Highland Jewel

by Markland, Anna

  Outside, Cameron had already filled the pail from the pump and the captain quickly organized his men into a bucket brigade.

  Vermeer knelt beside Beatris who’d collapsed to the ground, weeping.

  “Where’s Quinn?” Garnet asked the Dutchman, who nodded to the clouds of smoke billowing from the back door.

  To his surprise, Murtagh emerged carrying Andrew’s limp body. “’Twas deliberate,” he rasped. “They’re upstairs. Bound.”

  Garnet held his plaid over his nose and ran into the house, almost colliding with Quinn, Jane in one arm, Kate in the other. “Meaghan’s coming with Gladys Cook and the dog,” he shouted angrily.

  He was gone before Garnet could ask about Jewel.

  Soldiers with buckets hurried by, hurling water on the still-smoking stairs. “Good thing we got to it before it reached the upper chambers,” one of them yelled.

  Garnet picked his way up what remained of the charred staircase, passing Meaghan carrying Aristotle. “Is Jewel helping the cook come down?” he asked.

  The ashen-faced lass shook her head. “They took her,” she cried before burying her nose in the puppy’s fur and continuing her descent.

  The diabolical plan slowly penetrated Garnet’s fogged brain, then rage exploded. He’d delivered Jewel into the hands of two murderers who hadn’t thought twice about setting fire to a house full of children, and Michael Cameron and Donald Cahill had been complicit in the crime.

  Gritting his teeth, he gripped the smoke-blackened banister when he remembered the horses. What a naive fool he’d been.

  His instinct was to rush out of the house, find a horse and go in pursuit, but a whimpering caught his attention. Gladys Cook teetered at the top of the stairs, clearly afraid to trust her considerable weight to the doubtful structure. He reached her quickly and held out his hand. “I’ll see ye safely down,” he promised.

  She hesitated only a moment before taking his hand, and he led her slowly to safety.

  Chaos greeted them outside. Children wailed. Soldiers shouted. Aristotle barked and howled. Gladys hurried to speak to the soldier tending her son. Only Michael and Donald seemed detached from the confusion.

  This is exactly what they wanted.

  He strode over to Murtagh. “Give me yer dagger,” he demanded, nodding to Cameron. “They’ve taken Jewel.”

  The Highlander clenched his jaw and handed it over. He pinned Michael’s arms behind his back as Garnet held the dagger to his throat. “Where have they taken her?”

  Dragoons quickly surrounded them. “What’s going on?” the captain asked.

  Mrs. Cameron shrieked and tried to reach her husband but soldiers held her back.

  “’Tis my belief,” Garnet explained, “the Camerons aided yer escaped prisoners by letting them into the Guthrie house. The fire was meant to provide a distraction so they could make their escape.”

  Quinn suddenly appeared and lunged at Michael. “Ye intended to kill my family to save two murderers?”

  Three soldiers wrenched him away, but he continued to glower at his neighbor.

  Murtagh tightened his grip. “I’ll break every bone in yer body if ye dinna tell me where they’ve taken my Jewel.”

  “They’ve stolen a jewel?” the captain asked.

  “Nay,” Garnet replied. “They’ve taken a lass named Jewel as a hostage.”

  The captain drew his sword and pressed the point into Cameron’s chest. “Where have they gone?”

  An icy calm settled over Garnet when reality kicked him in the gut. Cameron’s face showed only disdain. The zealot would prefer death over betraying a comrade. But Donald…

  “Let’s ask Mr. Cahill,” he suggested. “He apparently kens all about jewels.”

  The urge to tear his so-called friend limb from limb resurfaced when fear flickered in Donald’s eyes.

  * * *

  Jewel regained her wits and inhaled deeply. The air was clean and crisp. She’d been freed of the gag. Garnet had rescued her from the flames and they were riding, riding away…to safety. But why were her hands still bound? And where were they going in the dark?

  The man on whose lap she sat smelled of fear, not like Garnet’s clean, wholesome, masculine scent.

  Then she remembered.

  Shouts of Fire! Fire!

  We’ll be rescued!

  Evidently, that hadn’t happened and she was still in the clutches of men who’d murdered an archbishop in front of his own daughter and burned five innocent people to death, including three beautiful children.

  She had no illusions about what would happen to her if Axton learned her father was responsible for his capture at Airds Moss. They would kill her slowly.

  Fear lay like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach, but she resolved to remain calm and watch for every opportunity to escape. She accepted with cold certainty that, if it became necessary, she would kill the men who’d devastated the Guthrie family.

  Gray and Murtagh would do everything in their power to find her. If Axton and Balford harmed her, the blacksmith would hunt them down like dogs.

  And what of Garnet Barclay? He couldn’t have known the assassins were in the house, but he probably blamed himself for her predicament. She licked her dry lips, remembering his kiss, moved to tears of immense regret that she would never taste him again.

  Magic Stone

  A strange silence descended on the yard after the dragoons dragged Michael and Donald off to the castle. The captain stationed three men to watch over the smoke-blackened dwelling.

  Vermeer offered shelter to the Guthries and their servants in a house he’d rented nearby.

  Mrs. Cameron shooed her brood into the kitchen, her features frozen in a mask of hatred.

  Maggie took a last, sorrowful look at Garnet.

  “I despair for that bairn,” he growled.

  “Aye,” Murtagh agreed, “but now we must sharpen our wits and plan how we’ll rescue Lady Jewel.”

  Gray ground a clenched fist into his palm. “I wish they’d left the wretches here. We’d have made them talk.”

  The blacksmith clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Angry ye may be, laddie, but ye’re nay a mon to interrogate another, and neither is Barclay.”

  Garnet was more preoccupied with fear for Jewel than Donald’s betrayal, but had to agree. “I trusted Cahill, but the jailers will ken how to deal with him. I have no enthusiasm for torture.”

  “That’s as may be,” Gray replied hoarsely, “but if Axton…” He walked away, shaking his head.

  “Out with it,” Murtagh insisted. “If he what?”

  Gray sat on the low wall below the pump, gripping the rough stone. “’Twas our father who informed the dragoons about Axton’s whereabouts at Airds Moss.”

  Garnet’s heart thudded in his ears. “And if the assassin discovers who was responsible for his capture…”

  “I had a suspicion that might be the case,” Murtagh admitted through gritted teeth. “We must prepare to leave as soon as we learn where they’ve gone. Ye’ll join our camp,” he declared. “Mrs. Cameron has malice in her heart.”

  Relief loosened the knot in Garnet’s belly. The prospect of returning to the Cameron house had sickened him. Now he could focus his anger on pursuit and saving the lass he’d placed in harm’s way. The memory of their kiss was a powerful reminder he’d been careless with the life of the first woman to touch his heart. “I’ll taste ye again, Jewel,” he swore under his breath.

  Gray leaned forward, his head in his hands. “I canna move,” he confessed.

  Murtagh sat down beside him. “Dread is a powerful thing,” he said softly. “It can paralyze a mon.”

  Garnet had lived for weeks with a deep fear lodged in his gut. “He’s right, but ye must take control of that dread and wear it like armor. Use it as a weapon to right the wrong.”

  Murtagh glanced at him and nodded. “Aye,” he confirmed, clearly sensing the words were rooted in experience.

  Garnet offered Gray a hand to help
him rise and they walked together in silence to the camp.

  Jock had packing underway and soon all that remained were the tents.

  Murtagh looked to the sky. “We’ve slept under the stars many a time, but my bones tell me we’ll have rain this night.”

  There wasn’t a cloud in sight, but Garnet wasn’t about to argue with a man who’d lived off the land. Every Highlander knew the weather could change in the blink of an eye.

  “Ye can share my tent,” Jewel’s brother offered.

  Garnet nodded his acceptance. The lad clearly didn’t want to be alone. Two piles of furs indicated the siblings had shared the tent. Fighting the temptation to succumb to bitter regret, he stretched out on the ground and inhaled the scent of Jewel lingering in the furs he gathered over his body.

  They lay looking up into the canvas, listening to the splat, splat of heavy raindrops.

  “I hope she’s nay out in this,” Gray rasped.

  “Aye,” he replied softly, though he doubted the fugitives were equipped with a tent. I’ll make sure ye never feel cold again, he promised, praying Jewel was still alive. He shoved from his mind the possibility the men might abuse her.

  He got to his feet abruptly at the sound of a disturbance outside, startled when Murtagh carried a bundle into the tent. “Found her wandering out in the meadow with naught but an oilskin over her nightgown,” he growled as Maggie squirmed out of the furs and landed on her feet.

  “Ye’re soaked,” Garnet said, falling to his knees and wrapping a blanket around her. “Yer hair’s wet. What are ye doing out here?”

  He refrained from pointing out Mrs. Cameron would likely skin her alive if she knew her daughter had left the house.

  The bairn thrust out a wet fist. “I brought ye this. Mr. Cahill gave it to me because I’m a bonnie lass. But mam will make me give it up. Safer with ye.”

  When she uncurled her fist, the tiny emerald twinkled in the darkness.

  Rage threatened to choke Garnet. Here was proof Vermeer had spoken the truth. “Did he say aught else? Like where yer da’s friends might have taken Miss Jewel?”

  She shook her head. “Nay. Just whispered he’d probably be going back to where he got the magic stone.”

  Garnet cursed his idiocy that he hadn’t seen the obvious. There’d be no safe place in Scotland for Axton and Balford. “Amsterdam?” he asked. “Is that what he said?”

  She nodded, wiping away the water dripping off the end of her nose. “I scolded him for swearing.”

  The urge to take the shivering bairn with them when they rode away was powerful. It filled him with regret that he had to leave her with the family she’d had the misfortune to be born into. He took the emerald and tucked it into his shirt. “I’ll treasure this, Maggie, but one day I’ll return it to ye.”

  She cuddled into him when he picked her up.

  “I ken where they’re bound,” he told Gray and Murtagh. “They intend to take ship in Aberdeen and flee to the Netherlands. I suggest we leave at first light.”

  “Agreed,” the Highlander said without a trace of rancor that Garnet had taken the initiative. “The rain will cease any minute. Get the bairn dry by the fire and I’ll carry her back.”

  Garnet marveled again when the downpour became a drizzle then stopped. Maggie yawned repeatedly as steam rose off her hair. By the time she was dry, Garnet had to hold her up lest she fall asleep on her feet. It gave him time to think. “I’ll carry her back,” he told Murtagh.

  He hurried across the meadow with his sleeping burden, startled by the appearance of the Camerons’ eldest daughter when he cautiously pushed open the back door. He expected Faith to raise the alarm, but she pressed a finger to her lips, lifted the candle she carried and beckoned him into the kitchen. “I’ve been keeping vigil,” the lass whispered.

  It seemed the Cameron household harbored more than one rebel.

  “We need to get her to bed,” he replied. “What about yer mam?”

  “She took one of her medicinals. Ye canna wake her.”

  He followed Faith up the stairs, cringing at every creak of the wood, and settled Maggie in the big bed alongside her sleeping siblings. “I’ll ne’er forget ye, Maggie Cameron,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her forehead.

  For the eldest lass to make sure her sister had come home safely was one thing. Expecting her to abet his plan was another, but he had to try. “I’ll just get my things from my room,” he whispered.

  Handing over the candle, she replied, “Go with God.”

  Nodding his thanks, he pulled the door closed and tiptoed across the landing. His own satchel was on the bed where he’d left it. He turned slowly, illuminating each corner of the room in turn, certain Donald must have stashed his precious bag somewhere. The care he’d always taken not to let it out of his sight now made sense.

  Frustrated when he found nothing, Garnet sat on the bed. “Think, laddie. There’s no hiding place, except…”

  Falling to his knees, he reached under the ropes, elated when his hand closed on what he sought. He put the candle down and dragged out the bag, rummaging through shirts and shoes and pamphlets…

  His excitement grew when he pulled out a small, velvet pouch. He clenched it in his fist, instantly recognizing the contents after handling countless shipments of Company emeralds during his time at the bank. It wasn’t full, and he surmised Axton had fled with most of the trove. Nevertheless, he put Maggie’s emerald inside, threw it into his own satchel, slung the bag over his shoulder and hurried from the house.

  * * *

  Jewel’s legs failed her when she was awakened from a doze and nudged off the horse. Disoriented, she squinted into the first grey light of dawn. Determined not to show the fear lodged in the pit of her stomach, she scrambled to her feet and glared at Axton. “Ye might have asked if I was awake before ye shoved me off.”

  He grunted in reply.

  “She’s too feisty,” Balford spat as he dismounted.

  “Ye can bed down in yon stable,” Axton told her.

  Puzzled, she realized they were in the yard of a farm-holding. The stable he pointed to was a ramshackle byre leaning against the cottage. “With animals?” she asked indignantly.

  A man exited the dwelling and approached Axton who dismounted to embrace him. “Nowt but an auld sow and a few sheep,” the newcomer sneered.

  By the look of his peasant attire, he was the farmer. Evidently, they had arrived at a safe house.

  “Welcome ye are, David and John. Who’s the lass?”

  “A pain in the arse,” Balford replied, briefly shaking hands with the farmer before entering the house.

  Axton chuckled. “Her name’s Jewel. She’s our guarantee of safe passage to Holland.”

  “Pretty name,” the farmer cooed inches from her nose. “Jewel what?”

  The reek of his unwashed body and rotten teeth nigh on felled her, but she was more concerned with the notion of ending up in Holland. “Jewel Ward,” she lied, borrowing her new sister-in-law’s family name. “And I have nay intention of accompanying ye to Holland. In fact, ye can leave me here—wherever we are—this good mon will make sure I get home.”

  “I see John spoke true,” the yokel replied, “but ye must do as David tells ye, lass. I dinna ken where ye’re from, but here in Falkirk we’re loyal to those who do the Lord’s work.”

  Fear and exhaustion loosened her tongue. “I’m from Ayrshire and we dinna consider murder the work of the Lord.”

  Axton narrowed his eyes. “Ayrshire, eh? ’Tis where I was taken prisoner. What do ye ken of Airds Moss, or of murder for that matter?”

  She lifted her chin, hoping her answer would sound convincing. “I visited the castle. ’Twas common knowledge the assassins of Archbishop Sharp were imprisoned there. Who else can ye be?”

  Her heart careened around her ribcage when he gritted his teeth, grasped her elbow and pulled her into the byre where he sat her down in a pile of straw. A few feet away, a fat sow guzzled slops. Sheep
bleated. “Give me yer shoes,” he snarled.

  Protesting would necessitate opening her mouth and she feared she might choke on the heady stench of animal dung, so she complied.

  He chuckled when he saw the wadding in the toes. “Nay very comfortable, I’ll warrant.”

  “At least the animals are fed and given water,” she muttered, determined not to explain why she was wearing someone else’s shoes.

  “We’ll nay be here long. Rest while ye can. We’ve a long journey ahead of us.”

  He walked away with her footwear and she heard him enter the croft.

  Her mind raced. If they intended to flee to Holland, Aberdeen was likely the port they were heading for. From what she’d learned of Dunnottar Castle, it wasn’t far from Aberdeen, but she had never imagined traveling into the Highlands in such dire circumstances.

  Her suspicions were confirmed as voices drifted through the thin wall of the cottage.

  “Let’s be rid of her,” Balford exclaimed. “She’s a liability.”

  “We’ll need her if the emeralds are nay sufficient to cover our passage,” Axton countered.

  Emeralds?

  Hadn’t Garnet mentioned the gemstones? The conversation sent chills marching up her spine. She was to be used as a commodity—sold like a chattel.

  Outrage mingled with despair. Would her champions discover the road they had taken, or…

  She gulped back tears when a farmwife shuffled into the byre and handed her a bowl of oatmeal and a wooden spoon. “Eat, lass.”

  A wonky eye, a lack of teeth and hair tangled like a nest of grey snakes gave the woman an air of imbecility. She didn’t smell any sweeter than her husband, but Jewel had no choice but to solicit her aid. “Ye must help me escape,” she whispered.

  “Nay. David wouldna like it,” came the timid reply.

  “But his friend wants to kill me.”

  “Nay. David willna allow it.”

  “Of course he will. He’s already murdered an archbishop.”

  The woman clenched her jaw. “’Twas the will of the Lord that Sharp meet his end. He was a cruel mon with no love in his heart. He ordered the execution of my boy at Rullion Green, though the prisoners were promised mercy.”