The Forbidden Highlands

by Kathryn Le Veque

  He shoved Da to the ground, the old man’s expression contorted by disbelief and utter terror.

  Ma pushed her feet into her boots. “Where are we to go?” she asked, her voice shrill.

  Kier hoisted Tommy over his shoulder, blankets and all. “The southern pass is the only outlet not blocked by the army.”

  More musket fire blasted from outside. Shrieks and screams turned Skye’s stomach.

  “How do we escape?” she asked, following her mother’s example and coughing while the smoke stung her eyes. “There’s a foot or more of snow. They’re murdering women. ’Tis a massacre!”

  Kier stopped at the door, his expression dark. “It is. We keep off the trail. Tommy and Mistress Sineag can ride my horse. The two dragoons sent to burn you out are dead, but there’ll be more. Anyone who stays in the Coe will be mercilessly cut down.” He cracked open the door and peeked outside. “We stay together. Follow me.”

  “I cannot believe I’m trusting a bloody Campbell,” Da grumbled under his breath.

  “Merciful Father,” Skye whispered, tiptoeing on Kier’s heels into the darkness lit by the blaze on the cottage roof. If there were time, she’d tell her father exactly how daft he sounded. But right now each and every one of them had to stay alive.

  Kier hoisted Tommy to the saddle and handed up his musket, powder horn and a pouch of lead balls. “I taught you how to use this lad. Load it now. If a redcoat steps in your path, shoot him afore he kills you.”

  The lad’s eyes grew as round as silver guineas, but he took the weapon. “Aye, sir.”

  Da hastened to help Ma mount behind the lad. Once aboard, she crossed herself while another volley of gunfire came from Cameron MacDonald’s croft across the paddock. “God save us.”

  At a jog, Kier headed for the river following the trail he must have cut through the snow on his way in. “The drifts are not as deep along the shore. And if we keep to the trees, we’ll not be spotted.”

  “’Tis a bloody whiteout,” Da said, struggling to keep pace. “No one will be able to see us once we reach the trees.”

  “Agreed,” Kier said over his shoulder.

  Gasping, Skye stumbled face-first into a drift. Kier grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her up. “Can you walk, lass?”

  “Aye,” she said, her teeth chattering. “The snow is caking around the hem of my skirts.”

  “I’ll carry you, then.” In the blink of an eye, he swept her into his arms and darted for the shelter of the trees.

  “Halt!” A menacing voice shouted behind them.

  “Tommy, shoot!” bellowed Kier, setting Skye on her feet.

  The musket blasted but Tommy missed. With a hiss of the blade, Kier drew his sword, but Da pulled his dagger from his sleeve and threw it into the dragoon’s heart.

  Sentinel Dyatt clutched at the knife’s hilt, dropped to his knees and fell face-first to the snow.

  Kier sheathed his weapon. “There’ll be more, mark me.”

  “Then I’ll retrieve my dagger,” said Da. “Go on. I’ll meet you at the river.”

  The bloody snow continued to impede their progress while Kier led Skye’s bedraggled family into the hills. Daylight arrived nearly two hours after the shooting began and, by that time, they’d climbed well into the foothills leading to Meall Mòr. That morning Kier had glimpsed a few others running for their lives, some in their nightshirts, their feet bare. Every face he saw was filled with terror, shocked and panic stricken.

  No one dared travel with them. They took one look at Kier still dressed in a government uniform and they ran.

  He’d endured cold and misery before, but only a madman would set out in this weather, let alone with a wounded child, two women and a man well past his prime. But they were the fortunate ones. Mistress Sineag had the forethought to bring blankets and everyone aside from Tommy was wearing boots. They even had a horse.

  The poor survivors, who ran for their lives wearing nothing but a nightshirt whilst under fire and sword, mightn’t make it through the day. Not if the wrath of God didn’t ease.

  But the blizzard did turn to tiny flakes of snow as they climbed further into the mountains. The midday sun didn’t make an appearance, though the cloud cover brightened. Kier crossed a path, showing footprints nearly hidden by freshly fallen snow. He followed it into the pass.

  “The Meall Mòr shielings are up this way,” said Jimmy. “We’ll find shelter up there.”

  “It appears as if some of the survivors are heading that way as well,” Kier said.

  An hour later, they stopped outside a shieling, smoke rising from its thatch and the snow trampled around the exterior.

  Jimmy strode forward and threw back his shoulders. “I’ll go in first. If they see your coat, they’ll likely run you through afore you have a chance to cry for help.”

  “Very well.” Kier helped Mistress Sineag to dismount, then pulled Tommy into his arms.

  Skye moved beside him. “Mayhap you should remove your coat.”

  “And freeze to death? They all ken who I am.”

  “Hello, inside! Jimmy of Clan Iain Abrach here.”

  “Wait with your hands up,” came the reply.

  “Tis Og,” said Skye. “He’s hotter than a firebrand, that one.”

  Kier inclined his lips toward her ear. “I ken Og well and ’tis a good thing Hugh was the firstborn.”

  “If he survived,” Sineag mumbled beside them.

  When the door opened, Og’s gaze immediately shifted from Jimmy to Kier. “Ye bloody murderer!” He marched forward, sword at the ready.

  “Move!” Shoving Tommy into Skye’s arms and pushing them away, Kier drew his sword just as the MacIain man attacked with a downward strike to the head. As Kier raised his blade to defend himself, iron met iron with a deafening clang. His arms nearly gave way. God’s bones, he’d been awake all night fighting his bindings. He rescued Skye and her kin before they succumbed to Glenlyon’s wrath. He’d climbed the mountains of Glencoe on foot, trudging through three-foot drifts of snow. His legs felt weighed down by seven stone weights and, rather than being heralded a hero, he was fighting for his life.

  Og attacked with brutal animosity, like a man gone wild.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Skye’s screams registered. Kier deflected every vicious strike from the behemoth, who hacked with vengeance as if he’d saved up his ire and aimed to make Kier pay. Backed into a wall of rock, Kier prayed the lass was safe. He couldn’t shift his eyes from the madman or his heart was sure to meet with cold steel.

  Og lunged with a slice to the throat. Kier ducked under. After spinning away, he regained a defensive stance. “I don’t want to fight you.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse what you want!” Rage filled Og’s eyes as he attacked, going for the kill.

  Kier jumped aside and smashed the hilt of his weapon into the man’s hand. Og bellowed in pain as his sword fell to the ground. Diving for the hilt, Kier plucked the blade from the snow and rolled sideways with enough momentum to rise to his feet.

  Holding his hands steady, Kier trained both swords on the madman. “I am not your enemy.”

  “No? You’re a Campbell. You wear the red coat. Your bloody uncle just killed my father. My mother’s in there bleeding to death from her…” Og dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Your murdering kin violated her with a dagger.”

  Kier lowered the swords, his gut turning over with sickly bile. Never in his life had he seen such insanity.

  “Og, go inside.” Hugh MacIain marched toward them with Jimmy in his wake.

  Kier searched for Skye. She was crying with her face in her hands while, beside her, the matron provided a crutch for Tommy.

  In a show of trust, Kier handed the hilt of Og’s sword to Hugh. “I have no words to express the revulsion I harbor for this day’s events.”

  The man looked crushed, yet ire flashed through his eyes. “Events you call them?”

  Kier pursed his lips. There wou
ld be no placating these people. They had been wronged by his own kin, by the government army he’d thought he loved.

  Hugh shoved the sword into the snow. “Jimmy told me you saved his family—let the wounded lad and his mother ride your horse. I thank you for that.”

  Looking the man in the eye, Kier gave a nod while the snow turned their cloaks white.

  MacIain nodded to the southern side of the pass. “But you cannot stay.”

  “I ken.”

  “You do not ken shite. I have twenty mouths in there to feed and God kens how many others will arrive afore nightfall. Every passing moment the snow grows deeper and I have nothing to feed them with aside from the meat from my horse.”

  Kier looked to his own mount with a twinge of guilt. If he left the beast here for the MacIains, he’d be dead by morning.

  “You can move on. You’re a Campbell. You’ll not be shot if you show your face down below. But us? My father signed the oath of fealty to William of Orange and, yet, Glenlyon still murdered him.” Hugh’s eyes filled with rage as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “We brought you into our homes. We showed those brutal savages nothing but genuine Highland hospitality and they butchered us for it!”

  Kier stood there for a moment, his feet freezing in the snow. Skye looked up with pleading eyes, her lips trembling. “Stay,” she mouthed.

  “Would you allow me a moment to say farewell to Miss Skye?”

  “What is the point of that?” asked her father. “Can you not see you’ve caused the lass enough consternation? She thinks she’s in love with you.”

  Love?

  Kier’s heart twisted. If only he’d told her that he loved her. But now? When their very lives hung on a precipice? “Please,” Kier asked pushing up his sleeves and showing his raw wrists. “Have I not shown my honor this day? If it weren’t for a lad named Malcolm, I would still be tied up in Brody MacDonald’s woodshed.”

  “Malcolm?” Hugh glanced back toward the shieling. “His father said if it weren’t for the lad raising the alarm, they’d be dead as well.”

  Skye ran forward and flung her arms around Kier. “This man saved my family and if you turn him away I’ll be going with him.”

  Kier clutched his arm tightly across her shoulders. “If she stays with me, I can protect her. She’ll not starve. On that I give my word.”

  “But you are not married!” Mistress Sineag hastened forward.

  Skye tightened her grip. “I’m going with Kier.”

  “I forbid it!” Jimmy grabbed his daughter’s arm and yanked her away. “Your place is with Clan Iain Abrach, not with the backstabbing Campbells.”

  “But he saved us,” Skye argued.

  “Aye, one man in a clan who doesn’t have a black heart. The rest are Satan’s spawn. Nay, lassie. The lieutenant is not for the likes of you.”

  Skye twisted her arm, trying to escape. “Kier, please!”

  Lunging, he reached for her.

  “I forbid it,” boomed Hugh, shoving between them. “I am clan chief now and my word is law on these lands.”

  Kier dropped his hands. Mayhap the men were right. She’d be better off with her own kin. He was a Campbell, a scourge in the eyes of these people. God save him, if it was right to let her go, why did Kier feel like Hugh had ripped his heart out of his chest?

  Jimmy dragged the lass into the shieling. Skye’s muffled protests rose through the snow-covered thatch.

  “Go on, now.” MacIain thrust his finger toward the horse. “Because you helped Jimmy to safety, I’ll let you walk away this once. But if you ever cross my path again, I’ll not be so lenient.”

  Kier started for his mount. “I said it afore. You ken I’d take care of the lass.”

  “Would you marry her?”

  He stopped and gave Hugh a sober stare. “Aye.”

  “Even if your father forbade it?”

  “Even then.”

  Hugh said nothing and ushered the rest of Skye’s family inside, leaving Kier alone knee-deep in snow. The lieutenant who had gone against an order from the king to save the woman who stirred his blood like no other, stared at the door of the shieling, his blood running hot. “Skyyyyyyye!” he bellowed.

  Never in his life had he felt so strongly about anything. If he mounted his horse and left without her, he could very well be signing her death decree. God save him, she would not be left to suffer. Twenty or more people trying to survive the winter in a tumbledown shack? He yanked open the door, strode inside, collected the lass in his arms and marched for his horse.

  Chapter Eleven

  Skye curled against Kier’s chest while the horse trudged through the snow. Though wrapped in a blanket, she was colder than she’d ever been in her life. Flurries continued throughout the arduous journey through the glens. Clouds settled on the white cliffs above as if they planned to stay and dump an endless shower of snow, impeding their progress until the pony could move no more.

  Overcome with the day’s events, a hollow void filled her chest. She closed her eyes and thanked God for Kier. But the catastrophe at Meall Mòr had taken a horrific and devastating trauma and made it worse. Kier had turned against his clan to help her and, in return, her kin had repaid him with nothing but rebuff.

  They were a pair of outcasts in a land gone mad.

  Kier brushed the snow from her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Alive. Shocked.”

  His warm breath skimmed her skin as he pressed his lips to her forehead. “I reckon we all are stunned.”

  “Where are we heading?”

  “Loch Dochart. I pray my da will take us in.”

  “And if not?”

  “Mayhap we should go to Glasgow and sail for the Americas.”

  “Leave my family? My home…” She shuddered. What home?

  Kier’s lips formed a thin line, his eyes taking on a hard stare. “This is no time to be planning for the future. We’ll need shelter afore nightfall.”

  “Aye.” Skye swiped a hand across her face. “I feel awful about leaving my family up there in that shieling with nothing…”

  “Hugh will protect them. He’s a good man.”

  “He’s your enemy.”

  “That doesn’t mean I disrespect him. Besides, at the moment, I cannot afford to claim any man as my enemy…a…aside from Glenlyon.”

  Skye shuddered. “I’m glad of it.”

  “I suppose I am as well.”

  “Do you think my kin will ever forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to forgive, lass. Your parents will love you in their hearts no matter what.”

  Another shiver coursed over her skin. She didn’t feel loved. In fact, aside from the Highlander cradling her in his arms, she felt lost, exiled—like a tinker without a home.

  Melancholy spread a black emptiness from her heart through her limbs. Again they rode in silence while God continued to douse them with snow. Their march grew slower and slower until Kier pulled the horse to a halt outside an abandoned shieling.

  “Where are we?” Skye asked.

  “Dalness—a hunting shelter used by my clan. We can weather the night here.” Kier dismounted then helped her down. He had to clear away the snow to wedge open the door. He found a candle and lit it by striking flint to his dirk.

  Rubbing the outside of her arms, Skye turned full circle—there was a table and an old straw mattress on a rope frame with a fire pit at one end. “’Tis better than freezing to death in the snow.”

  “There should be some wood stacked along the south side. Do you think you can manage lighting a fire whilst I hunt us something to eat?”

  “Aye.” Skye nodded as her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since last eve. With the excitement, she hadn’t even thought about food, but now her hands started to shake for the hunger.

  By the time Kier returned, Skye had a fire going and her fingers had thawed from clearing snow off the thatch to allow the smoke to escape. Huddled beside the flames, she stood while Kier closed the rickety do
or and held up a skinned hare. “This will provide a good meal.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to find a thing in this weather.”

  “Mayhap our luck has turned for the better.” He grinned then set to using a length of rope to suspend the carcass over the fire.

  “You’ve done this afore.”

  “Many times.”

  “Do you like hunting?”

  “For the most part. Just not knee-deep in snow.”

  She resumed her seat, folding her legs and patting the place beside her. “You’d best sit by the fire whist the rabbit cooks.”

  “I won’t argue.” He joined her and removed his gloves, setting them by the rocks to dry.

  “How far are we from Loch Dochart?” she asked.

  “About thirty miles if we stick to the glens. In this weather, we’d best start at first light on the morrow and pray we make it by dusk.” Kier stretched then wrapped an arm around her shoulder and encouraged her to rest against him.

  “Will your pony withstand the journey?” she asked, closing her eyes and savoring his closeness.

  “I think so. He’s a tough old garron. I led him down to the burn—he has the shelter of the trees, and the water is still running there—a bit of grass is showing as well.”

  “Thank heavens.”

  They sat together in each other’s embrace, staring into the flames of the fire. Too much had changed since last eve. Too many horrors had happened to even begin to think about. And worse, as fugitives, who knew what the morrow might bring?

  The only thing Skye allowed herself to think about was the man beside her. If he had not come to her cottage that morn, she and her kin would be dead with the other ill-fated souls in Glencoe.

  I owe him my life.

  Not long and the juices from the rabbit dripped to the flames, making them leap and hiss. The smell served to heighten Skye’s hunger. By the time Kier cut off a slice of meat and handed it to her, she ate greedily, stuffing her mouth as if she had been starved for sennights.

  They gorged themselves on rabbit and drank from Kier’s flask. Finally, he pointed to the two remaining legs. “Mayhap we should save a bit for the morn. I don’t imagine we’ll find much else afore we reach Sigurd Castle.”