by Cathie Dunn
“A what?” Rory swore. “The dead man was no agent—he was a two-faced drover who tried his luck with me one time too many. I was just about to get the story from him. The murderer escaped clean.” He mulled over it for a moment. “Now I can see why. Much easier to blame the murder on someone else, and pretend Auld Cameron was an agent. Well, maybe he was. A double-dealing agent.”
“Damn. You didn’t recognize the killer?”
Rory shook his head. “No. The shot came from behind me. Jamie here was guarding the entrance to the croft but the bastard scaled the wall of a far corner. Neither of us saw him. By the time we turned, he’d gone.” He emptied his tankard and set it down. “And now I’m being framed for it.”
“Aye, it seems so.” Malcolm looked from him to the lad. “You didn’t see any movement outside the croft, Jamie?”
“No, sir. All was still outside the entrance.” He glanced at Rory who nodded in encouragement. “After the shot, we heard a horse in a copse round the back, and someone sliding down the rubble. I...I was surprised the killer didn’t shoot us, too. I still don’t understand.” His gaze darted between the two men.
“So they can blame it on Rory here. And you by association, although your name hasn’t been mentioned.”
“That’s a relief,” Rory muttered. “As long as it’s only my head on the block, I’m content.”
“Stop fooling yourself, Rory,” Malcolm growled. “I don’t want to see you paying the price for someone else’s foul deed. But what I haven’t told you yet is that I have a lead already. The trail goes all the way to Edinburgh.”
“Edinburgh?” Rory echoed. “Someone in high places?”
“Worse, someone with money problems.” Malcolm’s face looked grim.
Rory leaned back. That explained a lot. He let out a slow whistle. “An investor?”
Malcolm’s eyes twinkled. “You’re as quick as your reputation promises. Aye, someone who’s lost money thanks to some of your, erm, transactions.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Someone who expected a delivery of muskets.”
Jamie’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth. Rory slapped the lad’s back, and he burst into a coughing fit. “Steady, Jamie! Have another sip of ale.” He refilled the boy’s tankard and pushed it into his hands.
“I see.” A smile played around Rory’s lips.
Over the last few months, he heard reports of an Edinburgh banker keen to get his hands on the muskets he’d hidden after the previous year’s failed uprising. Rory had been part of a group of Jacobites who secreted away the crates from Glen Shiel. But when rumor became rife that someone was keen to buy them, it caused a quarrel between the smugglers.
One side—Rory’s side—wanted to keep them safe for future use, a new rebellion. The other party wanted to make a quick profit, regarding it as too dangerous a cargo to hang on to. Auld Cameron had been their vocal leader.
Without telling his associates, Rory had moved the guns to a secure location with the help of a small handful of friends. But he knew it was only a matter of time until his associates returned with questions. Clearly, in light of the murder, they were done waiting for answers.
“Why don’t you give them what they want?” Malcolm’s eyes bore hints of concern. “That may stifle the rumors and the fuss might die down.”
“You know as well as I do that wouldn’t happen, even if I did give them the location, which I never will,” he added with emphasis. “Has a warrant been issued yet?”
Malcolm shook his head. “Not yet. But someone has friends in high places. It won’t take long for them to appear on your doorstep.”
“You mean Aunt Meg’s doorstep?”
“Aye. As the estate is your inheritance anyway. They’ll use this unsavory incident to get rid of you for good and open up good land to the competition.”
Rory’s head was spinning. The situation was worse than he expected. Attacking him was one thing—he’d deal with any threat. But if someone dared threaten Auntie Meg, or Catriona, they’d pay with their lives. “Thanks, Malcolm. I appreciate your help.”
He emptied the dregs from his tankard and stood. Jamie jumped up, toppling over his stool. Blushing, he righted it. Rory held his hand out to Malcolm, and the two men took their leave.
“Farewell, my friend.”
“Farewell, Rory. Watch yourself!” Malcolm’s troubled expression did not lighten when Rory patted his back.
“Don’t fret. I’ll find a way out of this mess.” With a final nod, he added, “I’ll be in touch.” He pulled his collar up again, casting most of his face into shadow.
“Godspeed,” Malcolm said, his eyes morose.
Rory shook off the overpowering feeling of dread and pushed Jamie toward the door. “Let’s go. We have to get back.”
Outside the entrance, Jamie stopped short. “But, sir, we’ve only just arrived.”
Rory nodded. “I know, lad. I’m tired, too, but we have to get out of the city.” He scanned the narrow streets. “Too many ears.”
“Ah.” Jamie followed him down the lane toward the blacksmith where they’d stabled their horses. “But can we stop for food?”
“Aye.” Rory laughed. “See the pie seller on the corner? Let’s get some provisions for our journey.”
Chapter Twelve
Catriona burst through the kitchen door and collapsed onto the floor, her breathing ragged, and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Mairi rushed to her side, wiping her hands on her apron. Supporting Catriona’s back, the maid leaned her against a chest by the window. The need for oblivion kept Catriona’s eyelids closed but she felt Mairi’s hands on her forehead and neck, checking temperature and pulse.
“What on earth’s happened to you? Stay with me.”
Catriona blinked and finally pried her eyes open, gazing into nowhere. It took a few moments for her to focus on her surroundings. She watched as Mairi rose, grabbed a jug, and dashed outside. Liquid splashed into the copper container. The maid returned, picked a bowl from a shelf, and poured water into it. From a basket, she took a clean rag, dipped it into the water, and kneeling by her side, dabbed Catriona’s forehead.
The cool liquid ran down her burning cheeks, dripping into her cleavage. It tickled but the shock sensation revived her senses. Mairi wrung out the cloth, dipped, and applied it again. Catriona’s heartbeat began to ease.
“Rory,” she croaked.
“Rory? What about him? Has he returned?” The maid’s eyes lit before wariness replaced the shine. She frowned. “Rory’s not responsible for the state of you, is he?”
Catriona shook her head and Mairi released a slow breath.
“No, I have to warn him.” Catriona forced herself into a more upright position but still didn’t dare get on her feet. She was still quite shaken. “Redcoats.”
Mairi stood and glanced out of the window. “Redcoats? Here?”
“Soon. They’ll be here soon. They found the cave.” The adrenaline was wearing off and Catriona wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. She wanted to hide under her covers and sleep for days. But now was not the time for rest. “I have to warn Rory. If he goes to the cave, they...” Her voice trailed off.
Mairi eyed her suspiciously. “How do you know about the cave?” She took a cup and filled it with fresh water from the jug. Holding it out to Catriona, she added, “They won’t be able to take action against him. The crates are gone.”
Catriona held the cup with both hands and gulped the water, washing away the dust from the tunnels and wetting her parched throat. “I heard a shot in the tunnel a few nights ago. Someone’s been killed and Rory knows.” Staring at Mairi, who had become more sister than servant, she whispered, “He was in the cave when I heard the shot.”
She pushed herself up to sit on the chest, leaning her back against the windowsill. Holding out her cup, she waited until Mairi refilled it and then emptied it again in one draught. Suspicion flashed in the girl’s eyes, and something else. Surprise?
“How did you kno
w about the tunnel?”
“I spotted Rory coming out of the library late one night.” Her cheeks began to burn at the memory. “I was curious so I went to see for myself. The night of the shot, after I’d run back through the tunnel to the house, Rory was just behind me. He brought Jamie with him.”
Relieved to share her burden, she leaned her head back against the windowpane and closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
“Jamie was there, too?”
Catriona heard a chair creak. “Yes,” she confirmed. “He looked scared.” She opened her eyes to the distant sound of horses’ hooves. “Oh my God, is that them?”
Mairi stood and raced toward the open door. Glancing out, she shouted at Catriona. “Aye, a small group of Redcoats are coming from the direction of the cave. Go upstairs and change dress. They mustn’t see you all soaked and muddy.” She rushed back inside, straight into the pantry. “Time to prepare luncheon to make it look inconspicuous.”
Catriona heaved herself from the chest. By the kitchen door, she halted and turned. “What about Auntie Meg?”
“Don’t worry about Lady Meg, Catriona. She’s been dealing with them for too many decades for us to ever worry.” The maid winked at her. “And she knows naught of importance so she can’t be caught lying. Now away with ye!”
Catriona pounded up the stairs, her skirt hitched high for her to take two steps at a time. Changing fast was difficult but she forced herself to get through this. For Auntie Meg. For Rory. They’d given her a home. She was not going to let them down. When she peeled off her soaked gown, voices reached her from the yard.
Gathering the dirty mess, she pushed it to the bottom of her clothes chest, threw her grimy slippers and stockings after it, and took a plain linen dress from the top. Quickly she pulled it on, fastening the laces as best as she managed without help, and slid into fresh stockings.
Picking a sturdy pair of shoes, she put them on and cast a glance into the mirror. Solid, earthy. She’d fit right in here. Her hair was a mess, long strands tumbling down her neck. She gathered it and tied it into a bun at her nape, securing the stubborn tresses with several long pins.
Finished!
Descending the stairs, she prayed the Redcoats would not see through her lies. She’d never been comfortable lying—that was Angus’ forte—but if she had to she could. She stopped halfway when the naked truth hit her. She’d do anything for Rory. He’d taken her heart. It no longer was hers alone.
Her need to protect him, to save him from harm, was essential. She’d protect him at the risk of her own safety. This knowledge came as a shock, but nevertheless was true. Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, she continued down the stairs.
The voices came from the drawing room. Thank God Mairi kept them from the library. Catriona wondered how the girl had become so clever, so mischievous.
Was she really only a maid?
She shook her head to rid herself from any traitorous thoughts. When she entered the room, the conversation stilled.
“We have guests, Mairi? I thought I heard voices.”
“Yes, Miss Catriona. This gentleman here is Major Robertson.” She pointed at a man standing by the window, dressed in a vibrant red coat and pantaloons with not a crease in sight. “Major, this is Miss Catriona MacKenzie, Lady Margaret’s goddaughter from Edinburgh. She’s here to recuperate from a recent illness.” Mairi’s gaze bored into her.
Catriona smiled at the major and, gesturing him toward the armchair, sat on the sofa. “Major Robertson, will you please take a seat? I must apologize at my rudeness in sitting. I’m still feeling a little bit faint.” At least that wasn’t a lie. The major obliged and, with a little bow, seated himself on the edge of the chair.
“Mairi, please inform Lady Margaret of our guest. And bring refreshments.” Dismissing the maid with a nod, she watched the soldier carefully. “What brings you here, Major Robertson?”
“Miss MacKenzie, I’m here on a delicate issue.” He hesitated, his gaze taking in her plain appearance. Good, all going to plan. “Whatever it was you were suffering of, I pray your recovery is proceeding well?” The Lowland accent was crisp, almost indistinguishable.
“It is indeed. I have begun to feel most refreshed. The air in Edinburgh is ghastly, especially as the temperature rises this time of year.” She shook her head. “No cure works better than taking fresh Highland air.” His eyebrows shot up. Clearly, the major did not agree with her.
“But you’re not here to enquire about my health.” She cast him a sweet smile, inwardly wondering what Mairi told Auntie Meg.
“Indeed, Miss MacKenzie, indeed. I’m here on an altogether more unsavory duty.” His gaze locked with hers. “We’re looking for Rory Cameron, your godmother’s nephew. Have you met him?”
“I have met Mr Cameron, but only briefly. He never stays for long.” God, she hoped Auntie Meg would not tell him any differently. With a smile she hoped did not look as insincere as her thoughts, she prodded for information. “Why are you looking for him?”
Still focusing on her face, he said, “I’m afraid I have to arrest him.”
Catriona gasped, her hands flying to cover her cheeks. “Arrest Mr Cameron? But why? Surely this must be a mistake.” Her pulse beat violently at her neck, and she stifled the impulse to cover it.
“I can assure you that this is no misunderstanding. Mr Cameron shot a man in cold blood. There were witnesses.”
Catriona’s eyes widened. Had they caught Jamie, perhaps even tortured him?
“Witnesses?” She rose and walked to the window, barely aware the major jumped to his feet. He had the manners of a man of good breeding. Dull, and oh so predictable. “My, this will inconvenience Lady Margaret most awfully, Major Robertson. You see, she is such a gentle lady.” She turned to face him, her gaze imploring.
The major coughed. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss, but I have to know when you last saw Mr Cameron.”
Catriona’s mind was spinning. Dear God, how could she save Rory if there were witnesses? “Several days ago I saw him last. Four, I believe. Or three? Dearie me, I’m not certain.” She let out a giggle, and a silent prayer he’d believe her to be a simple girl.
Auntie Meg took this moment to enter, her walking stick firmly in hand. “Good day, Major Robertson.”
“Good day, Lady Margaret. I hope you’re well.”
A cold fear settled in Catriona’s heart. They knew each other! She prayed she’d not revealed too much.
Auntie Meg smiled at Catriona. “Major Robertson and I are old friends, aren’t we?” She sent him a challenging look.
The wily old lady seemed to know exactly how to treat this particular visitor. Catriona held back a sigh of relief.
“I’m glad to hear, Auntie Meg. Will you take a seat?” She guided Auntie Meg to the settee and helped her settle into it before joining her.
“Thank you, dear. Major, please.” The soldier did as he was bid, crouching into the armchair again.
Catriona nodded at her godmother. “The major was just about to tell me what happened. Rory is in ghastly trouble.”
“Is he now?” The old lady winked at the major. “When isn’t he, then?”
Mairi entered with a tray laden with a teapot, china cups, and a plate of oatcakes. She poured each a cup before, with a curtsy, she excused herself, leaving the door ajar.
The major waited until the door closed, then put his cup on the table. He leaned forward, hands folded on his knees. “I’m afraid, Lady Margaret, that the matter is more serious than Mr Cameron’s usual misdemeanors.”
Holy Christ, he knew of the smuggling. Catriona’s cup rattled on the saucer. “Oh, it’s hot,” she mumbled and set the delicate china onto the tray. “I do apologize. Pray continue.”
“Yes, what’s the boy up to now?” Auntie Meg watched him over the rim of her cup.
“I’m sorry to cause you such anxiety, Lady Margaret. This time it’s very serious. Mr Cameron murdered a government agent and left the body to rot in the hills
just south of Inverness.”
Auntie Meg’s cup and saucer dropped to the floor too fast for Catriona to catch them, spilling tea over the rug. Her godmother’s face went white, and she leaned back, gasping for air. Catriona ignored the major and popped open a button at the old lady’s throat. Auntie Meg’s breathing steadied yet her eyes remained closed. Catriona squeezed her hand and looked back at the soldier.
“As you see, Major Robertson, this has come as quite a shock. Lady Margaret needs rest.” She stood, squaring up to him. “I’d appreciate it if you brought proof of your accusation next time you grace us with your company. For now, I bid you farewell. I have to look after my godmother.”
He took a step toward her and grabbed her arm. Long fingers dug deep into her flesh. She winced.
“And I, Miss MacKenzie, don’t like being taken for a fool. Where is Cameron?”
She tugged her arm but could not shake his hand off. Worry about her godmother mingled with fear for Rory’s life. “I don’t know. I really don’t. He left without a word.” The soldier pushed her away and marched to the door. Holding it open, he turned.
“I hope for your—and the old lady’s— sake that you’re telling the truth. I’d not wish to take her lands, but if she’s found harboring a suspected murderer that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Now, I’m to find Cameron. And don’t be fooled into doing anything stupid, Miss MacKenzie. We’re watching you. Closely.” He slammed the door behind him.
Catriona sank onto the settee, grabbing Auntie Meg’s hand. “Auntie?” She fanned her other hand in front of the pale face. Her godmother’s eyes flew open.
“Is he gone?” she whispered.
Catriona nodded, relief flooding through her, as Auntie Meg seemed to experience the most miraculous recovery. “Yes, I believe so.” Letting herself fall against the hard back of the settee, she shook her head. “What are we going to do?”
“I tell you what we’re going to do, dear.” Auntie Meg sat up, took Catriona’s cup from the tray, and emptied it in a few fast gulps. “That’s better. Now, do you have any idea where Rory might be?”