Fighting For A Highland Rose (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 1)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “Where’s he gone?” Emily panicked and stepped out of the door. There was blood on the ground, but the soldier was gone.

  “I thought I had put paid tae him!” Alice cried. “Oh, he will raise the alarm. Come on, we must go quickly!”

  They fled together along the corridor, Emily carrying the heavy rifle.

  “Nae time tae wait!” Alice panted. “We must just head for the window and trust tae luck!”

  They ran as fast as they could along the corridor until they reached the window. It was small and narrow, Emily clambered out first, at Alice’s insistence. There was a rough stone sill a few feet below the window where Emily stood for a moment looking at the murky water about ten feet below her.

  She was about to jump when there was a thundering of feet in the corridor. Around the corner came four men in uniform, running toward the magazine. Before Emily could jump and make way for her friend to escape, one of them grabbed Alice around the waist and hoisted her up like a sack of flour onto his shoulder. None of them noticed Emily.

  In horror, Emily leaned back in through the window. Time slowed as she saw her friend borne away at a run toward the very trap they had laid together. Alice’s fists beat at the soldier who held her, but as they began to descend the stairs toward the magazine, she raised her eyes and looked back. Her eyes met Emily’s, and Alice’s mouth moved to form a word.

  “Flee,” Alice seemed to be saying. Then she was gone. Emily jumped.

  She fell, aware of a deep rumble that shook the very air through which she fell. She hit the water as the explosion ripped through the round tower, an enormous sound cutting through the air like a thunderclap, as she sank below.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Spitting, coughing and drenched, Emily MacPherson dragged herself from the edge of the moat and rolled over. As she cleared the muddy water from her eyes, she looked across at the castle, and the destruction filled her with awe and horror. The whole of the lower portion of the west drum tower had been smashed as if with a great hammer, and the upper part looked as if it might collapse at any moment. Thick grey smoke billowed from the gaping rents in the stonework, and pieces of masonry were flung far and wide. The wall above her, behind which lay the corridor down which she had fled earlier, was buckled and cracked, and smoke curled from the window she had jumped from. The acrid stench of gunpowder filled the air. Her ears rang from the sound of the explosion.

  She gasped in a breath. Alice! There was no way she could have survived. Her friend had lost her life in their venture. Emily choked back a cry of horror. How could that be? Perhaps Alice had got free of the man who held her or... but no. It could not be.

  Suddenly, she was aware that the tower was crumbling, it wobbled and slipped, crashing down in a rattling roar of stone into the moat, and sending up a new cloud of dust and smoke. Emily looked around. From her position, she could see soldiers running across the open ground some distance away from her, abandoning their posts and running toward the castle. Their plan had worked so far. She had one small chance to get away. She would not waste it.

  With a supreme effort, Emily hauled herself, stunned and soaking wet, to her feet. Staggered a few steps she began to run, but did not run straight out across the field; instead, she headed around the line of the moat,, round to the back of the castle where the horses were stabled. She would need a horse to get away.

  The ringing in her ears faded, and with her returning hearing, she became aware of the shouting of men and the whinnying of horses. With the knife in hand, she approached the stable door, but there was nobody to be seen, and she slipped inside.

  Horses whickered and thumped in their stalls. They were disturbed by the commotion, and one poor horse was sweating and shaking with fear as she passed. At the end of the row of stalls, she had a pleasant surprise, here was a horse she knew – it was her own horse, the little grey palfrey she called Steady.

  “Hello, girl! Hello, Steady!” The horse looked at her warily for a moment, but then she seemed to recognise her. She pranced a few steps forward, tossing her head, before lowering it and allowing Emily to stroke her soft grey muzzle.

  “Hello, Steady,” Emily continued speaking quietly to the horse as she opened the stall and slipped inside. The horse’s saddle and bridle hung from a nail, ready to hand. Her father must have brought Steady with them in the hope that Emily would wish to continue to ride her. The palfrey had been a gift from her father, and she felt a twist of pain as she thought of him. But then the thought of Murdo filled her mind, and she remembered the dreadful urgency of her errand. She lifted the horse’s tack from the nail and began to work.

  She was good at this, and it didn’t take long before the horse was saddled and ready to go. Emily had abandoned the rifle in the corridor before jumping from the window, so all she had to carry was her pack. She began to shiver from the cold, muddy water had soaked her, but she pushed on and led the horse out of the stables before mounting. Nobody was about. Her path to freedom was clear. Tears stung her eyes as the memory of Alice’s determined face filled her mind, but she urged Steady into a gallop. Now was not the time to grieve. They found the river and rode beside it, following it across the open ground and under cover of the trees.

  * * *

  For all that had happened not more than a few hours had passed since they had stood upon the tower top together, watchingClairmont’s forces march out to fight the MacPhersons for the last time. It had been early morning then, and the sun was approaching noon, as she rode into the cover of the trees. The ground was rough under her horse’s hooves, and she had no wish to break the animal, so rode carefully at a steady trot, beside the riverbed.

  A broad, open track ran alongside the river, and she followed this for as long as she dared, well aware of the large force she was following. She had no desire to be caught by an English scout, and after an hour, she urged Steady off the path and into the woods. The trees were widely spaced, tall pines for the most part, and the ground jumped steeply upward. When the climb evened out, she looked around and found that she had gained the top of a wooded ridge, which ran away off before her in the general direction she wished to follow. She would follow this ridge, keeping her eye on the path of the river valley to one side, and keeping her bearings by keeping an eye on Ben Nevis looming out of the range of mountains behind her.

  She travelled for most of the afternoon, but eventually, exhaustion and cold got the better of her. The terrain was rugged and lent itself to concealment, and she was easily able to find a hollow among some fallen tree trunks where she could stop to rest. Steady lapped at a deep pool of rainwater, browsing at tufts of sweet grass that grew there. Emily then set about starting a fire in the lowest part of the hollow.

  Giving thanks for the fact that it had not rained for a few days, she gathered dry fuel and got a good blaze going. Unpacking the contents of her pack on the dry needles beside her, there was a change of clothes and food wrapped in a length of waxed cloth. This she had tied tightly up with twine and found with great relief that the clothes had survived the worst of the soaking and were mostly dry.

  She changed her clothes gratefully and used a shawl to dry her hair. With dry clothes and food in her belly, she felt much better, building up the fire and propping her wet things near it to try to dry them off. Removing her boots, she propped them up to dry as well, then set about gathering more wood for the fire. The pine branches burned hot and dry, but she was not afraid that they would give off smoke and betray her. The late afternoon sun shone down into the dell, and she stretched out on the needles beside the fire and breathed the scents of the wood. Birds sang the fire crackled, and her horse whickered and shifted, settling herself down. Emily looked up at the deep blue of the afternoon sky through the swaying green branches of the pine trees and fell asleep.

  It was the night when she awoke, feeling rested but stiff from lying on the ground. The fire had burned down to embers, and she built it up again, more for light than for heat, and set about re
packing her things. She did not reproach herself for sleeping; she had been exhausted and would ride better and be more alert for the rest. Her boots were dry, and the feeling of pulling on dry stockings and warm boots was immensely pleasurable. The death of Alice, though it weighed on her mind, gave her a new immediacy and appreciation for her own life. She felt deeply appreciative of the sensations which came with being alive as she ate a little food and got ready to leave. Alice would never feel the satisfying crunch of an apple in her mouth, or the sensation of dry boots on a chilly summer evening.

  Tears flooded her, and she allowed herself a moment to grieve. Her horse nudged her, gently, as if sensing her sorrow. Sniffing and wiping her eyes, she shouldered her pack, kicked out the fire, and clambered onto her horse’s back.

  “That’s it, miss,” she could almost hear Alice’s voice. “Dinnae fash yersel’, ye hae one chance. Dinnae blow it. Get yersel’ back tae Murdo. Get the baby back.”

  Emily had almost forgotten. She put her hands to her belly and took a deep breath as she moved off. Was she really with child? If it were true, would all be well after the trauma of the past few weeks? She did not know but thought she had heard that disturbance in the early weeks could cause problems for a baby... This was no time for speculation. She must get back to Murdo. If she could achieve that, then there would be time for thinking.

  She rode back down the hill and warily toward the road. There, she found traces of the passing of Clairmont’s host – horse dung, a discarded apple core, and many footprints in the mud. They must be travelling in a long column by now. The prints in the dirt looked fresh. They could not be too far away.

  Climbing the ridge, she rode on along its crest. The moon hung low in the sky, and after a few hours, it disappeared, and the sky began to grey toward dawn. She rode warily now; always alert for some sign of danger, but all was quiet. The ridge began to drop, getting lower as she rode on, the edges becoming steeper. Carefully, her horse picked its way along the edge.

  To her left, the ground fell away steeply. Looking ahead she saw that the ridge began to climb the left-hand edge becoming sharper, steeper, and higher as it gained height. To her right, the pines were giving way to broadleaved woodland, tall oaks and spreading beeches with bramble and bracken climbing across the ground below them among patches of bluebell. Sticking to the edge, she began to gain height again.

  The sun was climbing, and Emily was thinking about the view of the surrounding countryside when she saw a figure watching her from the trees below. Her heart leapt – this was no redcoat. He was a Highlander; that was plain to see. She stopped the horse and looked down at him. Joy turned to ice in her belly.and her breath caught in her throat. The man was walking toward her, palm raised in greeting.

  It was Ewan.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Emily. Is it ye?”

  “It is.” Her heart raced, and her hands felt like lead, but she knew she must not tell him that she was onto him, not yet. She would have to pretend. From somewhere, she found the strength to smile at him, and slipped from her horse and embraced the man who had betrayed her, her husband, and their folk.

  “Are ye weel, Emily?” His smile looked as forced as hers felt. “How come ye tae be here?”

  “I am neither particularly well nor particularly unwell, Ewan, but surely news must wait? Are you scouting for the MacPhersons? Is Murdo nearby?”

  “He is...” Ewan answered warily. “He is wi’ his faither and their men, passing through a steep-sided glen no’ far frae here. I hae been scouting, as ye say, and I am now on my way back tae them. Shall we walk back together?”

  She assented and leading her horse, they followed the line of the ridge.

  They proceeded in silence for a little while, until finally, Ewan spoke.

  “Whit has happened tae ye, Emily? Where is Alice? How comes it that ye hae escaped frae Fort William?”

  “I do not wish to speak of it just yet, Ewan,” she said. “Please, will you just lead me back to Murdo?”

  He looked at her a long time. “Aye, that I will. Ye just come wi’ me and I’ll tak’ ye back. We must turn aff this track now, this way. Follow me.”

  He turned away from the ridge and set off into the trees again and back down the slope. Emily followed warily, but they did not go far before she guessed what he was doing. He was going back the way he came. There was only one place he could have come from – the British force, where he had delivered his report.

  Emily’s knife was in her hand. Sudden anger flooded her, and she sprinted toward him, but he was wary as a cat and stepped lithely to one side, giving her a stinging blow as she tumbled past him. She turned and charged again. Her horse, startled by the sudden violence, pranced a few steps before trotting away back up the ridge, whinnying in alarm.

  He tried to step aside, but this time, her knife caught in something. It was a heavy leather pouch which hung at his belt. The blade tore through it, and from the cut came a flood of silver coins. They tumbled out onto the ground, with the face of the English king stamped plainly on one side.

  They looked at each other, panting. She circled him, backing away toward the ridge. She held the knife low and pointed an accusing finger at him with her other hand.

  “Traitor,” she said coldly. “Judas! You sold your friend and his family to the enemy. For what, silver? Judas! How could you do it? How could you?”

  She spat the words at him as she backed away. Holding up his hands in a placating manner, she realised that he was unarmed.

  “What are ye talking about...?”

  “I saw it!” She almost roared at him. “I saw your note. Your letter to Clairmont! Your report of the MacPherson’s position and the path they would take. You took his damned silver in exchange for information!”

  “And in exchange for his pledge o’ yer safety, and that o’ Murdo, and o’ Alice!”

  “His pledge? How could you be such a fool? A pledge like that means nothing to such a man. He is a monster, Ewan MacPhail, a monster and a devil, and he has sworn before witnesses to kill Murdo, even to have his head!”

  “That would end the bloodshed, at least!” cried Ewan. “This stupid rebellion achieves nothing, and the stubborn MacPhersons willnae treat wi’ the English for love or money! This could save countless lives in the long run, Emily. Dae ye no’ see that?”

  “No. All I see is a man who would sell his own kin to the enemy for profit. And that’s what Alice saw, too. She’s dead, Ewan. She gave her life so that one of us could escape and warn Murdo that he was betrayed. She died for what she believed in, and she died with her heart broken by your treachery!”

  Emily had reached the edge of the ridge and began to move off up towards the hill. He closed in on her, hands outstretched and eyes wary. When she told him about Alice, his face twisted with pain for a moment, but then it hardened into a sneer.

  “Weel, if that was what she had tae dae, then mair fool her,” he said harshly. “She was a bonnie lass, but no’ so bonny as some I ken. Damn Murdo tae always expect me tae tak’ his leavings, and always tae expect me to be content wi’ what he didnae want. He didnae ken whit I wanted, did he?”

  Horror chilled Emily as she heard these words and saw a glint in Ewan’s eyes that was not only jealousy but madness. He bared his teeth before charging. She thrust at him with the knife, but he was too quick, caught her wrist and twisted it, the blade clattering harmlessly to the ground. His breath was hot on her cheek as she bore him to the ground, and his weight knocked the wind out of her as he landed on top, pinning her arms in place. She struggled but could not get free.

  Ewan muttered under his breath as he held her, but she could not hear what he was saying. Her ears were ringing again. This was worse than she had expected! That he was a traitor to Murdo was bad enough, but that he should dismiss Alice so easily, and decide in his madness that he wanted her instead? She tried to struggle but could not. He laughed in her face.

  Catching both her arms, he moved his
other hand down, yanking at her skirts and fumbling with his britches. His eyes blazed with madness as they met hers, his harsh words cutting through the ringing in her ears.

  “I’ll tak’ whit I want now, then, shall I? I’ll tak’ whit I want, an’ then we shall baith go down the hill tae Major Clairmont, and he will nae doubt keep whitever is left o’ ye!”

  When she felt the hardness in his britches become unleashed and press against her, a sudden reserve of strength flooded her. She clamped her thighs together, brought up her knees and pushed with all her might. The pressure on her body lifted for a moment, and she struggled to get a hand free. Her hand groped desperately across the ground until it came upon a stone. Her fingers curled around it, and as he focused on forcing her legs back down again, she brought the rock up and whacked him as hard as she could. The pressure eased, and she rolled out easily from under him.

  Stunned, Ewan lifted a hand to the side of his head. Blood covered his fingers. He stood up shakily, and she lunged at him again. He clutched at her as she pushed him, and together they tumbled over the sheer edge of the cliff.