The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  The clansmen and women ignored her, mostly. Hugh did, too, during the daylight hours. At night she’d sit beside him as they told stories around the fire in the main cottage. Hugh spoke of times of old, of their clan’s roots and Highland pride. And though the initial shock of what had happened to them had ebbed, there was never any laughter. The people sat quietly staring into the fire with hopelessness in their eyes, and Charlotte couldn’t do a blasted thing to help them.

  To add to her frustration, every night she lay beside her man, his body spooning hers for warmth—spooning, but not really touching. The epitome of frustration. Since they’d returned from Castle Stalker, Charlotte and Hugh had not spent a single moment alone together.

  In the witching hours when snores pealed through the cottage, his hand would slip over her waist, or tickle her neck while he fingered her hair. Oh, how she wanted him to kiss her, to hold her hand, and heaven help her, to again show her the depths of his love whilst joining with her in the throes of passion.

  Charlotte could only hope for such blissful intimacy to return.

  Darkness came so early in winter. It seemed they were always huddling on the dirt floor, waiting for a new dawn. This evening, after Hugh told the story of his capture at the Battle of Dunkeld and the horrors of living in the pit prison, he turned to Charlotte. “And because of this lassie, I’m sitting here today. If it hadn’t been for her spiriting me out of the sea gate, I would have succumbed to the bloody flux for certain.”

  She looked down to hide her smile. Over a year had passed since she’d helped him.

  Hugh nudged her. “Does anyone ken she can make a fiddle sing prettier than a meadow lark?”

  “Didn’t I see a fiddle come with the stores from Clan Stewart?” asked Og.

  “Aye.” Hugh brushed his fingers over the back of her hand—a simple gesture, but it made gooseflesh rise across her skin. “I reckon my kin would appreciate a wee tune.”

  She looked up with a cringe. “’Tis not too early?” She’d wanted to play for them, but feared some would be resentful, and curse her for making merry.

  A few grumbles rolled from the crowd. Then Gavyn stood. “I’ll fetch it.”

  “Are you sure?” Charlotte whispered.

  Hugh turned his lips to her ear, his warm breath caressing her—Lord, his whisper made all her trepidation ease away. “Play a ballad—something soulful.”

  Charlotte knew exactly the song. When Gavyn returned, she swiftly tuned the violin and began a Celtic air she’d learned from her Irish instructor in London. She’d never heard the song sung—never heard it played aside from her playing, but it was expressive and perfect. Closing her eyes, she let the bow take over, drawing out each note as the tune swirled and danced through the air. Gooseflesh again sprang up across her skin as she threw everything she had into her performance. Her love for Hugh, her growing love for this sorrowful group of outcasts, the violin sang for her father—a pawn used by the king to carry out something he knew was morally wrong. Heaven help her, she could express so much with her music—say things from the deepest recesses in her heart that she could never utter or form into words.

  When the last note faded and curled with the smoke, winding its way up through the small hole between the thatch, Charlotte lowered her bow and panned her gaze across the faces. Earie and Tavis wiped their eyes. So did Alasdair Og. Not a soul clapped, but she’d expected that. It was still too soon.

  Beside her, Cait tugged Charlotte’s skirt. “Thank you.”

  Blessed be music. She’d found a way to touch them at last.

  ***

  It was mid-March when Hugh wielded a rusty old axe, trying to carve out a hole in the frozen ground to sink another pole for the lean-to. Yet another family with four children wandered into their camp a day ago. He had no way of knowing how many clansmen and women had survived, but he knew of a hundred and three. Some had found refuge with friends or relatives outside the clan, and had sent messages of support up through the narrow pass guarded by his men. In the foothills of Meall Mòr, two and seventy souls were now under his protection.

  If only goddamned spring would come.

  He swung the axe again. His arms jarred like he’d slammed into a wall of iron. The axe handle shattered in his palms. Devil’s fire, if it wasn’t one thing, it was the next. Could nothing be easy?

  “Hugh,” Og strode across the clearing. “You’ll never believe who’s here.”

  Glenlyon? The Master of Stair? Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton? William of Orange? Hugh could think of a hundred enemies who would fall upon him at any given moment—kick him at his weakest. Wasn’t that the art of war? Weaken your opponent and then attack? Hugh looked at the shattered handle in his palm, opting to ignore his brother. “I’ll need to fashion a new shaft afore I can set this post.”

  “’Tis Colonel Hill.”

  He let the handle drop to the ground. Miserable, bleeding, bloody hell. Hugh reached for his sword, but it wasn’t belted to his hip. “With a full regiment?”

  “We stopped him and only Farley at the pass. Hill says he wants to talk. Alone.”

  Charlotte stepped out of the cottage.

  Hugh beckoned her. “Did you hear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I trust him?”

  “He’s the only man in the entire Williamite Army I would trust.” Aye, those violet eyes were as steady and assured as he’d ever seen them. Still true to his first impression—Miss Charlotte could never lie.

  Hugh turned to Og. “Did he state the nature of his business?”

  “He asked if you wanted your lands back.”

  “Holy Mary.” Hugh removed his bonnet and combed his fingers through his hair. Could he dare to hope?

  Charlotte placed her palm on his arm. “Let me go with you.”

  “The colonel said he’d meet with me alone?” Hugh planted his fists on his hips. “Is he willing to come up here?”

  Og scratched his beard. “I reckon he would if we offer the hand of hospitality.”

  Hugh almost laughed. Almost. He turned to the others and raised his voice. “Governor Hill from Fort William is visiting us. We will grant him safe passage and listen to what he has to say.” With that, he nodded to Og. “Bring him and make ready the shieling. I’ll meet with the colonel in there.”

  By the time the governor was ushered into the cottage, Hugh and Charlotte sat on the dirt floor as they had been doing for a month. Across the fire they’d placed a blanket for the colonel to sit upon. Though they could have dragged in a log for the old man’s arse, Hugh refused to make any accommodations.

  Charlotte gasped when the door opened and her father stepped inside. The man had dropped at least a stone since Hugh had last seen him, and his face was grey and gaunt.

  Hugh stood and bowed. “Colonel. I wish I could offer you more comfort, but as you see, we have nothing but a plaid for you to sit upon.”

  The man’s eyes shifted to his daughter. “I thank you for inviting me in. I know it must be difficult.” He stooped, his old bones creaking as he dropped to his knee. “’Tis pleasing to see my daughter in good health—though you do resemble a guttersnipe, dear.”

  “Forgive me,” Charlotte quipped. “There are few opportunities to bathe here in exile.”

  “But your exile is self-imposed.” The old man chose to remain on one knee, crossing one arm atop the other.

  “Tell me.” Hugh tossed a log onto the fire. “Why are you here?”

  “Aside from taking Charlotte home?” The colonel arched a brow at his daughter. “I’ve a proposition for you.”

  Hugh threw back his head and laughed. “Aye? Do you want me to exonerate you from responsibility for the murder of my father, my clan? Cause that’s exactly what Breadalbane did, tooting a song of restitution out of his arse.”

  The colonel took in a deep breath and watched the smoke curl up to the roof. “I understand the earl has not a history of being forthright.”

  “Aye.”

  Ch
arlotte placed a gentle hand on Hugh’s arm. “I trust Papa’s word.”

  Hugh’s da had always trusted the colonel, too. But the old governor had a hand in the killing. Waiting a bit before he spoke, Hugh scratched the beard that had grown in since their return from Appin. “How can I trust you after you betrayed my father?”

  “My actions for king and country are misdeeds that will haunt me the rest of my days.”

  “We have nothing. We’re cold and starving. I cannot even return to my lands for fear of reprisal. I have no livestock, no grain to plant come spring. Our homes are but empty stone shells with walls blackened by fire. All of this was due to your command, sir.”

  “True.” The colonel stood and paced with his hands behind his back. “The Master of Stair has offered you and your kin free passage on a ship to America. There you could work the plantations, mayhap come into some land of your own.”

  Ma’s final words rang loud and clear in Hugh’s head. “You will raise your bairns in Glencoe. Never let them forget. Always remind them they are descended from Alasdair Ruadh MacIain MacDonald—a direct descendant of the Lords of the Isles…Never be ashamed of who you are.”

  “No.” Hugh’s entire body shook with the strength of his conviction. “No, no, no. My people have been wronged, and I will not rest until I see them set to rights. I will not compromise land which for hundreds of years my people have tilled with their own hands, their own sweat and blood. By God, I was raised in the Coe. My father was raised in the Coe, and his father and his on and on down the line. No!”

  Colonel Hill faced him with a quirk to the corner of his mouth. “I thought that would be your response. I would have expected the same from your father.”

  Puzzled, Hugh looked to Charlotte.

  “What are you saying, Papa?” she asked.

  “I’ve already written a missive rejecting Stair’s proposal. I just needed Mr. MacIain’s blessing before I dispatched it.”

  Hugh flicked his hand through the air. “Tell the cur to call off his dogs while you’re at it.”

  “I’ll do more than that.”

  “How?” Hugh stood as well, towering over Hill.

  “I’ll push for a pardon.” The Colonel stepped in. “News of your calamity has spread, and it has drastically sullied King William’s reputation. Stair may think otherwise, but there could very well be anarchy in Highlands if you do not receive some sort of recompense—including the return of your lands.”

  Charlotte stood and moved beside Hugh. “Do you think the king will grant us a pardon, Papa?”

  “Us?” Hill cleared his throat. “I will push for Hugh MacIain and his clan to have his lands reinstated, to have the crimes waged against him heard by the Privy Council in Edinburgh, but…”

  Hugh narrowed his gaze. “Aye?”

  Hill pointed at Hugh’s sternum. “You have to swear to me you will keep your nose clean.”

  “Bloody hell.” Hugh threw up his hands. “Do you expect me to gather my kin and rain fire and sword on Glenlyon?”

  “That’s exactly what you must not do!”

  Hugh wasn’t about to tell the bastard there were only a handful of weapons between his men. “Agreed.”

  “I can gain you a pardon. I can seek amends for your kin and make your clan whole again. And unlike Breadalbane, I am a man of my word. Though it may take time, I will not rest until I see this done.”

  “You would do that for us?” Charlotte asked.

  The colonel’s eyes turned dark. “I have one condition.”

  Standing with his feet wide, Hugh moved his fists to his hips. “That is?”

  “Charlotte returns to Fort William with me.”

  “Are you jesting?” Charlotte grasped Hugh’s hand. “We are to be married.”

  “This is no place for a well-bred English woman.” The colonel began to pace. “Bless it, Charlotte, you’re living like an animal!”

  Hugh pulled her behind him. A pardon for the entire clan? An alliance with Fort William? No longer living in fear of another massacre? There had to be some way to negotiate this without losing Charlotte. “If my lands were to be reinstated. If I built a fine home to offer your daughter—would you give your consent for us to marry?”

  Dashing forward Charlotte kneeled before her father, holding her hands up in prayer. “Please, Papa. Help us. ’Tis the least you can do after your part in the MacIain Clan’s demise.”

  “Rise, daughter. Begging does not become you.” Taking Charlotte’s hands and pulling her up, Colonel Hill gave Hugh a stare devoid of emotion. “I might agree to that. If your lands and title are reinstated and you have a proper home—one that suits her station as the daughter of the Governor of Fort William—the fifth son of an earl, and you attempt no retaliatory action, I will consider your suit.”

  Charlotte yanked her hand away. “Consider? I refuse to—”

  “Stop,” Hugh shouted.

  She whipped around and faced him, fists clenched at her sides. “I beg your pardon?”

  Hugh gestured to the door. “Colonel, if you will please excuse us, I need a word with your daughter.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Charlotte couldn’t believe her father had the gall to come to Meall Mòr and demand conditions. Standing inside the shieling, she thrust her finger toward the door. “My father owes you a new home, and he thinks he can place terms on his offer to help?”

  Hugh regarded her with too much intensity in those dark eyes. “He hasn’t condemned my proposal for marriage.”

  “But what if it takes years for you to regain your holdings? Are we to put our lives on hold for an indeterminate amount of time?”

  “No.” Hugh took her in his arms for the first time in days. His strength, the power in his body surrounded her like a wall of protection from all the evil in the world. His big hand slid up and down her back. “Och, Charlotte. If only I weren’t in this predicament.”

  She slid her arms between them and tried to pull away, but he kept her wrapped tight. “What are you saying?”

  “Would it be so awful to go back to Fort William, even just until the end of winter?”

  “Are you serious?” She stamped her foot. “Snow still covers the ground—spring may never come.”

  “Bless it, Charlotte, I cannot even touch you. Have you any idea how much it twists me up inside to have you lay beside me each night, your scent filling my nostrils and yet I cannot pull you into my arms and make love to you?”

  Oh yes, she knew very well how frustrating things were. Some nights she could jump out of her skin for wanting him. “At least we’re still together. It isn’t right for my father to use me as a bargaining chip to help you or not.”

  “Nothing is free, mo leannan.”

  Curses, she hated it when he lowered his voice and rumbled his Gaelic endearment. Well, she only hated it this once, but Hugh could weaken her resolve merely with a few words. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Nor do I want you to go, but we need your father on our side. I need him.”

  She groaned and finally broke free. Pacing, she shook her fists. “This is so unfair.”

  “But you said yourself you could trust him.” Hugh caught her arm and pulled her back into his embrace. “I need allies—the snow will soon melt. You ken how short the growing season is. If we can head back to the glen and rebuild afore the autumn winds start howling, it would be a blessing.”

  “And what happens if Papa is unable to bring about a pardon?”

  Hugh’s jaw hardened. “I shall give your father my word there will be no retaliation whilst he sends his missives and represents our cause.”

  “If he fails?”

  “I do not believe there is a need to utter it.”

  Charlotte knew Hugh would take up the sword and fight alone if he had to—but he knew as well as she, the Highland clans were in no position to wage war. If Hugh took the path of vengeance now, he and his men would not live a sennight. She slipped her hands around his waist and reste
d her head on his chest. The drum of his heartbeat served to calm the jitters firing across her skin.

  “Go with your da,” he whispered.

  “Will you come to Fort William?”

  “With a price on my head?”

  Every dragoon in the Highlands knew who Hugh MacIain was now. There’d be no slipping through the gates in disguise. “I’ll not go without your promise as to when I will see you again.”

  “With so many uncertainties, how can I make such a vow?”

  She stood back and ticked up her chin. “Before the autumn winds.”

  “I—”

  “Swear it!”

  He nodded and took her hands in his palms. “Sooner, God willing.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I hate this.”

  “As do I, bless it.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Come here.”

  The Highlander had shown her how to kiss, could set her loins afire with a look. With the slow tilt of his head, he claimed her lips and gradually increased the pressure. Cradling her tight in his arms, Hugh showed her the depth of his love for her. Charlotte watched his eyes as they closed with the deep pinch of his brow. Lord, he was hurting so much, yet he must ignore his own desires and put his clan first.

  With a ragged inhale, he touched his forehead to hers. “I love you more than the air I breathe.”

  “And I you.” She cupped his cheek with her palm. “We shall weather this, just as we have everything else that’s been thrown our way.”

  “Now that is what I like to hear. You’re the strongest woman I know and I will not rest until you are again in my arms.”

  A lump the size of her fist formed in Charlotte’s throat. As tears streamed down her cheeks, all she could do was pull him close for one more raw, passionate kiss.

  ***

  Charlotte spent a total of one day locked in her chamber feeling miserable about her lot in life. However, as soon as her tears dried, her head also cleared. Come to think of it, as she’d ridden down the mountain with her father, the snow in the valleys had melted. Spring indeed was on its way.