Must Love Kilts

by Angela Quarles

  The chief frowned. “So you’re the one who married the sister. We didn’t credit her tale. She spoke of a handfasting, but truth be told, her story was muddled and her speech strange. You did the right thing, coming here.”

  “How did she escape and when?”

  “She slipped away when she was with the ladies taking the air two days past.”

  Traci opened her mouth, but Iain’s hand clasped her thigh and squeezed.

  “Why didn’t you send word at once?”

  “We wanted to find her first. I had men track her, with the intention of bringing her back, but they returned not an hour before your arrival.” He leaned forward and pushed his flask out of the way. He cocked his head toward Traci, and directed a stream of Gaelic to Iain.

  What the hell?

  Iain tensed as the MacDonell switched to Gaelic. Next to him sat his son and heir, Alasdair. Iain had always gotten along with Alasdair, and he hoped he’d be able to swing him to at least a sympathetic stance.

  “Nay, she cannot understand our speech,” Iain gritted out, answering in Gàidhlig.

  The chief leveled a stare at Traci and then leaned back. “Well, then. This Fiona Campbell confirmed your Ross’s initial assessment, for our search party witnessed her prancing into Urquhart Castle.”

  Dread pooled in his belly. He knew it meant nothing. “That’s not conclusive.”

  “It’s conclusive enough for me. All in the Great Glen know the chief of the Grants is siding with the usurper William. There’s talk of laying siege to his castle. That she walked in there, bold as you please, says plenty.”

  Alasdair leaned forward, a frown pinching his brow. “It does appear suspicious. You must see that.”

  Iain had to tread carefully here. He couldn’t just order their overlord to believe him, to believe in Traci’s and Fiona’s innocence. Much was at stake, and tensions were high all across the Highlands with the rebellion. “I cannot vouch for Fiona…” St. Columba preserve him. He hated to cast her in such a light, but Traci was here right now, needing protection, and Fiona wasn’t. “…but I can vouch for my wife. She is no spy. I swear by the hand of my grandfather that this is so.”

  That would buy them only a little time. Such an oath was a strong one to a fellow Highlander, though he doubted a Lowlander, or the English they imitated, would be as moved. The chief wouldn’t dare risk enmity with Iain’s clan and deny his trust. At least not right away. He only needed a little time, though. Time to plan their next step.

  Again, the chief raked her with a glare. He lurched to the side and snapped his fingers. “More whisky.”

  While the chief was distracted, Iain leaned down to Traci’s ear. “Yawn,” he whispered.

  He straightened as the chief faced them again. Traci’s hand squeezed his where it rested on her thigh. He dutifully witnessed her yawn. “My wife is exhausted,” he said in English. “She’s had a trying time, and with this unwelcome news of her sister, I feel it has quite overwhelmed her, poor dear.”

  He stifled a grin as Traci muttered under her breath. Then he nearly gasped as her grip on his hand tightened to a painful degree. “May we trespass further on your hospitality and abide here for the night?”

  The chief gave a measured nod. “Of course. Your men may bed down in the hall. You and your wife may take the guest chamber in the southern wing. We will resume our discussion in the morning and settle matters about your wife.”

  Iain handed over his uncle’s letter to help make his case and took his leave. Uneasiness swirled through him. He did not care for how that was phrased. Nay. Not at all.

  Traci stretched her legs before the fire in their room. Iain had just finished catching her up on what the chief had said in Gaelic, when Iain strode to her, knelt, and gripped her shoulders. “I will do all in my power to get your sister. That she’s with a clan we are not at peace with will be no small obstacle. But I will do my best. I promise.”

  He held her gaze, and she stared into his light blue eyes. Again, he was exposing a new side to himself, and a part of her weakened. He knew he couldn’t guarantee the outcome, and admitting as much must have been difficult.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Do you think the chief will let me leave? He seems suspicious.”

  Iain picked up the fireplace poker and stoked the freshly laid fire. “I know not. The oath I swore to your innocence is a strong one. I’ll just have to convince him, as I did with my uncle. We should—”

  A hard knock rapped on their door.

  Iain pushed away from the fireplace mantel and strode to the door. “Who is it?”

  “ ’Tis I, Duncan.”

  Duncan? Iain yanked open the door, and Duncan pushed his way past. His handsome face was set in a grim line. He shut and barred the door. “I came as fast as I could,” he rasped in English.

  “What news, cousin? Did something happen with mine uncle?”

  “Your uncle is hale and hearty, but my news does concern him. Give me a drink first. My throat is parched.”

  Iain shoved a flask into his cousin’s hand. Duncan drained it in one swallow. “We must leave at once. You were sent here under false pretenses.”

  Traci jumped to her feet. “What do you mean?”

  “Aye. What is this about?” growled Iain.

  “Only that your uncle lied to you. Glengarry demanded your presence here. Our chieftain was handing over your wife to Glengarry for safekeeping until this whole rebellion was settled. The letter you carried stated you are in compliance and are here under his direction. He only feigned belief in her innocence.”

  Iain’s hands tightened into fists. “And he kept this from me?”

  “Aye. I thought it was only because he knew you’d never go along with it. I’m not as sure of her innocence meself. But then I learned that he also kept it from you so you’d arrive here, seemingly in compliance, and when you tried to leave with her and Fiona, you’d appear fickle and unreliable. For Glengarry would confront you, and your uncle knew you’d resist them being detained.”

  “What?” Iain’s voice could barely be heard over the crackling of the peat fire. But she heard it. And heard the pain laced in that simple word.

  Disbelief warred with anger in Iain’s breast. He’d been set up? By his own uncle? As he parsed through Duncan’s words—and, aye, as hard as it was, he believed his cousin—he saw that his uncle meant to make him look the fool.

  He sat down hard on the settle by the fire. “Why?”

  Though Duncan was five years his senior, they’d formed a tight bond forged on the practice field and the few skirmishes they’d been involved in over the last eight years.

  He was the closest Iain had now to a brother.

  Duncan leaned against the door and crossed his arms. “My guess? He’s threatened by you.”

  Of all the things he’d expected to come from Duncan’s mouth, that was not one of them. Iain barked a laugh. “Be serious, cousin.”

  “I am. Especially now that you’ve handfasted. And to the mighty Campbells, no less.”

  “What could—?” He stopped himself. “He believes I’ll make a play for the chieftainship.”

  “Aye. ’Tis rightly yours. If you put yourself forward, you’d have support.”

  A strange reality seemed to shimmer and solidify in Iain’s mind. One where he’d been an unwitting player in a game only his uncle thought they were playing. Iain had no desire to be chieftain. Leave that responsibility to someone who wanted it. Who could be relied on.

  Which wasn’t him.

  He shook his head. “He knows I have no wish to be chieftain.”

  “He takes no chances, and, to be honest, you play right into his hands.”

  “I couldn’t have foreseen his betrayal with Traci.”

  Traci approached and stood beside him, facing Duncan.

  His cousin flicked his gaze to her and back. “I refer to your reputation. He manipulates you, and you don’t even realize it. He casts you in the role of court jester, and
you oblige.” He shoved away from the wall and uncrossed his arms. “Look. We have no time to palaver. Glengarry has already retired with his wife.” He switched to Gàidhlig. “His son Alasdair left with their contingent of men to join Dundee. I told his men you’d asked me to join you as soon as I could, and they directed me here. But I think ’tis wise—”

  “That we leave immediately. Aye,” he finished in English and turned to Traci. “Get your things together.”

  “There’s not much anyway.” She grabbed her sack from under the bed and stood next to him. “Ready. Where are we going? If you’re going back to Dungarbh, I’m not going with you. I need to go to Urquhart Castle. I need to get my sister.”

  Duncan spun and faced Traci, his face turning pale. “What? She’s not here?”

  They quickly filled Duncan in, with Traci carrying the bulk of the recital. All the while, Iain’s mind turned, sifting through possibilities.

  When she finished, Iain grabbed his baldric containing his sword. “We need to orchestrate this carefully. We cannot just leave in the dead of night. It would be an insult to Glengarry’s hospitality and would endanger your standing with our chieftain as well. And my uncle has made Glengarry believe I’m in agreement on this spy business. For me to leave, seemingly to prevent Traci from being detained by him, would still achieve my uncle’s goal: to make me appear a fickle fool at best or culpable at worst.”

  Duncan nodded. “Gavin and the others believe you are here to turn her over as well. What do you suggest?”

  Et tu, Gavin? Something of his thoughts must have shown, for Duncan added, “Gavin did not know your uncle’s full plan. He believes you’re handing her over willingly.”

  That made him feel marginally better. “While it is unfortunate Fiona escaped, this will perhaps lend a better light to our late-night flight. We can use your arrival as cover—you have brought additional word of Fiona’s whereabouts, and we were eager to depart and bring her back into the fold before the trail grew cold. And we need Traci’s presence to coddle the sister into returning with us.”

  Traci gripped her knees. “But your chieftain would know Duncan wasn’t privy to news of Fiona.”

  Duncan rubbed his jaw. “I told him I had business in the village.”

  Iain crossed to the fire and picked up the poker. He turned it in his hand. “And while there you could have heard news that prompted us to act. It doesn’t have to match up perfectly—the story could plausibly have been miscommunicated back to the chieftain.” He jabbed the poker into the fire. “What else? Are there any other angles we should consider? We’re leaving without our men, because…”

  “They’re drunk as skunks.”

  Iain lifted his head at that.

  “They are. I passed them on the way in. To them, their mission is over, and Glengarry is generous, unlike our chieftain.”

  So his suspicions were true. “Even Gavin?”

  “Aye.”

  “We’ll need provisions.”

  “Caitrina,” they both said at once.

  “Who’s Caitrina?”

  Iain returned to Traci’s side. “She’s a cousin who married a tenant of the MacDonell and owns a farm on the north side of Invergarry’s glen. We’ll have to pass it after we ford the River Garry.”

  Duncan rubbed his chin. “It will be a full day’s travel ’ere we reach Urquhart Castle’s environs, but only a half a day left in our own lands. What excuse do we have for crossing into the Grant’s lands?”

  “The simplest, I think,” said Iain. “We search for our lost kinswoman. No one will doubt our tale since we have a woman traveling with us. Were we raiding, we’d not. And we’d have more men.”

  “That could work,” Duncan said.

  “All right. Today is the twentieth of July. That should give us seven days to look for her, before we need to head to Struan for the gathering on the twenty-ninth.” Iain leaned the poker back against the wall. “We ready?”

  Duncan nodded, and Traci said, “Let’s do this.”

  Iain grabbed Gavin by his shirt collar and shook him. “Listen up. I’m leaving you in charge of the men. Give our thanks to Glengarry for his hospitality, but we had to leave.”

  Gavin’s eyes were glassy from drink. “What about her? Glengarry expects her to remain here.”

  Again, humiliation burned through him that he’d been set up to play the fool. “Glengarry’ll have to wait.” He nodded toward Duncan. “He learned the sister has left Urquhart. We mean to apprehend her.”

  “Can you not do that without her?”

  Iain cast a quick glance at Traci, who stood in the shadows, arms crossed, defiance etched in her stance. That’s my nighean. “Nay. We need her as bait.”

  “At least wait till morning. Our men will be sober then, and we can lay in supplies and aid you.”

  “Delay will not aid our quest. The trail grows cold already. We mean to leave now and ride hard. Besides, I need someone I trust to smooth any ruffled feathers the MacDonell might have. Assure him of our return. When your men have sobered up, inform our chieftain of our whereabouts and that we will return anon.”

  “Aye.”

  “Repeat it back to me.”

  After Gavin repeated the instructions to Iain’s satisfaction, he slumped back onto the bench he’d occupied by the fire when they’d crept downstairs.

  Iain nodded to Traci and Duncan. The easiest part out of the way, they made their way out of the main hall and headed to the gate. They took a gamble, but they couldn’t leave by subterfuge. They stopped at the stable while Duncan retrieved their ponies and the one she called Fiddich.

  In the end, the guard at the gate proved easier to convince of their mission than Gavin. It helped that he had no knowledge of the fate his chief had planned for Traci. He only knew that Iain and Duncan were allied clan folk and he had no reason to question them.

  Iain helped Traci into her saddle. Urquhart Castle was a full day’s ride from here, northeast along Loch Oich and then up the greater part of the length of Loch Ness. The stop at Caitrina’s would be necessary but with luck, they’d reach Drumnadrochit near Urquhart before nightfall.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Far dearer to me are the hills of the north,

  The land of blue mountains, the birth-place of worth

  “The Thistle of Scotland,” Jacobite Reliques

  The first rays of dawn streaked across Loch Oich and the glen when they crossed the River Garry. Traci adjusted her seat in the saddle.

  Iain pulled his pony to a stop. “Let’s refill our flasks before we continue farther.” He dismounted, and a sharp breeze whipped by, snapping Iain’s plaid against his manly form. Behind him stretched a haunting, bleak, but strangely soulful landscape. From her angle—it had to be a trick of the light—he seemed to slightly glow. And she’d swear that wind carried a faint sound of bagpipes, worming their way into her with their siren call of her Scottish ancestors and all that crap. A chill, deeper than the wind warranted, skittered across her skin.

  God damn it.

  She tore her gaze away and frowned. Duncan swung off his pony and joined Iain at the river, their movements breaking the strange spell.

  “How far to Caitrina’s?”

  “ ’Tis only over that hill. We’ll be there shortly.”

  True to his word, they soon reached the heart of a modest farm. Traci eased off Fiddich and stumble-landed near Iain and Duncan and their mounts. They had a whole day of this? She rubbed her already sore butt. Their ponies’ breaths formed steamy puffs in the chill air, and Traci tugged her plaid wrap tighter around her shoulders.

  Iain brushed past, increasing her awareness of him. He gathered their ponies’ reins and looped them around a fence rail. “Caitrina should be up doing chores. Let us make this quick.”

  Traci followed behind as they advanced through the outer edges of the farm. This was a working farm, with no thought to such a concept as curb appeal, and so various buildings and equipment encircled the modest cottag
e where they made the most sense. Though chaotic, the farm was tidy. Efficient.

  And pungent. She pulled a corner of her plaid over her nose.

  Docile, hairy, black Highland cows, their eyes large and innocent, stared from a nearby paddock. Across the lane, a small enclosure contained several grunting pigs delighting in a mud bath.

  “Voices ahead,” Duncan called back. He waved to the stone building near the cows, and they stepped through its wide entrance.

  Traci shivered and rubbed her arms at the temperature drop. Nearby, two women milked a pair of cows, their rhythms creating an oddly soothing, alternating beat as frothy milk squirted into the pails.

  Duncan and Iain greeted them in Gaelic, and the older woman stood and wiped her hands on her apron.

  Iain leaned over and said in an undertone, “That there is Caitrina, and I’m about to introduce ye.” He chatted to Caitrina, and Traci’s name cropped up just before he draped an arm around her and squeezed her to his side. Probably just told her they were married, the imp.

  Traci gave him an arch look and stepped forward. “Greetings,” she said in Gaelic as they’d taught her and held out her hand. Caitrina startled at the offer of a handshake, but she grasped her hand firmly and shook. Before Caitrina released her grip though, she turned Traci’s hand and brought it closer. She said something in Gaelic.

  Traci raised an eyebrow at Iain.

  “She says yer ring is lovely.”

  Oh. “Tell her thank you.”

  As agreed, Duncan took up the negotiations so Iain could translate. They hoped to trade on future goods from their clan’s stores, but at that, she balked.

  “She doesn’t trust my uncle. Said he doesn’t treat his tenants well, and that’s why she moved here. And she won’t gift the supplies as she has the mouths of ten grandchildren to feed.”

  Duncan and Iain tried to charm the woman, but it was obvious she wouldn’t budge. Then Caitrina gestured to Traci and said something more, but both Duncan and Iain shook their heads, adamant.

  “What’s she saying?”