“What has this Robert MacLeod of Gairloch done, my lord?”
The king laughed, a harsh sound. “What hasn’t he done? He calls himself the Black Wolf and roams the hills as if he owns them.”
“The Black Wolf?” Rolf raised an eyebrow.
“Apparently MacLeod wears a cloak made from the pelt of black wolves, a rare find these days in the Highlands. The villagers believe it enables him to change into a black wolf, giving him some sort of mystical, magical power over his enemies.”
“Simple superstitions, certainly.”
“Perhaps, but as the Black Wolf, MacLeod has harassed loyal English subjects in the area, stole from them, burned their houses and resorted to murder. Even more distressing, he seems to possess some rather remarkable diplomatic skills. In the past few months, he’s brought together some of the fiercest clans in the area, including the Chisholms, who at one point swore fealty to me. I’ll have no more of it, Rolf. This Wolf has become some sort of legendary figure to the local people and they seem willing to follow him no matter how reckless such a venture may be.”
Rolf swore. “The man is bold.”
George nodded. “That he is. And I cannot take the risk that he may be able to organize them into some kind of effective fighting force. Our situation in the Highlands is tenuous at best, and I’ll not have MacLeod among them stirring up trouble.”
“What would you have me do?”
“You are one of my most trusted officers and more importantly, you have valuable experience in Scotland. I want you to hunt down this Black Wolf and put an end to his activities. Then learn more about these Scottish heathen. Befriend them if you must in order to settle them. Build their homes, or whatever it may take to gain their trust. But I’ll have no more talk of insurrection, nor will I tolerate flagrant disobedience of my laws.”
Rolf digested the request with no small amount of surprise. This was certainly not what he had expected, but he felt honored the king had entrusted him with such a vital and important task.
George must have seen the surprise on Rolf’s face and his voice softened. “I know that the past several months have been most difficult for you, Rolf. I’ve also noticed that lately you have appeared restless and troubled in your business about court. I speak as your friend now, not your sovereign when I urge you to proceed with your life. It’s time to put your tragedies behind you—the dreadful incident with your hand, and, of course, the unfortunate loss of your wife. However, I feel compelled to remind you that the St. James estate needs an heir and it is your duty to provide one. I’m sure I speak as your father would if he were here.”
A faint smile touched the corners of Rolf’s lips. His father, Sir Percival St. James, had been a close friend of the king’s family and had served with distinction alongside George during the Battle of Dettingen in Bavaria. The two men had been confidants and friends for years until Rolf’s father had passed on just two years earlier.
“Of course, you are right, my Sire, but I would dare ask for a bit more time. My crippling injury and my wife’s rather unusual death make me a somewhat questionable prospect for most young ladies.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the matter with Caroline’s death is closed.” He glanced at Rolf’s gloved hand. “That, however, is another issue. Does it still pain you?”
Rolf shrugged and then pulled off the black glove. The fingers were curled inward toward his palm at an odd angle as if frozen in an angry clench.
The king was aghast. “My God, have you any use of it at all?”
Rolf pursed his lips. “Practically none. I’m afraid my hand serves as little more than a dead weight.”
“And the pain?”
“It occasionally bothers me, but I fear the sight of my injury is more disturbing to those who have occasion to witness it than it is to me.”
The king sighed. “Forgive me, Rolf. I know that it has not affected your abilities to lead. That is why I asked specifically for you to handle this most delicate task in Scotland.”
“I am honored by your faith in my abilities.”
“You are a good and decent man, much like your father. True, you have had some unfortunate luck, but that will certainly change. If you so desire, I shall command whichever woman you wish to wed you.”
Rolf bowed his head, replacing the glove on his hand. “I’m honored by your kindness, Sire, but that will not be necessary. I will fulfill my duty to wed again. But at the moment I am most intrigued by this business in Scotland. If you will permit me to query, where do you wish for me to begin?”
The king motioned toward the table with the pitcher. “Pour us some wine.”
Rolf arose from his chair and walked over to the table where the wine and black goblets stood. He poured the fragrant wine into one of the goblets and offered it to the king before pouring one for himself. The king waited until Rolf returned to his seat before speaking.
“I am turning over MacLeod’s castle and land holding to you. The locals call it Castle Kilcraig. It is a bit of an ironic gesture on my part, and one that I must admit gives me a devious sense of satisfaction. There have been a variety of people living in it since being vacated, but I’ll have it cleared for your arrival. It is located on the western coast of the country—north of the Isle of Skye.”
Rolf took a sip of his wine. “My presence in this Castle Kilcraig shall certainly capture the attention of the Wolf.”
“As it is intended. You may also wish to converse with a nobleman in the same area by the name of Edwin Farrington. I sent him there myself two years ago after we were able to effectively appropriate the land from MacLeod and the local heathens.”
Rolf remembered hearing about the bloody rebellions against the English in the Gairloch region. He thought it remarkable that in spite of their resounding defeat at the hands of the king’s men, the Scots still refused to give in, fighting for an additional two years on little more than sheer will, pride and intelligence. The Black Wolf was certainly an enemy to be respected.
“Will I be permitted to take my men?”
“No more than sixty, I’m afraid, so choose well. I don’t want it to appear as if the Black Wolf has us worried. I trust you, Rolf. You are a fine soldier, just as your father was before you.”
“I will not fail you, my lord.” Rolf set his empty goblet on the table and stood.
The king stood as well, putting a hand on Rolf’s shoulder. “I have no doubt you will succeed. Give yourself one week to put your affairs in order and then be on your way. I will see you are richly rewarded for your success.”
Rolf inclined his head. “Serving you is reward enough, Your Majesty.”
George laughed, his brown curls bouncing against his shoulders. “My God, if only all my subjects were as loyal as you, I’d be the happiest monarch in all of Europe.” He paused and his face turned serious. “Just do one thing for your king, Rolf. Bring me the Black Wolf.”
Rolf pressed his hand to his heart. “You have my word on it, Sire.”
Chapter Three
Glen Grudie
February 1752
Megan did not notice the bitterly cold wind as she rode into camp, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining. Sliding off the horse, she handed the reins to one of her clansmen and entered the tent. A smile crossed her lips as she heard the shouts of victory. In excellent spirits, she unfastened her plaid, glancing up as Robbie entered the tent, a broad grin on his face. Striding the short distance to where she stood, he grabbed her around the waist, whirling her about in a circle before setting her down on the ground.
“God’s mercy, ye did it again, Meggie. ’Tis the sixth successful raid we’ve had this month. We’ve got a half dozen o’ Farrington’s horses and enough fodder to feed them for the rest o’ the winter. ’Tis a miracle. Ye have the luck o’ the saints, lass.”
M
egan threw back her head and laughed. “’Tisn’t just luck. Ye know how I struggle wi’ ways to outfox that cursed Englishman.”
“And ye’ve done that and much more.” Robbie’s green eyes were full of pride. “Ye’ve done everything ye promised. The MacDonnells and Chisholms have joined us and the men are in better spirits than they have been in months. Ye’ve tricked the English in ways that would have made your da proud. Saints above, it makes me proud.”
Megan cast her plaid to the bench, shaking out her hair. “Farrington is a fool and easily tricked. But we must be careful o’ the new Englishman. Somehow I sense he is different.”
Robbie frowned. “Aye, word is that the man is as evil as the Devil. I heard he lost a hand in battle and takes his anger out on his enemies, killing and crippling alike.”
She paled. “’Tis true that a maimed man is oft dangerous, much like a wounded animal. But he’ll no’ catch us, Robbie. We’ve already proven to be too quick for him.”
“So far, luck has been wi’ us.”
Megan whirled around to face him. “I told ye, luck has naught to do wi’ it. We’ve painstakingly planned every detail.”
“Aye, ’tis so, but ye canna stop me from worrying. Did ye know the Englishman even murdered his own wife?”
Megan gasped. “Mary, Mother o’ God, is that true?”
“Aye, Douglas MacLeary overheard talk among the English soldiers. We must take care wi’ this man. ’Tis my belief that this Englishman would no’ hesitate to murder our women or bairns if it suited his purpose.”
Megan hugged herself. “Well, I won’t give him the chance. I’ll no’ let him hurt our people.”
Reaching out, Robbie lightly brushed his fingers against her cheek. “’Tis a fine leader ye’ve been, Meggie, but ’tis time we talk.”
She stiffened. “About what?”
Robbie took a deep breath. “It’s been four months since your da died. Ye’ve achieved what ye wanted wi’ the other clans. ’Tis now time to put aside your leadership and agree to become my wife. Let me take care o’ ye, like a husband should.”
“But ’tis not the right time yet. Ye know that.”
“And when will the time be right? Ye’re just being stubborn, Meggie. Ye know we can’t keep the death o’ your father a secret for much longer.”
“Why no’? My plan is working better than we ever anticipated. We are stronger now than we have been in months.”
“And the last thing we want is to see it all come to naught by letting the clans know they’ve been led all along by a lass. The MacLeod clan trusts ye, but I dinna know about the others. We canna deceive them forever.”
“’Tis no’ forever I intend. Just a while longer.”
“Meggie.” He growled with frustration. “Look at ye, dressed in trews and a shirt like a man. Ye need to end this deception. I urge ye, listen to reason.”
Megan sat down on one of the wooden benches with an unladylike thump. “I am being reasonable.”
“Ye’ll put us all at risk because o’ your stubbornness. Dinna do it, lass.”
She opened her mouth to protest and then shut it. “Och, rot. Must ye always be the voice o’ reason?”
He blinked at her sudden acquiescence. “So ye think what I say is reasonable?”
“I do,” she admitted.
He knelt beside her. “Then agree to marry me. Ye know ’tis the right thing to do.”
“Don’t rush me, Robbie. ’Tis too soon after my da’s death.”
Robbie threw up his hands in frustration. “What do ye mean, rush ye? I’ve been waiting all my life for ye, Megan MacLeod. I’d hardly say ’tis rushing matters. And we both know your da would have approved o’ our joining.”
Megan wound a strand of her hair around her finger, knowing that Robbie was right. Her father would have approved. Besides, she knew that if she refused to marry her first cousin, she would only be postponing the inevitable. She had promised Geddes she would wed and in many ways, Robbie was the best choice. He was a kind and decent man and would be a good husband. They had been close friends since childhood.
So why did she hesitate? To be his wife meant a certain intimacy between a man and a woman that she could not imagine having with him. She didn’t love him in that way and knew in her heart that she never would. But should that matter?
“Meggie, are ye listening to me?”
She lifted her head to look at the face she knew so well. His thoughtful green eyes stared at her with a desperate intensity while his fingers tugged at the thick hair of his beard.
“Why do ye delay? Have we no’ been friends all our lives?”
“O’ course we have. ’Tis just that everything is happening so quickly.”
“’Tis one more reason why ye should marry me. ’Tis naught better than a family to provide stability and love. Think o’ it, Meggie. Imagine the bairns we could have. We’d raise them to love Scotland as we do and cherish their mother and da.”
She lifted her hands. “And raise them in this squalor and poverty? We are at war wi’ the English, Robbie. Do we want to bring bairns into this world under such conditions?”
“I’ll protect them, Meggie, just like I’ll protect ye. I love ye. I always have.”
His face was so earnest as he uttered the words that Megan could not help but feel a stirring in her heart. “Och, Robbie.”
He held her hand against his face. “Say ye’ll marry me, Meggie.”
“I need more time. But I promise ye that I’ll consider it seriously. ’Tis all the assurance I can give ye right now.”
Frustrated, Robbie exhaled a breath. “Well, I’ll no’ wait forever. Nor will the clan. The matter needs to be settled soon, especially between us.”
Before she could move, he drew her toward him, pressing a warm kiss against her lips. Surprised by his boldness, Megan did not resist and thought it a rather pleasant sensation. But when it was over, she felt none of the emotions that darkened Robbie’s eyes and caused his breath to come faster. He leaned over to kiss her again, but she put a hand on his chest, stopping him.
“Good night, Robbie. ’Twas a long day and we’ve another difficult day ahead o’ us on the morrow.”
He looked longingly at her lips before stepping back and nodding. “Good night, lass. Sweet dreams.”
After he left, Megan blew out the candles and sat down on the furs, removing her heavy boots. Her muscles ached from the long ride and she rubbed her lower back with a groan. She was tired but not yet sleepy. The excitement of the raid and Robbie’s proposal still rang in her ears. She would keep her promise and think it over she owed him that much. Ignoring the aches in her back and legs, she crawled underneath the pelts and closed her eyes.
Was it her fate to marry a man of whom she was fond, but did not love in a romantic way? Although her mother had died when she was ten, Megan still remembered the shining look of love that passed between her parents. Their knowing glances, whispered secrets and hushed giggles were all things Megan longed to know and understand for herself. Yet deep in her heart, she knew it to be a dream beyond her grasp. The English had long ago taken away any chance for love and a stable life.
Sliding her hands up behind her head, Megan stared into the darkness of her tent. Desires and aspirations were no longer attainable—life had more pressing matters to be resolved. Robbie was right. She was no longer a child. The forces of war and destruction had dictated life to her. He deserved an answer and the clan deserved to know the truth about her father.
All right. It was settled. She would marry Robbie. That would serve two purposes. First it would strengthen Robbie’s claim to the lairdship, and second, it would ease her own fear of the future. It was a fear she had never contemplated in happier days—a future without her family and filled with crushing uncertainties. With Robbie she would be s
afe and loved. Perhaps that would be enough.
She pressed her hand against her eyes, a deep sadness filling her. It would have to be enough, for she no longer had anything more.
* * *
Rolf ordered his men to hug the shadows of the trees as they moved along the wooded path. He hoped his spies had been right. Two of them had managed to follow the Scottish raiders to an area not far from where he now stood. They had lost the Scots in the thick underbrush, but both men were certain that the camp was somewhere nearby. Afraid to continue searching on their own in case they accidentally stumbled upon the rebel camp, the spies had returned to Castle Kilcraig, where their lord was waiting. Upon hearing their report, Rolf had ordered forty of his men to saddle up. As a light snow fell down upon them, they had ridden out into the darkness.
If it were a trick or an ambush by the Scotsmen, Rolf knew that it might well cost many of them their lives. It was a risk he was willing to take. Both he and his men were impatient to meet the elusive Scots who hid out in the mountains, using the cover of darkness to prey on the poorly protected holdings of the local English landlord, Edwin Farrington. For weeks Rolf and his men had plotted, chased and tried to trap the Black Wolf without success. Lately, however, the Wolf had become brazen and reckless in his raids against Farrington. In the past few weeks alone, the Wolf had struck at the Englishman six times, stealing horses, fodder and even cattle. Each time the Wolf had been able to outfox Rolf and his men. Not tonight. For the past two weeks, Rolf had altered his strategy, ordering several of his men to spread out and cover a larger perimeter of the area. Each night his men went out in the forest to predetermined locations and waited, hoping the raiders would pass by their locations. For eleven nights, they had seen nothing. But tonight, on the twelfth night, they had finally gotten their first lead on the rebels. Rolf was not about to pass up the chance to meet his enemy face to face.
The Thorn & the Thistle Page 3