Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘They won’t do it, I tell you.’

  ‘They will if they wish to eat this winter,’ Brice countered, clearly adamant. Seton opened his mouth as though he wanted to argue further, but Brice didn’t give him the chance. ‘Hold on,’ he said and stopped abruptly, then jumped up to stand on top of the nearest stone dyke wall. ‘A moment,’ he shouted. ‘Can I have your attention, please?’

  Everyone came to a halt and shuffled closer, looking from Brice to the factor, whose expression was far from happy.

  ‘Mr Seton and I disagree on the small matter of how to extract the grain. I say we should be threshing and winnowing, while Mr Seton would prefer burning as has apparently been the custom here.’ There were a few perplexed looks, but also some nods from the crowd. ‘Well, let me ask you this – would you do some hard work now for a couple of weeks and keep enough cattle alive over the winter to feed your families, or would you rather starve?’

  There was an angry protest from Seton. ‘Now see here,’ he began, ‘you can’t just come and force your foreign ways on us willy-nilly.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Brice countered and gestured towards the people around them. ‘I’m asking them to choose.’

  Seton opened his mouth to protest some more, but before he could say anything else, one of the men spoke up. ‘I’m for threshing,’ he declared and took a step forward as if showing his solidarity with Brice. ‘I’m tired o’ seein’ the weans go hungry.’

  Another man nodded. ‘Makes sense to me.’

  ‘And me.’ Sandy Mor joined them, as did his son.

  Some muttering broke out among the other men, but most of them eventually sided with Brice. ‘Aye, we’ll dae it if ye promise we can hae our fair share.’

  ‘I promise,’ Brice said. ‘I know it’s a long, onerous job, but if we make sure the threshing barn is next in line to have its roof repaired, there’s no rush. We can take turns after dark when all other chores are finished. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll see to it.’ Sandy nodded.

  ‘Good, we don’t want any water seeping in and ruining things. I’m not taking any chances, the grain is precious.’

  Brice turned to Seton, who just shrugged. ‘Be it on your head,’ he said and strode off. Marsaili shivered as she noticed the dagger look Seton threw his new master before he left. It didn’t bode well. She could understand why Brice was against graddaning since it was rather wasteful, but Seton had been correct in that it was the custom here. She only hoped Brice was right to insist on new ways.

  The crowd dispersed and set off again. Those who were not returning to their homes in the township soon entered the courtyard of Rosyth House just behind Brice and found him standing next to a small, black-clad man by the steps to the main door. Marsaili felt her heart skip a beat, since she recognised him all too well. Mr Keil was a preacher who’d been shown the door the last time he’d visited and had been asked never to return to Rosyth.

  Yet here he was.

  It was obvious Brice had no idea who the man was or that he wasn’t just an ordinary clergyman. He was talking to him politely and indicated he was welcome to enter

  the house. Marsaili wanted to rush forward and stop

  him, but decided it might be better if she warned Brice in private. She glanced at Seton, who seemed to have been waiting near the house. He had ordered the preacher to leave not two months previously, but he was keeping his mouth shut now.

  Marsaili frowned. Something wasn’t right.

  She followed the others indoors, but instead of going to her room to wash and change, she waited until she saw Brice excuse himself and head for the master bedchamber. Making sure no one was looking her way, she followed him swiftly and caught up with him just outside his door.

  ‘A moment please, my lord,’ she whispered.

  He turned, surprise in his eyes. ‘Marsaili? What …?’

  She put a finger to her lips and gestured for him to go inside. He smiled and did as she asked, closing the door behind them. ‘I didn’t realise you were so impatient for those stories I promised you,’ he said with a grin. ‘Or maybe it was the inducement you craved?’ Before she could protest, his arms went around her and he pulled her close. She gasped and looked up at him, but in the next moment he stole her breath by putting his mouth on hers.

  Marsaili forgot everything and just revelled in the feel of his lips caressing hers in the most wondrous fashion. She’d been kissed before, but always roughly and against her will. This was different. It was as if he was asking permission to continue by moving so slowly she could have broken it off any time. For some reason that only made her want more. She allowed him to nibble at her lower lip and stroke it with his tongue. He carried on, deepening the kiss and she reciprocated. It seemed her own tongue had a will of its own and it wanted to twine with his.

  He tasted of ale and smelled like straw, dust and male. They were both filthy and hot after the long day’s work, but she didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the wonderful feeling of being held by him, worshipped with his mouth.

  If only they could stay this way. If only she hadn’t come to …

  Her brain suddenly remembered the reason she had followed him and she tried to push him away, muttering ‘No, wait, that wasn’t why …’

  He stopped kissing her and looked down on her, his gaze a bit unfocused. She noticed his breathing was ragged, but so was her own and her pulse was beating at least double its normal rate. He smiled, but didn’t let go of her. ‘That wasn’t why what?’ he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

  ‘I just came to warn you, Brice. The man you welcomed into the house – you have to get rid of him. He’s dangerous.’

  His eyebrows shot up. ‘A man of the cloth? Surely not.’

  ‘He’s not any old minister, he’s a non-juring one.’

  ‘Ah.’ Brice’s expression grew serious.

  ‘You know what that means?’ Marsaili had to make sure he understood the danger he was in.

  He nodded. ‘He’s an Episcopalian clergyman, right? One of those who refused to swear the Oath of Allegiance to the English king. In other words, a hunted man.’

  ‘Yes. The ministers of the old Scottish faith who won’t swear the oath are constantly sought by the authorities,’ Marsaili confirmed.

  ‘I’ve heard of this, but I hadn’t thought there were many left. I did wonder why a clergyman should turn up on my doorstep out of the blue like that, especially since I’ve already met the Presbyterian incumbent of the Rosyth parish. I understand now.’

  Non-juring ministers were no longer allowed to preach and their meeting houses had been destroyed, Episcopal churches burned even. Anyone found harbouring such a man would be in breach of the law.

  ‘You must make him leave,’ Marsaili urged again, gripping his shirt front with both hands without thinking.

  He shook his head, a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘No. I get the feeling he’s here for a reason and I want to find out what it is.’

  Marsaili blinked. ‘Are you mad? The Redcoats could arrest you. Just having Mr Keil in the house is enough.’

  ‘Then we must make sure they don’t find him.’

  ‘But …’

  He put a finger over her mouth and she stopped talking. ‘Listen to me. I smell a rat, but as long as I don’t get caught harbouring the man, no one can do anything. I think I have a plan. Will you trust me on this?’

  She nodded. Strangely enough, she did trust him. ‘I want to help. What would you have me do?’

  He smiled and bent to give her one last kiss, which she didn’t resist. ‘If any Redcoats come snooping, stall them outside for a few moments and I’ll guarantee they won’t find Mr Keil.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll do my best.’

  ‘Good, then we’d better not keep him waiting.’ He let go of her, but reached out a finger to stroke her cheek. ‘And unless you’d like to share a bath with me, I suggest you leave now. I’ll check that the coast is clear.’

  Marsaili made her way to her
own room soon after on legs which felt decidedly jelly-like. It wasn’t from fear for Brice’s safety, however, she trusted him when he said he was in no danger.

  It was something else entirely which frightened her much more. Love.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘It would seem I was right. Like father, like son.’ Seton wandered over to where the minister was sitting enjoying a tankard of ale while he waited for his host to return.

  Keil looked up, a wary expression in his eyes. ‘He appears friendly enough, but time will tell, I suppose.’

  Seton noticed the minister was looking gaunt and haggard, as if he’d been having a tough time lately. There couldn’t be many of them left now, hunted as they were by the Redcoats. He guessed it was proving more difficult these days for a man like Keil to hide and find shelter. He’d had a hard time persuading the man to come back, which wasn’t to be wondered at. They’d exchanged some harsh words during the minister’s last visit to Rosyth and it was only by chance he’d heard the man was in the neighbourhood.

  He watched Brice when he came back from changing out of his work clothes. The way he spoke to Keil indicated he had no idea he was harbouring a fugitive, which was just what Seton had hoped. Brice had obviously had it instilled in him that hospitality was one of his main duties as laird and he didn’t question the stranger too closely.

  As a result, Seton spent the evening in a much better mood than he’d been in of late. Not only did he have Marsaili to look at across the table, but out of the corner of his eye he watched the new laird becoming the best of friends with Mr Keil. It was a very satisfactory state of affairs.

  He couldn’t wait for the morning, when things would become even more interesting. He smiled to himself. At least from my point of view.

  Brice tried to act as though everything was normal. He wasn’t worried about the presence of Mr Keil, he could handle that. What was bothering him was Marsaili.

  Or rather the way he’d reacted to her earlier.

  Damn it all, he thought. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of her like that. But how could he not? She’d been in his bedroom, so close he could smell the sweet scent of lavender and heather she used on her hair, and he couldn’t resist. One kiss, he’d promised himself, but it just wasn’t enough. He’d needed more.

  She felt so good in his arms, so right. He wanted to crush her to him, hard, and never let go. Whenever he’d kissed Elisabet – and she’d allowed him to on quite a few occasions – he had held her carefully, as if she was a fragile doll. She was so small and ethereal, he always had the feeling she might break if he didn’t handle her with kid gloves. With Marsaili, that thought hadn’t even entered his mind. Although she was tall and slender, there was nothing frail about her. In fact, she was perfect.

  He shook himself mentally. What was the matter with him? He had already decided to stay away from her, so why couldn’t he? It didn’t make sense.

  He would have to try harder.

  Marsaili had just returned from the kitchen the following morning when she heard the commotion in the courtyard. She’d gone to order more porridge for Brice and his guest, who were having an early morning discussion on the merits of religious tolerance, as far as she could make out. Seeing as they were alone at the table, there was no harm in it, but Marsaili was worried someone would overhear them.

  Brice had obviously heard the noise as well. He looked up and met Marsaili’s gaze, but he didn’t look unduly worried. ‘Excuse me just one moment, Mr Keil,’ he said to the minister, then he stood up and went over to Marsaili. ‘Do you remember what I said yesterday?’ he whispered. At her nod, he continued, ‘Excellent. Please, go then and try to stall whoever is outside for a little while. Pretend like you’ve never seen Mr Keil. And then could you go to the kitchen and gather up enough food and drink for a couple of days, plus fetch some blankets and a pillow and leave it all in the book room?’

  Marsaili didn’t understand this final request, but said, ‘Very well.’ She was sure he’d have a good reason for asking her to do it.

  ‘Thank you. Now hurry, please, I need a little time alone with my guest.’

  Outside Marsaili found a troop of Redcoats, led by a large, florid man whose scarlet coat strained across his corpulent middle. Beads of sweat stood on his brow, as if he’d ridden fast to get there, and both his boots and the horse’s flanks were dusty. She wasn’t surprised to see Seton talking to him and the expression on the factor’s face was decidedly smug.

  ‘Good morning, gentlemen. A fine day, is it not?’ she walked across to where the captain and his men were dismounting, and stopped in front of their leader. She gave him her best smile and saw his eyes widen.

  ‘A very good morning to you, Madam.’ The man bowed. ‘Captain Sherringham at your service.’ His eyes strayed down over her curves, then back up to her face and she saw the familiar flame of lust light up his gaze. She pretended not to notice, but it galled her all the same. Honestly, men were so predictable, although for once this came in useful.

  ‘I’m afraid the mistress of the house is indisposed, but I’m the housekeeper here. If you’ve stopped for some refreshment, I will order it brought immediately.’

  ‘Er, no, Madam, although naturally a drop of something is always welcome.’ Captain Sherringham cleared his throat. ‘We’ve, uhm, received reports that a man of the cloth has been sighted around these parts and I was just asking permission of Mr Seton here for us to search the premises.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, if you think it’s necessary, then by all means, but I have to tell you I’ve been in the house since yesterday and I’ve seen no such person.’ She widened her eyes at Sherringham, who frowned. Out of the corner of her eye, she also saw Seton’s brows come down into a scowl.

  ‘Now see here, Marsaili,’ he began, but she turned to fix him with a glare that stopped him from continuing.

  She turned back to Captain Sherringham, who cleared his throat again, a nervous habit which was already beginning to grate on Marsaili. ‘I’m afraid I must insist, inconvenient though it may be, Madam,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t take us long.’

  Marsaili sighed in an exaggerated fashion, but gave in with good grace. ‘I suppose it’s your duty, captain,’ she conceded, wondering if she had stalled him for long enough. She didn’t know how much extra time Brice needed, but hoped he had somehow whisked the minister out of the back entrance. The captain’s next words made her insides freeze with fear, however.

  ‘I’ve already taken the liberty of sending some of my men round the back. I hope you don’t mind, Madam?’

  ‘No, no of course not.’ Marsaili tried to keep her expression innocent and clenched her fists underneath the apron she was wearing to stop from showing her nervousness. ‘Step inside then, if you please.’ She indicated the captain should follow her.

  ‘Jones, Allder, you stay out here,’ Sherringham barked at two of his men. ‘Don’t let anyone leave for now.’

  The great hall was mercifully empty, but Marsaili couldn’t help darting an anxious glance around. Was there anywhere a man could successfully hide in here, she wondered. Not unless they climbed up inside the chimney. Sherringham seemed to have come to the same conclusion and immediately ordered two men to search inside the flue.

  ‘Nothing here, sir. Permission to continue with the rest of the house?’

  ‘Yes, immediately.’

  Captain Sherringham didn’t seem disposed to take part in the search himself, but wandered round the room inspecting the faded hangings and old paintings with a faintly supercilious air. Seton stood by the door, watching the proceedings and Marsaili wanted to wipe the smug look off his face by clouting him round the ear.

  ‘I say, what’s going on here?’ Brice came walking into the room, his gait unhurried and with an expression of surprise on his face. ‘Are we being invaded?’ The question was clearly meant as a joke, since he was smiling.

  ‘Captain Sherringham, His Majesty’s 5 Dragoons.’ The captain bowed, although not with t
he same gallantry he’d afforded Marsaili. ‘We’re conducting a search of the premises, with the permission of this lady.’ He nodded at her.

  ‘I see.’ Brice lifted his eyebrows at Marsaili, who shrugged apologetically.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t think you’d object? The captain believes there may be a minister hiding in here, although I did say as how I hadn’t seen anyone myself,’ she said.

  ‘Right, please carry on then,’ Brice said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me continuing with estate matters?’

  Sherringham nodded. ‘By all means.’

  Brice sauntered off and Marsaili excused herself as well. She remembered Brice’s second request about the food and blankets, and hurried to gather together what he’d wanted. She took the items to the book room, which had clearly already been searched since some of the furniture was out of place. Dust motes danced around the window drapes as if they’d been pushed aside recently and some soot had fallen down into the fireplace where the Redcoats had obviously poked inside it.

  She placed the food, blankets and pillow on the table, then jumped as she heard a voice whispering behind her.

  ‘Thank you, Marsaili. Please could you close the door behind you and stand outside as if deep in thought for a moment? Then open it again and the food will be gone.’

  Brice! Marsaili looked around, but there was no one there. Her gaze flew to the drapes, which were wide enough to hide a man, but she could see they weren’t concealing anyone at the moment. She realised there must be a secret hiding place behind the walls and scanned them, wondering which one it could be. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, but nodded in the direction the voice had come from.

  She did as he’d asked and when she opened the door again a short while later, the room was empty. She took a few steps inside, just to make sure, but she was alone. So I was right, she thought, there is a secret chamber. She’d heard of them, of course, but never imagined there would be one at Rosyth.