The Highland Laird

by Amy Jarecki

  “Mayhap he keeps coin in there.”

  “He doesn’t. Quills and ink pots only. It has been thus since the beginning of time.”

  “The beginning of time?” Emma made her way toward the desk and then removed a pin from her hair. “Would you like me to have a go?”

  Janet snorted. “I suppose Robert figured teaching you to pick locks would come in handy one day. Who kent it would be in my father’s writing table?”

  “Robert thought it would keep me amused, especially since my hearing is so acute.” Emma held out the pin. “Which drawer is it?”

  Janet guided her hand downward. “The top on the right.”

  She rubbed her fingers across the keyhole. “Ah, yes, it shouldn’t take but a moment.” Emma loved picking locks. Robert used to bring her locks of all shapes and sizes for her to work with. While she was growing up, she learned to slip in her pin and gently move it until she felt a hint of a cog. And then she would listen, just as she was doing now.

  Click, click. A bit farther. Click.

  She tugged the drawer open. “There you are, my dear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Only quills and ink pots still?”

  “Aye. There was definitely no reason to lock it.”

  “Unless your da kent how crafty I am with a hairpin.”

  “Perhaps we ought not tell him.”

  “Very well.” Emma picked up Albert’s lead. “’Tis ten paces from the writing table to the hearth and seven to the settee.”

  “Impressive. You’re doing well with the dog. Or had you memorized the entire library already?”

  This was the first time Emma had been in the castle’s library. “I’m still finding my way, but if I’m not wrong, Albert is helping. I think I’d like to pay Sam a visit in the stables and find out exactly how much my new pet has already learned. When we took our walk to the river, Dunollie mentioned it was clear the lad had done some work with him.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea. Training Albert ought to keep you busy whilst we’re here. Let me finish this missive, and I’ll escort you.”

  “I don’t think ’tis necessary.” Emma fluffed out her skirts. “I’d like to go alone.”

  “Alone?” Janet asked, the surprise in her voice unmistakable.

  Emma was surprised as well, but something had changed, and her confidence was bolstered. Perhaps she’d been at Achnacarry long enough to be more secure with her bearings. She positively hated to be a burden to anyone. “I’ll have Albert to help, and the library is just off the great hall, so there isn’t a labyrinth of corridors to negotiate. Once I’m outside I’ll be able to find the stables by the smell.”

  The drawer closed. “Do you find stables foul?”

  “Not at all. But horses and hay have an unmistakable scent. I can find a stable at fifty paces or more.”

  “Well, I’ll say it is very brave of you to venture outside on your own.”

  “I visit the stables at home, and since we’re going to be here a time, I may as well try.”

  “But I’m not so certain you ought to be taking Albert. He could see a grouse and dart away. Why not leave him with me and use your cane?”

  “Pardon, but he is why I’m paying a visit to the stables in the first place. Besides, this dog has stopped every time before my cane has touched each and every obstacle. I believe he is brilliant.”

  “Perhaps he’s able in the library. But what if something distracts him? He might pull you into a hedge, or a stone wall for that matter.”

  “That’s precisely why I need to speak to Sam about his training.”

  “You can do that without the dog, dearest.”

  “I think not.”

  “Very well.” Janet groaned. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No. I absolutely insist on doing this myself.” Emma had circumnavigated the chamber enough to find her bearings, and she headed toward the door. “’Tis the middle of the day. There are plenty of people about to ask should I lose my way.”

  After all, she’d learned a great deal about Achnacarry since being lost in the middle of the night. All the bedchambers were above stairs, so she wasn’t likely to enter a room she shouldn’t.

  “Come behind, Albert.” She gripped the latch on her first try, which made her grin. “We will find the stables if it takes us all afternoon. And if, perchance, I do not return by the evening meal, you may send a search party.”

  As soon as she stepped into the great hall, a footman appeared. “May I help you, miss?”

  “If you would point me toward the door, please.”

  “A quarter turn to your right and straight ahead. Follow me.”

  She and Albert followed the sound of the man’s footsteps and stopped with the creak of the door.

  “Do you need assistance descending the stairs, miss?”

  “I think I’d like to try it alone, thank you.”

  Emma’s stomach squeezed when she stepped outside. For a moment her palms perspired, making the lead slip. Stopping, she took in a deep breath and tilted her nose to the sky. The warmth of the sun caressed her face while a slight breeze whirred through her hair. She shifted the cane into the same hand as the lead, holding it horizontally to ensure it didn’t smack Albert. Finding the rail, she gulped. “Here we go, laddie.”

  The dog remained at her side, his coat lightly brushing her skirts as they descended the six steps without faltering.

  Just yesterday she had needed Betty to help her, but Emma felt inordinately secure with Albert. She took another breath, almost laughing, but with her inhalation came a myriad of scents. Straight ahead was grass and the freshness of the river. To her left she identified the sweet scent of hay and horses.

  Returning her cane to the other hand, she started toward the stables. As they neared, the dog pulled, gagging on his collar. Emma tugged him to heel. “No.”

  Albert yowled.

  “Come behind,” she said in a stern voice. “We shall walk to find Sam, not run.”

  At the mention of the lad’s name, the dog snorted and yipped, though he did come to heel.

  “You know Sam’s name, do you not?”

  “Yawol,” Albert agreed.

  “Well then, we shall find him together.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Emma.”

  “Sam?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “Thank heavens. You are just the person I’ve been looking for.”

  “Is Albert causing trouble?”

  “No, on the contrary, he’s marvelous. I can tell you’ve done some training with him.”

  “A bit. Taught him to walk at heel and fetch. That sort of thing.”

  “Have you had much experience training dogs?”

  “I suppose. I trained his mother to sit and fish. Fetch birds as well.”

  “Wonderful. Do you think you would be able to help me train Albert to be my eyes?”

  “Your eyes?” the lad asked incredulously. “I’m not certain he can do that.”

  “I think he can. Or at least he can help me. Today I was working with him in the library, and he stopped before my cane hit each obstacle. If he can do that every time, I think it would help immensely.”

  “I suppose it’s worth a go.”

  “And he also needs to learn to stay when he’s told. Would you like to help?”

  “Aye. As long as it doesn’t interfere with my chores, I can.”

  “Excellent. When can we start?”

  “I wake with the crow of the first cock and climb down from the loft and—”

  “The loft?”

  “Aye, miss. I sleep in the hayloft. Da says it is the most comfortable place in the world.”

  “Truly?” Emma slid Albert’s lead through her palm. “Do you not have a bed of your own?”

  “Nay. Besides, I reckon me father’s right. I sleep sound near every night except in the dead of winter.”

  “And when do you finish with your morning chores?”

  “I usually have tim
e to meself after the midday meal.”

  “Very well, let’s start on the morrow after our nooning.”

  * * *

  “Thank you, my friend,” said Ciar, shaking MacLean’s hand outside the Inverlochy tavern. “Keep your men on alert. You shall be hearing from us in due course.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “Agreed,” said Ciar, mounting his horse and tipping his cap. “At long last ’tis time to take matters into our own hands.”

  Staying the night in Inverlochy had been a boon. He’d found and recruited the leaders of two staunch Jacobite clans, men who would bring substantial armies to the table.

  But Ciar’s work had only begun. He cued his mount for a trot and headed northeast. The road to Spean Bridge was boggy and rutted even on the best of days. The foliage of massive sycamores blocked the view while twists and turns up and down craggy hills made the going arduous.

  Not many traveled this route. Nonetheless, it was the only road to Clan MacDonnell’s lands. And Coll of Keppoch was one of James’s staunchest supporters.

  Ciar had been riding for about an hour when the birds stopped chirping. He chuckled to himself. Emma would have noticed the change sooner for certain. But Ciar was no stranger to the wilds of the Highlands. He pulled his horse to a stop and listened.

  Aye, there was no mistaking voices ahead, though he couldn’t make out what was being said. Dismounting, he led his horse off the path and secured the reins around a branch, then crept up the side of a hill.

  At the crest, a flash of movement caught his eye.

  Redcoats.

  He crept a bit closer, careful not to make a sound.

  Down below, two dragoons rifled through the clothing of a dead Highlander with a blade buried in his back.

  “Jesu, Riley. You’re the best man with a blade I’ve ever seen. Hit him square from, what, thirty paces?”

  “I’d remember that, Manfred. I’ll bury a dagger in anyone who tries to cross me.” The man who answered to Riley retrieved his blade and wiped it on the dead man’s kilt. “Find the coin, ye wastrel.”

  “Give us a moment.” Manfred, a scrawny man, slinked to a garron pony and unlaced a satchel from the empty saddle. “Mm. You’ll like this, Riley. By the weight of it, we’ll be living high on the hog for ages.”

  Thieving bastards.

  The last thing Ciar needed at the moment was to ride into the middle of a crime. But he’d never be able to live with himself if he turned tail and rode around.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled a flintlock from his belt and primed it. One against two—not bad odds, though he’d be a hell of a lot happier if Livingstone had accompanied him.

  He crept closer—nearly close enough to touch their backs. “Why am I not surprised to find the crown’s dragoons are murderers and thieves?” he growled, clicking the hammer of his pistol. “Raise your hands slowly. Ciar MacDougall of Dunollie here, and I’ll tell ye now, the first to make an errant move will enjoy a lead ball in his arse.”

  “The highwayman attacked us,” Riley said as he raised his hands.

  “Aye?” Ciar sidestepped around them. “Is that why the poor soul with your blade buried in his back was toting a satchel full of coin?”

  Keeping his flintlock trained on Riley, he untied a length of rope from one of the horse’s saddles and tossed it at the smallest. “Manfred, tie up your partner and make the bindings nice and tight. I’ll be watching.”

  The little man’s eyes shifted from Ciar’s face as he caught the rope. Then the corner of his mouth ticked up. “Nay, I haven’t a mind to, governor.”

  A creeping sensation shot up the back of Ciar’s neck…just before the world turned black.

  Chapter Nine

  Drip…drip…drip.

  For the love of God, every time the water dropped it echoed like a cannon inside Ciar’s skull. His teeth throbbed with the unbearable pressure, but the relentless noise refused to stop.

  He shifted his head a bit, the agony making his eyebrows pinch together.

  Where am I?

  The sharp odor of piss mingled with earthy dirt.

  His shoulders ground into a cold, hard floor.

  Hell’s gate it must be.

  His coughing made the back of his head pulsate with painful hammering. “Whisky,” he groaned, slinging an arm across his forehead.

  “Och, it looks as if the great Dunollie may survive to swing from the hangman’s noose.”

  “Ye’ll not be tasting any spirit where ye’re headed,” said another.

  Ciar opened and closed his eyes. The voices were unfamiliar and sounded menacing. “Where am I?” he croaked, the saliva in his mouth thick and sticky.

  An ugly chuckle rumbled in the chamber, feeling like a snare drum in his head. “Ye’re a guest of Governor Henry Wilcox. In the bowels of Fort William with the rest of us wretched sops, ye are.”

  Shite.

  He remembered now. There must have been a third redcoat, and the bastard struck him from behind. “I was ambushed.”

  “Och, were ye now? Did ye hear that? Dunollie claims he was ambushed.”

  Ciar ran a hand across his belt. Dirk gone, pistol gone, sword gone, sporran gone. “I was.” He forced himself up with his elbow, which only intensified the tortuous throbbing in his head. “Came upon three murdering dragoons. They’d dirked a man and stolen his coin.”

  At the sound of laughter, he opened his eyes. These bastards were all enjoying themselves at his expense.

  “He’s blaming Tommy MacIntyre’s murder on the redcoats.”

  “Aye,” Ciar said, his throat still arid and grating. “A bull of a man named Riley and his accomplice, Manfred. Never saw the third. He’s the one who bludgeoned me from behind.”

  He sat forward and shook his head while three filthy, ragged tinkers surrounded him, the whites of their eyes piercing through the dim light.

  “Sounds a likely story.”

  “We’ve all been backstabbed by slippery dragoons.”

  “It doesn’t matter if he speaks the truth, he’ll be hanged for certain once Wilcox returns.”

  “Wilcox is away?” Ciar asked, wondering how long he’d been in this hellhole.

  “Aye.”

  He rubbed his temples. “Bloody ballocks.”

  “Why should it make a difference? Even if ye were the king, ye’ll never set eyes on the man’s polished brass buttons.”

  “Aye, he’ll hear the dragoons’ testimony, and that’ll be enough for him.”

  “Too right. It matters not whether ye’re innocent or guilty. All the soldiers are backbiting bastards, and Wilcox is the most ruthless of the lot.”

  Ciar groaned, dragging himself against the stone wall. Condemned for a murder he didn’t commit. “When will the governor return?”

  “Who kens? The longer he’s away, the better.”

  * * *

  “Stay,” Emma said, slicing her hand downward in front of the dog’s face. She walked to the end of the lead, set it down, then proceeded around the hedge and stood while Sam used his father’s pocket watch to keep track of the time. By the ticking she knew exactly where the lad stood, not but a pace away.

  They remained agonizingly silent as Albert sat alone in the middle of the grass. He yowled, making her bite her lip to keep from uttering a sound. They’d been practicing the stay command for days, and the dog had done so well. But Emma was his worst problem. She hated to make him stay behind while she disappeared. How he must fret. And she knew all too well what being in the dark was like.

  “Time,” Sam whispered.

  Emma stepped out from around the shrubs. “Albert, come!” she called, clutching her hands to her chest while the patter of his paws neared. “Sit.”

  She could sense him obey by the burst of excitement in the air and the swift brushing of his tail on the grass. Finally, she reached out to give him a scratch. “Good boy!”

  “I think he has it. But you’ll need to keep practicing until he’s able to
sit for a half hour without becoming distracted.”

  “A half hour?” She dropped to a knee and snickered with the slurp of Albert’s tongue. “That is unbearably long for him.”

  “The better trained he is, the happier he’ll be.”

  “Truly?”

  “The dog loves the attention. And look at you pair—you’ve only been at it a sennight. In a year imagine all you will have taught him. Ye ken, dogs want to please their masters.”

  “And they adore praise.”

  “Everyone does, I reckon.”

  “Aye.” She brushed her hands over Albert’s coat and stood. “You are an excellent trainer, Sam. I thank you.”

  “I hope to train Lochiel’s hunting dogs one day.”

  “Then I shall do my best to put in a good word on your behalf.”

  “You would do that for me?”

  “Absolutely. Lady Janet has taken a keen interest in our progress, and she is Lochiel’s daughter. I’m certain His Lairdship will listen to her when he returns from his journey to London.”

  Emma’s attention shifted toward the sound of a horse cantering over the courtyard cobblestones. “I’ve urgent news from Fort William!” shouted the rider.

  “Who is it?” Emma asked.

  The lad stepped out from behind her. “’Tis one of the guardsmen.”

  “Come,” she said, grasping Sam’s hand and hastening to hear the guard’s report.

  As soon as her feet hit the cobbles, she asked, “What has happened?”

  “’Tis Dunollie,” said the guard. “They’re holding him in the gaol. Nearly a week ago he was taken into custody for the murder of Tommy MacIntyre on the road to Spean Bridge.”

  Emma gasped. “Murder?”

  “Aye, miss. In broad daylight, and there were witnesses—soldiers of the crown saw it all.” Shod horseshoes tapped the cobblestones. “They say he murdered the MacIntyre man for coin. Dirked the poor blighter in the back, he did.”

  Emma’s blood turned icy. Ciar would never commit murder. And for coin? That made no sense at all. Dunollie was one of the most prosperous lairds in the Highlands.

  “He’ll hang for certain,” the guard continued.