He had spread a much more colorful string of curses all the way up this latest set of slopes as he stuck doggedly to the trail. Once or twice he had glimpsed that red gown far ahead through the mist, so he knew she had found and followed the drover's track that he was now taking.
He called out again, his voice echoing, strange and lonely, in the misty hills.
His red woolen coat was heavy with dampness, its snug tailoring a hindrance as he climbed, but he was at least glad of his Highland kilt, which allowed him to make more rapid progress as he strode and leaped.
Though it might prove futile to follow Kate directly in this indecent soup, and though he knew he could find her family's castle through dogged inquiry, he went onward nonetheless. He stopped, peering around, seeing only bleak rock and muddy turf cloaked in fog. No flash of red satin, no bright golden head visibile anywhere. Had she turned off the drover's track already?
He swore again, under his breath, and climbed ahead.
After waking to a cold and empty bed and rushing furiously through the tavern room, snatching a biscuit out of Jack's hand as he went past—he had left the fellow gaping and without his breakfast biscuit, holding his swaddled babe and unable to follow, which only served Jack right, to Alec's mind—he had then made decent time in crossine the moor on horseback.
At that point, he had seen Kate's red gown far ahead through the rain, and though encouraged, he knew she was at least an hour ahead of him. Once he reached the foothills, he had left the horse at a small hut, where he discovered a withered old shepherd staying home out of the rain. The old man was glad to show the horse some hospitality in exchange for a coin. Alec had continued on foot, asking directions to the home of the MacCarrans.
Duncrieff is through those hills, the man had said, and on the other side, in a long glen. Take the old drover's track, he had advised.
Since then, Alec had seen enough glimpses of Kate's bright skirts that he had blessed his luck for red satin again. He followed the earthen path but lost sight of her somewhere amid a long stretch of rumpled foothills. The little wildcat was fleet and nimble in this territory. Though he was long-legged and fast, and not hindered by the drag of a damp gown, he did not know these hills as she did.
Glancing about as he hurried, Alec followed instinct more than logic through the fog. Time was running short for Kate's Highland Jacobites, he thought, and for any involved in a plot to conceal those Spanish weapons from the authority of the British government—including himself.
More than once, he had wanted to trust her enough, before she had taken off like this, to tell her about his covert interest in helping the Jacobites find and use that cache of weapons. Ever since he had met the girl, he had beeun to feel differences within, slieht cracks and
chinks in the armor that he needed to lose—its constraints, he now realized, had protected him at first, and did him no good whatsoever now.
But if he lost Kate, if he never saw her again, he might just slide back into the shell in which he had existed for so long. He pursued her more for himself, he knew, than for his obligation to the government. Any questions he had for her were for the sake of his heart, not for the sake of military orders.
Like her, he was a spy, and like her, part of him felt rebellious indeed—but in his case, he realized now that he no longer wanted to be the man he was so accustomed to being—lonely, bitter, resistant to love. True, he had been getting along in life capably that way, until Kate had begun to work her magic on him.
Kate was not the only one who wanted to be free.
But his changing feelings had nothing to do with the fact that Kate MacCarran was his prisoner, and he was her military guardian. And both of them had best show up in Edinburgh soon, or their heads would share a price.
And he had best find those Spanish weapons before Ian Cameron or one of the recently arrested men—one of Kate's kinsmen, judging by the report Alec had heard—was coerced into revealing that information to the crown.
He trudged onward, distracted. He saw the need to make changes within himself, and a little struggle might be part of any rebirth, but the girl roiled and ruffled and bestirred him in every way. He would never be out here, lost in foe. but for her.
"Kate!" he called again.
He paused for breath. No wonder Highlanders were often braw and powerful men, he thought, looking at the hilltops in front of him. Regular sword practice kept him strong and limber, but this steep upward trek was still a challenge. Military duties that included riding between city and encampments, and otherwise sitting to study legal documents for General Wade and others, had made him a little lazy.
Nonetheless, he strode onward. "Kate! Katie!" he shouted, though he heard only echoes in answer.
After a while, he stopped near the feathery edge of the mist, staring into what looked like a magical realm: deep fog crowned a slope of turf and rugged rock, like a portal to another world where legends thrived and where those who entered might vanish within.
Kate had disappeared somewhere in those blanketed heights. For a moment, he could well believe she had fair magic in her.
"Where are you?" he called, voice echoing. "Kate!"
Kate . . . Kate, the sound returned to him.
If Kate had climbed this way, she could be lost, or hurt, or both. He felt as if he could not give up the search until he knew for certain that she was safe.
Searching for the best route into the fog, he heard sounds then—faint and distorted but real. And then he heard the unmistakable sound of steel sliding out of leather.
The sound sent chills down his spine.
He set his left hand on his dagger, his right on his sword. He had broueht his weanonrv with him. not
sure what he might encounter if he, as a solitary soldier, ventured deep into Highland territory, where rebels and brigands roamed.
Waving his dirk in his left hand, his sword in his right, he turned warily. If he called out for Kate, the men would know where he stood. Bending, he grabbed up a few loose stones and scattered them down the hill.
He heard hissing whispers, and footsteps off to his left. He waited, still and scarcely breathing, then moved up the incline.
They leaped at him then, bursting out of the mist and over the rocks, three wild men waving wicked steel and looking for blood. Alec whipped his sword upward, ready for the assault. The first opponent came at him, and the sudden slam of steel jarred him to the shoulder, for the man, the older of the three, wielded a heavy broadsword.
They came at him all at once then, the older man and two younger. At first Alec thought he was seeing double in the mist, for the lads were identical. One was here, one was there, then they switched places, while the old man weaved between them, his blade smacking into Alec's, then the lads to right and left brought their swords to meet his. Alec spun, blocking and parrying as he defended himself to the best of his ability.
The younger Highlanders, who appeared to be twins, were quick, though not as skilled as the older man. Alec soon found that two at a leaping game, with the third man coming through the middle, was more than enough challenge in fog, on a slippery, rocky slone.
The oldest Highlander was grizzled, stocky, fierce as a bear. Lacking grace or finesse, he was a strong swordsman, using an older-style sword, a plain and brutal instrument. But what counted most at every turn was whether a blade struck, missed, or swept past only to return again.
Alec was schooled in Italian, German, and French technique as well as traditional Highland swordplay His three challengers had obviously not studied any Italian manuals, but they were instinctive and ferocious fighters. Alec was hard-pressed to keep pace with all three at once. He had practiced often enough with multiple opponents, for his father and uncle, who trained him with his brother long ago, had insisted on it for sharpening awareness, agility, and for learning to think quickly.
What he had not learned, and what his opponents had mastered, was fighting on uneven natural terrain. The High
landers were agile and swift on the slope, moving easily over rocks and tufts of heather and gorse. Alec had to glance downward now and then to avoid the natural hazards underfoot, a necessity he knew could be a fatal flaw in this fight.
The clash of steel echoed on. One of the younger men leaped on a boulder, and the other circled toward Alec's other side. Facing the old man between them, Alec beat back a volley of powerful strikes and lunged forward. His sword tip caught the thickness of the man's plaid, sliding into flesh, and the gray-haired Highlander stepped back, turning ashen.
The lads descended on him now, two at once. Alec danced back, his glance wary and his sword slashing at air, stabbing and missing. They were nimble devils, weaving back and forth, while their companion clutched his side, blood darkening his hand.
Then Alec saw her. She stepped out of the hillside and through the mist as if she stepped out of a fairy mountain, looking like a queen indeed in her scarlet gown, her hair like melting gold. If she had any touch of fairy blood in her, he saw it now, dazzling around her. For an instant, he stared—then turned back to the fight.
The Highlanders came at him from behind and beside, and Alec whirled, turned. When Kate ran toward him, Alec shouted for her to stay back. One lad swept his blade downward while Alec angled his to block it, while reaching his other hand out to push Kate away. In that moment, his opponent's heavy blade caught his arm.
He felt the strike more than the pain, and looked down in surprise to see that a cut to his left forearm had sliced through wool deep into flesh. Blood pooled in the gap. He felt oddly stunned, while the world around him began to tilt crazily
The Highlanders dropped their swords, and Alec released his own. He stepped back, hand clapped over his arm, pressing against the warm gush that continued.
Kate ran to him, reaching out. Then Alec saw that the Highlanders were not her enemies, but her men. Like a fairy host, the warriors of the queen, they came behind her.
He sank to his knees suddenly. Kate dropped down with him to kneel in the muddy turf. Her men came closer.
Strong hands grabbed him just as the ground slanted upward.
Chapter 20
C
ick, clack, click-click He lay with his eyes closed, half-dreaming, images in his mind forming, the bed warm and comfortable, the pain in his arm receding. Click, clack, click-click
Days, nights unmeasured in a big, deep bed, curtained in sumptuous green damask, the coverlets fine and warm, the linens soft. Quiet whispers, gentle and capable hands, hot soup and cool cloths, the pungent aromas of ointment and hot compresses.
Click-click-click.
All the while he struggled against draining weakness and fever. The wound on his arm had turned fierce, he knew. Someone had cleaned it, sewn it,
cleaned it again. He remembered whiskey burning a path down his throat, the searing fire of the cauterizing iron, and the oblivion that followed.
And Kate was there through it all, amid the blur of unfamiliar faces and voices. He was aware of a plump, dark-haired woman with kind hands, and others, including the Highland men who had tried to kill him. A lovely woman had been there, too. She looked like Kate, but was with child. Or was she Kate in his fevered imagination, while he dreamed of life as he wished it could be?
Click, clack, click-click.
Kate's presence was security to him, was safety and love incarnate, and he clung to that, watched her when he could do little more than open his eyes and had no breath to thank her. She could have left him so easily. He did not know why she stayed.
Yet he knew he would have stayed for her. His feelings were very clear to him, as if emotions and hopes had been burned clean by the fever. Why had he not seen it before? It was so simple, so right. He loved her.
He turned his head. She sat by the fire, haloed in the golden light, head lowered, attention centered on a task. Her hands moved quickly, busily, over a small pillow in her lap. He heard the light tapping again. Click-click-click.
Thread bobbins, he suddenly saw, made the sound. A finespun web covered the little pillow she held, while she formed a web of thread; tiny pins fixed the design, and the pale threads were wound tight on a dozen or more slender bobbins that daneled over the slones of
the pillow. Kate moved the bobbins back and forth, plaiting and twisting, her hands graceful, adept. He had heard the noise throughout his illness.
"So you weave your fairy spells on a fine silken pillow," he said, his voice hoarse.
She looked up, smiled, so that his heart ached to see it. "It's lace," she said. "I love you."
At least he thought she said that before he slipped back into slumber. Fairy magic or none, he was in her thrall.
"We'll let your brother decide what's to be done with him," Neill Murray said. He was her brother's friend and ghillie to her sister's husband, Connor MacPher-son, and he often spoke freely to the MacCarrans.
Beside him, Kate's cousin Allan MacCarran nodded grimly. "Rob will want to send him away."
"He cannot do that," Kate replied. "Captain Fraser could die if we move him now. Two days he fought fever and blood loss from that cut on his arm, and he is still weak. Your own wife helped me nurse him back to the land of the living, Neill Murray. He'll not go back." She dipped a cloth in a bowl of rose water that Mary Murray had brought, and dabbed at Alec's brow. The fever was gone and he slept, but she knew it could return without warning. "He's had a serious wound, and must recover."
"What about my wound?" Neill said, touching his side.
"Mary said it was only a deep scratch," Kate said. "How are vou farine with it?"
"He's fine," Allan said. "Tough as rock, but whines when he takes a small hurt."
"Small! That lad's got a fierce sword hand, for all he's a king's man," Neill said, indicating sleeping Alec. "And he should not be here. He's a red soldier."
"What of Highland hospitality?" Kate asked sternly. "I, for one, am glad we have the care of him here."
"Aha," Neill remarked, glancing at Allan.
"What's this?" her cousin asked. "You never cared about an officer before. You could not wait to shake free of them, and with good reason."
She set down the cloth, and looked at the men who had entered the room not long ago. Standing, smoothing the covers over Alec as he slept, she turned and led the others out of the room and into the corridor, then turned.
"It seems we need a little privacy for this discussion," she said. "And you know I do not relish harm to any man, regardless of the color of his coat or the slant of his politics. There's nothing particular about that man in there."
"I am thinking he's very particular to you," Neill said. They all looked around as Roderick, one of Neill's twin sons, came down the corridor toward them. Black-haired and beautiful, he gave Kate a dimpled smile.
She nodded in return. She liked Roderick and his twin very much, and knew they were good friends of her sister Sophie and had been helpful to her when she had been stolen away by Connor MacPherson.
"Padraig has gone to find Duncrieff to tell him that Katherine has come home." Roderick said, "and he will
let him know there's a red soldier with her. Other red soldiers will be out looking for them, so we must beware if he stays here."
"He'll soon be strong enough to leave here," Allan said.
"Not for a while. I am surprised Rob is not back yet," Kate said. "Do you think he is close to home by now?"
"Who can say? No doubt he's coming back over the hills with Connor MacPherson," Neill answered. "We had some trouble recently. Andrew MacPherson and your cousin, Donald MacCarran, were captured when they went to spy on the newest section of Wade's road. They were taken to Edinburgh Castle, we heard. Rob and Conn went out to learn what they could from the constable. Rob's been distracted by your arrest lately, and he's been out, along with his men, nearly every day to learn news of you. That's why the lads and I came across you, then the red soldier."
She nodded. "I'm so glad to be b
ack, but I'm sorry about Andrew and Donald. At least my brother will be relieved that I'm back so he can concentrate on helping them now."
"And Ian Cameron, too. We all want that lad back as well. Padraig will find Rob and Connor and bring them back quickly," Roderick said. "And Padraig has Thomas MacPherson with him. If they meet up with red soldiers, both are armed with fine pistols, those Spanish-made flintlocks. We found a few, but the rest—"
Kate shook her head. "Do not speak of that matter. That's whv Andrew and Donald were taken to Edin-
burgh Castle—did you not realize?" She spoke in a whisper.
"What do you mean?" Allan demanded.
"I heard they were arrested with Spanish weapons. Wade wants to find the hidden cache. Captain Fraser is looking for them as well. Take care not to speak too openly of that matter."
Neill frowned. "It is not safe to have this red soldier of yours here."
She returned his gaze. "We cannot send him away."
"For all he's braw and bonny," Neill said, "and for all he seems to have won your heart, he's got to leave."
Kate glanced away. "I have not given anyone my heart."
"No?" Allan asked. "Well, I agree with Neill. Your captain goes, or we'll have even more trouble."
"And you, lass, will want to keep your loyalty where it belongs, home with kin and clan," Neill added sternly.
Kate said nothing. How could she expect them to understand that she had fallen in love, when she should not have risked it, and now loved an officer of the crown? As a fairy-blessed MacCarran, she must be careful whom she chose to love. Neill and Allan knew it, and she supposed it was part of their concern. Already there was trouble brewing over Alec's presence at Duncrieff, which did not augur well for the future.
She touched her crystal pendant. "He'll stay," she said firmly, looking at the others.
"Stubborn lass." Neill shook his head.
"Katherine. vou know vour brother will not be
happy to find a red soldier here," Allan said. "Let alone the one who arrested you and pursued you out here. They will know where we are, whether he stays or goes, now. He cannot be trusted. I say we send him away now, tonight or tomorrow, before he recovers enough to learn more about us and our glen."
Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate Page 18