by Cathie Dunn
“How dare you!” She pushed him away, her body shaking with anger. She stepped backwards until her hands found the solid door behind her. “I don’t know why you think so poorly of me, after all I’ve done for you.”
She caught her breath and held up a hand when he took a step toward her, opening his mouth. “Stop! I don’t want to hear any more. Clearly you don’t care about me. That much I realized tonight. You perceive me to be something I’m not. I did the right thing by you today but enough is enough. Next time the soldiers come asking for you, Rory Cameron, you’re on your own.”
The look of regret on his face, and his slumped shoulders nearly tore her apart. Her heart wanted to comfort him, but he’d brought it on himself.
He reached out his hand. It was too late.
“I can’t take any more.” With tears streaming down her cheeks, she grabbed the handle and rushed from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory cursed himself as he slowly ascended the stairs. He was comfortable walking in this house in the dark, an instinct borne from many years of experience. He arrived in his bedroom and closed the door behind him. Leaning against it, he let out a long breath. What the hell had gotten into him? He knew she believed him. After all, she defended him to the major. She’d done it to keep him safe. So why was he being such a bastard?
Snorting, he pushed himself away from the door, and dropped his coat onto a chair he knew stood by the wardrobe. He was an idiot, first almost ravishing her, only to end up accusing her of suspecting him of murder. It clearly outraged and disappointed her. She genuinely believed him innocent? Even after the shots she’d heard in the cave. Even knowing he’d been there but not knowing who fired them.
Perhaps, now she’d leave. He may have finally sent her packing. He ignored the devastation that thought brought on and forced a casual shrug. Good, then he could deal with this sordid mess with a clear head, and prove his innocence.
Rory fell onto the bed and pushed his boots off. He slid out of his shirt and trews and dropped them to the floor. They were filthy, crusted with salt from the sea, and stinking of damp grass. Mairi would not be best pleased with the state of them. Lying back naked, he stretched his limbs. For the first time in many days, his sore muscles relaxed. Seduced by the soft pillows and the scent of lavender strong in his nose, he drifted off to sleep.
The frantic knocking on the door woke him. He opened his eyes to find sunlight streaming into the room through a gap in the curtains. It was later than he wanted to get up. Rory swore, rubbed his eyes, and pushed himself into a sitting position, careful to cover himself.
“Aye, I’m awake. Why the uproar?” he shouted just as the door was thrown open. Mairi stuck her face in, saw him half-tucked underneath the blankets, and rushed in, closing the door behind her.
“Good morning, Rory. I’ve grave news.”
“What happened? Is Auntie Meg unwell?” Relief flooded through him when the girl shook her head and went to pull the curtains open. He flinched at the brightness flooding the room.
“She’s fine, though still abed. It’s Catriona. She’s to go back to Edinburgh.”
Rory froze. He should be glad. Was it not for the best, her safety secure? Yet a sense of dread settled in his heart. “Is she, now? I’m surprised it took so long for her to have enough of the country.”
But Mairi shook her head, gesturing down the stairs. “No. A man arrived early this morning, Rory. Robbie brought him here, though he is wary of him. I don’t like him one bit either. Robbie says her father summoned her back. Something about a wedding to plan.” The look she sent him was pleading. What did she want him to do? It was well within Catriona’s father’s right to see her married off.
But the thought twisted his gut. The vision of Catriona lying in someone else’s arms, a lecherous mouth on her full, rounded breasts, filthy hands roaming that delectable body, made him ill.
She was his.
His? Rory shook his head, banishing the notion from his mind. She’d never be safe with him.
Mairi was still staring at him. “You have to do something. She belongs here now. And the man that came for her...” She shuddered.
“Mairi, you’re rambling. Catriona’s home is in the city. But I’ll have a word with the man in any event.”
Mairi strode to his clothes chest, threw the lid open, and pulled out a fresh shirt and a pair of trews. She tossed them onto the bed.
“Then you best hurry.”
She was out the door the moment he pulled the shirt over his head. As if he did not know time was of the essence. Securing the trews, he stood in front of the faded glass on a shelf by the window. He slid his hands through his thick hair, attempting to tame the ruffled mess. Grinning cynically to himself, he eyed his reflection. Funny how he could not see the guilt and sadness he felt should be plain on his face. He pulled on and fastened his brogues, and left the room without a further glance at the mirror. It was a good thing she was leaving. She’d be safer in Edinburgh. Yet why did it feel so wrong?
As he neared the drawing room, his glance only briefly scanning a grimy travel cloak on a hook at the bottom of the stairs, he heard voices. One was Catriona’s. A man cut her short. Rory hovered behind the door standing ajar, listening.
“For the last time, Catriona, you’ll accompany me to Edinburgh. The wedding has been arranged for the end of the month so we can’t afford to waste any time chatting—as much as I’d like to indulge you.”
Rory took an instant dislike to the sound of that voice and the commandeering, arrogant note it held. Anger stirred inside him. Nobody spoke to Catriona like that.
But you did, just last night. He shrugged off the memory, and listened.
“No, I’ll never wed you. I hate you.” Catriona’s voice shook.
With fear?
Rory wasted no more time. Without knocking, he pushed the door open. “Good morning.” He leaned against the doorframe. “What’s happening here?”
His gaze darted from Catriona’s face, ravaged by tears, to the man standing by the armchair. Instant hate suffused him as he took in the stranger’s appearance. The once-shiny boots and tan breeches were stained with mud. A long coat, adorned with gold thread and matching buttons, came down to his thighs, yet the most incongruous item was a dark blue, heavily-embroidered velvet waistcoat. A neck cloth of the same color made the thin face look pale—an impression not helped by the lanky hair tied back. A dandy! A city gentleman in all but title. He snorted. The kind he knew well, and took the trouble to steer clear of.
The stranger turned on him. “And you are?”
Rory bowed. His self-assurance gave him an edge. “Rory Cameron, at your service.”
The man bristled. “I’m John Henderson, Miss MacKenzie’s betrothed.”
“Former betrothed.” Catriona’s body shook. “And I’ll never go back, not with you.”
Her vulnerability touched Rory. He wanted to rush over to her, to comfort her, but he stayed where he was.
Henderson completely ignored her outburst. The man stood, meeting his gaze, eyes cold as slate. “You must be the step-nephew Angus told me about. Tell me, have you tasted dear Catriona’s forbidden fruits yet?”
Rage had him clenching his fists, and Catriona took a tentative step toward him but stopped a few feet away.
But Henderson did not let off. Studying his fingernails, he muttered, “Because I found them quite to my liking.”
“John!” Catriona’s cheeks turned scarlet. “You didn’t get anywhere near me.” She looked ready to slap him and Rory placed his hand on her shoulder, holding her back.
“He’s not worth it, Catriona.”
Henderson’s chuckle made his skin crawl. “Oh dear, oh dear. I guess you did have a taste, then. But that’s all you’re getting.” He looked at Catriona. “Naughty girl. You’re a strumpet after all.”
“You bastard!”
Catriona wrenched free from Rory’s grasp and rushed forward. H
er fists beat Henderson’s chest but in one swift move the man pinned her against his body, his icy glare on Rory.
Anger rose from deep inside Rory, straining to burst out. “I believe you are abusing our Highland hospitality, Henderson. Let Catriona go and be on your way. I only say this once.”
“Mmmhh.” Henderson’s hand squeezed Catriona’s bottom as she wriggled to get out of his grasp. “Aye, girl. You move just like that.”
Rory’s temper flared. In two strides, he crossed the room ready to kill the man. The loud click only reached his brain the moment he found himself staring down the mouth of a cocked pistol.
“Rory!” Catriona exclaimed as Henderson pushed her away with his free hand, sending her stumbling to the ground.
Rory froze, forcing his mind to calm the fury raging through his veins. He glanced across the room, searching for anything to use as a weapon but nothing was close enough. The man was poised to shoot without warning.
“Steady, Cameron. You don’t want the girl crying over your dead body. Catriona, get up.”
“No.”
Rory suppressed a smile at her defiant voice. She was a brave lass. How did he ever doubt her? He watched, blood pumping in his veins. Steady.
Henderson took a step closer to him. “You don’t want your friend here to come to any harm, Catriona. Get up and take this string.” With his free hand he pulled a leather thong from his pocket and threw it at her. “Tie him up.”
“I—”
“Do it!” Henderson bellowed, the hand holding the pistol shaking.
She stared at Rory wide-eyed, fear mingled with sorrow. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Now. Rory waited until she came close and then turned and pushed her through the open door. “Go!”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Henderson almost upon him. Then something hit his skull, and the room went black.
Chapter Fifteen
“Rory.” Mairi’s whisper held a note of urgency as strong fingers shook his shoulder. “Rory, come to.”
“Mairi? What is it?” He gasped as her fingers dug deep into his upper arm. His head pounded, his eyes unwilling to open. He blinked, and stared at her.
Why was he lying on the floor? He glanced around the room. The drawing room. He swore as memories came rushing back.
Catriona.
“Soldiers. Dozens of them.” She dashed to the window, keeping to the side of it as she twitched the curtain a fraction of an inch. “Oh, sweet Lord.”
Rory shot up, instant pain soaring through his head. Gently, he touched the side. As he checked his fingers, blood clung to it. Henderson. The bastard!
“Mairi, where’s Catriona?”
She shook her head, frowning. “That man Henderson took her. He pointed a pistol at us and dragged her away with him. The next thing I knew the Redcoats are headed our way. You must hurry.”
The urgency in her voice cleared his head.
Redcoats!
“Here, I’ve brought your weapons.” Mairi held his sword and cocked pistol ready for him. “The tunnel.”
He raced along the hall. Mairi was right behind him, intent to shut the door to the tunnel once he’d gone through. But a sound from the kitchen made him stop. A muffled scream.
Jamie.
The soldiers must have gained entry already and overpowered him. Rory swore. He had to save the lad.
“Cameron?” An impervious voice called from the kitchen. The door opened to reveal the morning light within. Rory wondered how many soldiers hid out of his sight. The sight of Jamie stumbling forward, a dirk at his throat held by a Redcoat behind him, quashed any hopes of escape. “Drop your weapons, or I’ll send your boy here to hell.” Jamie’s eyes widened as a nick in his skin began to bleed.
“Robertson, you bastard!” Mairi shouted and darted forward. Rory grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Stay! They’re here for me. You need to look after Auntie Meg.”
“But—”
“Quiet, woman! For once, know an order when it’s given,” he barked. This was the inevitable moment he’d been dreading for many years.
“Don’t do it, Rory. It’s not worth it.” Jamie’s desperate attempt at sacrifice tore at Rory’s heart. The boy was prepared to die for him. He’d not allow it.
“Let the boy go.” He dropped his sword and pistol to the floor. A sharp look at Mairi stopped her from grabbing the gun.
Raising his voice, he warned the soldiers, “I’m coming into the kitchen now. Let the boy go.”
“Who are you to give orders, Cameron? Step over the threshold, arms raised behind your head.”
Rory did as he was told and stopped inches in front of Jamie. “Now let him go,” he addressed the senior officer, a major, standing next to the lad.
The major nodded to the soldier who withdrew the hand holding the dirk, only to let the handle come crashing down on Jamie’s skull. He slumped to the floor at Rory’s feet.
Rory glared at the major. “Was that really necessary?” He didn’t react when two soldiers took his arms and tied them behind his back. To his relief, Jamie was still breathing, but blood poured from a small gash. Mairi would look after him. He turned his head toward the door where the girl stood, shaking. Behind her, he saw Auntie Meg approaching. She was clutching a woollen wrap as she came to a halt in the doorframe.
“Major Robertson, what is the reason for this intrusion?” Auntie Meg stared at the commotion, her chin thrust forward in a stubborn manner, her whole demeanor haughty.
“Apologies, ma’am.” Major Robertson gave a curt bow. “I have an arrest warrant here for Mr Rory Cameron. He’s to be taken to Edinburgh under suspicion of smuggling and...” He paused for effect. “The more serious charge of murder.”
“Murder?” The old lady shook her head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid I’m very serious indeed, my lady. We must leave at once.” He ushered his soldiers out of the kitchen, his gaze meeting Rory’s. “The hangman awaits your company.”
***
A week later they approached the boundaries of Edinburgh. Seeing the always increasing, yet familiar outline of buildings, Catriona swallowed hard and kept a firm hold of the reins to stop from screaming. Throughout the long days in the saddle, she refused to speak a word with John. By maintaining a stoic silence all the way, she riled him to no small measure. But she did not get any satisfaction from it as he’d claimed in response that her stupid behavior only made things worse. A gleam in his eyes warned her of exactly what he meant by that. The threat hung over her like a death sentence.
Catriona gazed at the tall buildings, rows upon rows rising toward the castle high on the steep hill ahead. The sight always made her shudder. She knew the narrow closes where tradesmen plied their wares were full of filth- human and animal. How horrible it must be to spend your life in those dark, cold flats! Fortunately, her family home was to the far side of Castle Hill, away from the reeking lanes. She averted her gaze toward the lush countryside surrounding the city, meadows and fields, stretching toward the far hills to the south.
When they arrived at her home, Catriona pulled her skirts together and heaved herself off her horse, giving John no chance to come near her, or, God forbid, touch her. Ignoring the searing pain in her legs, she rushed up the stairs and knocked on the door. A girl Catriona did not recognize opened the door and curtsied. A new maid?
“Good day, Miss Catriona.” She smiled. “Welcome home.”
Catriona stared at her. She was not in the mood for smiling. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jenny, Miss. I’m new here. Mr Angus gave me this job only last week.” The girl blushed and lowered her gaze to the floor.
Ah, another one of Angus’ harlots. Catriona sighed, brushed past her, and, removing her gloves, entered the wide hall. She handed them to the maid and attacked the pins that held her hat in place. As she heard John’s footsteps echo in the hallway behind her, she dropped the pins onto the floor and threw her hat to the maid.
<
br /> “Thanks, Jenny. I’ll be in my room.” After taking the first few steps, she turned, frowning at John. “Indisposed.” With that, she ran up the stairs. Let John complain to Angus, or to Father. She needed to think. Reaching her bedroom door, Catriona darted inside and turned the key. For the moment, she was safe. Only slowly did she dare to release her held breath.
At eight of the clock that evening Catriona entered the dining parlor, dressed in a gown the shade of midnight blue, its short, puffed lace sleeves barely covering her arms. Pale yellow underskirts provided a playful contrast to the stark color of the skirts. She’d made an effort with her appearance, not wishing to disappoint her parents who strangely enough had not come to greet her. Not even her mother. A sense of loneliness washed over her.
Catriona stared at the large mahogany dining table. It was set for three. Only three? Was her brother out of town? Perhaps he dined at his club. She strolled over to the matching sideboard and helped herself to a glass of sherry. Sipping, she turned when the door opened. Angus and John entered the room, and she nearly choked. Where were her parents?
“Hello, dear sister,” Angus drawled. Clearly, he’d already partaken in some spirits. So much for his good intentions.
John seemed equally cheerful. “Hullo, m’dear.” He came to a halt next to her, pouring generous measures of brandy into two glasses before handing one to Angus.
Catriona stiffened when his arm brushed hers. She took a step back, not wanting him close. “What’s this?” she asked Angus as her hand made a wide sweep that included him and John. “Where are Mother and Father?” Her suspicions rose with Angus’ smirk. What was her dastardly brother up to now?
“Ahhh, you see, sister.” Angus slumped into the chair at the head of the table, his gaze never leaving hers. “Our dear parents should by now have arrived in London.”
“London?” Catriona swayed, her hand seeking the solid wood of the sideboard to steady herself. “Why are they in London? Has something happened?” She caught a glance between the two men. The chuckling sound coming from John made her shudder. Heart in her mouth, she put her glass down and confronted her brother, hands on hips.