“Papa taught us well,” Gray agreed.
“Jewel too, remember? She’s brushing up on the skill now in the firing range with him. He’s teaching Giles and Luke how to handle a pistol.”
“I ken,” Munro replied. “Even Sarah’s over there. Ne’er thought I’d see the day my wee sassenach apothecary would be taking potshots at an enemy.”
“She wants to be able defend her home and family.”
“Aye. My wife’s brave. Did I ever tell ye about her going to the court in Birmingham to speak for Addison’s lad when he was charged with murder?”
Gray rolled his eyes. “Only a thousand times.”
Munro looked sheepish. “Well, saved his life, ye ken. Wait till ye get married, then ye’ll ne’er stop talking about yer wife.”
Gray laughed. “Ye mean like Garnet yaks about Jewel this and Jewel that?”
They shared the humor, until Gray felt the breeze cool on his wet skin. “I canna think about getting wed while this revolt is going on. Besides, I more or less agreed to marry Meaghan Guthrie when she’s old enough.”
Munro frowned. “And she’s what? Fourteen?”
“Sixteen,” Gray replied.
Munro tousled his hair. “Ye’ll be an auld man. Ye’re of an age to marry now, sire bairns of yer own.”
“Aye,” Gray sighed.
“Has no bonny lass taken yer fancy?” his brother asked, one eyebrow raised.
Gray looked at him askance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Munro stood. “Naught. But I ken one lass who thinks the sun rises and sets thanks to ye.”
Gray frowned, feigning ignorance.
“Ye ken very well who I mean. Faith Cameron would make a fine wife. She’s kind, intelligent and loyal, and ye canna tell me ye havna noticed the curves and those intriguing amber eyes.”
The loud boom of an explosion made them both cringe but it saved Gray from having to come up with a reply.
“Crivvens,” Munro exclaimed. “I thought papa was jesting about the cannon.”
Faith and her sisters were in the armory pouring gunpowder into the tubes the musketeers would carry slung around their bodies. James Madison had explained they were called apostles because there were twelve of them on a musketeer’s bandolier. Chief Armorer Madison kept a close eye on the proceedings to make sure they were performing the task correctly. “Wet powder’s useless,” he kept reminding them. “And we dinna want an explosion.”
“We heard ye the first time,” Maggie muttered, much to his annoyance and her sisters’ amusement.
It was a tedious, messy task, but Faith didn’t mind. She was happy to do whatever she could to help defend Kilmer. If Gray was determined to take the fight to the enemy, she wanted his militiamen to be properly equipped.
Intent on her task, she was startled by the sound of a loud boom. Powder spilled on to the floor.
Rachel squealed.
“What the devil,” Madison yelled. “Everybody out.”
“Is it the invaders?” Esther cried fearfully as they hurried to the door.
Faith grabbed Maggie’s hand. “I dinna think so. Too soon.”
They emerged into bright sunlight. Faith shaded her eyes and looked out across the meadow, squinting at two men hurrying towards the house. One was putting his shirt back on; the other was Gray, stripped to the waist, his long hair wet and broad shoulders glistening.
He was Poseidon, newly emerged from the deep.
“Dinna be alarmed,” he shouted as he passed. “My father is playing with his cannon.”
She gaped like an imbecile, incapable of uttering a single word in reply. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a man’s body, and she knew men were made differently from women. But she’d never been so overwhelmingly awed by sheer masculine beauty, never felt the intense longing that threatened to consume her as she swayed like a reed in the wind.
She began to tremble, close to tears. Why had Fate determined she fall in love with a man she could never have?
Then Gray stopped and turned back. Clearly, he’d found her perusal offensive. She lifted her chin, steeling herself for his censure, but he smiled.
“Seriously, Faith, there’s naught to fear. They’re cleaning the old cannon that hasna been used for years. I suppose my father decided to make sure it would fire.”
She stared at the smattering of curly hair on his chiseled chest, her heart doing somersaults when he touched his hand to her face and she was obliged to look into his eyes.
“I dinna want ye to be afraid,” he said softly. “Trust me. Argyll willna succeed.”
Faith would never know where she found the courage to reply. “I’d trust ye with my life, Gray.”
The breath whooshed from her lungs when he wove his fingers into the hair at her nape. “And I would move heaven and earth to protect ye,” he whispered.
The magic spell was broken when the grinning earl appeared from the far side of the house, shouting reassurances all was in hand. The smile left Gray’s face as he stepped back. “My apologies, Faith. ’Tisna the time for flirtations.”
She watched him join his father and brother, shrugging on his shirt as they disappeared out of sight.
She clenched her jaw, forcing back the welling tears as Garnet approached and put his arm around her. “Ye’ve drawn his eye.”
She leaned into the man whose generosity of spirit had saved her and her sisters from a life of misery. There was no point hiding her feelings. “’Tis hopeless.”
“Nay, lass,” he replied. “He cares for ye.”
“Aye, as one of four Cameron lasses he helped rescue.”
He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. “I think that’s what he expected when he came home, but he’s conflicted. Argyll’s treachery has placed him in a difficult position. He has to put his duty to his country and his ancestral home first. What he needs is a woman who understands that and supports him.”
She shook her head. “I dinna have the strength.”
“Aye, ye do,” he replied, pausing a few moments before he too strode away to investigate what was happening with the cannon.
“I’d forgotten how loud a cannon blast is,” Gray’s father confessed as they approached the still-smoking ordnance.
“’Tis a relief to see the thing is still in one piece,” Munro replied.
A scowl replaced the smile on Morgan Pendray’s face. “I’m not that out of practice.”
It was easy to forget their father had commanded a gunnery crew in Cromwell’s Parliamentary army—but that was nigh on thirty years ago.
Giles stood ready to clean the barrel with a sheepskin attached to a long pole. Luke was piling up round shot in his usual methodical way.
Jewel and Sarah had fled the scene.
Grinning from ear to ear, Marten stood beside Smythe, a man who’d served as Morgan Pendray’s batman in the army. “Did ye hear that?” the bairn shouted, eyes darting from Munro to Gray as he thrust both arms in the air. “Boom!”
“I hope ye didna get too close,” Munro admonished.
“Nay,” the lad replied. “Grandpapa made sure me and Blair were safe. ’Twas awesome. I’m going to help fire the cannon if Argyll comes.”
Munro arched a brow at his father. “See what ye’ve started.”
“Blair was too scared,” Marten declared. “He’s gone inside with his mother.”
“Remember, your cousin’s younger than you,” his grandfather reminded him.
Gray chuckled inwardly as he watched the back-and-forth between three generations of his family. He sobered when it occurred to him he was the only one of Morgan and Hannah Pendray’s offspring who didn’t have bairns of his own. He’d never given the matter much thought, but Munro was right. Being back at Kilmer, among family, had roused a desire to sire children—now, not when Meaghan was old enough. Or perhaps it was seeing Faith again that had sparked these deeply buried feelings, though this wasn’t the Faith he remembered. She’d blossomed l
ike an exotic flower. It would be easy to become intoxicated by her.
He’d come home on a mission that he hadn’t yet fully revealed to his family, and duty had to take precedence. However, once the Rising was quashed…
But obligation also bound him to the Guthries.
Faith and her sisters went back to their task in the armory. The excitement with the cannon seemed to have silenced Esther and Rachel, so they made good progress as the afternoon wore on. Even Maggie was unusually quiet until the shadows lengthened and they were cleaning up.
“I feel sorry for ye, Rachel,” the bairn declared. “Faith will wed Gray Pendray, and Esther will marry Giles Raincourt. Ye’ll have to look beyond Kilmer.”
Rachel snorted. “Oh, aye? What about ye, missy?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Do ye ken naught? I intend to wed Luke Harrison.”
Even Faith chuckled. “Ye canna predict so far into the future.”
“Luke’s too timid for ye anyway,” Esther insisted.
“Nay,” Maggie retorted. “He might be quiet, but he’s nay timid. Like ye, Faith.”
“Never mind all this female chatter,” Madison scolded. “Make sure the floor’s swept clean.”
They made their way to their chambers once the armorer was satisfied they’d cleaned up the mess. Faith lay on her bed, waiting her turn in the boudoir. She pondered Maggie’s words in light of what Garnet had said.
Her little sister and her foster father both saw strengths in her she didn’t think she had. If she wanted Gray Pendray—and she did—she had to stop lamenting her parentage and help him see she’d make a good wife.
Lost In A Fog
May 11th 1685
Smythe cleared his throat and bent to whisper in Gray’s ear as the family members were breaking their fast. “Ye asked to be informed when couriers arrived from Edinburgh. They’re in the courtyard.”
“A dispatch from Quinn, probably,” Gray told his father. “I’ll go.”
“Fetch the news to the Map Room. We’ll meet you there.”
Having spent a sleepless night trying unsuccessfully to imagine himself married to Meaghan Guthrie, he couldn’t resist putting his hands on Faith’s shoulders as he passed her on his way down from the dais. “Naught to worry about,” he said softly.
To his surprise, she reached up to touch his fingers. The simple gesture sent a myriad of emotions swirling in his heart and loins. He adjusted his tunic, glad of the length, and exited the dining hall.
In the entryway, a soldier saluted and handed him a parchment.
“How long have ye been on the road?” he asked.
“The message left Edinburgh yesterday,” the courier replied. “We’re the second relay.”
“Well done,” Gray declared, recognizing the men had ridden through the night on tracks dangerous even in daylight. “Time is of the essence in these matters. Are they caring for yer horses in the stables?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Take yer men to the hall for victuals.”
The dragoon saluted again and left.
Gray removed the seal and unfurled the missive as he walked into the Map Room.
“What news?” Munro asked, leaning an elbow against the high wooden table that nigh on filled the space.
Gray shook his head in amazement. “It would appear the invasion has had a rough start.”
“How so?” Garnet asked.
“The Anna, the David and the Sophia sailed north to the Orkneys, as expected, but apparently got lost in fog in Scapa Flow.”
“Are they still there?” his father asked.
“Argyll sent two men ashore to get a pilot, one of whom had an uncle in Kirkwall. However, they were arrested by order of the Bishop of Orkney and word was sent to the Privy Council.
“It seems a heated argument then broke out aboard Argyll’s ship because he hadn’t informed anyone else he’d sent the two men ashore. Some proposed they attempt to rescue their comrades, others suggested reprisals.”
“Ye must have a spy on board Argyll’s vessel to ken this,” Garnet said.
Gray chose not to answer.
“And…” his father asked.
“They took seven of the local gentry hostage, but by the time the Bishop of Orkney received a letter proposing an exchange, Argyll had sailed away.”
“To take advantage of good winds,” Munro suggested.
“Apparently, the winds were contrary, but he wasna patient enough to wait.”
“They kept the hostages on board?” Garnet asked.
“Aye.”
“And his men are still in Kirkwall?”
“One of them William Spence, Argyll’s chamberlain.”
“This doesna sound like a well-planned expedition,” Munro observed.
“We anticipated disagreements among the conspirators,” Gray confirmed. “In Holland it was decided by vote that all major decisions should be discussed and approved by their committee, though Argyll was opposed to the idea. Patrick Hume is a committee member and he and Campbell rarely see eye to eye.”
“Argyll is known as a hothead,” Morgan Pendray observed. “They say he’s been erratic since a severe blow to the head sustained thirty years ago in prison.”
“He was tortured?” Garnet asked.
Munro chuckled. “I heard they were playing a game of bullets when it happened. He lay near to death for hours and they trepanned him more than once. He recovered, but…”
“’Tis well-known he waged war against his own father,” Garnet pointed out.
“Hopefully, his irrational behavior will lead to more arguments and that will be their undoing,” Gray suggested. “Meanwhile, they are probably nearing Argyll by now. The dragoons I dispatched to the coast will send word. By the way, Monmouth still hasna left Holland. It appears his agents in London sent excuses instead of the six thousand pounds he requested. He’s raising money by pawning his jewels and those of his mistress.
“Ye’d think the lack of support from the English nobility would indicate they dinna favor his cause.”
Faith was relieved to see Gray return to the dining hall, but his frown worried her. She felt light-headed when he bent to whisper in her ear on his way back to his seat. “Stay when everyone leaves.”
“What did he say?” Esther asked.
“None of yer business,” Maggie chided, earning a scowl.
A hush fell over the hall when Gray called for everyone’s attention. “To keep ye abreast of things, the traitors have sailed past the Orkneys and are likely close to landing in Argyll. They have three ships and few men.”
“They’ll send out the fiery cross,” someone shouted.
“Aye,” Gray agreed. “But there’s nay guarantee how many will heed the call. Go about yer daily affairs. If ye’re part of the militia, report to yer captains. We want to be ready to mobilize if and when word comes.”
Faith admired the way everyone hurried to do his bidding. They respected his leadership, despite the fact he was the youngest son of the family.
Esther took her arm when she remained seated as the hall emptied. “Come on.”
“I’ll be along,” she replied.
“Suit yerself,” Rachel retorted.
Maggie winked as they left.
Faith began to feel conspicuously awkward sitting alone at the head table while Gray spoke to one of the tenants. She’d spent her childhood avoiding her parents’ censure, and made a point of never bringing attention to herself once she arrived in Kilmer.
The warmth of Gray’s hand covering hers when he finally sat beside her was reassuring, but she startled nonetheless.
“Dinna be afraid of me,” he said.
She plucked up her courage and looked him in the eye. “I dinna fear ye.”
“But ye’re nervous. Is it because of the Rising? There’s really naught to worry about.”
She listened while he told her of Argyll’s misadventures in the Orkneys and many other details she didn’t take in, so intent was she on t
he movement of his lips, the huskiness of his voice. His closeness was making her heart beat too fast.
“What’s a fiery cross?” she blurted out without thinking.
“’Tis an ancient tradition in the Highlands. For centuries, the sight of the Crann Tara has obligated warriors to rally to the defense of the clan. Sometimes, they carry a small burning cross from place to place. That’s what I expect Argyll will do.”
She attempted a smile. “From what ye’ve told me, it doesna sound like they’ve had much success so far.”
He tilted her chin to his gaze. “Ye have a lovely smile, Faith. I’m glad I’ve reassured ye.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. If he kissed her, she might swoon. “’Tisna Argyll makes me nervous,” she whispered. The urge to tell him she dreaded he might be killed was powerful. However, Garnet had advised that Gray needed a strong woman who would support him. So instead, she confessed, “’Tis ye sets my heart aflutter.”
She studied their joined hands, too ashamed to mention the wanton sensations he caused in more intimate parts of her body.
He inhaled deeply and lifted her palm to his mouth.
She held her breath as he touched his lips to her skin.
“Ye’ve grown into a beautiful woman, Faith,” he whispered. “I have to admit I wasna prepared to be knocked off balance.”
“Ye’ve grown too. ’Tis the man ye’ve become who owns my heart.”
His blue eyes darkened as he let go of her hand. “I’d love to whisk ye away to some private place. But ’tis more complicated than that.”
She nodded. “The Rising.”
“Aye,” he replied as he rose and helped her stand. “The Rising.”
“But Argyll will fail,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster. “And then…”
He averted his gaze. “Aye. We’ll talk. Now, back to planning our strategy.”
As he walked away, she attributed the lack of conviction in his voice to preoccupation with Argyll’s impending arrival.
Gray returned to the Map Room to continue the discussions with the other men of his family, but his thoughts were on Faith. He ought to have told her about Meaghan.
Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4) Page 3