Ghosts of Culloden Moor 13 - Kennedy

by LL Muir

  A Jezebel?

  Definitely not. She seemed genuinely innocent.

  A fairy?

  No!

  A witch?

  He doubted witches were offended by the accusation. Flattered, more likely.

  Could she then be who she claimed to be? The sister of a young lad who had run off to war too young?

  Surely not. If she were in such pursuit, why would she be so willing to turn around to lead Gerard west again, to fix him a fine meal and tell him the whole of her tale? He was back to the start again, wondering what the lass’s secrets were, and how he would entice her to reveal them.

  “I don’t suppose,” he said, finally breaking the silence, “that you would consider telling me this long story of yours if we simply walked a bit slower?”

  She laughed and he was delighted she could easily do so.

  “In truth, Mr. Ross, my hesitation comes not from my lack of stamina, but yours.”

  He nearly tripped but caught himself, then laughed at the irony of her questioning his ability to stay on his feet. “A coincidence, only,” he assured her.

  She understood and laughed again.

  “I have a friend who lives just across the firth,” he said. “If ye have no other arrangements, we can stop there. We can tuck in some supper and ye can tell me this story.”

  The offer cheered the lass and she willingly quickened her pace, which only made him wonder all the more. However, the plan fomenting in his mind made her secrets irrelevant. For once they reached Jean-Yves’ home, he would make certain the lass was safely confined before he left her behind.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nessa was pleased with the way things were working to her advantage.

  It had been foolish, truly, to pretend to have fainted when Ross had refused to go east. And when he showed her how vulnerable she’d been… The thought sent chills up her spine and into her hair and she shivered. Though Ross had implied both man and beast would find her and take advantage of the situation, she was certain he’d been much more worried about the two-legged kind. As was she, now.

  But that foolishness was behind them, and even if he’d refused to travel west, her intention to keep him from Culloden was still intact. All she needed to do, once they arrived at his friend’s home, was to keep him there until mid-day on the morrow. By then, word will have spread about the massacre and he could spend his afternoon hiding from Hanoverians instead of lying in a bog of mud and blood and waiting to rise again, with the sun, to become one of the 79.

  She could hardly wait to cross the firth!

  She was also eager to get the man in a room and hold him hostage there. It would give her a chance to make up for nearly two hundred seventy years of avoiding his notice. And if there was one good thing that had come from tying up her brother in the barn it was that she now knew to take much more care with her knots…

  ~

  All the way to the coast, Nessa and her handsome Highlander played a game.

  For long stretches at a time, they said nothing at all. Then, all at once, he would offer a comment designed to ferret out her secrets. She would take a moment to consider a careful response, then they’d laugh. It was very much like dancing. And the more they played, the more they smiled at one another. And the more they smiled at one another, the more anxious she was to change his history.

  “Ye still mean to drag yer brother home again? Or is it a cousin?”

  She shrugged. “I have both brothers and cousins, sir.”

  He frowned, unsatisfied. “Do you believe Prince Charlie to be as bonny as they say?”

  “I’ve never seen the man.”

  “What does your mother think of you running off alone?”

  “My mother thinks nothing of it.”

  That surprised him. “She doesn’t know? Did you leave a misleading letter?”

  “My mother is lying peacefully in her grave,” she said. “At least, I hope she is peaceful.”

  “I am sorry, lass.” He caught her swinging hand and gave it a squeeze. Then he didn’t release it again.

  She pretended not to notice.

  “And your father?”

  “Yes,” she smiled. “I have a father. No, he will not skelp me for leaving home.”

  “And yer home is Dingwall, ye say?”

  “Recently, yes. And I was raised there.” Let him unravel that.

  “So ye’ve returned recently. From whence?”

  “From…” Dare she say it? “From Culloden.”

  He frowned and rolled the word around on his tongue a few times. “Culloden. Culloden.”

  “Northeast of Inverness.”

  He nodded, still deep in thought. “Are ye married then?” Their hands ceased swinging, but he had yet to let go.

  “Nay. I’ve never married.”

  “Yet to marry, ye mean.” He gave her a wink.

  She shrugged. There was no use arguing with the man. It would reveal too much.

  “Ah hah! I just now remembered what ye said to those blackguards, that ye didna expect to live much longer. What could ye have meant, I wonder.” He studied her carefully.

  She’d forgotten she’d said it. “That is part of my long tale.”

  He stopped and pulled her closer, then took hold of her other hand as well. “Deny it, lass. Deny it now.”

  She laughed to dispel his worry, but it didn’t work. He still frowned.

  She tried again. “I was in a spot, wasn’t I? Three men, and me with two blades. I had to frighten them somehow. And nothing is more frightening than someone with nothing to lose, aye?”

  He looked back and forth, searching her eyes, then finally relented. “I suppose. But what has that to do with yer tale?”

  She shook her second hand free and started walking again. “Dinna worry. I’ll find a way to weave it in.”

  His head turned sharply, then he barked with laughter. He swung her around to face him a second time and stepped close. She continued walking backward while he stalked her, grinning. Then he stepped on the tip of her boot, intentionally, and caught her before she fell back. Their chilled faces were stiff with cold and she was sure her nose and ears were tipped with pink just as his were. But for a moment, the heat rising from their bodies mingled and created a warm cloud.

  The way his head dipped toward her seemed the most natural thing in the world—as did the way her head tilted to the side so their noses didn’t collide. His lips were warm enough to thaw her own and they stayed there, pressed against hers, reminding her what it meant to be alive, warm, and connected to another mortal.

  He kissed her over and over again—always gentle, always warm—until she lost track of how much time had passed. In fact, she lost track of all kinds of things.

  He pulled back and gave her a wink. “Forgive me, Assa. I know not what came over me.”

  She smiled and wrinkled her nose, already missing his heat. “Forgiven.”

  This time, when they set out again, he stuffed both his hands in his pockets. So she wrapped her scarf around her face and pulled her hood forward to hide any hint of disappointment. She then slipped her hands in her pockets as well.

  A long, quiet hour passed before the smell of the North Sea seeped through her scarf. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the point. When they walked out onto the dock, Gerard did the strangest thing—he looked behind them as if he expected someone to be following. After a brief glance at her, he took her hand again and led her to the large boat waiting to ferry two dozen souls across the firth to Inverness.

  “The Kessock Ferry,” he said. “Lucky we’re crossing so late in the day. Otherwise we’d need to fight the pigs for space.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Gerard worked his way toward the bow of the large boat and dragged his companion along behind.

  Companion. And a female companion at that.

  Now that he was holding her hand again, flesh to flesh at it were, he was back to experiencing those strange emotions. They’d been so overpoweri
ng on the road, he’d stuffed his hands into his pockets on the pretense of keeping them warm. But in truth, he’d needed to step away from the strange spell cast over him by the feel of her.

  Like a hungry man who’d over-fed himself at a grand feast, he’d needed time to let his innards settle. When they reached Kessock, however, he’d been struck by an urgent need to keep the lass close so she didn’t slip away from him.

  A damned nuisance, that. After all, it was he who planned to slip away from her once they reached Jean-Yves’ home. And if he they did much more touching, he would have a difficult time walking away.

  There was no question—he would rejoin the prince’s forces wherever they were gathering. The only uncertainty was how painful it might be to leave the lass behind.

  He supposed, when it was over—perhaps in the fall—he would go to Dingwall and see if she’d told the truth. Or perhaps he would search near Culloden. But he didn’t waste time denying that he would, indeed, look for her again.

  When he found her, though, would she forgive him?

  She was a stubborn lass to be sure. And weren’t stubborn lasses more likely to hold their grudges with tight fists?

  Perhaps I need to plant a few seeds of forgiveness in her mind now…

  They faced the specter of Inverness looming beyond the fog. Jammed tightly between other travelers, their shoulders pressed together, it was an easy thing to turn and force her to face him.

  “Assa.”

  Her brows puckered for a heartbeat, then smoothed, as if she hadn’t recognized her name. “Yes?”

  “Ye were quick to forgive me…back on the road.”

  She frowned again. “Forgive ye?”

  “Aye.” And before she had time to guess what he was about, he lowered his head to hers and nudged her chin up with a gentle touch. If she was surprised by his kiss, he couldn’t tell, for his own eyes closed in anticipation of another sweet embrace. “Lovely,” he whispered against her lips and pressed in again. A gentle touch of her hand on his chest was half-hearted at best—more like she leaned into him for support. But when she did push away in earnest, he stepped back.

  “Forgive me?”

  She pulled a deep breath into her lungs and finally smiled. “What, again?”

  He laughed at her teasing. “Aye, again.”

  She forced a frown and failed to appear stern, but he played along.

  “I think it would be foolish of me to forgive ye so quickly this time. I wouldn’t want ye spoilt.”

  Just as long as ye want me, he said in his mind. Aloud, he said, “Very well. Hold onto yer forgiveness until I ask for it again, aye?”

  She laughed. “Like a pebble in my pocket?”

  “Aye.” He searched her golden brown eyes but found no hint of suspicion. “Like a pebble in yer pocket.” Then he remembered! “In fact…” He unlatched his sporran pulled a small white pebble he’d been carrying with him, for luck, since the last time he’d walked along the beach of Rosemarkie. He’d seen the translucent white stone just before he spotted two whales in the bay and deemed it a talisman. “Here ye are,” he said, and pressed the stone into her open palm. “For good fortune.”

  Her admiration for the pretty pebble was brief, and she tried to give it back. “I will not take yer luck, Gerard Ross.”

  Chills raced up and down his spine at the sound of his name on her tongue once again. He pushed her hand away and touched his lips. “I’ve got fresh luck now, lassie. Dinna fash over me.”

  Eventually, she nodded and slipped the pebble into her coat pocket, then patted it. “A pebble of forgiveness then, until ye ask to have it back.”

  He tapped her on the nose instead of kissing her again, like he was tempted to do. “Nay, lass. Not a pebble of forgiveness. A pocketful. I’m sure I’ll need at least that.”

  Her smile was a good sign that she’d mistaken his meaning, as he’d intended. Hopefully, she thought he planned a generous number of kisses to warrant that much forgiveness—instead of the blanket of absolution he would later need…for leaving her captive at Jean-Yves’ home.

  ~

  Unfortunately, Jean-Yves was not at home, and neither were his servants.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The golden brown cobblestone streets of Inverness appeared new and shiny in the incessant spring rain. The slope leading up from the quay to the center of town was wet, but the stones gripped their boots and their footing was sure. But just in case, Nessa held tight to Gerard’s arm. His free hand gripped the end of his plaid over the top of his capped head and shoulders. Her own cloak was protection enough for her.

  A turn to the right and another slope led up to the castle. The rain and wind made it inconvenient to converse, so Nessa didn’t bother asking where his friend lived. She only knew that they were headed away from Culloden for the moment, and for the moment, that was enough to change their very stars.

  That other her had faded from her kitchen, and for all Nessa knew, from the world as well. So, if she were the only Nessa Kennedy walking about, then there would be no Nessa Kennedy on Culloden’s Moor tomorrow, and she was glad she wouldn’t be there to witness the hopeless, hapless debacle. All she had to do was keep her feet, and Gerard’s, firmly planted in the city.

  They hurried up the hill and without so much as a glance at the red stone castle as they passed, Ross urged her on. They’d not gone more than a hundred steps further than the castle wall when they passed a massive stone wall on the left. Gerard paused at a gate in the center of it, a gate Nessa would have passed and never noticed.

  A small plate was attached to the iron bars in the middle. Dunvegan.

  After Gerard turned a handle and lifted the gate slightly, it swung open. He acted nonchalant, but she was close enough to note the nervous flash of his eyes as he gave the street one last glance. He then took a hold of her elbow and helped her up a flight of stone steps that brought them out into a small courtyard filled with flowers. Though it was still cold in April, some of the blue and yellow blossoms had already begun to bloom.

  They strolled along the front of the house that faced the street far below. He knocked lightly on a door set back in the center. But there was no cover, so they stayed beneath the drape of plaid and hood while they waited for someone to allow them inside.

  No one answered.

  Gerard used the knocker. The heavy metal on metal rang through the splash of the rain like three gunshots, and he worried his lip with his teeth. After a long moment more, he finally gave up hope.

  “Come.” He led her around to the side of the house where they looked through the large French windows of the dining room. No fire. No lanterns. Only the natural light of the gloomy afternoon made it possible to see the furniture. “Everything looks in order,” he murmured.

  She kept quiet and tried not to add to his worry while he led her around to the back of the house and another set of steps that led up to the next plateau of the hillside. A modest but well-kept barn stood at the back of the rise. Gerard forced a sedate pace while they walked through the yard to the small door at the side, like he suspected someone watched.

  She held her breath when he reached for the handle. Then let it out in a rush when the door swung open with ease. Finally, they were able to step inside.

  Fresh straw covered the floor but it was soon soiled with mud from their shoes and rain dripping from their clothes. Gerard pulled his excess of plaid off to the side and twisted it. The wool relinquished a goodly amount of rain before he spread it out again and draped it over his shoulders. She could have watched him move all day.

  “Someone is tending to the animals, at least,” he said.

  “Auch, aye. That would be me.” A bit of straw rained down from the loft and a voice along with it. A sober face leaned over the edge. “Mister Ross?”

  “Aye. Mullens, is it?”

  The man’s face lit. “Aye, it is.” He chucked a rake to the ground and hurried down the ladder. He stretched out his hand to Gerard while tipping hi
s cap to her. “Miss.” He shook his head. “Jean-Yves is gone, I’m afraid.”

  They’d come to see a Frenchman?

  Gerard stiffened beside her. “Gone?”

  “His brother has been arrested in France—or so he was told. Though he suspects it was a ruse to get him out of the Highlands, he had no choice but to see for himself, aye? Took some servants with him. Sent the rest away. ‘Tis no time to be in Inverness if’n there is no need.”

  Nessa doubted her warrior was aware of it, but he squeezed her hand, his only outward show of just how upset he was by the news.

  Mullens removed his cap and looked anxiously at her. “Paddy Mullens at yer service.”

  Gerard nodded. “This is Assa…”

  She didn’t fall for it, didn’t offer her last name. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Mullens.”

  The small man hadn’t missed the omission either, but he nodded and let it go. Gerard, on the other hand, frowned at her. But her reasons for keeping her name a secret hadn’t changed. As soon as she could get him restrained, somehow, she would be free to tell him whatever he wished to know. Until then, he could frown until the Highland coos came home.

  The idea of tying him up and having him at her mercy did strange things to her insides. And that feeling of butterflies winging around in her stomach turned into a loud, rather sharp growl.

  The men looked at her middle, then at her face, and laughed quietly.

  “I’ve the key to the house,” said Mullens. “No doubt there is a morsel or two in the larder. And I’m happy to clean a chicken for ye.”

  ~

  Jean-Yves’ home was an elegant but small manor situated high above the street. There was little to the front garden—perhaps only five feet in total from the façade of the house to the wrought iron fence that topped the high stone wall holding the hill in place. On the side opposite the flower garden and fruit trees, there were only two feet between the house and the wall, and a sheer drop of nearly thirty feet to the small alley below.

  The height, however, afforded a breathtaking view from the upper floor windows. Three large bedrooms, a bathing chamber, and a privy closet filled that space, along with a small stairway that presumably led to maid’s quarters in the attic.