

  “Christ Almighty,” Ian grumbled under his breath as he headed back to the warehouse. Those two might be loyal clear to their bones, but they wore his nerves raw. He shook his head and pushed through the door. As soon as he entered, he could tell something was wrong. Panicked cries came from the end of the building where the office was located. Gretna shouted, something crashed, and the sound of breaking glass filled the air.

  “Hell’s fire.” Ian drew both pistol and sword and charged forward. He kicked his way through the door, then came up short, not expecting what met him.

  “Our Father…our Father, who art in…in,” Beitris stammered and shouted snippets of the Lord’s Prayer from atop a chair in the corner. She stomped in time with her words while covering her ears with both hands. Teasag and Gretna crouched over Effemy, trying in vain to hold the poor woman down as she thrashed uncontrollably. Blood-tinged spittle frothed from the corners of Effemy’s mouth. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites could be seen as she repeatedly bashed her head against the floor.