by Amy Jarecki
He turned to Emma. “Where is Farley?”
She shrugged. “On some important errand for the colonel, no doubt.”
Gesturing to the seat, he stood and folded his arms. “I must then swear you to secrecy,” he whispered.
Emma frowned at Charlotte, before she gave a single nod. Goodness, it was the first time the woman didn’t share her opinion with winded bravado. She looked from Hugh to Emma. He trusts her—and after the chiding she gave him this morn.
He kneeled before them and leaning forward, he rested his elbow on his knee. “I saw Robert Campbell of Glenlyon ride into Fort William.”
Gasping, Emma covered her mouth.
Hugh met the woman’s gaze, then grasped Charlotte’s hand. “Of all the Campbells, I trust him least.”
“The captain?” Charlotte asked. She didn’t know him well, but recalled the mention of his forthcoming arrival at supper last eve.
“Aye, if you can pin such a rank to a lush who dresses in a red coat and dons a grenadier hat, then captain.” He leaned forward. “I need to ken why he’s here, and moreover why there are so many more soldiers at the fort than a wee month past.”
Charlotte folded her hands in her lap. “Papa says they need to ride on more sorties to continue to keep the peace.”
“I hope to God you’re right.” Hugh looked to Emma.
The matron leaned forward. “There must be more to it than that. Even Farley said he’s never seen so many government troops assembled in one place.”
“War?” Hugh asked.
Emma spread her palms. “No one kens. Even the dragoons Farley is on friendly terms with haven’t a clue.”
Charlotte bit her bottom lip. She’d been at more than one meal where Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton and her father had exchanged heated stares. Hugh was right to be suspicious. “What do you need me to do?”
“Will you dine with the officers this eve?” Hugh asked.
“Yes, as is customary.”
“Then it shouldn’t be unusual for you to ask a few questions.” With Hugh’s beckoning fingers, everyone leaned in, until all three heads nearly touched. “Find out how long Glenlyon intends to be at Fort William, what are his plans—mayhap talk about how impressive his men looked when they rode in this morn. A bit of praise will make a man like that crow from the rafters.”
Charlotte squeezed Hugh’s hand. This was the first time any man had trusted her to do something other than to organize the evening’s menu. Her heart thrummed a squeamish rhythm. “’Tis almost like being a spy.”
Hugh straightened. “Are you comfortable with this? I would never ask you to do something against your will.”
Emma placed her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Please. ’Tis only a tiny bit of information, and it would help ease the tensions of the locals ever so much.”
Charlotte drew her hand to her mouth. Her maidservant supported the Highland cause. And why should she not? She was raised in the Highlands. Moreover, why couldn’t all Britons live together in harmony? Wasn’t that what King William and Queen Mary wanted? “You realize my father desires peace?”
Hugh nodded. “I believe he does.”
“Even after—” Charlotte turned away. She’d almost mentioned Hugh’s time in the pit in front of Emma. Curses, spying is complicated. “Let me just say not every officer in the fort agrees with Papa.”
Hugh stared at her with the darkest, most intense expression she’d ever seen. Oh yes, he could be deadly when provoked. “That’s what I fear most,” he growled.
“Apologies for the delay,” said the shopkeeper, pushing aside the red velvet curtains. “How can I help you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte sat stiff as a board in her new corset. Of course she couldn’t leave the shop without something and now she scarcely could eat for the suffocating tightness of new stays. True, her shortness of breath might also be caused by beastly jitters hopping around in her stomach. Why on earth was she so nervous? She’d been around soldiers and officers all her life, but Captain Campbell sitting across the table made her fingers tremble, and not in a good way.
From the moment he’d walked into the officer’s parlor, he stared at her with his steel-grey eyes. He reminded her of an executioner—cold and emotionless. And though he had a damning presence, he was a reasonably attractive man near the age of sixty. But more than his unsettling presence, he was loud. He swilled his wine as if it were ale, laughing and swatting the other men on their backs—behavior she expected within the ranks, not in the governor’s dining hall.
“Are you confiscating arms?” the captain asked.
Papa stopped mid-chew, as if the captain’s question didn’t sit well with him. “I haven’t seen the need to seize weapons since the battle of Dunkeld.”
“Perhaps we should start,” the captain continued. “It seems there is more plaid in Inverlochy since my last visit.”
“If you ask me, Jacobites shouldn’t even be allowed to carry a dagger,” said Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton from the other end of the table.
Papa leaned back in his chair, a glass of wine balanced between his fingers. “Even those who signed the oath?”
Captain Campbell snorted. “Och, the only reason the Jacobites pledged their fealty is because the James ordered it from France—word is Spain refused their support, and France is already embroiled in our war in Flanders.”
Beside her, Doctor Munro cut his meat with a surgeon’s precision. “Well, I say we should confiscate their arms. I’d sleep better at night for certain.” He leaned toward Charlotte. “I’d wager you would as well, Miss Hill.” At least he didn’t refer to her in the familiar in front of her father.
“But we have made so much progress.” Papa seemed to be the only sensible officer in the hall. “With our sorties into the Highlands, we’ve firmly entrenched our presence. The locals have grown accustomed to seeing us, and I believe by the resultant peace, we have made much headway toward avoiding the threat of civil war.”
Captain Campbell reached for a bottle of wine and refilled his glass—all the way to the top until it nearly overflowed. “Mayhap ’tis the calm before the storm.”
Charlotte watched the men’s faces—particularly the highest ranking officers. Papa shot a stern glare to the captain, who then turned his head and smirked at Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton. The sound of cutlery hitting plates ebbed while the room filled with tension that in no way was caused by Charlotte’s new corset.
Well, she’d had enough of listening to these men discus how they would benefit from confiscating the Highlander’s arms. Such an act would be akin to starving families to death, which was exactly why her father rarely resorted to it.
Dabbing the corners of her mouth, she cleared her throat and regarded the Highland chieftain dressed in the crown’s red-coated uniform. “Do your men refer to you as Captain Campbell or Glenlyon?”
The man set down his now half-empty glass and ruefully smiled at the colonel. “Och, the lassie can speak for herself, aye?”
“My daughter is well acquainted with the officer’s table, and the resultant gentlemanly conversation.” Papa smiled her way. He’d often said having a lady at the table kept even the most unruly officers in line without the need for a pistol in his belt.
The captain leaned back in his chair. “To answer Miss Hill’s question, my men address me as Glenlyon.”
“Most interesting.” She picked up her fork and rolled the handle between her fingers, noting Glenlyon hadn’t made use of his. “And how long will you be with us at Fort William, sir?”
He slapped his belly and belched. “On the morrow I’ll travel south to pay a visit to my niece afore heading home across Rannoch Moor.”
Her blasted stays clamped around Charlotte’s ribs, threatening to make her swoon. She rested her fork across her plate and pressed her palm on the table, willing her heart to resume a gentle rhythm. “Is Rannoch Moor the pass through Glencoe?”
“Och aye, the lassie kens a bit
about the Highlands does she?” Again Glenlyon posed his question to her father, rather than directly across the table.
“A bit,” she replied. Charlotte might be a tad shy, but loathed anyone who acted as if she were too daft to respond on her own volition. “So you’ll pass through MacIain lands, then?” she pressed, having been given the perfect opportunity to pursue the conversation further.
Captain Campbell gave her a long stare before he raised his glass. “My niece married Sandy MacIain. Thought I’d pay her a visit to ensure those thieves are treating her well.”
Charlotte feigned a yawn, tapping her fingers to her mouth while her heart raced. “Do you have any reason to believe they would not?”
Papa slapped the table, making all the wine glasses slosh. “Of course, Alasdair MacIain would not arrange a marriage for his son and then force the woman into slavery. Goodness, Charlotte, you’re questioning the man as if he were on the interrogation chair.”
She fanned her face. “Forgive me. I thought I was making light conversation.” Lord in heaven, she needed an excuse to leave. Hugh was right, Glenlyon is a snake, and the braggart plans to head directly to Glencoe. I must inform him straight away.
The captain drained his glass and looked to the others. “What say you? We retire to the drawing room for a pipe and some cards?” He glared at Charlotte. “Or do young ladies associate with the officers there as well?”
“Not unless you wish to hear Charlotte play her violin,” said Papa. “She’s quite good.”
“Oh no, you must excuse me.” She pushed her chair back. “I believe I am far too tired to serenade your game this eve.”
Chairs scraped across the floorboards as all the men stood—Glenlyon much more slowly than the others.
After a quick exchange of curtseys and bows, Charlotte hastened to her chamber and threw the door wide. “Emma! We must hurry.” She ran to the wardrobe and collected her cloak and muff.
“Good Lord, what’s happened now?”
“Glenlyon is heading to Glencoe. Says his niece is married to Hugh’s brother.”
“And you aim to warn him?”
Charlotte threw her mantle over her shoulders. “Of course I do. Would you have me sleep soundly while Glenlyon prepares his soldiers to ride?”
“Think about what it will look like if you hasten to a man who has let rooms in a guesthouse.” Emma caught Charlotte by the wrists. “Allow me to pass the word to Farley, he’ll deliver the message to Mr. MacIain this night.”
She stamped her foot. “But then I will not be able to see him.”
“Oh, Lord in heaven, do you have no regard for your reputation?”
“Please.” Charlotte shoved her hands into her muff. “I must speak to Mr. MacIain and if you will not accompany me, I will have no recourse but to go alone.”
“My word, what is it about that man? I say, Miss Charlotte, he brings out the lioness in your heart.” Emma bustled after her. “When I first took this position, I thought you the most mild-mannered Englishwoman I’d ever come across—frail like soft-paste porcelain.
Charlotte hastened down the passageway, straight for the servant’s stairs. “Well, now you know differently, do you not?”
***
Hugh sat with Farley at a table in the rear of the alehouse. He kept his back to the wall for two reasons, the first, he could see the door. But most importantly, no one could sneak up behind him. This being market Wednesday, the hall was noisier and rowdier than usual, but that made it easier to have a private conversation. Hugh glowered across the table. “We signed William’s bloody oath. So have the MacDonalds of Sleat, the Camerons of Lochiel, the MacDougalls, the Grants, and the bloody MacKenzies for Christ’s sake. Why the hell is the colonel building troops and what in God’s name is Glenlyon doing in Fort William? The bastard should be in Inveraray drinking the Earl of Argyll’s whisky. Hell, all the Campbells should gather in Argyll’s hall, drink him dry, and swindle each other at cards.”
Farley raised his tankard in toast. “Sláinte. Mayhap they’d slit each other’s throats while they’re at it.”
“Och aye, and then we’d send the redcoats home for good.”
“Too right.” Farley winked. “Except I doubt you’d want Colonel Hill to take his daughter back to London any time soon.”
Hugh took a long drink and slammed his tankard on the table. “Miss Hill will not be returning to London.”
“No?” The older man arched a thick eyebrow.
There was no use hiding his intentions. “I aim to ask the governor for her hand.”
“And if he refuses?”
Hugh tapped his fingers on his hilt. “I’ll marry her anyway.”
The old tracker leaned back and crossed his arms. “I thought you might say something like that.”
The noise in the alehouse suddenly softened to a low hum. Hugh looked past Farley to the door and his heart flew to his throat.
Bundled in a cloak with her hood pulled low over her forehead and clinging to Mrs. MacGregor’s arm, Charlotte peered directly at him.
Hugh stood and grinned. “We’ve visitors of the female variety.”
“What the blazes?” Farley twisted in his seat.
As the crowd resumed its banter, Hugh hastened toward the women. “Your news must be grave for you to leave the fort at this hour.” He snapped open his pocket watch. “You haven’t much time before half past seven.”
“I told her the same,” said Emma, wringing her hands.
Charlotte pulled a hand out of her muff and shook her finger. “If I speak to the Officer of the Watch after curfew, he’ll let me in. Goodness, he’d be thrown in the stocks if he did not.” She grasped Hugh’s hand. “I’ve much to tell you.”
He glanced at the rowdy crowd. Hell, a brawl could erupt at any moment. “This is no place for a lady. Please allow me to escort you back to the fort. You can relay your news along the way. I imagine your father will want to know the reason for your absence should you miss curfew, and it wouldn’t be wise to upset the colonel—yet.”
When Hugh heard the news about Glenlyon’s upcoming visit to Glencoe, he considered barreling inside the fort to confront the bastard. A Campbell never set foot on MacIain lands without intention to raid.
With Charlotte’s hands again tucked inside her muff, Hugh took her elbow and walked on the outside of the footpath to keep her from being splattered with slush from the passing horses. “He plans to pay a visit to his niece—Sarah?” Hugh should have bloody known Sarah was related to Glenlyon. “Did he say anything else about why he’d ride into Glencoe in the midst of winter?”
Charlotte glanced up at him. Lord, she could make his heart melt even in the midst of mayhem. “All he said was that he planned to head home after, via the route of Rannoch Moor.” The corners of her petite mouth drew down into a cringe. “I wish I would have been able to ask more questions, but Papa stopped me. Would it be possible for his regiment to make the crossing in the thick of winter?”
“Perhaps—weather permitting. ’Tis the most direct path, though it can be treacherous this time of year.” Something didn’t sit right with him. “Was there any discussion of planned hostility?”
“Father tries to keep the conversation light during the evening meal, but…” Charlotte looked skyward with a sigh.
“Yes?”
“Honestly, you know how soldiers act—always saying vulgar things they don’t mean.”
“They expand upon the truth?” He chuckled.
“Exactly. The officers jested about seizing arms.”
Hugh didn’t like the sound of that even if the men had been posturing. “Do you think they’ll do it?”
“Papa dismissed their banter, thank goodness. Perhaps some believe the king should enforce such a measure as he has done with the Irish Jacobites, though Father firmly believes such stringent discipline is not necessary in Scotland. Moreover, he talked about how peaceful things were with so many chieftains coming forward and pledging fealty to the kin
g.”
Hugh stopped in front of a large puddle and held out his arms with a bow. “May I carry you across, m’lady?”
She glanced down at her hem, though she wouldn’t have been able to see it for the darkness. “Why thank you, sir.” She giggled as he lifted her. “I imagine my gown is already soiled.”
“No sense in making it worse when I am here to provide assistance.” Feather light in his arms, Hugh would carry Charlotte all the way to the fort if it were proper. Sighing, he set her down on the other side and resumed his questioning, “Could there be orders from London? Do you know why the number of troops has increased?”
“There are always orders coming—and there is always secrecy. Although…” Her voice trailed off.
“Yes?”
“There may have been more shifts of the eye at the supper table this eve.”
Hell, he couldn’t take that tidbit of news back to Da. He’d be laughed out of the Coe. “What do you mean?”
“The officers always do it. One says something and a pair of others carry on the thought with subtle arches of their brows—that sort of thing.” Charlotte’s shoulders shook with a wee shudder. “I hate it when they do that. It makes me think they’re keeping secrets.”
“I’ve no doubt they are. ’Tis the way of the army.” Hugh could no longer restrain himself from asking, “Have you perchance read any of the missives coming from London—or Edinburgh?”
She stopped, raising the muff up to cover her mouth. “Oh no, Papa never discusses army business with me, let alone show me his correspondence. I do believe he’s the most secretive of the lot—he even keeps his letters locked in a strongbox.”
Hugh snapped his fingers. “I would assume no less. I’m certain he receives a great many confidential missives, many of which are not intended for public scrutiny.”
With the stone walls of the fort nearing, Hugh led Charlotte off the path into the shadows of a sycamore tree where the snow wasn’t too deep. “I fear I must cut my visit short and return home afore Captain Campbell arrives.” He toyed with the collar of her cloak—if only he could take her with him, but such a cavalier move would bring the redcoats on Glencoe like flies to rotten meat. Rubbing his hand along her shoulder, he pulled her into his body. Mercy, she was shivering with the cold. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down her back, he inhaled sweetness and roses. “I must thank you for all you have risked to bring me this news.”