by Annis, Dawn
“Hurrah, hurrah!” The clans clapped, hugged, and patted each other on the back.
Callum inhaled a deep breath and smiled. “Will someone go and get my maw and sister?” He glanced toward the stair and grinned. His mother and sister stood on the last step.
Fiona hurried to her son and hugged him to her. “I am proud o’ ye, lad.”
“I thought for a moment we wouldna get rid o’ him. We would have had to throw him out where the horse pissed.”
A roar of laughter deafened the hall. Thea walked toward Callum. She placed her hand on his arm.
“Ye did what a laird o’ his clan would do.”
~ ~ ~
To escape the warm hall, Thea strolled out to the stone porch. The cool breeze tickled the fallen curls around her face. She leaned against the hard stones, thinking of Callum and his successful night. She was proud of him and hoped he took pride in himself.
The sounds of men talking drifted up to Thea. Not surprised she was no longer alone, she moved toward the voices to join her clansmen.
“The MacLeod is a fool to think this will be the end. Our prince will be sure to conscript men needed,” one man hissed.
“Are we goin’ to follow the prince as planned?”
“O’ course we are,” a third said, optimistic. “I would have liked to go with them tonight.”
Thea sucked in a breath. She recognized the voices. John Fendrel and his two companions, Oaf and Spit. One was never seen without the other.
“We canna, ye idiot. Our escape will be noticed,” John snarled. “We will go on the morrow to meet our contact on the MacDonald lands. Make it a huntin’ party. No one will think twice.”
The others grunted.
Thea swallowed hard, her heart refusing to yield. It stuck in her throat, beating an irregular rhythm. Traitors. She tiptoed to the door. She turned to insure she hadn’t been followed and backed into Michael. She tripped over her skirts and fell hard onto her bottom.
“Oof!”
Chapter 9
“Have ye seen a haunt?” Michael exclaimed as he bent to grab Thea around the waist. Standing her upright, he brushed loose strands of hair from her face.
“’Tis naught.” Thea straightened her skirt, refusing to look at her brother.
Michael leaned down. He took a gentle hold of her chin and turned her head to face him. “Nay, ’tis somethin’. What has ye upset?”
“I am no sure I believe it.” Thea lowered her head and reached for Michael. She buried her head into his chest.
“What? ’Tis me ye are talkin’ to. I will help ye. Ye ken I will, lass,” Michael soothed, surrounding her with his arms.
Thea hesitated.
“Out with it, lass.” Michael turned and pulled Thea onto a chair.
Thea hesitated and let out a breath slowly. “I heard John Fendrel speakin’ to Oaf and Spit. Ye ken the ones I mean? The fools doggin’ his every step.”
Shouldn’t she know for sure before making accusations? Michael was different. They told each other everything.
Michael put his hand on her shoulder and waited.
“They mean to ride to Clan MacDonald tomorrow. They will disguise their absence with a tale o’ huntin’.”
Michael stood with his arms crossed. “I believe if the men feel convinced enough in what the Young Pretender has to say, all the better they leave. We will no have spies among us. If caught, they will face a worse fate than if they die on the battlefield with Charlie and Dame Flora.” Michael put his hand on her shoulder with a firm grip. “Leave it alone.”
“Shouldna someone ken?”
“Mayhap.”
Mayhap. Michael did not share her belief that John Fendrel’s collusion with Dame MacDonald would create a bigger problem for Callum and his clans. Thea wanted to confirm the men were leaving and never coming back. Hurt her brother had put her off, she couldn’t help but feel her trust in him tarnish a bit.
Michael escorted her back to the great hall. “Do as I say.”
Callum stepped next to her before she could argue with Michael further.
“D’ye care to dance the next . . .? What troubles ye?” Callum searched Thea’s eyes. He put his arm around Thea and led her to the table piled high with food and drink.
Thea shook her head at the offer of food but accepted a cup of wine.
“Please tell me what is on yer mind.”
“’Tis nothin’.” The thought of Michael’s reaction stopped her. “The heat o’ the hall is overwhelmin’ me. The visit o’ the Young Pretender and his threats disturb me.”
“Dinna let him trouble yerself.” Callum put a strand of her hair back in its place. “He is a bully and used to gettin’ his own way. We havena use for him or the Clan MacDonald. Let them fight their war without us.”
Thea looked at her shoes as her thoughts raced. Callum spoke of the prince. Her thoughts on a closer danger, she wiped her slick palms in the folds of her dress. Her curiosity bloomed. Were there more than the three she’d heard? John talked of a ruse, a hunting party. Could it be only a few men defecting as Michael suggested or worse? She no longer had loyalty to John yet didn’t want to believe him capable of collusion. She would find the truth.
Callum led her to the dance floor. Turning here and there, not enjoying the dance, she did the steps by memory. Her mind raced with questions, and she missed a step. Callum frowned, and his brow raised in question. She wouldn’t tell him her thoughts without more facts.
Once, she and John were close. She no longer loved him, if she ever had, but she didn’t feel she could believe him a spy. If she’d heard right, Fendrel and his men were to meet some of the MacLeod clan as well.
Her father waved to Callum to join him. The MacCrimmon sat next to him, and she was sure they wanted to speak of the events of the day. She followed Callum as he walked over to them.
“’Twas a fine piece o’ work ye did. Ye handled Charlie with authority. I doubt he has been spoken to in such a way in a long time, if ever. A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse for that one. I believe he will leave it alone.” Anthol gave Callum a broad smile.
Thea glanced at Callum and saw the imperceptible clench of his jaw.
“We gave a good showin’. Let us hope he accepts what has been said here tonight. His claim o’ divine rights troubles me,” Callum stated.
“Aye, ’tis troublin’. A man who believes such a thing is a dangerous man.” The MacNichol frowned at the floor.
“If we see his face around here agin ’twill be too soon,” Henry MacCrimmon piped up.
Each pumped Callum’s hand in delight.
Thea’s brother Michael came to escort her to the carriage. She said goodnight. Michael grasped Callum by the forearm and with a gentle push, she was out the door and in the carriage. Thea settled herself in the cushions and planned what she would say to her father at home. If Michael did not agree John’s plan was a danger, she would tell her father and see if he would take action. Because he and her brothers believed the worst of John Fendrel, she hoped the laird of the MacNichol would listen.
Once they reached Scorrybreac, Thea bolted from the carriage to the stable where her father was handing the reins to his horse to a sleepy lad.
“Da, I have somethin’ to discuss with ye,” Thea said. She walked alongside him toward the hall. Her nerves stretched thin.
“In the morn, lass. My head hurts with too much drink and too much o’ the prig o’ a prince.”
“’Tis truly important, Da.” Thea wrung her hands. Her voice shook, but her father took no notice.
“Nay, lass. I will speak with ye in the morn.” He waved her off and headed up the stairs to his chambers.
The dismissal was firm. Any attempt to talk to him further would do her no good. She would not
be able to get said what she needed to through the lecture she would receive.
Sleep eluded Thea. She tossed and turned with thoughts of the man she’d once known. He’d treated her with tenderness and care. He’d been attentive, always able to read her moods. The John Fendrel she knew was a different man than the person everyone saw. Yes, she had to admit he was not as he seemed. She recalled the occasions he’d scared her, but the qualities he’d shown when courting her would be the exact ones needed to dupe others. She felt like a fool.
Thea rose early. The chill dotted her skin as she slipped into Michael’s old, outgrown breeks, tucked the legs into her riding boots, and donned a vest of lamb’s wool. Thea secured her hair at the nape of her neck in a tight braid. Pulling on a tartan blanket, she skulked down the stairs, each step calculated and quiet.
When she reached the kitchen, she spotted Cook, who raised her eyebrow high. “’Tis a fine morn,” Cook coaxed as she poked at the fire.
“’Tis.”
“And here ye be, up with the cock’s crow.”
Thea edged to the larder and filled a cloth sack with food, enough to last her the day.
Cook’s brow rose higher. She stood with her fists on her hips. “And when they ask, and they will, make no mistake about it, what shall I tell them?”
“There is no reason for them to ask. I am goin’ for an early mornin’ ride with Destiny.”
“Destiny will no like leavin’ his warm stall. Mayhap ye should wait until the sun rises.”
“Nay. I will go now and be back in time to help ye with the vegetable garden,” Thea promised.
Cook snorted. Thea did not like lying to Cook, but she didn’t want an escort, and if she waited much longer, the house would soon stir. With a pull on the drawstring, she moved to the door.
“Ye care for yerself, lass.”
Thea hurried out the door, and headed to the stables before anyone else stopped her.
Cook was right. Destiny was unhappy about being led out of his stall. He stamped his feet and whinnied, blowing through his nostrils. Thea slid the halter over his head. Destiny shied away from the saddle. After several tries, Thea was able to tighten the straps beneath his belly. She patted him on the neck, mounted the miffed horse, and guided him to the path. Her brow furrowed as she checked to see if anyone watched her.
In the fields below the manor, she kicked Destiny into a cantor. The April mists surrounded her, water dripping off the leaves. Thea guided her horse to the outcropping of rock where she and Michael had played, where Callum had kissed her for the first time. Callum.
She warred with herself. Should she ride straight to Dunvegan castle right now and tell Callum her suspicions? Yes, she should, but she couldn’t assume. Perhaps she had misheard, perhaps not. Regardless, she owed John the chance to explain. Michael was right. If John wanted to go his own way, she would say no more. But if Michael was wrong and John had other ideas in mind, she had to know. To protect her family if need be.
She followed the path to Dunvegan castle and hid in a copse of trees at the edge of a field the men would need to cross to get to the MacDonalds. Soon enough, John and his men came into view. He halted them with a hand signal. Liam MacLeod, accompanied by twenty or so men, moved through the field toward John. Thea’s heart crawled up her throat. Shock coursed through her. She’d expected a handful, two or three, but what she saw were many. Callum was most likely unaware of the perfidy in his own clan. She must gain the evidence needed to protect Callum.
The MacLeod clansmen reached the edge of the field and greeted the others as friends. John slapped Liam on the back. Thea couldn’t hear what was being said, but she could see the surrounding men talking, checking their mounts, preparing.
Traitors.
Thea rested her head on Destiny’s neck. Were they going to Dame Flora and the Young Pretender, or was this an innocuous hunting party, and she had risen from her warm bed at an ungodly hour for no reason?
Destiny neighed. Thea heard a branch break behind her. She turned and was jerked off her horse. Thea screamed and thrashed but couldn’t free herself. She saw bare skin and bit down hard.
“Ye bitch,” a man cursed.
Thea was dropped to the ground but before she could stand a heavy boot kicked her in the head.
Thea woke
“Aw, there she is,” John purred as he pulled the bag off her head and squatted next to her. “Such rough treatment. No worries, my dove. I gave the lout punishment for bein’ so careless with my future wife,” he said as he pulled the grease filled rag from her mouth.
Thea recognized a MacNichol clansman nursing a split lip and blackened eye. Her eyes widened. Ten, perhaps more, MacNichol clansmen had joined them. Where had they come from? She must have been only a moment ahead of them.
“Ye dinna have any idea what yer gettin’ us into,” the injured clansman grumbled.
“I dinna ask for yer opinion,” John hissed.
“The MacNichol isna goin’ to like ye takin’ her, and her brothers will no stop until they find her. She is a complication,” a third man complained. “Ye let the buggered horse go. Ye ken ’twill go back to its stable without her.”
“Think no more about it. I have told ye Dame Flora will be pleased when she sees who I have brought her,” John said. “Now leave it be and do as yer told.”
Liam strode over to the group. “’Tis no what I bargained for, Fendrel. ’Tis one thing to fight for a cause ye believe in. Kidnappin’ is another.”
“I see yer point though ye dinna see kidnappin’ here. Thea wants to be with me.”
“John, I dinna ken what . . .” Thea shifted.
“Sshh, my dear. There isna need for excuses. Isna need for words.” John gently placed a cool cloth on her cheek. Thea flinched. He swung his fist and knocked her unconscious.
She awoke to John wrapping her in a blanket, nearly smothering her. He rubbed her arms up and down hard. Punishment disguised as a loving gesture. An icy chill of fear ran down Thea’s spine. She doubted she would ever be warm again.
A MacNichol man, Sean she thought, edged to the outer side of the group. He dabbed his bloodied lip with the hem of his dirty tartan.
“Ye thinkin’ about leavin’?” John snarled.
“Nay.”
“Good. Now bank the fire. We need to be on the road early tomorrow.” John stopped and thought for a moment. “I have changed my mind, lads. We are goin’ to Culloden.”
Thea’s thoughts raced. Culloden? Where were they now? She had no idea how long she had been unconscious.
“’Twill be a grand fight for Bonnie Prince Charlie,” a MacLeod shouted.
“What a fight we will find there.”
“I canna wait to get my hands around the throat o’ a Sassenach.”
“Quiet, ye idiots,” John hissed. “Are ye daft?”
The men grumbled as they laid out their tartans and jockeyed for positions closest to the fire.
John grabbed Thea with an iron grip and shoved her ahead of him. He forced her to her knees, then onto her back and laid next to her. He pulled her close.
“So ye havena any ideas about ye leavin’, my darlin’.”
Thea suppressed a sob. The fire blurred as her eyes teared. John’s even breath blew hot air against her neck. She tried to move into a more comfortable position, but John gripped her snugly against his body. Sweat mixed with salty tears as the fire’s heat baked her.
Thea woke after a miserable night. Eventually the fire had died but left the damp mist to endure. Her eyes gritty and every bone in her body sore, she wormed and muscled her way out of the blanket enough to sit up. John had left her sometime during the morning. Thea’s eyes darted from one place to the next, searching the forest around her in desperation, hoping for a chance to escape. Her shoulders slumped.
Not here, not now. She could hear him shouting orders nearby without care of being heard.
“Up, ye scoundrels. We have a long way to travel.”
“What ye got in mind, Fendrel?”
“We will rout the damn Sassenach before Prince Charlie gets there,” a second man shouted with his fist in the air.
“Hand the ‘Butcher’ Cumberland’s head to the Bonnie Prince when he arrives,” a third promised.
Fendrel laughed. “I couldna have said it better. We will ride hard and kill the bastard.”
Thea shuffled around, releasing the rest of the blanket still holding her captive. She flung it off and tried to stand. Her rough treatment and the sleepless night had taken their toll. She fell on her face and, with the impact, bit her tongue. Tears welled in her eyes. Rising enough to turn her head, she spit blood.
John closed the distance between them.
“Nay, my dove, ye havena a need to worry. I will be takin’ ye with me. I dinna want ye to miss the thrill o’ battle, and I canna have ye runnin’ back to the filthy scum MacLeod with a tale.”
Thea shrank from him. He backhanded her. She fell, landing on her back, biting her tongue a second time. Her hand reached for her throbbing eye. John hauled her up beside him and forced her, stumbling, to a wagon, all the while growling in her ear, “Ye will no embarrass me in front o’ my men, my love. D’ye understand?”
Thea stared at the ground. He shook her when she did not respond, and her teeth clattered.
“Ye will go with us, and I dinna want to hear otherwise.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. “D’ye hear me?”
Standing tall with her chin firm, she refused to answer.
~ ~ ~
Fiona joggled Callum awake.
“The MacNichol is here. Thea is missin’.”
He scrambled out of bed, thrust his legs into his breeks, and slung a rough linen shirt over his head and shoulders. Stepping into his boots, he hopped from one foot to the other out of his chambers. He pictured Thea frightened and cold. Hurt. No one to help her. His mind took him in many directions, all filling him with dread. He thundered down the staircase and arrived in the great hall as Fiona served Anthol a cup of ale.