Catherine’s smile vanished. “You heard about Lieutenant Goodwin?”
“Heard about him? You thought you were the gossips’ delight following your marriage to the elusive Raefer Montgomery? It is a wonder your ears have not been singed to nubs even at this distance. What the deuce happened?”
“It was self-defense. We had no choice.”
“We?”
“Deirdre and I. We were alone in the house, and … and …” Her eyes burned with the remembered horror, and Damien did not need to see the warning look on Alexander’s face to quickly change the subject.
“Not only did I arrive at Rosewood Hall to find my sister had vacated the premises, but did you know, Mother has fled to greener pastures? Taken it into her head to abscond with a chap by the name of—”
“Lovat-Spence.” Catherine nodded. “Yes. I know. We spoke together before she left, and she seems content with the decision. She probably should have done it long ago, if you ask me, but I gave her both our blessings and told her I would explain everything to you when I saw you.”
Damien’s look of incredulity deepened. “Either the air is thinner here in the mountains and my mind has been affected, or you and I are in dire need of a long, uninterrupted conversation.”
“Your mind has been affected for years, brother mine,” she said mockingly, and slipped her hand into his. “But I shall attempt to straighten it out for you … assuming you are free to join Deirdre and me in our little cart. It’s not exactly a coach-and-four, but it’s cozy. Alex?”
“By all means, spend as much time as you like together—” A solemn gleam in the indigo eyes confirmed a private conversation between the two of them later. “We haven’t anything more troublesome than a mountain pass to conquer today.”
Catherine ran back and gave him a quick hug, “Thank you for the wonderful surprise.”
“You’re quite welcome. I’ll collect my reward later.”
“Indeed you will,” she promised huskily.
Alex watched them walk away, hand in hand, following a path worn in the rutted snow and frozen peaks of mud.
“Where the hell did you find him?” Aluinn asked casually and moved forward to stand at Cameron’s side.
“A better question might be, how the hell did he find us?”
Startled, Aluinn glanced over, but there was no hint of what was lying behind the question—curiosity, or suspicion.
An hour later Aluinn and Alex were still studying the maps Colonel Anne Moy had provided. The topmost one was a diagram of the city of Inverness, complete with roads feeding in and out of the town, the location of bridges and rivers, rough estimates of distances between local landmarks: Fort George, Culloden House, Moy Hall.
“Culloden House,” Alex mused. “I don’t imagine we will find the Lord President in residence when we get there.”
“Colonel Anne seems to think Duncan Forbes would be feeling a good deal safer behind the battlements of Fort George. Loudoun is holed up there already with about two thousand troops, armed and supplied for a siege.”
“A siege?” Alex snorted. “We can only hope that by failing to take Stirling Castle after three weeks of useless and pointless stalemate, the prince has learned his lesson.”
“Aye, and hopefully he’ll not be so quick to trust O’Sullivan with bombarding anything bigger than a beehive.”
“Lord George seems to think our regent was simply testing his powers of command. Hell of a way to do it: throw away a potential rout at Falkirk, then waste time, manpower, and ammunition trying to assault a fortification that could hold out against them for a hundred years, if it had to. Conversely, he thinks nothing of leaving a handful of men to hold off the entire might of Cumberland’s army.”
Alex did not bother to check the bitterness in his voice, nor was Aluinn surprised to hear it. They had received word only the night before that the men they had left behind to hold the garrison at Carlisle had finally signed a capitulation, after holding out against the government forces for nine days. From the two officers who had escaped to carry the news, it was learned the entire contingent of prisoners had been thrown in chains and were slated for execution. Four dragoons who had deserted to the prince after Prestonpans and who had volunteered to join the Manchester Regiment had been hanged on the spot, cut down while still alive, their bellies and joints slit open, and their bodies torn into quarters, by way of an example of Cumberland’s policy toward traitors.
“We should reach Invernesshire sometime in the next two days, weather permitting,” Alex said. “We will have to take the city if we are to have any hope of holding on to the Highlands over winter. We need the food and supplies in her warehouses and we need to keep at least one damned port open on the off chance a ship from France manages to break through the Royal Navy’s blockade. If only we had retaken Edinburgh …”
“It is the ‘if onlys’ of the world that choke a man to death,” Aluinn declared sagely. “If only we had done this instead of that; if only we had gone here instead of there; if only I had married ten years ago, I would have been a happy man ten years sooner.”
“That isn’t what you thought ten years ago. And certainly not what I ever thought I would hear you say, old friend.”
“Oh? The voice of wisdom and experience, is it? You were so eager for wedding vows yourself?”
“God, no. But at least I wasn’t falling in love every five minutes, either—or thinking I was in love.”
“I like to look back on it as … preparatory research. Nothing at all like the real thing, of course, but a more pleasant way to spend the evenings than glowering at shadows. Not as shocking to the equilibrium to give up either.”
“Are you, in your inimitable fashion, making a point here?”
“Heavens, no. You appear to have made the transition from rake to respectability without a hitch, as far as I can see. Far better than I might have predicted. You might even excel at it, given a few years of country living.”
The dark sapphire eyes searched for an explanation for the poorly concealed smile on MacKail’s face and came away frowning.
“What in blazes were you and Catherine talking about?”
“Oh … the weather, her health.” “Her health? Is there something the matter with her health?”
“Not a thing. I just thought she looked rather glowing these days and decided to mention it to her. A nice change from the way she looked when she first joined us, don’t you agree?”
Alex straightened slowly. He still felt the muscles in his belly constrict whenever he thought of what Catherine— and Deirdre—had suffered at the hands of the British. The bruises had taken weeks to fade, the haunted look in her eyes, almost as long.
“You should try complimenting her now and then,” Aluinn suggested blithely. “Tell her she looks as good in men’s breeches as she ever did in a Paris gown—not that she wouldn’t look good in a burlap feedsack if she chose to wear one—but you would be amazed at the small things that twig in a woman’s mind. And that, good friend, is the voice of experience.” He leaned over and began collecting up the maps. “Now, shall we join the others, or should we wait until they collapse the tent over our heads?”
MacKail adjusted the woolen scarf he wore around his neck and led the way out of the tent, grimacing as he looked up into the graying sky. There would be more snow before the day progressed much further—good news, insofar as it meant Cumberland would be locked in at Edinburgh; bad news for the men, who had to march through the blowing, drifting white stuff.
The two men had not walked very far in the direction of their waiting horses when their attention was drawn to a group of approaching riders. In their lead, sitting proudly astride an enormous dappled gray gelding, was Lady Anne Moy, Colonel Anne of the Clan Chattan regiment. Her husband Angus was The MacKintosh, chief to the clan of that name as well as to the dozens of small clans that had amalgamated to form the powerful Clan of the Cats. Unfortunately, with The MacKintosh serving under Lord Loudoun’s High
land regiments, and Lady Anne pledging her support to Prince Charles, the power of Clan Chattan was greatly reduced. What might well have been a contingent of over two thousand men, united behind the single standard of the Cats, was reduced to less than four hundred.
As much courage as it had taken for Lady Anne to go against her husband’s orders, it would take a great deal more, should she ever find herself facing her husband and clansmen across a battlefield.
“Ahh, MacKail,” she said, greeting the men with a smile and a wave. “Alasdair. I hope the maps prove to be of some use.”
“They are excellent, thank you.”
Colonel Anne was neither beautiful in the classic sense of the word nor delicate—two qualities considered essential in women of the aristocracy. She was tall and statuesque, with the steely, long-limbed grace of a Highland lass raised among the heathery moors and wild mountains. She met a man’s gaze directly and openly scorned any attempts to patronize her gender; only twenty years of age, she had personally ridden from clan to clan, eliciting support for Prince Charles, falling only three signatures short of the one hundred required by clan law to lead the men into battle herself. As honorary colonel, she had chosen John Alexander MacGillivray for her captain, an equally rawboned, intelligent, and articulate leader. They were usually together, to the delight of the rumormongers, and this morning was no exception.
“MacGillivray,” Alex said, extending his hand to the laird as he and Lady Anne dismounted. “You managed to sober up, I see?”
“Ach, I’ll have tae have a wee talk with yer brither,” MacGillivray replied, wincing through a handsome grin. “I ken his stillman must be doin’ somethin’ mines is na. Powerful stuff, that. Medicinal, Archie calls it? More like poison f’ae what disna ail ye.”
Lady Anne laughed, a delightful sound in the crisp, clear mountain air. “We’ll be riding on ahead, Cameron of Loch Eil. The prince has accepted ma offer to lodge at Moy Hall until the rest of the army arrives in Inverness. Ye shouldna be more than a day or two behind us, and by then MacGillivray will know how things stand in the city—assuming he sobers enough to see straight.”
“You will take no initiative on your own, I trust,” Alex cautioned. “The MacLeods and the Grants have reinforced Lord Loudoun’s troops, and they will have had plenty of warning about our approach.”
“MacLeod.” She spat derisively. “I carina believe ma own husband would keep company with a soft-gutted traitor like MacLeod. Mind, I still carina believe Angus would ever raise a sword against Bonnie Prince Charlie, so there ye go. It’s fair justice we fill Moy Hall with good, honest Jacobites. Ye’ll both be joining us with yer wives? Ye ken ye canna keep a proper lady from a soft bed and a hot bath too long, or she starts to look like me.”
“I could think of worse fates,” Alex said admiringly, earning a blush and a self-conscious laugh from Anne Moy. Her glance was directed sidelong at John MacGillivray, and Alex could not help but share the speculation as to whether their relationship had progressed further than the chart tables.
Sensing the moment had gone on too long, Lady Anne strode back to her horse and, refusing any assistance, swung herself up into the saddle. “We’ll bid ye godspeed, then; a fair wind at yer backs and safe passage through the corries.”
“Godspeed,” Alex replied, standing to the side of the path as the group of clansmen filed past. He watched them weave their way around a pair of carts and start a slow canter toward the deep, icy fissures that carved a pass through two looming mountain walls. Within minutes, even the brilliant splashes of color from their tartans would be cloaked and dulled by shadows, their heads would be tilted forward into the whistling wind, and their smiles frozen into determined slashes.
Turning back to scan the tiny, sheltered glen they had camped in overnight, Alex noted with satisfaction that most of the tents had been struck, the carts of provisions loaded and rumbling single file toward the mouth of the pass. The prince’s tent, marked by the red-and-white silk standard, was still standing, but the regent’s horse and guardsmen were gone, indicating he had left with an earlier contingent.
A tiny dot of movement on the opposite slope of the glen caught Alex’s eyes, and he squinted against the glare of the snow to identify it. The dot appeared to be a single cart, led by one mounted rider in front and flanked by three more in the rear. A heavily bearded clansman held the reins of the plodding horse, and beside him sat a lone passenger, swathed in folds of tartan.
As they cleared a ridge of shadow and descended into what passed for brighter daylight, the passenger—sensing they were under observation—reached up and loosened the shawl covering her head. Seeing the unveiled froth of bright red hair, Alex’s black brows crooked upward.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Look what else the wind has brought us.”
Alexander, Aluinn MacKail, and Struan MacSorley were all standing in the cart’s path as it drew to a rattling halt in the basin of the glen. Lauren Cameron’s face was pink and wind-chafed, her eyes downcast and apprehensive as she waited for a reaction from the ominous reception line.
When none seemed to be forthcoming, she shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden slat that served as a seat and raised her thick auburn lashes.
“Is there n’ae one O’ ye even willin’ tae offer a hello? Four days an’ nights I’ve been on the road tryin’ tae catch up wi’ ye, an’ naught but a lick or two O’ melted snow an’ a bite O’ dry biscuit have I had since leavin’ Auld Reekie.”
His arms crossed over his chest, Alex stood, legs braced wide apart, raven hair blown forward against his cheeks and throat, giving a very good impression of a warlord of doom.
“I suppose the pertinent question here might be why,” he said casually. “Why did you leave Edinburgh at all?”
Lauren blinked at the harshness in his voice, and two splotches of red flowed up into her cheeks. Aluinn MacKail’s demeanor was hardly less reassuring, and it was with genuine desperation she directed her appeal to the stalwart Struan MacSorley.
“I were wrong. I admit it freely, Struan. I thought … I thought I could go back home an’ find everything the way it was when I left … but I were wrong. The people were cold an’ cruel. They laughed at the way I dressed, the way I spoke, the … the way I looked. Oh, there were jobs aplenny f’ae lassies what came tae the city an’ were willin’ tae make their coin on their backs. There were rooms, too, an’ taverns filled wi’ sojers only too happy tae offer their protection … f’ae a night or two … till they had what they wanted an’ grew bored wi’ it. Well, I’m no’ a whore, Struan MacSorley. Aye, I take pleasure in life an’ aye, in the pleasurable things life has tae offer, but I’m nae whore.” She stopped and bit the fleshy pulp of her lip. “I wouldna blame ye f’ae holdin’ yer anger, Struan. ‘Twas a surly thing I done, creepin’ away in the middle O’ the night, turnin’ ma back on ma friends, ma family, ma clan.” She bowed her head and the glistening swell of a teardrop rolled slowly down her cheek and dropped onto her tightly clasped hands. “But I’m sorry f’ae it now, an’ I want tae come home.”
“You came alone?” Aluinn asked, noting the accompanying clansmen and identifying them from a patrol he had sent out during the night.
“Aye, alone. Fast as I could too—see?” She held out her red and weather-cracked hands for their inspection. “It were all I could dae tae steal this miserable garron an’ cart, let alone find someone tae fetch me. But it didna matter. Naught mattered, as long as I could catch up wi’ ye.”
A small red hand was dashed across a cheek, smearing tears and grime together. Alex and Aluinn exchanged a glance, but MacSorley’s eyes had not wavered from Lauren Cameron.
“If ye dinna think ye can find it in yer hearts tae forgive me, I’ll understand,” she continued in a whisper. “Truly, I will. But … if ye can, if ye dae”—She looked up and fastened huge, gleaming gold eyes on MacSorley—“I’ll work twice as hard as anyone else in camp. I’ll cook, an’ scrub claythes, an’ dae the meanest chores ye can find
wi’out a word O’ complaint. I swear I will. I swear it by ma own poor mam’s deid soul.”
MacSorley approached the cart. “Ye’ll have tae speak wi’ Lochiel. It’s his decision whether ye stay or whether ye go.”
“Aye. Aye, I ken that, Struan.”
His hazel eyes narrowed piercingly. “It might go easier on ye if ye had someone willin’ tae stand by yer side; someone willin’ tae take charge O’ ye an’ see that ye behave yersel’ this time.”
“Are … are ye offerin’ tae dae that f’ae me, Struan?”
“I dinna need a scrubwoman or a cook,” he said bluntly. Seeing her blanch under his stare, he relented somewhat and twitched his beard into a crooked smile. “If I take ye back, it’ll be as ma wife.”
“Yer … wife?” She gasped.
“Aye. An’ as ma wife, ye’ll keep yer eyes straight an’ yer skirts down, or ye’ll feel the flat O’ ma hand, hard an’ often, make nae mistake. As yer husban’, I’ll see ye never want f’ae aught; I’ll keep yer belly full an’ yer thighs warm, an’ I’ll kill any man wha’ disna treat ye wi’ the proper respect due a MacSorley.”
“I dinna desairve it, Struan,” she murmured, taken aback by the offer.
“No. Ye dinna.” He snorted. “But ye dinna have much choice either. Take it or leave it, lass; I’ll play the fool only once.”
Lauren saw the looks on the faces of the other two men and nodded quickly. “Aye, Struan, it’s a handsome offer an’ I take it gladly. What’s more, I promise ye’ll never regret it. Ye’ll never even have tae raise yer voice tae me. Never!”
“Enough said then.” He stretched up his massive arms and grasped her about the waist, swinging her effortlessly out of the cart. He did not set her on the ground at once, but held her so that her tearstained face was level with his. Emitting a small, strangled cry, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him, her lips seemingly as starved for affection as they were for forgiveness.
Struan appeared similarly eager to impart both, but as Alexander watched the impassioned reunion, he could not quite shake the feeling that something was not right. His dark eyes queried MacKail’s, but Aluinn could only offer a noncommittal shrug.
The Blood of Roses Page 31