Taken by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Normally, Mairi was the first thing on his mind each day—her smile, her sweet fragrance, the pleasure of her touch—but his conversations with the duke the night before still occupied every corner of his mind. There was no room for anything in his brain but designs of warfare.

  The realization caused a sharp stab of heartache in his chest, for he knew now what lay ahead of him. Long before he’d met Mairi, he had dreamed of vengeance and atonement, but now it was so much greater than that. It was not simply his own selfish desires for revenge and redemption that drove him. It was a need to fix all that was broken within the Campbell clan, and rid Leathan Castle—and the whole of Scotland—of a tyrant.

  Today, there was no room in his heart for a woman. Today, Logan was a warrior, and right or wrong, he was compelled to fight for an elevated cause.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mairi stood in the open door of the stable at dawn, her breath catching in her throat.

  An English Redcoat, with two eggs in his hand, stood over one of her chickens. He jumped at the sight of her, dropped the eggs on the ground with a splat, and drew his pistol. “Stay where you are. Hands in the air.”

  A burst of white-hot fear exploded in her belly. Heart racing, she raised her hands over her head. “Take what you need and leave,” she said to him. “We want no trouble here.”

  Keeping the weapon trained on her face, he squinted at her with suspicion. “Who are we? How many men are in the house?”

  “None,” she replied. “It’s only my mother, myself, and my son. He is just a wee lad.”

  “No men?” the soldier pressed. “I find that difficult to believe. Are you lying to me?”

  Mairi shook her head. “Nay, I give you my word. It’s just the three of us here. Now please take what you need, and leave.”

  He glanced down at the yellow egg yolk splattered on the toe of his boot. “Bloody hell.” Then his eyes darted upward, as if he suddenly realized his mistake in taking his eyes off her.

  She still stood in the doorway with her hands in the air.

  The soldier removed the empty white sack from over his shoulder and held it out to her. “Fill this with eggs.”

  Cautiously, she moved closer to take the sack from him, and collected every last egg while he pointed his pistol at her. When there were no more eggs in the nests, she turned and handed the sack back to him.

  Without reaching for it, he looked her up and down from head to foot, his gaze settling on her breasts for an uncomfortable stretch of time. “You say there are no men here. Where is your husband?”

  A sick, angry feeling crept into her belly, for she recognized the softening tones of his voice and the obvious trail of his thoughts. “My husband traveled to Kinloch on an errand. He will return at any time. I expect him this morning.”

  It was a lie, of course. But she would say anything to protect herself.

  “Kinloch, you say…” The soldier tilted his head to the side. “What’s his name?”

  She hesitated, wishing she’d kept Logan’s destination to herself.

  “I don’t see how that is any of your business, sir.”

  He raised the pistol higher. “I’m a soldier in the King’s army and everything in Scotland is my business.” He paused and raised a dark, arched eyebrow at her. “If I want it to be.”

  Again, his leering gaze roamed presumptuously down the length of her body. She shivered with revulsion.

  “Take the eggs and go,” she demanded, pushing the bag at him. “There is nothing else here for you.”

  This time he took the sack of eggs from her and fastened it over his shoulder. “I’ll be the one to decide whether or not there’s anything here for me.”

  Mairi’s heart hammered wildly as she backed away from him.

  “Take me to the house. I want to see for myself that there are no men here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re searching for someone,” he explained. “A Scottish rebel who helped a prisoner escape from the garrison. His name is Darach MacDonald, though he may be going by the name of Campbell. Do you know him?”

  Oh God…

  “Nay, I do not.”

  He studied her expression for a long, heated moment, then grabbed her by the arm and dragged her roughly out of the stable. “Show me the house.”

  “Why?” she asked, stumbling as he shoved her.

  He pressed the barrel of the pistol into her ribs. “We’ve been searching every house on our way to the garrison. I want to make sure you’re not harboring a fugitive.”

  Mairi had no choice but to do as he commanded, for she didn’t doubt that he would shoot her on the spot if she resisted him.

  Seconds later, she pushed through the front door and showed him the empty kitchen. “See? There is no one here.”

  The soldier’s angry gaze darted about the interior. “Show me all the beds.”

  “But my son is—”

  “I don’t care about your son. Show me.” He glared at her with malice, and she worried that he might have more on his mind than the search for a fugitive.

  She pointed at the door to her room. “Through there.”

  He gestured with the pistol. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

  Reluctantly, she moved across the kitchen and pulled the curtain aside to reveal her bed. “You see? It’s empty.”

  The soldier pushed by her to search every corner.

  Just then, Hamish shuffled out of her mother’s bedroom on the opposite side of the cottage. He rubbed his eye with his knuckle. “Ma? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Hamish. Go back to bed.”

  The soldier hurried by her to see Hamish for himself. “This is your son?”

  Hamish’s eyes grew wide as saucers as he peered up at the soldier’s intimidating red uniform and the pistol in his hand. He turned and bolted back into Isla’s room.

  “You frightened him,” Mairi said with displeasure.

  The soldier quickly followed Hamish. His boots pounded heavily across the floor and he disappeared behind the curtain. Mairi darted forward to stop him just as there was a scuffle and a clattering sound—as if the pistol had been knocked to the floor. The solider backed out of the room and returned to the kitchen with his hands in the air.

  “It’s time for you to leave now,” Isla said, striding forward with her own pistol aimed at his face. Hamish remained in the bedroom.

  “Fine,” he said. “But if I find out that you know anything about that rebel Scot, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  Isla escorted the soldier to the door. “Mairi, go and get his pistol on the floor in my room. Empty the chamber and return it to him.”

  Mairi hurried to complete the task. A moment later, they watched from the window as the Redcoat made his way across their back field and disappeared into the forest.

  Mairi let out a breath of relief and sank down onto a chair. “That was close. I’m glad he was alone.”

  “We might not be so lucky next time,” Isla replied as she sat down at the table across from Mairi.

  “This sort of thing has been happening more and more lately,” Mairi said. “Ever since the English took control of Leathan. They’re everywhere, always coming around. I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  “Nor do I,” Isla replied. “At least that dirty Redcoat left without putting up a fight.” She set the pistol down on the table and regarded Mairi intently, and lowered her voice so that Hamish would not hear. “Let me ask you something. What would you have done if he had turned out to be Joseph Kearney? Would you have dirked him in the back before you allowed him to walk through that door? Or would you have let him go off with our eggs?”

  Mairi felt a rush of annoyance at being asked such a question. “I don’t know what I would have done. If he had agreed to leave peacefully…” She stood up and went to light the fire for breakfast.

  “Then what?” Isla asked. “You would have let him leave without paying a price for what he did to you five years ago?”
<
br />   Crouching down on her knees at the hearth, Mairi glanced over her shoulder at her mother. “Now you’re starting to sound like Logan.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? I’m sure if Logan were here and Joseph Kearney tried to set foot in your bedroom, he would have stopped him from breathing, right then and there.”

  Mairi set the kindling in place and struck the flint. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about this. That soldier was not Captain Kearney, and you know very well that I’ve given up thoughts like those. I choose peace and forgiveness, not fear and hate, because I cannot live like that.”

  Isla let out a frustrated breath. “You may find, one of these days, that you have no choice but to muster up a great deal of fear and hatred in order to protect yourself and your son.”

  “If that day comes,” Mairi replied, “I will do what I must to protect Hamish, but until then, let us speak no more of it. That soldier left without causing any real damage, and I am glad, because I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  Isla raised an eyebrow knowingly. “And yet you always keep that knife hidden in your boot. You slide it into place each and every morning.”

  Mairi gave her mother a warning look. “All that soldier wanted was eggs. We’re fine. It’s over. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  With that, she walked out of the kitchen to go and see if one of the hens might have laid a late egg or two.

  * * *

  Sitting back in the chair in his tent, Colonel Gregory Chatham turned his cheek to the side so that his manservant could run the razor under his jawline. All the while, Gregory tapped his finger persistently on the armrest, for he was growing more irritable with every passing second. “Hurry up, Fenwick. I don’t have all day.”

  He had been living out of a tent for weeks, sitting in a saddle from sunup to sundown, and he was weary of the outdoors, not to mention his grating frustration—for he still hadn’t found that rebel bastard, Darach Campbell. Or Larena.

  At this point, Gregory had no further interest in taking her as his wife. That ship had sailed. He wouldn’t take her back now if she got down on her knees, kissed his boots, cried a river of tears, and pleaded hysterically. Although he would certainly enjoy seeing that.

  What he really wanted was to kill them both. First, he would drive a dull, rusty blade through Darach’s belly—in return for the humiliation he’d caused Gregory by escaping a second time. Gregory would force Larena to watch Darach die slowly and painfully. Then Gregory would wrap a rope around her neck and strangle the life out of her.

  He thought carefully about that for a few seconds. Larena would probably faint before she actually expired…

  Would that be satisfying at all? He supposed it would be fitting at least—a far more decorous end for such a beautiful woman.

  A knock sounded at the entrance to his tent just then and hauled him from his daydreams. “Come in!”

  Captain Joseph Kearney bent under the tent flap. “Good morning, Colonel. I thought you might like to know that Lieutenant Johnson just returned with some eggs that are being prepared now. He found them in a crofter’s stable about a half a mile from here.”

  Gregory waved his servant away and sat forward. “Did he search the premises?”

  “Yes, sir. He said there were no men, just a Scotswoman, her young son, and her mother. He did enquire after the rebel, but the women knew nothing.”

  “That’s it?” Gregory asked with a frown. “I thought you were going to tell me that she’d seen something, or heard something.”

  “No, sir.”

  Gregory’s stomach turned over with sickening dread, for he was not looking forward to writing the report of his failure to his father in Edinburgh. How could he possibly explain that he had tracked Darach Campbell all the way to Kinloch Castle, had him on the floor at the tip of his sword, but was outdone at the last second and had no choice but to let him go? It would not be a pleasant letter to write. Gregory should have killed the lieutenant who had witnessed it, but it was too late now. Others knew.

  With soap dripping from his chin, Gregory stood. “Thank you, Captain. Go get yourself some breakfast.”

  The man turned to go, but hesitated. “If you like, Colonel, I could go now and question the women myself. Sometimes a firmer hand will get different results.”

  Gregory regarded Kearney with displeasure and hostility. “I know exactly what your intentions are, Captain, and there comes a time when your ‘activities’ in the name of the King smack of self-indulgence. You’ve had your fill of Scottish women over the past fortnight—and I’ve allowed it because some degree of sport within the ranks is good for morale—yet I have seen nothing to suggest that your ‘firm hand’ will bring me the rebel I am searching for. We do not have time to wait while you skip off to satisfy your depravity. This is the British Army, not a brothel, and we must get back to the garrison.”

  Captain Kearney gave him a devious look. “It wouldn’t take long, sir. I’d catch up.”

  This was a flagrant display of disrespect—which was all Darach Campbell’s fault for making Gregory appear weak in front of his men.

  “No!” he shouted at Captain Kearney. “I gave you a direct order, sir—to go and get your breakfast. You will remain here and prepare for our departure.” He waved his manservant back to continue shaving him. “God, I’m sick of this wretched place. I once had romantic notions about Scotland. Now I see that in actuality, it is hell on earth and even turns Englishmen into savages.”

  Captain Kearney stalked out of Gregory’s tent, while the razor scraped noisily up the length of Gregory’s throat.

  Chapter Twenty

  Logan galloped his horse across the wooden bridge at Kinloch Castle, entered the bailey, and dismounted. While Tracker was attended to by a groom, Logan was escorted up the east tower steps to the sunlit solar where Angus—along with his cousin and Laird of War, Lachlan MacDonald—awaited his arrival.

  “Welcome back,” Angus said, greeting Logan with a firm handshake. Logan shook hands with Lachlan as well, while Angus turned to the drinks tray on the sideboard beneath the tapestry on the far wall.

  “You must tell us of your meeting with Moncrieffe,” Angus said. “Was he keen to send word to the King about what has been happening here? Did he agree with your plan to invade Leathan?”

  Angus approached Logan and Lachlan with two glasses of whisky. Logan accepted his gratefully. “Aye, the duke is an extraordinary man. I feel blessed to have shared a table with him. The duchess was lovely as well,” Logan mentioned. “Despite being English.”

  Angus clinked glasses with Logan. “Indeed. Now tell me. Lachlan and I both wish to know. What is your plan? What advice did Moncrieffe give you?”

  Logan sipped his drink and took a moment to appreciate its fine essence. “He and his brother Iain shared their knowledge of English military strategy. But one thing in particular kept repeating itself.”

  “What was that?” Lachlan asked with a tilt of his head, for he, too, was a brilliant military strategist and seasoned warrior.

  “I believe the duke has some unique experience with battles of a lesser degree,” Logan replied.

  Angus paused. “You are referring to hand-to-hand combat. Smaller, well-timed skirmishes?”

  “Aye, and the element of surprise,” Logan added.

  Angus and Lachlan shared a knowing look. “A tool that should never be squandered.”

  Logan raised his glass. “Indeed. And I believe, if we are to succeed in taking back Leathan Castle, we must use every means at our disposal. You are trusting me with your army, Angus, despite the fact that I am a Campbell by blood. For that trust, I am grateful. In return, I will trust you both with a Campbell secret and my strategy for the invasion. If I tell you this, will you give me your word of honor that you will never use it against us in years to come?”

  In that moment, Angus glanced down at the ancient sword Logan carried at his hip. He stared at it for a long moment, then met Logan�
�s gaze. “Are you about to astonish me? Because I have a sneaking suspicion you know something splendid.”

  “I do,” Logan replied with a smile. “And though I know how much you love to use your battering ram, we may not need it.”

  Angus’s blue eyes narrowed enquiringly. “I am intrigued.” He gestured for Logan to walk with him and Lachlan to the windows, where they could look out at the rolling hills and forests, and discuss the plan of attack.

  * * *

  At the sound of approaching hooves across her back field, Mairi’s eyes lifted from her stitching. She and Isla exchanged looks of concern.

  “Who could it be at this hour?” Mairi asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to wake Hamish, who had just fallen asleep. “It’s after dark.”

  Setting aside the stocking she had just begun to mend—and praying it was not another British soldier coming to steal from them, or do worse—she rose from her chair in front of the fire and crossed to the window to look out.

  It was a damp, foggy night. She could see nothing through the blackness beyond the glass.

  She heard the rider enter the yard and dismount. Isla reached for the pistol she kept by her chair and cocked the hammer, while Mairi moved stealthily, with a pounding heart, to answer the door.

  The intruder knocked softly, and Mairi’s fear turned instantly to joy, for she knew that was not the knock of a Redcoat. The man at the door was someone who did not wish to wake Hamish after bedtime.

  Flinging the door open, she stared wide-eyed at Logan. As soon as their eyes met, he smiled. He was so handsome, every bone in her body turned to mush. Her heart leapt and she threw herself into his arms.

  “Ah, my darling lass,” he whispered in her ear, nuzzling her neck and holding her close. “You have no idea how I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she replied, pressing her cheek against the rock-hard wall of his chest, breathing in the intoxicating aromas of leather, horse, and the briny scent of the outdoors.