During the day, while her men were busy in briefings with Atholl, she quickly fell into the routines set by the women of the camp. It wasn’t too far removed from the life she’d led in her parents’ home in Edinburgh—cooking, laundry, pumping water—except there was more laughter and camaraderie.
Her trepidation about the impending mission had eased, but resurfaced when a hue and cry went up. Argyll’s ships had been sighted rounding the Mull of Kintyre.
The camp was struck and everything packed away with astonishing efficiency. Within an hour, Gray, Giles and Faith were completely alone in the muddy meadow, Atholl’s entire army having marched further north.
“Best we make our way to the docks,” Gray said.
They loaded their gear and led the animals to the quay. The boat on which they’d arrived was nowhere to be seen.
“Naught for it but to wait,” Gray said, brushing leaves and twigs off a low stone wall. He lifted her to sit atop it, then perched beside her. They watched Giles pace leisurely then Gray spread his hands and examined them front and back. “The last few weeks of preparations have made my hands look less like those of a man who spends his life at a desk. We dinna want to plant doubts in Argyll’s mind.”
She spread her own hands. “Mine too. I could pass for a scullery maid.”
Winged creatures fluttered in her belly when he laced his fingers with hers. “Ye have beautiful hands, Faith.”
She looked up into piercing blue eyes.
“I will protect ye,” he swore.
“We’ll watch out for each other,” she promised.
Argyll Comes Ashore
In the course of his work for the Privy Council, Gray had been involved in several risky assignments. There was always inherent danger in dealing with people who might be playing both sides in the unpredictable game of politics, international and domestic.
Sitting on a stone wall, he and Faith watched Argyll’s ships sail slowly into Campbeltown harbor. The lead weight lodged in the pit of his stomach suggested this mission could be the most perilous of all. He wished Faith and Giles hadn’t been dragged into the escapade. On the other hand, he was glad of their presence, if only to add credence to his role.
When there was no sign of anyone disembarking an hour after the ships had dropped anchor, Giles stopped pacing. “What are they waiting for?” he asked impatiently.
“They’re probably arguing over what to do next,” Faith quipped with a wry smile.
Gray chuckled, though his backside was numb from sitting on the wall. “I’ll wager ye’re right, Mistress Cameron.”
Giles frowned. “Ye canna call her that if she’s yer wife.”
Faith’s innocent, yet knowing smile eased his worries about the impending arrival of Argyll’s army on Kintyre’s beaches, but she tightened her grip on his hand when longboats launched from the three ships. A dozen or so men huddled amidships while eight oarsmen, four on each side, plied the oars to bring the boats to shore.
“One boat per ship, none of them equipped with a cannon,” Gray remarked.
“Not enough to transport an army,” Giles replied.
“True, but we canna assume they dinna have more boats. They may have decided not to bring all the recruits from Holland ashore here.”
When the first boat reached the shallows, a tall man stood and settled a cavalier-style hat on his head. The ostentatious plume seemed incongruous in the circumstances.
“Argyll, I’ll wager,” Faith said with undisguised humor.
Two seamen jumped into the water and seized the man’s elbows when he put a foot up on the gunwale. They carried him above the shallows so his boots stayed dry.
“I’d say so,” Giles agreed.
A second nobleman was assisted from another boat in a similar manner, though he wore no hat. “Patrick Hume,” Gray explained. “He and Argyll rarely see eye to eye.”
The earl kept shaking his head as the two gentlemen strode up the beach, deep in conversation. The disagreements had apparently already begun.
“I see what ye mean,” Faith said. “Will ye offer yer services?”
“Nay,” he replied with a wink. “Ordinary folk dinna march up to noblemen. I have to remember my place.”
He nodded at the other men coming ashore. “The earl willna concern himself with the mundane business of selecting recruits. He’ll leave that to the experienced soldiers.”
Faith shaded her eyes. “Like the man in uniform with an eye-patch? Do ye recognize him?”
“Aye,” he replied. “I’m fairly certain ’tis Richard Rumbold, an Englishman who served in Cromwell’s army. He’s the one we’ll have to convince.”
Gray’s revelation that Rumbold was widely known as Hannibal only added to Faith’s instant antipathy to the stern-faced soldier.
A cold shiver ran up her spine when Gray slid off the wall as Rumbold approached from the beach. “Leave the talking to me,” he told Giles.
The former Roundhead paused when he saw them. “Are you the only recruits?” he snarled.
“There may be more in the town,” Gray replied. “We came from Ayrshire and had planned to sail to Islay to join up.”
Rumbold narrowed his eyes. “How did you know we were on Islay?”
Gray chuckled. “News travels fast in these parts, my lord.”
The soldier’s gaze swiveled to Faith. “Your wife?”
She was glad of Gray’s protective arm around her shoulders, unsure if she was expected to speak.
“Aye, and the reason I’m here,” Gray declared. “My wife is the niece of Richard Cameron. We dinna take kindly to a Catholic monarch.”
When Rumbold arched his brows, the eye patch slipped alarmingly askew. “Dyed-in-the-wool Cameronians,” he said with a sneer that left Faith guessing he had little respect for the outlawed sect.
She swallowed hard, resigned to spouting lies. “Aye. We must avenge my uncle’s and my father’s deaths.”
Her racing heart calmed when Gray tightened his reassuring grip on her shoulders. “And this young man is her cousin. He’s knowledgeable about apothecary and can compound remedies…”
Rumbold shook his head. “We’ve no need of healers. Can he handle a sword? Or shoot a musket?”
“I’m proficient with a musket, sir,” Giles replied.
Jaw clenched, Gray glared at the lad. “But he’s a boy, sir.”
“Nevertheless, seems like a fine recruit to me. And your wife can organize the other women who wish to accompany their husbands once we get started with the muster in a day or two. Follow along behind. The earl plans to make a declaration at the market cross.”
“I asked ye to stay quiet,” Gray told Giles. “How can ye keep watch over Faith if ye’re in the army?”
“Sorry,” the lad replied, his eyes downcast. “I didna think.”
“I’m more perturbed about organizing the other women,” Faith admitted.
“There’ll only be a few wives, I think,” Gray replied. “The contingent from Holland won’t have brought theirs, and only some of the recruits from Islay.”
As they talked, men trudged past in Rumbold’s wake. The boats returned to the ships and ferried more men to shore.
“At this rate it will take hours to land the army,” Gray mused.
“They dinna have enough boats,” Faith replied.
Gray studied the men headed for Campbeltown, trying to discern which looked like Islay men. Some were armed with newer muskets and pistols—he assumed these were part of the original force from Holland. Others bore swords and daggers that had seen better days. A few appeared unarmed.
“They dinna look very optimistic,” Faith remarked.
Gray nodded. “Certainly not an army with a fire in its belly.”
He became wary when a lad stopped to speak to Giles. “Are ye joining our cause?”
“Aye,” Giles replied after glancing at Gray. “I was beginning to think I was enlisting in an army of auld men.”
The boy frowned. “Y
e have a strange way o’ speakin’.”
“I’m from the Lowlands, but my daddy was Welsh. Where are ye from?”
Gray risked a smile at Faith. Giles might have the makings of an effective spy after all.
“Islay,” the lad said. “Eighty of us.”
“Doesna seem very many.”
“They hoped for six hundred, but Kintyre’s full of zealous Covenanters so they expect to do better here.”
“Richard Cameron was my uncle,” Faith interjected.
The boy quickly whipped off his tam. “My respects to ye. A brave mon.”
“A martyr,” Giles intoned.
“Kerran’s my name,” the youth supplied. “I hope to meet ye again.”
Giles offered his hand. “I’m Giles. God go with ye, Kerran.”
Gray put a hand on Giles’ shoulder after the lad had gone. “Well done. Thanks to ye, we’re nay obliged to sit on this cursed wall counting them all.”
Declaration
May 21st 1685
As the first pale streaks of dawn crept into the sky, Faith crawled out of the tent. She hadn’t slept well, disturbed by comings and goings all night long. Judging by the tossing and turning, Gray hadn’t got much sleep either. Only the softly snoring Giles seemed oblivious to the arrival of newcomers during the wee small hours.
She rubbed her eyes and yawned, somewhat relieved to see at least two other women had joined the throng. They already tended blackened pots suspended over campfires.
Both her menfolk were proficient at striking a spark to light a fire. Gray had tried to teach her without success, but she’d have to master the skill.
She drew the homespun shawl around her shoulders to ward off the chill.
Giles joined her, the bag of oatmeal in one hand, a bundle of kindling and twigs tucked under his arm. He’d stowed the wood at his feet in the tent the previous evening. “I had a feeling there be a shortage of firewood this morn,” he said, hunkering down to set their campfire.
“Aye,” Gray agreed as he emerged. “Ye’re probably correct that our kindling was safer in the tent.”
“Ye mean they’d have filched wood?” Faith asked.
She didn’t pay much attention to the reply when Gray stretched his arms wide, then reached for the sky. When he noticed her gawking, his smile sent heat into her face. She hurried over to the donkey and retrieved the pot and crockery. “They didna steal any of our gear.”
Giles shook his head. “Most people have their own pots and pans, but wood is in short supply.”
She crouched next to the pile of kindling. “Show me again how to do this.”
Gray knelt beside her, took the pot and handed it to Giles. “Go fetch water. I’ll help Faith.”
She’d never known Giles balk at any request. He was always willing to serve. Today was no exception. He took the pot and set off to the pump, whistling as he went.
“Now, pay attention, wife,” Gray quipped, “while I demonstrate once more how to do this.”
“Aye, husband,” she replied, wishing it were so.
She was more interested in the movement of his elegant fingers as he struck a spark on the second try, but then he tamped it out and handed her the flint.
She was sweating after four or five unsuccessful strikes, aware of his eyes on her. “I canna concentrate when ye’re watching me,” she confessed.
He chuckled. “I love watching ye, but ye’re striking too hard. Easy does it.”
He covered her hands with his and showed her the correct motion. A spark flared right away, but it was nothing compared to the fire raging in her heart. “Try again,” he said, withdrawing his hands.
Determined to prove she wasn’t incapable, she struck the flint gently and produced a tiny spark.
“Quick,” he said. “Blow on it.”
They both blew on the fledgling flame, trying not to laugh.
Gray poked it under the kindling, and soon the fire caught.
“Good teamwork,” he said with a broad smile, his face endearingly flushed.
Giles joined them. “Ye managed it then,” he said. “We dinna have much time. The earl is finally set to make some grand declaration at the market cross in an hour.”
Giles complimented Faith on the porridge.
“High praise coming from this young man,” Gray teased when she blushed.
“’Tis one thing Mam taught me to make well,” she admitted.
“I’ll stay here,” Giles said as they cleared away their stuff. “Whatever Argyll has to say will be over my head.”
Gray had been about to ask him to keep watch over their belongings, but it was a good omen that the lad had taken the initiative and understood where he was needed. He doubted if anything Argyll had to say would be beyond Giles’ keen intelligence.
“I want to discuss something before we leave,” he told Faith while Giles was clearing up.
She smiled in the eager way she always did when he spoke to her, and he hoped what he was going to say wouldn’t hurt her. “About yer parents,” he began. “I worry ye might feel ye’re betraying them.”
She met his gaze. “Dinna fash. Our parents betrayed their obligation to keep their bairns safe. Nothing the earl can say will convince me the excesses of the Covenanters are justified. We’ve both experienced the anguish fanaticism can cause. I dinna want that for my country. People should be free to worship as they please.”
There was obviously more to Faith Cameron than anyone had perceived. He linked her arm as they set off for the market cross, following the Islay men they’d seen disembark yesterday. “How did ye get to be so wise?” he asked.
“Yer family’s example showed me ’tis possible for religions to exist in harmony,” she replied without hesitation. “Besides, our neighbors the Guthries weren’t Covenanters, but they weren’t agents of Satan as Daddy claimed.”
He put his arm around her shoulders, comfortable with her closeness. “’Tis often the case when people adopt extreme religious views. They lose sight of what Christianity is all about, in my opinion.”
The numbers swelled as they neared the center of town. A fair-sized crowd from Campbeltown had gathered around the market cross to listen to the earl’s speech.
Gray moved his arm to Faith’s waist as people jostled for position, finally drawing her closer to the edge where other men stood with their sullen wives.
“They look anxious,” she whispered. “Especially the women.”
“A lot depends on what Argyll has to say. ’Twill have to be persuasive if he hopes to convince these newcomers to join his army.”
Rumblings of discontent increased when a light drizzle began and the earl hadn’t appeared. Some were disgruntled he and the other leaders had gone back the previous evening to comfortable bunks aboard ship. A few grew impatient and left before he eventually arrived, still sporting the plumed hat. Hume, Rumbold and two men Gray didn’t recognize stood at the foot of the cross when Argyll mounted the base of the monument.
It took a few minutes for the muttering to cease after the earl cleared his throat and look out at the crowd. His glare finally produced silence.
“Men of Argyll, ye all ken me. I’m yer rightful lord, and I’ve come to take back what has belonged to the Campbell family for generations.”
This declaration garnered a few half-hearted cheers.
An older man standing next to Gray spat into the dirt. “He’ll have to do better than that.”
Several bystanders nodded.
“And I intend to take back my country from the Catholic king who has nay right to govern it.”
Several fists were thrust into the air, accompanied by more enthusiastic agreement.
“We must restore Scotland to the true religion,” Argyll shouted hoarsely.
Loud cheers turned to groans when the drizzle worsened and the earl unfurled a lengthy parchment.
Gray shared his playd with Faith to keep the rain off. “We’re in for a lengthy diatribe.”
A man wh
o might have been Argyll’s valet mounted the step and held a parapluie aloft over the parchment.
“Herewith our formal Declaration, drawn up, I might add, by James Stewart of Goodtrees.”
Puzzled frowns greeted this information.
Gray shook his head when Faith looked up inquiringly. “I ken who he is, but I doot these folk do.”
Argyll embarked on a rambling account of misgovernment by the late King Charles. He then addressed the dangers posed by King James.
Gray was keeping Faith upright by the time the speech drew to a close an hour later. It wasn’t an imposition. They fit together well.
“And so, gentlemen, we must have recruits. The muster will begin on the morrow in this very place, and I am confident all of ye will enlist. ’Tis yer duty.”
“What happens after ye get rid of the king?” a man shouted.
Argyll rolled up the damp parchment with some difficulty and handed it to Rumbold.
“They expected to hear what the proposed alternative is to the king,” Gray told Faith.
“I stopped listening after ten minutes,” she confessed.
“Will Monmouth be king?” another man demanded to know.
“Nay,” came the angry reply from the crowd. “’Tis a republic we’ll fight for. Monmouth’s just another English royal bastard.”
Gray pulled Faith to safety as loud disagreements broke out between various factions.
Argyll stepped down from his podium, rain dripping from his ostentatious hat. The valet scurried after him, belatedly trying to protect the earl from the drizzle with the parapluie.
“He seems oblivious to the melee,” Faith observed.
“He doesna have answers,” Gray replied. “I’m surprised nobody has drawn attention to the fact he didna even mention the…”
“Will ye uphold the Covenant?” a strident female voice screamed.
Uproar ensued as Argyll’s committee bundled him away.
“He’ll nay have the support of my uncle’s followers if he doesna promise to maintain the Covenant,” Faith cautioned.
Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4) Page 7