Highland Arms

by Cathie Dunn

  ***

  The candle burned down another notch when Catriona finally put the book down and rose from the bed, her bare feet light on the floorboards. It must be after midnight. Despite the delightful company of Auntie Meg, the day dragged as they sat out of doors in the warm spring sunshine, adorning a quilt for a neighboring widow with a pattern of roses. Needlework was the bane of her life, each stitch after painstaking stitch sapping her concentration, but an afternoon nap helped revive her enough to stay awake late.

  Only now, hours after the household retired, was it quiet enough for her mission. She picked up her slippers, took the candle, and, avoiding the creaky step, tiptoed down the stairs to the library. The door locked behind her, she dropped her slippers to the floor, sliding her feet into them. Tonight she’d find out what was hidden in the cave.

  Catriona ducked underneath the lintel and pulled the lever. Even though she expected it, the sound of the stone wall grating still made her jump. In the silence of the night it sounded like an explosion ripping through the house.

  Hovering in the opening, she listened for any signs of life. But all remained quiet. After releasing a long breath, she shuffled through the entrance into the tunnel and slid the door back into place. Goosebumps formed on her skin as the chilly, damp air hit her. She should have brought a wrap. Oh, silly—always forgetting something. Too late to go back; someone might hear her. Holding the flickering candle aloft, she slowly followed the tunnel. Her progress was slow, as she stubbed her toes into many of the small outcrops of rock. Again, she marveled how Rory caught up with her so quickly the last time she’d been down here. He must know every twist and turn like the back of his hand. As she thought of him, a sense of foreboding twisted her gut, a faint feeling he might be in peril. Her heart contracted.

  Nonsense! She shrugged off the dark thoughts. It was just the confined space, and the atmosphere of danger down here making her worry.

  He was able to look after himself. Auntie Meg said so.

  Catriona edged forward until she came to the spot where the tunnel forked. Again, she took the right turn, narrower and darker than before—if that was even possible. She shuffled forward. The candle burned another half notch. Had she been here for half an hour already?

  Finally, in the distance, she saw a light. She wanted to slump against the wall in relief. But only a moment later she tensed again, because what on earth was a light doing in the cave this late at night?

  Near the exit, brightly illuminated now she was so close, she halted. Feeling around, she found a small ledge, dribbled a few drops of wax onto it, and secured the candle into place. With her hands against the rough surface, she stepped toward the gap in the wall. Muffled voices reached her. Men shouting. Why were they in the cave at this late hour? Was Rory amongst them? She took a deep breath and, holding it, nudged toward the edge, and peeked around. The light came from another cave behind the empty one she faced. Not trusting the voices, Lowland Scots and English accents alike, she stayed hidden behind the rock, trying to hear what was being said. Only snippets filtered through to her. Catriona froze.

  Muskets. Rebellion. Cameron. Trap. A dead man.

  Chapter Eleven

  Oh, Rory! Her heart skipped a beat, and she balled her hands into fists to stop them from shaking as she leaned back against the wall. They must be talking about Rory. Was he the dead man? Or the killer? With a start, she remembered the shot she heard when she was last down here. Had he shot someone? A smuggler? Or a government agent?

  The voices grew faint. Releasing her breath, she peeked around the edge again. In the other cave she saw shadows of men moving around, as if looking for something. Muskets? A flash of red jacket caught her eye.

  Redcoats.

  The government troops must have discovered the cave and suspected the worst. She bit her lip, praying Rory did not venture out on the loch tonight. Not knowing where he was—and whether he was safe—was tearing her apart. She must warn him. But what if he came to the cave before going home? He’d walk right into a trap.

  He’d hang.

  Her whole body shook with horror as she realized Rory’s business activities were far more dangerous than she’d thought. Yes, he was a Jacobite, but he was more involved than that. He smuggled arms. The soldiers spoke of crates full of muskets. Someone betrayed him—that much was certain. His life was in danger.

  Determined to find him before the Redcoats did, she turned back into the tunnel. Someone knew where he was. Catriona picked up her candle, ignoring the dust that floated off the ledge and lifted her skirts with her other hand. She’d taken but a few steps when her nose itched. Dropping her skirts, she covered it with her arm, not daring to breathe. Please, God, not here. Not now.

  The sneeze shook her as she tried in vain to muffle any sounds with her elbow. Hot wax covered her hand and she winced. Hearing raised voices in the cave, she charged forward. Again. Just like the last time, except now it was not Rory chasing after her. It was the Law. She had given away the secret. Blast! They would search for the tunnel entrance, and they were bound to find it.

  Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. Oh, what had she done! Catriona took no regard of her dress snagging on outcropping rock, her feet in agony from stumbling over sharp stones. She did not dare stop to look behind her but the sound of voices carried through the tunnel.

  They found it.

  The voices became louder, getting closer. At the fork, she stopped to the sound of heavy footsteps.

  I must guide them away from the house.

  Without hesitation, she veered into the other path, praying it provided her with a safe exit.

  She didn’t know where this path ended. It was wider, and more level. Perhaps it led to another cave on the shore. She prayed the Redcoats had not yet discovered it. With large steps, she plunged into the darkness, her candle providing only little comfort now she had to shield it with her hand to keep the small flame alight. The men’s voices were still faint, yet they kept up with her. She broke into a run, hoping to gain some time. A few turns onwards, she bumped into a wall.

  A dead end.

  No! There must be a door, like the one in the library. She scraped her fingers along the walls around her but did not find a lever. Not even a gap in the stonework.

  Terrified, she lifted her candle and took a step back. A solid wall with nowhere to go. Her heart raced, each beat pounding in her ears.

  What would they do if they caught up with her? Torture her to reveal Rory’s secrets? Kill her? Down here, she’d never be found, her life worthless. They’d get away with murder and Rory’d be left to live with it. He’d warned her of the danger she might find herself in yet she refused to listen. Now his words had become terrifying reality. An icy shiver ran down her spine.

  Deep breaths. Catriona forced herself to calm, her shallow breathing still betraying her fears.

  Then she heard it, faint and barely audible. A whining sound. Behind the wall. She stared at the stone in front of her where the sound seemed to come from. High pitched, like an animal.

  A seal?

  Goosebumps covered her skin as she slid her hand over the wall again, slower this time. Crouching, she spotted a narrow gap. Her fingers just about managed to slip underneath, and she nearly screamed when they closed around a narrow lever. She pulled it to either side but nothing happened. Lights were dancing at the far end of the tunnel. The voices were now clearer, footsteps echoing louder. They were close. Too close.

  In desperation she pushed the lever, and fell over when the wall slid upwards. It stopped barely four feet off the ground. Without hesitation, she shuffled on all fours through the gap. Her hand found the lever, and she pushed it back into place just as the light of a torch hit the wall opposite.

  Leaning against the stone, Catriona caught her breath. She heard the faint sound of footsteps, and voices, and prayed they didn’t find the lever.

  Calm, she needed to calm down. And keep moving. The whining stopped the moment she pu
shed the lever. Thank God. As if the sound also did not wish to help the soldiers. A shiver trickled down her spine.

  Getting to her feet, she lifted the candle and looked around. The sight that greeted her took her breath away. A strange light shimmered high above her but it was not daylight. Long spikes hung from the ceiling, with moisture dripping to the ground, forming small pillars that rose from the ground. She carefully walked toward one and touched it. It felt wet, yet smooth, as if the dripping never stopped.

  Awed by such a glorious display, she looked around the cave. This was most unusual. Never had she seen such beauty as the sparkling ceiling, and the sea of pillars and spikes. On the far side, the cave narrowed into another tunnel. A trickle of water ran through it, forming a pool in the center of the cave. It was magical. Catriona walked toward the water’s edge and dunked her hand into it. The chill made her shiver, yet felt refreshing at the same time. She saw no sign of any living thing, seal or otherwise. How very strange!

  When faint banging ripped through the silence, her gaze fell toward the spot where she’d entered, and she straightened. The men might still discover the exit. With a final glance at the shimmering display, she followed the stream, keeping to the path next to it. With a little luck, she’d find the way out. The rock was slippery in places, and she was forced to catch her balance more often than not, scraping her hands, and soaking her feet. The faint light seemed to linger all along this tunnel, providing her with just enough vision. Her candle burned another notch. She had little time left. Around her, the rocks were closing, forming another tunnel with the water streaming through the center.

  As the candle neared the lowest notch, barely above her fingers, Catriona saw a light in the distance. The exit? With a sigh of relief, she hurried toward it, sliding on the uneven ground. Hot wax dripped onto her skin, and she blew out the candle and left it on a ledge. It was now light enough without it. The water flowed stronger, as if fed by a current, and as the gap grew narrower, she had to crouch. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the brighter light. It must be dawn by now.

  Emerging from the tunnel, she lifted her hand against the glare. Carefully looking around, she inched outside, pushing thorny brambles out of the way. No ships in sight anywhere.

  The entrance was level with the loch, but the thicket of brambles hid it from view. The gap was too small for a boat, too small even to shift crates, so no good for smuggling. But it formed the perfect escape route for a person. Thank goodness!

  Catriona picked up her soaked slippers and gasped when her feet hit the cold water, but she saw no other way back to firm ground. She scrambled along on slippery rocks, for if anyone were to spot her now, they’d know where to find the entrance. The sun was rising behind her, bathing the opposite shore in golden light. Hopefully anyone looking her way from the other side would be blinded by its brightness. She sent a little prayer heavenward. Finally, her hands and legs wet and scratched, she spotted the boathouse. Hurrying now, she finally slid inside and leaned against the wall, catching her breath. But she must not linger. Time was of the essence.

  She had to find Rory.

  ***

  Rory kept his head low as he skirted the steep walls of Inverness Castle, with his collar pulled up high. A glance over his shoulder showed him Jamie followed suit. British government soldiers patrolled the grounds, and he could not risk attracting unwanted attention.

  It took them several days of barely interrupted travel. No rest for the horses, nor themselves. Little sleep in damp forests made them grumpy.

  With Jamie right behind him, he dived back into the narrow lanes, away from the river Ness, and stopped outside a tavern. One look through the open, grime-stained door was enough to make a hardened man flinch but he still burst out laughing at Jamie’s horrified expression.

  “Stay close to me, lad.” Rory slapped Jamie on the shoulder and entered, ducking underneath the low frame. The boy did as he was bid. Good!

  “No worries, lad,” he whispered. “This place looks worse than it is.” He gestured to a vacant table. “Let’s settle in that corner.”

  Pulling his coat open, he grabbed a rickety chair and settled onto it, gesturing to the serving wench for a jug of ale.

  He frowned as he watched the boy gingerly sit on a stool, his back firmly against the solid wall, wide eyes scanning the room.

  “Here ye are, sir,” the wench greeted him as she bent over to put two tankards and a pitcher filled with frothy ale onto their table. Her hand still resting on the handle, she wriggled as if her gown was suddenly too tight, and Rory found himself confronted by a pair of large, bouncy breasts straining to be freed from their prison. “Anythin’ else I can get ye?” Her smile was suggestive, although her yellow teeth somewhat dented the appeal.

  Rory smiled and squeezed some coins into her hand. “No thanks, lass. We’re here to talk, not to dally in other hazards.” He winked as her smile grew wider at the sight of his generous offer. Quickly, she stuffed the coins into the pouch at her belt.

  “Shame, sir,” she whispered, her gaze raking over his frame. “But as ye wish.” With a flourish, she turned and sauntered back to the bar, hips swaying with each step.

  Rory chuckled but grew sober when he felt Jamie’s gaze on him. The lad’s face was puce. Rory poured ale into their tankards and picked his up. “Drink, lad. We might have to wait a while, so you might make the most of it.” He took a deep draught and watched as Jamie took his tankard, sipping slowly. “They don’t poison you here. It may look like a hovel...” His gaze wandered around the soot-covered walls and grimy tables. “But it’s the ideal meeting place. Trust me.”

  “I do, sir.” Jamie’s voice shook. “I really do. But I’ve...I’ve never been in such a tavern before.”

  Rory nodded, aware of the lad’s rural upbringing. It seemed Robbie MacKinnon had not bothered to introduce his son to the vices of the world yet. Well, this visit to Inverness went some way toward rectifying his lack of worldliness. Given Jamie’s reaction to the serving wench’s ample offerings, clearly lasses were another pleasure the lad had not yet experienced. He wondered how far he had gone with Mairi. The maid seemed so much more mature than Jamie, yet a spark had kindled between them.

  His smile faded when he remembered another spark, much closer to home. Closer to his heart. Nay, not his heart, but his loins. No woman would ever claim ownership of his heart. He did not allow for such frivolity. His allegiance to the Stuart cause too much a risk to burden a woman with. Soon they would rebel again, no doubt. And as before, widows and orphans were always left behind to deal with life’s hardships.

  Rory hated being the bearer of bad news in the wake of the last rebellion, and the pain he’d seen in the faces of his clansmen’s widows cured him of ever wanting to love a woman that much, or be loved in return. Yes, one day he was going to wed—especially if he inherited Auntie Meg’s lands—but without any feelings involved. So nobody would mourn for him should he be killed in battle; no heartbroken widow left to cry over his dead body. ‘Twas better that way.

  He emptied his tankard with a large draught and refilled it. Holding it between both hands, he watched the serving wench as she hopped onto another punter’s lap, her plump curves bouncing. The memory of Catriona’s curves shivering beneath his hands came without warning. Rory closed his eyes, willing the image to disappear. Yet before him, he saw her lying in the middle of the boat, lips apart, waiting for his kiss, her nipples tightening under his tongue. Her long tresses spread out over the planks. The lass was everything a man needed. Everything a man wanted.

  When he felt the stirrings of desire in his loins, he crossed his legs. He’d not taken her that day, but take her he would. Every fiber of him wanted to ravish her, to make her his.

  Just for one night.

  That was, if she had not fled back to Edinburgh yet. In that case, he would be glad to be rid of her. She stirred more than just feelings of desire. Catriona was so fragile, making him want to protect her—to look after her. An
d he could not allow that.

  He set down the tankard with a thud and cursed. “Where is he?” he muttered, more to himself than Jamie.

  “Who are we waiting for, sir?” the lad piped up, an empty pitcher in front of him and the hint of a smile on his face. My, the lad was getting drunk fast. Rory refilled their tankards and grinned. Oh, to be so young again. So innocent.

  “It’s an old friend of mine, lad. He’s got information.” He sipped at the frothy liquid. The ale in this tavern was of better quality than the premises themselves. Another advantage.

  “Information about what?” Jamie stared at him.

  Rory leaned over, his voice low. “About our friend at the croft.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “The de—”

  “Here’s Malcolm.” Rory cast the lad a warning glance as he waived to the man entering the tavern. He grinned as Jamie’s jaw dropped.

  Rory stood and greeted the soldier, their hands meeting in a firm grasp. “Good to see you, Malcolm Campbell.”

  “Aye, Rory Cameron, it’s been a long while.” His eyes twinkled when his gaze fell onto Jamie. “And who’s your companion?”

  “Malcolm, this is Jamie MacKinnon, Robbie’s lad.” Rory turned to the boy who stood gaping at the new arrival. He should have warned him their informant was a soldier for the British Crown. He laid his hand on the lad’s shoulder and pulled him back to his seat. “Jamie, may I present Major Malcolm Campbell.”

  “A Redcoat?” Accusation glittered in Jamie’s eyes, and his voice shook. But he followed Rory’s lead and sat.

  Malcolm chuckled. “My, he’s quick.” He gestured to the wench for more ale.

  Rory nodded. “He’s young. He’ll learn.” He glanced at the boy. Jamie emptied his tankard. “Steady, lad. We need to keep a clear head.” He waited while the serving maid brought another jug and tankard, then turned to his old friend.

  “What’s the word out there, Malcolm?”

  The other man’s rugged face grew serious. “I don’t know what happened but word is that you killed a government agent.”