Through Giles, Gray was aware Kerran and many of his kin had already gone back to Islay. It was probably true the presbyterian heartland of Ayrshire would provide fodder for the army. He hoped no one volunteered from the Kilmer estate.
In the end, Argyll’s compromise won the day. The force would go north to Tairbeart—the Nederlanders by sea, the rest by land. The earl claimed a large group of Highlanders recruited by his son awaited them there.
The coastal village offered a short sea crossing to the mainland. The route would take them through lands occupied by Atholl’s troops, but Gray was confident the government soldiers would stay well out of sight. The marquess intended to give the earl enough rope to hang himself.
Gray shifted his weight in Galahad’s saddle, not looking forward to a day’s ride north to Tairbeart. Positioned in the midst of the horse regiment, he was fated to eat dust for hours. Where was the rain when a mon needed it?
He stood in the stirrups, thinking to get a glimpse of Giles among the foot soldiers lined up ahead, but it was a forlorn hope. The long trek began as the pale dawn painted the sky. Gray leaned forward to whisper in his horse’s ear. “Remember, Galahad, Faith has dubbed ye a noble steed.” He said a silent prayer for Giles, obliged to walk for hours, and for Faith, left alone to manage the donkey and all their gear. Smiling broadly, she’d seen him off earlier without a word of complaint, but he sensed her inner turmoil. The Laing women would do all they could to assist because of her family ties. He chuckled wryly at the irony.
As a child growing up in Edinburgh, Faith had rarely been allowed out of the house. The Camerons believed there was too much temptation in the world for their four daughters.
In Kilmer, she’d been taught to ride, but hiking over the extensive estate was a source of great pleasure. Jewel and Maggie were keen hikers and the three often enjoyed picnics in the far meadows.
The trek to Tairbeart was no picnic. They traveled the west coast road to avoid steep hills, but she already had blisters on her heels from the day before. The donkey was too overloaded to carry a rider. “And ye’re a stubborn beast in any case,” she chastised the animal. “Perhaps if I gave ye a name, like we did with Galahad, ’twould improve yer disposition.”
The donkey bared her brown teeth and brayed loudly.
“Good, ye agree. Ye have big ears, so how about Pixie?”
The animal balked, kicking up her hind legs, causing the pots and pans to clang together.
“Ye dinna like that, I can tell,” Faith replied, yanking on the halter to move the donkey forward.
“Ye have a wee bit of a blue tint to yer coat. I could call ye Bluebell.”
The beast bared her teeth again and twitched her ears.
“Bluebell it is,” Faith declared, just as Margaret Laing caught up to her, emerging from the sea-mist.
“Ye’ve given yer donkey a name?” she asked.
“Bluebell. She likes it.”
Margaret shrugged. “Ye’re limping already, and we’ve hours of walking ahead. I’ve a solution when we stop for a rest.”
When they finally halted in the village of Glenbarr, Faith sat on a driftwood log and took off her shoes, wincing at the painful blisters on her heels.
Katrin arrived with a pair of thick socks. “Ye can borrow these, else ye willna make it to Tairbeart.”
“But we’ll wrap yer ankles first,” Margaret announced, brandishing strips of linen.
“’Tis kind of ye,” Faith replied as Margaret set about swathing her feet. “I’m a stranger to ye.”
“Tsk,” Katrin replied. “Yer mon’s a comrade to our men, so we’re yer comrades. If we dinna stick together…”
She talked on but Faith stared out to sea. Katrin’s words underscored what would likely be the most difficult part of the mission. These hardy women had already carved a place in her heart, but she was their enemy. Her role was to help ensure the failure of the Rising.
Katrin pulled the socks over the bandages. “There. Put yer shoes back on and see how they feel.”
She took a few tentative and relatively pain-free steps, tempted to thank the Kintyre women for lavishing more care and attention on her than her own mother ever had. But that might raise doubts about her loyalty to the Cameron clan. “Much better.”
She sat back down on the log and looked around. “Our little band has grown,” she said. “What with the mist and trying to control Bluebell, I didna notice these other folks joining us.”
Katrin handed her a chunk of bread and crumbly cheese. “’Tis common when there’s an army mustering. By the time we reach Glasgow there’ll be hundreds of us.”
“Why?”
“The army will need blacksmiths and tinkers and sutlers…and more besides.”
Faith recalled Gray’s mother talking about the people who followed an army, providing for its needs. Katrin clearly didn’t want to explain the more besides, and she had no intention of bringing up the possibility of whores in their midst. “I noticed Bluebell is favoring one leg.”
Margaret pointed along the beach. “Yon mon, he’s a farrier who joined us a while back. I’ll send him over to take a look.”
Faith chewed happily on her food, but the last of it stuck in her throat when the farrier sauntered over and introduced himself with a tip of the well-worn tam he wore. “Name’s Fergus Stanley, ye’ve a problem with yer donkey?”
The dragoon’s wink reassured Faith she wasn’t without comrades in the enemy camp.
Gray grew anxious when the army stopped in the village of Tayinloan to water the horses. He dismounted and scanned the road behind them, dismayed there was no sign of the women. To his surprise, both Laings rode up alongside him. “I canna see hide nor hair of our womenfolk,” he said. “Nay surprising with all this mist. I thought it might have burned off by now.”
“Never does,” the older Domnall replied. “We’re headed back to see what’s become of them. Nay use getting to Tairbeart and having to wait for provisions.”
“Ye’ve been given leave?” he asked.
“Nay, laddie. The colonels and other members of the committee are too busy arguing with each other to pay attention to what we’re doing.”
It was a welcome indication of the lack of discipline among the Rising’s ranks. These men would fight for Argyll, but on their own terms. He wasn’t worried about tents, pots and pans, but Faith might need his help. He remounted Galahad. “I’ll come with ye.”
They’d ridden almost as far back as Glenbarr when they spotted the camp followers.
“The numbers have grown,” he remarked to Domnall as they reined to a halt. “There’s even a goatherd with his flock.”
“Aye. And there’ll be more still.”
Gray scanned the travelers coming towards him. He finally picked out the donkey ambling along. But where was Faith? His heart faltered. She’d complained of blisters and he’d left her to walk for miles. Clearly, she’d been unable to keep up. “I said all along Argyll should have allowed the women to go by sea,” he said through gritted teeth. “My wife’s nowhere to be seen.”
Domnall senior nodded. “Ye’re right. Argyll didna think ahead, but ye’re wrong about yer wife.”
Puzzled, Gray squinted into the mist, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of Faith waving. He should have been relieved, but what was she doing riding on horseback behind another man?
He trotted over, ready to give vent to the jealousy surging in his throat—until he recognized the rider.
Trek
“My sore feet thank ye for the ride,” Faith told Fergus as she slid from his horse.
“Yer mon doesna look too happy to see ye with me,” he chuckled. “I’ll nay speak to him. Might arouse suspicion.”
She was secretly pleased by Gray’s obvious jealousy. “I’ll pass on the message. He’ll understand.”
She retrieved Bluebell’s reins from one of Margaret’s bairns and pulled the stubborn animal over to where Gray had dismounted. She was confident he had recog
nized Fergus, but the scowl remained. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Dinna be angry,” she said softly. “Ye ken who it is? He’s our messenger if we need to get word to Atholl.”
He put his arms around her waist. “I ken, and I expected the marquess would send a go-between. ’Twas seeing ye with yer arms around another mon got me riled.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “Ye need never question my loyalty to ye, Gray,” she replied, lifting one foot, “but I couldna walk another step. Fergus’ arrival was a blessing.”
She welcomed the return of his smile. “I see the Laing women have taken care of ye.”
“Aye,” she replied. “I dinna like deceiving them. They’re kind.”
“I ken, but we’ve a mission to fulfill. We canna allow our feelings to distract us from the roles we’re playing.”
“Playing the part of yer wife isna difficult for me,” she whispered.
Grinning, he took the donkey’s reins and wound the leather around his fist. “I ken. Now, into the saddle with ye. I’ll lead both animals for a bit.” He rubbed his hip. “The walk will be a welcome change.”
She mounted Galahad. “I named the donkey Bluebell. She likes it.”
He laughed. “Bluebell?”
Domnall Laing rode up beside them, his wife and grandson sharing the horse. Katrin Laing smiled. “I’m glad to see ye’re nay angry with yer wife for riding with yon farrier,” she said to Gray. “’Twas my suggestion, but I ken young husbands can get a mite jealous.”
He looked into Faith’s eyes. “I’m nay angry,” he assured her. “I trust my wife.”
She inhaled the salty air as they resumed the trek, content they’d clearly convinced the Laings of their love for each other. But then it was real, wasn’t it?
Gray walked for a few miles, but the urge to feel Faith’s comforting breasts pressed against his back was too strong. “This rocky trail is hard on the feet,” he complained as he mounted and handed Bluebell’s reins to Faith. “No wonder ye have blisters.”
The light was fading by the time they arrived in Tairbeart. The sleepy fishing village was bursting at the seams. The meadows were crammed with tents all the way to the foot of the dark hills that loomed over the hamlet. Lanterns flickered like fireflies.
Relieved to find Giles waiting on the outskirts, Gray dismounted and shook the lad’s hand. “Good to see ye. Any spaces left?”
“Near yon castle,” Giles replied. “Uneven ground, but the men recruited by Charles Campbell had claimed all the best spots before we arrived.”
“How many, do ye think?”
“More than a thousand, I’d say. Highlanders. Rough lot. The women too.”
Gray peered at the castle on the hill. “They’ve captured it, I suppose?”
“Aye, another Campbell from nearby Skipness overran it a few days ago.”
“Commanding views of the water.”
“Argyll and his cronies finally left the ships. They’re lodged in the castle.”
“Then ’tis the perfect spot to keep an eye on the earl.”
Giles looked down the road. “Here come the Laings.”
“Tell them to follow us. ’Twill seem strange if we avoid them.”
Faith dismounted and they picked their way through the campsites, earning loud expletives concerning Bluebell’s braying and frequent refusals to move. Giles caught up and led them to the hilly area below the castle. “I can see why no one wants to camp here,” Faith said. “There isna a flat spot to be found.”
“Aye,” Margaret agreed. “Looks like grass but I’ll wager ’twill be like sleeping on rocks.”
“Nay the worst place we’ve ever camped,” Katrin panted breathlessly, clearly winded by the climb. “Get the fire going, Domnall.”
Faith was exhausted, yet a woman twice her age had taken charge as usual and got on with providing food for her family. In some ways, Katrin was as disciplined as her mother, but she possessed a generosity of spirit that had never existed in the Cameron household.
Stretching the tired muscles of her back, Faith looked out to the dark sea, inhaling deeply, then turned to take in the view behind her. “There’s water all around us,” she exclaimed.
Gray emerged from the newly-erected tent and put his arms around her waist. “Aye. Yonder Loch Tairbeart. The village is located on an isthmus. ’Tis a strategic gateway.”
She leaned back against him, soaking up his warmth as the air cooled. “What do ye think will happen next?”
“I’d say they’ve gathered at least two thousand men,” he replied. “Militarily, the best option would be to sweep into the Lowlands and add to their numbers as they go. But only time will tell if they can agree on a plan of action.”
She glanced over at Katrin and Margaret who were busy ladling broth into bowls. “I should be helping.”
“They consider it an honor to serve ye, Faith. Nay just because of who ye are, but they realize ye’re nay used to this life, and they deem it their Christian duty to help ye.”
“’Tis puzzling. They are true to Christ’s teachings about charity, yet thirst to deprive other Scots of the freedom of religion.”
He kissed her neck. “Religious fervor can often lead men and women to do things that are puzzling. Faith is a complicated matter.”
She chuckled. “Not this Faith. I’m as uncomplicated as they come.”
“Nay, lassie, ye’re a many-faceted jewel whose depths I’m only now coming to see.”
“Like Maggie’s emerald.”
“Does she still have it?”
“Garnet had it made into a pendant that she wears all the time.”
As long as she lived, Faith would remember looking out over the calm waters of the loch, safe in Gray’s arms. The morrow might bring difficulties, but all that mattered at this moment was his warm breath on her neck.
Katrin broke the spell. “Time for ye lovebirds to stop cuddling and come fill yer bellies.”
Kitchens
Early the next morning, as they were breaking their fast, the chattering ceased when the valet who’d protected the earl with the foreign rain-gear approached their campsite.
“We require women to serve in the castle,” the fellow announced in heavily accented English. “The cook’s short-handed.”
Domnall Laing stood when the foreigner nodded at Margaret. “Nay, my wife has bairns to tend.”
“Bring them. They might come in useful.”
Pouting, Margaret urged her offspring to finish their porridge quickly.
Gray’s hackles rose when the man turned his attention to Faith. He tried desperately to think of a reason she shouldn’t go. However, she averted her gaze when he shook his head. “Will there be pay?” she asked.
The servant’s face reddened. “You must to speak to Sir Patrick Hume about that.”
Thanks to one seemingly innocent question from Faith, Gray now knew the earl’s most vocal critic controlled the purse strings. “What will her duties be?” he asked.
The man let out an exasperated sigh. “I do not know. Serving food, I suppose.”
Gray was reluctant to let her go, but the brief glance they exchanged made it clear she thought it was a good idea. She’d probably be safe enough. The men were all of noble birth, or senior military officers, and she might become privy to valuable information.
He stood and put his arm around her waist. They followed the valet up the hill, Margaret and her bairns trailing behind. “Be careful,” he said softly before leaving her at the entry to the keep.
“I will,” she promised. “Dinna worry.”
They came upon the cook in the smoky kitchen. The rotund, red-faced little man didn’t at first notice them, busy as he was chasing some creature with a broom, all the while spewing invectives in a foreign tongue.
Margaret’s bairns cowered against her thighs.
The valet cleared his throat, causing the cook to pause, broom raised.
The two men carried on a brief conversation in what Fai
th guessed was Dutch, the valet apparently explaining their presence. The Nederlander looked them up and down with disdain, thrust the broom at Margaret and passed two trenchers to Faith. The pile of fatty ham and fried bread sitting in congealed grease didn’t look appetizing.
“Voor de graaf Argyll en heer Hume,” he hissed.
The valet beckoned to a passageway she could only assume led to wherever she was supposed to serve the food.
She’d thought the earl and his comrades would be breaking their fast in the castle’s great hall but was directed to a cramped alcove where they clustered around a large table that took up most of the space. The earl had removed his hat, but she recognized him immediately. She placed the trencher of fried ham in front of him, then moved to serve Hume, seated at the opposite end of the table.
No one except Hannibal Rumbold noticed her. His good eye stared, as if trying to recall where he’d seen her. Gooseflesh marched over her skin.
There were six other men in the room, all greedily eyeing the trenchers that sat before Argyll and Hume, so she hurried back to the kitchen.
The bairns looked on while their mother and the cook shouted at each other.
“I’m nay a rat catcher,” Margaret yelled. “I canna stomach the buggers.”
The cook either didn’t understand or was determined to enlist her aid catching the rodents. When he espied Faith, he threw the broom to the floor and nodded to more trenchers of food lined up on a large trestle table. “Gaan,” he exclaimed pointing to the passageway. But then he glared at the bairns and shook his head. “Geen kinderen.”
“I canna carry six,” Faith whispered to Margaret. “Leave them for just a moment, then I’ll help ye with the rats.”
Margaret admonished her children to stay where they were and the two hurried through the passageway.
A loud argument was in progress when they arrived. Margaret glanced nervously at Faith, but she nodded to the men who didn’t yet have food. Eyes blazing, faces mottled red, Argyll and Hume hurled insults at each other from opposite ends of the table. Neither man had eaten any of the ham she’d brought earlier. Faith listened, aware she would only have a moment or two to learn the gist of the conflict. The disagreement was over tactics. The earl wanted to move north against Atholl and take back his castle at Inverary; Hume was for invading the Lowlands without further delay.
Highland Rising (The House of Pendray Book 4) Page 9