by Stobie Piel
Depressing enough in a luxurious, well-appointed manor house. In jail . . . He hadn't forgotten her, though he wasn't sure why her image stuck in his mind. She infected his dreams, wandering through his memory, out of place and out of time. Looking for something. And when he woke, he thought he was looking for something, too.
Nathan set the book aside. "What crime has she committed?"
"I warned the lass, dinna you remember? Complaint against her was issued by Garrison Campbell."
"I suppose her sheep invaded Campbell's property?"
"That's probably the way of it."
"What does she want of me?"
"Message phrases it as 'offering a business proposition.'" Simon shook his head in disgust. "You know what that means. Girl's figuring you're a likely mark, Nathaniel, and don't you forget it. Your position be drawing them like maggots to a dead rat."
Nathan grimaced. "Interesting choice of words."
A slight smile curled Simon's mouth, and he nodded. "Surprised she hasn't tried it before now. Pretty girl, if you washed her up. She'd make money faster than tagging after those ragged sheep of hers."
Nathan didn't answer. Simon referred to prostitution as if it were Miren Lindsay's best option. Apparently, she hadn't thought so. . . . "I suppose I must help her."
Simon thumped his fist on the desktop. "Don't you go near that girl! We've got enough to look after without her."
Nathan drew a brooch from his vest pocket and studied the insignia: the symbol of the Clan MacCallum, a badge with a single tower beneath the words in ardua tendit. "He takes on difficulties," Nathan mused aloud.
Simon's expression altered from grumpy indignation to quiet grief. "He does, indeed. Let that be your brother's motto, Nathaniel. Don't you forget it, ever."
Nathan rose from his chair, still staring at the badge. "I never will."
"We've got a job to do, you and I, before our souls rest easy, before we go on our merry ways. That sheep lass, she'll just bog you down."
"I know." Since the war, he'd lived for himself, alone. His choices affected no one but himself. So much rode on his choices now. And Miss Miren Lindsay chose this time to land in jail.
"Girl like that ain't nothing but trouble, mark my words."
"I know." She called to him. She needed him. Nathan guessed she had no one else. He could help her, temporarily. Maybe that was all she wanted.
Simon read his expression. He thumped his fist into his other palm. "Leave her in prison, Nathaniel. It's probably just where she's belonging. You're not responsible for her." Simon stepped closer to Nathan, watching him with a penetrating, dark gaze. "You've got someone waiting on you already, and don't you be forgetting."
"Simon . . ." Nathan paused to exhale a long, weary breath. "Bring the coach."
Soft rain soaked down from the gray sky, mist rose from the loch as Nathan's coach maneuvered between the white-washed buildings of Inveraray. Every building had been crafted to the same specifications, white walls with black trim, ordered and regular, situated at the northern rim of Loch Fyne.
Nathan's coach passed the entrance to Inveraray Castle, where Lady MacCallum basked in aristocratic elegance as a guest of the Duke of Argyll. While Nathan, the new heir to the MacCallum estate, entered a prison at the behest of a young woman he'd have done better to forget.
The town formed a horseshoe, with Inveraray Jail at its northern curve. Two guards stood at the entrance. As Nathan left the coach, a shrill, woman's cry rang from an upper window. In response, a dog barked, and Nathan's heart ran cold. The woman sounded deranged, but that bark was familiar. He eyed the guards. "Does the Inveraray Jail imprison dogs, also?"
Neither guard met his eyes, but one sighed. "Not until now, sir."
"I'm here to see Miss Miren Lindsay. I understand she is on these premises."
The guard's brow elevated. "You'll have to speak to the warden before seeing that one, sir."
He spoke as if Miren posed a threat. But the girl Nathan remembered couldn't frighten a man. Her innocence and frank manner seemed more likely to make her a victim. The deranged shriek lingered in his mind. Perhaps he'd met her in a rare moment of lucidity. Maybe her lonely life had taken its final toll.
The guard held open the door. "The warden is in his office. Follow me."
Nathan bent to pass the low threshold into the jail. A white-washed corridor led through a row of cells. Dirty hands protruded through the bars. A passing guard idly flailed a many-pronged whip, and the hands snapped back. A woman shrieked with laughter. Farther down the hall, someone wept.
Nathan started down the hall, but the guard grabbed his arm. ''Not that way, sir."
Nathan fought his revulsion. Enslaved men, even prisoners, turned his blood to instant fire. He lived free, and no freedom seemed wide enough. To live encased in tight walls, devoid of freedom, seemed too bitter to endure. For this reason, Nathan had joined the Union Army at the age of sixteen, despite his father's wishes.
Nathan followed the guard up worn stone stairs. The warden sat in a small, neat office, rummaging through papers. He wore a black suit, and a black cap like a train officer. An iron fireplace warmed the damp air. A low metal bed sat beneath a small window. A shelf above the fireplace held extra blankets and towels, presumably for the prisoners.
The office seemed strangely . . . civilized. A Scottish peculiarity that took Nathan off guard.
"Gentleman to see you, Mr. Burgess."
The warden noticed Nathan, and hopped to his feet. His manner didn't reflect the usual Scottish reticence. He stuck out his hand, an American gesture generally considered vulgar to the British. Nathan shook his hand. "I am Nathan"
"Laird MacCallum! We are honored to greet you here at our humble facility, designed and continued for the purpose of assuring safety for all of Argyll. Your most honored father supported our efforts and furthered our cause. I don't know if you're aware that the Inveraray Jail sponsors many altruistic endeavors?"
The warden's whole body swayed as he spoke. His enthusiasm seemed genuine, and peculiar in the extreme. Nathan had no idea how to respond.
"Admirable."
The warden drew a delighted breath. "It's good of you to say so." He seized Nathan's arm and directed him to a chair.
"So you're Laird MacCallum's son? We've all heard of your arrival, of course. Glad we are to have a real Scotsman taking the chieftain's seat, and no Sassenach." The warden didn't pause for air, nor for Nathan's response. "Not to be saying there's anything out of order about Mr. Edgington, beyond the usual for an Englishman, anyway."
"I understand." He couldn't think of anything else to say.
It must have been enough, because the warden clapped his hands together. "Now tell me, Laird, what brings you to Inveraray Jail? If you're wishing to inspect the premises, I'd be fully obliged and honored to escort you."
"No. Thank you." Scotland was odd. There was no question. Nathan adjusted his cravata discomfort he would never welcome. "I understand you have a young woman jailed here. A Miss Miren Lindsay."
The warden sighed and cast his hands upright to heaven. "Shepherdess, yes."
"May I ask of what crime Miss Lindsay has been accused?"
The warden hopped up again and checked his records, more for the purpose of propriety than to refresh his memory. He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Caught for trespassing and assault, by the order of Garrison Campbell."
Nathan's brow angled. "Assault?"
"Did him masculine harm, sir. Mr. Campbell won't be walking straight for a good while." The warden looked furtively around and lowered his voice. "Can't say as I blame her. Campbell, he's fathered any amount of wee bairns, then refuses any help for their upbringing. Rumor says more than one of those 'unions' were forced. Hoping I am that Miss Lindsay taught him a lesson."
"If that's so, I see no reason to jail her."
The warden squinted and hedged. "In the eyes of heaven, maybe not. But Campbell, he's got ties, if you take my meaning. Power." Th
e warden winked. "No more than yourself, though."
"I see. May I see the girl?"
"Got her out in the exercise run, if I'm not mistaken. Under guard at all times."
Nathan's jaw tensed. "The girl I recall couldn't pose a threat to anyone."
"Not the girl, sir. The dog!"
The warden led Nathan from the jail into a small courtyard. An outdoor cell provided two runs with barred gates for prisoners. Nathan's heart moved slowly as he approached the gate. A tattered man stood in the corner of the first cell. The warden eyed his prisoner in distaste.
"You're out here to move, Maclachlan. So move!"
The prisoner spat, then shuffled forward.
The warden gestured toward the second cell. He stopped a good distance from the entrance. "In there."
Nathan went to the gate. She walked away from him, rain soaking through her prison garb, her long hair plastered around her shoulders. Her head bowed, her arms folded behind her back. She reached the far wall of the cell, stopped, took a breath, and turned. She plodded forward, not noticing his presence.
The dog paced beside her, its head low, too, tail dragging.
Nathan couldn't speak, but his pulse moved in static beats. She came to the gate, and still didn't see him. It hadn't been her desperate cry he'd heard from the upper window. Miren Lindsay hadn't changed since he last saw her. She plodded forward, obedient to jail rules. Her dog plodded forward, too.
Nathan's throat ached. "Miss Lindsay."
She didn't hear his voice, but her dog startled.
The warden tapped Nathan's shoulder. "Better step back, sir. That dog's a menace."
Nathan didn't move. "Miss Lindsay."
Miren looked back, slowly, over her shoulder. The warden hopped back in alarm as the dog bounded toward Nathan. Itslong nose protruded eagerly through the bars of the cell, its tail wagged.
"Seems like it knows you, sir." The warden sounded suspicious, but Nathan didn't respond.
Miren Lindsay was as beautiful as he remembered, as she had been in his dreams. Tears welled in her eyes when she recognized him. Nathan couldn't tell if they dropped to her cheeks, because her face was already damp from rain. So much hope sprang into her eyes, so much she needed that he couldn't give.
Nathan forced his gaze from her face to the dog. "Molly."
Molly barked in response. Even the dog looked hopeful, as if Nathan could solve all their problems and make life right again.
Miren Lindsay gathered herself together. She adjusted her damp hair, straightened her slumped shoulders, and came to stand at her gate. She peered over his shoulder toward the warden. "Mr. Burgess, is it permitted for me to stop exercising for a brief while?"
The warden shrugged. "Don't take too much of the laird's time, girl. Guards, keep an eye on that dog."
The warden retreated back into the jail, leaving Nathan with Miren. She took a quick gulp of air, then met his eyes. Her expression looked . . . professional.
"It was kind of you to come, Mr. MacCallum." Her voice quavered, but she held it steady. Nathan wanted to reassure her, but words wouldn't come. "You are, you see, the only person I know in this portion of Scotland. You gave me your name, if you recall." She hesitated, and her expression turned wistful. "It may be that you regret that now."
"No." He couldn't say more. He didn't know why words came so hard. "What do you wish of me, Miss Lindsay?"
"You warned me about Mr. Campbell, and as you can see, I came inadvertently into contact with his premises."
"So I've heard."
"It didn't go well."
"I see that, too."
She nodded. "In light of my sentence, my plans have altered. I sent a message to you because I would like to pose a business opportunity for your consideration."
If she offered herself . . . he would take her. "What did you have in mind?"
"My sheep"
"Your sheep?"
"Molly has been sentenced with me, but my sheep were confiscated. Actually, they tried to confiscate Molly, too. She prevented them. Which is why the guards are somewhat leery of her now. I didn't know she bit. She's never bitten anyone before." Miren's chin quivered, but she didn't cry. "They were going to shoot her, but I convinced them to leave her with me. You see, she bit Mr. Campbell, too."
Nathan reached down and patted Molly's head before he realized what he was doing. He felt a quick, respectful lick. Nathan looked into Miren's eyes. She looked tense, but professional. "What do you want of me, Miss Lindsay?"
Her chin elevated. "I wondered if you might consider seeing my sheep into capable hands, so that they aren't slaughtered for mutton. I do think, given a chance, they will be a fine flock."
Her eyes puddled with tears again, but she kept her expression straight. Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but no words came.
"I know you're not a sheep owner, Mr. MacCallum, but they might profit you in a small way." She paused as if struggling to think of a convincing use for her flock. "They trim fields admirably, will provide wool for fashionable rugs, and"she bit her lip"they're scenic when viewed across a majestic landscape such as your property."
"Miss Lindsay . . ."
She held up her hand, stopping him. "I don't want money for them, sir. I just want to know they'll have a secure position when I go."
"Go?"
She gazed upward, into the soft rain. "To Australia. I'm being deported for my various crimes."
Nathan's jaw dropped. "They can't deport you for a few miscreant sheep!"
She sighed. "Not so much for the sheep as for assaulting Mr. Campbell."
"he deserved it."
"He didn't think so."
"Did he harm you, Miss Lindsay?"
She hesitated, looking uncomfortable. "He issued an unacceptable proposal. I declined."
Miss Lindsay had a gift for understatement. Nathan smiled. "I understand his walk will be hampered for some time."
"He persisted overmuch." She shook her head. " Australia. It's a long way from Australia to America, isn't it? Longer than from Scotland."
Nathan stared. Miren remained focused on her goals. She didn't look back, she didn't rail against the past. She considered Australia a diversion, but she was still determined to reach whatever family remained to her.
He had come to her, thinking she would offer herself as a mistress. He would have taken her. He hadn't really acknowledged it until now, but that had been his intention. He'd considered her a pretty, engaging diversion. And she wanted him to look after her sheep.
A wave of shame eased its way into his heart. Had he grown so old over twenty-seven years, to be so far from innocence?
"You don't want them, do you?"
She'd misread his dark expression. Her small hands clutched the bars of her cell as she fought tears. Nathan placed his hands over hers. "I will do what I can."
She looked at their hands, then into his face. Her expression altered slightly. A faint blush touched her cheeks. Nathan withdrew his hands from hers and turned away. He made nopromises, nor offered any reassurance. She didn't call after him, nor beg, nor anything. He looked back from the doorway, but she returned to her exercise, dutifully walking back and forth.
Molly rose up on her hind legs, her front paws against the bars. She barked and whined as the door closed behind him. Nathan watched as Miren patted her head and coerced her from the bars. The two guards poised their rifles in defense, but the dog moved away and resumed pacing beside her mistress.
Chapter Three
Maybe I don't know humans as well as I thought. I could have sworn he'd come to rescue us. He gave every sign. Even laid hands on the young mistress through the bars.
This whole disaster was Blossom's doing. The old sow led the rest of them right onto the front steps of a manor house because she likes the look of potted plants. Any sensible animal would have known better. But not Blossom.
I believe she did it knowing I would be blamed. I had to fight off an attacker, which I did well enough, u
ntil more men arrived. They stuffed the young mistress into a coachand not a lavish one at alland tried to take her away from me. I followed, of course. Little did I know where we'd end up.
My only comfort is that I'll never see Blossom's round, woolly body again.
"My fingers are bleeding." Miren set aside her herring net and went to the door of her cell. Her door was thick and metal, and she had to stand on her toes to see out the tiny,
barred window. The man across the hall muttered in Gaelic. From farther down, a woman shouted back.
"Prisoners! Quiet, or you'll be at the wheel!"
Miren frowned. The wheel was an evil device. Hours of mindless labor were spent cranking a wheel which did nothing but occupy the most troublesome prisoners. Others were forced to move a pile of cannonballs from one spot to another, then back. So far, she'd avoided such punishments.
"Excuse me . . . Guard!" A guard sat at the end of the hall, looking bored and irritable. His gaze appeared surly, but he rose from his seat and came to her door. He opened it a crack and scanned her appearance greedily.
"Got that net done yet?"
"Nearly. A problem has arisen. My fingers, you see, are blistering. If you could provide some form of bandage, I would be quicker at my task."
"What'll you give for it?"
Miren's eyes narrowed. "My appreciation."
"With or without clothes?"
She responded with an icy glare.
"You're high up for a peasant wench. Maybe you're thinking that laird will be returning for you?"
Miren said nothing, but a frown twitched at her lips. She shouldn't have contacted Nathan MacCallum. She'd placed him in an unfortunate position, without thinking how her message might be interpreted. He was the only person she knew in Inveraray. He had seemed kind. But it was a lot to ask that he take her flock when she went to Australia.
Maybe she just wanted to see him again. Because she was afraid and lonely. Because he seemed kind and strong. Because she was surrounded with such poverty and ugliness that the sight of his face was the sun.