The Highland Guardian

by Jarecki, Amy

  Mrs. Hobbs was already there, candle in her trembling hand. The matron gulped, her eyes filled with fear. “It appears the chieftain was right.”

  Audrey nodded, clutching her fists to her chest. “I’m glad I didn’t argue when he insisted I sleep in Papa’s chamber and he in mine.”

  Below stairs, it sounded like an army was mustering. Men shouted and footsteps raced.

  Audrey dashed to the bedside and retrieved the musket she’d kept loaded and stowed beneath the bed since Reid’s capture. She beckoned to the housemaid. “Come.”

  Mrs. Hobbs grasped her elbow. “I think we’d best remain where we are.”

  “Are you jesting?” Audrey surged forward. “How are we to know what really happened?”

  When they arrived in the foyer, they found Dunn MacRae shouting orders. “He ran north, the coward. Seaforth’s men will guard the lass. No one sleeps until we’re certain he’s gone.”

  “What will we do if we catch him?” asked a MacRae Highlander.

  “Kill him.” When a floorboard creaked beneath Audrey’s slipper, Mr. MacRae spun on his heel. He regarded her from head to toe as if she were a crazed wildcat. “Miss Audrey, you must go back above stairs.”

  She didn’t budge, pointing the muzzle of her musket downward in case it misfired. “Was it Tupps?”

  “Aye, the bas—the lout.” Dunn took her by the shoulder and urged her to turn back to the stairs. “You’d best return to bed. The excitement is over.”

  “But how am I to sleep? Surely there must be something I can do rather than waiting for Mr. Tupps to abscond with me.”

  “He’s nay going to lay a finger on you, lassie. Now, how many of those red coats have you and the housemaid completed?”

  They had been working tirelessly for the past five days while Reid continued to suffer in Durham. “All six finished this eve, sir.”

  “And the breeches?”

  “Starting on them next.”

  “Then I bid you set your fingers to sewing.”

  She gave a nod, clicking closed the cock on her musket and wishing she could ride with the men. Her fingers and wrists ached from hours of stitching. In the past five days she’d only stopped to take her meals and to sleep. But they were nearly done. And breeches were so much easier to sew than the coats with their gold buttons and yards of piping.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Every inhale stretched Reid’s skin, making the welts on his back sear with agonizing pain. He shivered, his tongue dry, swollen, and feeling too big for his mouth. He had no idea how long he’d been forsaken in the dank cell. Days? He squinted to open his eyes and winced.

  Twenty lashings with a cat-o’-nine-tails equated to one hundred eighty crisscrossing lines. Each one had split open his flesh. With the pain, warm trickles of blood needled his skin, prickling like dozens of stinging bees.

  Something tapped the bottom of his foot. “I think he’s still alive.”

  “Not for long, most likely,” replied the other. The two cellmates lurked like ghosts waiting to escort him to Hades.

  Reid sniffed, the stench making him gag. “Water.”

  “We drank your ration.”

  The other coughed—a hacking cough. “I drained some into your mouth first.”

  “How long have I been here?” Lord, his voice rasped.

  “Five days. ’Tis a wonder you haven’t bled out.”

  “Five?” Reid tried to remember. Yes, during his moments of lucidness someone had given him water. He wiped his hand across his forehead. At least Audrey would be in Scotland by now. The team most likely was just starting the crossing through the Highlands. Thank God she’d be safe there.

  The other scooted nearer. “I reckon you’d be pushing up daisies by now if it weren’t for me.”

  Reid ran his tongue over chapped lips. “Remind me of your kindness when we’re out of this place.” Blinking, he forced his eyes to focus on the man sitting in rags an arm’s reach away. Where in God’s name had Captain Fry deposited him? An earl should have a cell to himself or at least a cell with other noblemen. “Who are you?”

  “William Potter, esquire.” The man gestured to another. “And that there’s Jamison Crowe.”

  “Have you heard what they’re planning?”

  “Aye, to keep us here until we rot.”

  “That cannot happen. I am innocent.”

  Potter snickered. “That makes three of us.”

  “When the queen hears of this outrage, she will strip Fry of his commission and he will live out his days in poverty.”

  “Have you not heard, gov?” asked Crowe. “No one ever leaves Durham Gaol. The best you can hope for is death, and if the captain doesn’t think you’ve suffered enough, he’ll make you pay with another pound of flesh.”

  Reid smirked, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “I haven’t another pound left.”

  * * *

  At last the day came when Mr. MacRae announced they were ready. Though the chieftain treated Audrey like a featherbrained waif, she knew something of the plan because he’d asked her to forge the queen’s signature on a missive. They’d taken a proclamation from her father’s papers that had been signed by Queen Anne, and Audrey practiced a dozen times before she thought the forgery was good enough to pass a cursory inspection.

  She’d read the missive, too. It requested that Captain Fry release the Earl of Seaforth into Major Hargrove’s hands for transport to London. The major would be played by the butler, Gerald, because he was the least likely to be recognized and he spoke with the right inflection.

  In the courtyard, the men were preparing the horses for their journey. Mr. MacRae had told Audrey she was only allowed a satchel, in which she packed a medicine bundle she’d prepared and a few necessities, though there was no room for a single gown. She didn’t care. If she carried a gown, someone might find it. She regarded herself in the mirror and squared her shoulders. The dragoon’s uniform she’d tailored for herself had been crafted with the most care of any of those she’d sewn, and she planned to wait until she was called to make an appearance.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she pressed her fingers along the mustache she’d made from clippings of her own hair. The gum adhesive smelled like pine and made her nose itch, but the mustache looked genuine. With a step back, she admired her handiwork, then pushed the tricorn hat she wore for riding low on her brow and turned sideways. With boots up to her knees and her hair braided and looped up so it appeared to be shoulder-length, she could pass for a man, especially if she remained mounted.

  Satisfied with her costume, she moved to the window and pulled the draperies aside only far enough to peer through. Mr. MacRae waved his arms and pointed as if he were in command of an entire battalion of cavalry while Gerald stood motionless with his hands behind his back, looking very much like a butler in a major’s uniform.

  Audrey chewed her lip. This ruse had disaster written all over it. Though it was brilliant in a way, there were too many things that could go wrong.

  “Miss Audrey,” Mrs. Hobbs called from the corridor. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She picked up her musket and slung it over her shoulder before opening the door.

  The housemaid’s jaw dropped. “What on earth?”

  Audrey marched out so there was no chance Mrs. Hobbs would attempt to lock her within. “You can keep your comments to yourself. There’s no chance I will hide on the outskirts of town whilst they attempt to rescue my guardian.”

  “Lord save us.” The matron’s voice resounded down the corridor, but Audrey didn’t want to hear it. She sped her pace, steeling her nerves for the next battle.

  And the next battle came all too quickly.

  Once she stepped outside, the MacRae chieftain stopped beside his horse and gaped. “God on the cross, the female thinks she can take on an army of dragoons.”

  Twenty-six pairs of eyes shifted Audrey’s way as the men burst with laughter.

  Searching the men’s faces fo
r a sympathetic soul, she saw not a one. Even Graham was doubled over, holding his belly. Well, she’d been humiliated beyond belief when the dance master at Talcotts told her she should join the orchestra, and she doubted this instance was any worse than that. Besides, it was her duty to do anything she could to see her guardian rescued. With no time to dash away and hide, Audrey raised her chin. “I’m a good shot. Better than most men.”

  “You reckon so?” Mr. MacRae sauntered toward her, giving a deprecating once-over. “What happens when the time comes to affix bayonets?”

  The laughter subsided.

  Audrey stood her ground. “I thought you said this would be a peaceful exchange.”

  “That’s the plan, but this mission is dangerous. Make no bones about it, if something were to go awry, we could have a nasty fight on our hands.”

  That’s exactly what she’d guessed Mr. MacRae would say. “What about Gerald? He’s seventy years old, you know.” Before the chieftain could spew a rebuke, she sliced her hand through the air just like Reid would do. “I will stay to the rear, and if a fight ensues, I will help His Lordship slip away.”

  “Och, you have it all planned, do you?”

  “She has a point, Dunn,” said Graham, God bless him. “Not counting the butler, you only have four uniformed men. She could be useful if we need a fast escape.”

  The stubborn chieftain shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “I look like a man and I’m going, regardless.” She’d asked Jeffrey to saddle a younger mount with a man’s saddle. They’d be riding hard for the Highlands, and it was highly likely that they’d have to change horses. Allegro would be much safer remaining in the stable at Coxhoe, where Jeffrey could care for him.

  “Bloody, miserable bleating hell. Mount up and keep your mouth shut.” Mr. MacRae shook his finger under her nose. “And by the saints, do not dismount whilst we’re in the company of the government troops. If they catch a gander at your female arse in those breeches, we’ll have anarchy on our hands.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fortunately, there was an archway that led to the prison gates, which was a perfect place for Audrey to stop and remain in the shadows while holding the mount they’d brought for Reid. Three MacRae men disguised in government uniforms also blocked anyone from seeing her. Ahead, Gerald and Dunn had dismounted to demand an audience with Captain Fry.

  Audrey craned her neck to watch when the captain came out to meet them.

  Thank heavens, Gerald played the part of pompous major perfectly, waving the forged missive. “I have been commissioned by Her Highness, Queen Anne, to take possession of the prisoner Reid MacKenzie, the Earl of Seaforth, and escort him to London.”

  Fry scratched his chin and looked from Dunn to the others. Then he squinted and peered around the guardsmen, taking a gander at Audrey. “So soon? I only dispatched notice of his arrest a fortnight ago. Her Majesty must be very eager for his execution.”

  Gerald coughed. “Indeed.” Audrey’s heartbeat spiked, pulsing in her temples as the butler handed over the missive. “My orders, sir.”

  This is the moment of truth.

  She held her breath as Captain Fry examined the seal. Seemingly satisfied, he ran his finger under it, opened the missive, and read. “Verification, Lieutenant,” he said, passing the letter to the man on his right.

  The lieutenant took his time studying the seal and then the signature Audrey had forged. Then he gave a nod and handed it back to Fry. “All looks to be in order, sir.”

  Keep breathing, Audrey reminded herself.

  That proved not to be difficult as they were asked to wait outside the gates for ages while the soldiers fetched the earl. Gerald and Dunn stood at attention, looking very official. The spare mount decided he didn’t care much for the gelding in front of him and bit him on the rump.

  The gelding whinnied and reared. “Blast it, keep that nag under control,” said Callum, the Highlander sitting the bitten mount.

  “I’m trying,” she hissed in a hushed whisper, tugging on the lead line, but Reid’s horse skittered sideways. It was all she could do to hold on tight enough while simultaneously preventing the beast from dragging her out of the saddle. In fact, she would have fallen by now had she been using a sidesaddle.

  With a clatter of hooves, Callum circled his mount and steered him far enough forward not to bother the stallion. Dunn marched toward them, giving her a dastardly look. “What the blazes is going on back here?” he snarled under his breath.

  Audrey bit her tongue. If she tried to explain, someone might recognize her voice as female. She inclined her chin toward the naughty horse.

  “I reckon Seaforth’s stallion is growing impatient,” said Callum.

  “Jesus Christ,” Dunn mumbled, tugging the lead line from her hand. “Bloody women.” The word women was barely perceptible, but Audrey didn’t miss it. The chieftain had been acting chapped ever since he saw her wearing a government uniform.

  Nonetheless, she didn’t care what he thought. Reid had been incarcerated on account of her. If Papa hadn’t asked the earl to be her guardian, he would be at Brahan Castle enjoying his herds of sheep and cattle. Early on he might have been a bit pushy about insisting she find a husband, but he’d always acted with her interests in mind—had treated her kindly, too. Dunn MacRae, on the other hand, clearly couldn’t give a fig about Audrey’s welfare. He was about as refined as a wild boar, growling at her upon every opportunity.

  Everyone’s gaze snapped to the gate when it creaked open.

  Mr. MacRae strode forward, leading Seaforth’s horse.

  Peering ahead, Audrey couldn’t help her sharp gasp. Reid stepped out wearing nothing but his kilt and a pair of boots. She had to blink to confirm it was he. The poor man’s hands were bound with manacles, and he stooped like he was eighty years of age. He was gaunter than he’d been merely a fortnight ago, and his face was drawn and dirty. He raised his hands above his eyes as if the sun, hidden by clouds, was painfully bright.

  Dunn continued to move forward, but Captain Fry looked to the tunnel scowling straight at Audrey. “What the devil?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand. Blast it all, if only she could take back her gasp.

  “The condition of this man is deplorable,” Gerald said with scorn filling his voice, drawing attention from Audrey. “My Lord Seaforth is an earl. By my oath, he’s not fit for travel. He’ll perish of exposure before we arrive in London.”

  “No shirt,” Reid grunted through clenched teeth, showing not a hint of recognition. He then turned his back to Gerald.

  Audrey clapped her other hand over her mouth to stifle her cry. For pity’s sake, they’d mangled his flesh into mincemeat. No wonder the poor man looked like death.

  “Christ.” Even Dunn winced.

  Gerald thrust his finger at the captain. “I will be filing a report of this outrage.”

  “The earl’s headed to the gallows, is he not?” Captain Fry slapped his gloves in hand. “I was fully within my rights as warden of this gaol to ensure order amongst the prisoners. I serve queen and country just as does every other officer of the crown.”

  Audrey suspected the captain had uttered such drivel many times in the past. She prayed this would be the last of his sedition. If Seaforth didn’t file a complaint when this was over, she would.

  “Mount up!” Dunn hollered, handing Reid the stallion’s reins and shooting Gerald a look.

  The butler puffed out his chest like a commanding officer and strode for his horse. “We ride, men!”

  Though Reid’s gaze shifted her way when he rode past, he kept his expression impassive. Audrey did her best to conceal both her relief and her horror. She patted the musket holstered to her saddle and reined her horse into the same formation they’d used when entering Durham.

  The only problem?

  She didn’t expect to ride out of the tunnel to be met with the steely-eyed glare of Wagner Tupps.

  * * *

  Immedia
tely dropping her gaze to her hands, Audrey dug in her heels, the reins slipping in her palms.

  “Audrey?” Wagner shouted, reining his horse around and cantering up behind.

  She leaned forward, demanding more speed.

  Dunn drew his pistol and turned in his saddle, taking aim.

  “Christ, it’s Seaforth’s mob of filthy Scots!” Wagner reined his horse beside her and reached for her arm.

  “Shoot!” Audrey shouted as the horses thundered down the cobbled street.

  Boom!

  With a flash of gunpowder, the shot fired from Dunn’s flintlock.

  Wagner’s horse whinnied and reared.

  Thrown, the man shrieked, then thudded to the ground.

  Without hesitation, Audrey slapped her reins harder until she rode in beside Reid.

  The earl’s face was hard and determined as he hunched over the stallion’s withers and kicked his heels.

  “Are you well enough to ride?” she shouted.

  “No choice,” he growled as musket fire erupted behind them.

  Audrey stole a backward glance. Red-coated musketeers ran, lining the city’s wall.

  “Fire!” an order bellowed in the growing distance. A brilliant flash of fire flickered through a crenel.

  Boom!

  A cannonball howled on the wind.

  “Faster!” Audrey shouted.

  “We’re out of range,” Dunn bellowed from the lead.

  Now in the open, the little band gained speed as they raced north toward Seaforth’s waiting men.

  As they crested a hill, Audrey turned around and searched the city gates for riders. Thank God the redcoats hadn’t yet assembled their horses, but she had no doubt they’d soon be making chase. If only they could stop to tend Reid’s wounds, but doing so would see them all arrested.

  Graham and the remaining men rode out from a copse of trees, joining them at a gallop. The earl’s knuckles were white as he gripped the reins, his face intently focused on the path ahead. Audrey urged her mount faster. They’d been successful thus far, and she intended to do everything in her power to ensure they continued to evade Fry and his scheming dragoons.