Stuart gave Fiona’s leg a pat. She glanced at him then quickly away. Stuart couldn’t see her cheeks beneath her scarf, but her forehead went a pretty pink.
Before Stuart could turn from her, Una more or less used him as a climbing tree to hoist herself behind Fiona, riding pillion. Stuart grunted as Una kicked him—surely she hadn’t meant to do that—as she settled herself behind the saddle.
Stuart made certain both women were steady before Fiona took up the reins. She spoke softly to her mount, who flicked her ears at Fiona’s voice. The beast had a wooly brown winter coat and a lighter brown mane and tail. A horse, not a pony, as rugged as the hills around them.
The stable boy tried to hand Fiona’s bag to Una, but Stuart intercepted it and slung it over his shoulder. Fiona pretended nonchalance, but Una’s silent concern was palpable. Interesting. What was in the bag they feared he’d see?
Stuart settled it on his back with his own small sack of belongings, and at last, they set off.
The bulk of the Macdonald realms lay on Scotland’s western coast and the islands, which was why those clans had been among the first to support Prince Teàrlach—the prince had arrived on the islands and worked his way eastward, recruiting his army along the way.
Not all Macdonalds had joined the cause, which had created a bitter split in the clan, dividing families and friends. Fiona’s brother had firmly stood against supporting the prince, and had finally taken up arms against his fellow Highlanders.
Broc Macdonald’s castle lay south and west of Inverness, some twenty miles distant. Very near the lands of the Camerons. They were neighbors, if uneasy ones.
They couldn’t skirt the long lake south of Inverness, because they’d run too close to Fort Augustus and other strongholds of the Hanoverians, who were still hunting Highlanders. Stuart doubted they’d give up even for Christmas.
No matter. Stuart knew these glens well, probably better than Gair and Padruig, who preferred hugging the coast so they could slip off over water. Stuart also knew the people in each village, though whether they’d hide him if asked, Stuart couldn’t say. Too much fear lay in these lands, and no one wanted to be caught with one of the rebel Scots.
Fiona rode serenely along, gazing at the surprisingly clear sky, the hills rising to their right. Stuart walked next to Fiona’s horse, where he could grab its bridle if the mare tried to bolt, though the horse seemed tame enough.
Gair, who walked a few paces ahead, following Stuart’s directions, took them up a path that rose through woods, avoiding the more habitable places along the lake. Padruig brought up the rear. Unlike Gair, he used no walking staff and had strapped his small pack to his back, leaving his hands free.
Roads in the Highlands, once off the main thoroughfares, were more like wandering tracks made by cows sometime in the Middle Ages. Stuart’s boots were coated in snow, ice, and mud before they’d gone a few miles.
“I see why ye’re up there,” he grumbled at Fiona. She hadn’t said much except for bland remarks on how lucky they were in the weather. As this time of year was usually full of pissing rain or blinding snow, Stuart couldn’t argue.
“It is drier on horseback, I grant,” Fiona said. “And Piseag is so warm.” She sank her gloved fingers into the horse’s fur.
Stuart rumbled a laugh at the name. “Ye call her ‘Kitten’?”
“What’s wrong with that? She’s gentle and soft.”
“When I was a lad, a kitten climbed me and scratched my face all over.”
Fiona’s eyes crinkled as she studied him. “Poor Stuart. I don’t see any scars on you. Well, it toughened ye for the army.”
“Aye, Geordie’s men were no match for that cat. She’d have had them begging for mercy.”
“How did ye manage to have yourself captured, then?” Fiona asked, as though inquiring about why he’d been late for tea one afternoon. “If ye were so hardened by your cat?”
“Oh, you know. Helping a friend.” The aftermath of Culloden rose in Stuart’s mind. Jacobite soldiers were fleeing, after those who’d surrendered and laid down arms were slaughtered where they stood. His childhood friend, Calum, had been half dead, unable to run. Stuart had lingered to drag him away when four of Cumberland’s men had surrounded them. Calum, already dying, had flung himself at the soldiers, and they’d cut him down. Stuart had attacked, bellowing a fierce cry, and had fought, enraged, before he’d been felled by a blow to the head.
“Still don’t know why the soldiers didn’t kill me outright,” Stuart said, lightening his tone to hide his anger. “But they tied me up and took me off, first to an outbuilding, later marching me to a ship to journey south. Ended up in prison with Willie Mackenzie. Good thing. His brother Alec and the lady he married wrested us free, and I fled with all of them to Paris.”
“Mackenzies?” Fiona asked in surprise. “I thought Will and Alec perished, along with the rest of the family.”
“So did I, but there was Alec, opening the door of my cell, and Will chivvying us all out. Indestructible, is Will Mackenzie.”
“It appears you are too.” Fiona’s voice lowered, “I read your name on the rolls. Captured. I was sure you’d be hanged.”
“As was I, lady. But here I am.”
She frowned at him, though she blinked, her eyes moist. “Walking right back into danger.”
“I intend to stay out of it. Find Padruig his trophy and be about my business.”
“Ah.”
Stuart glanced quickly at Fiona, hoping he heard regret in her voice. He did not tell her that when he next vanished, he’d ask her to come with him. If she said no, he’d simply have to convince her, and he could come up with some very creative methods …
“Another reason for riding a horse,” Fiona interrupted his thoughts. “Is that I can see farther than I can on foot. For instance, a few Black Watch and one English soldier are waiting for us around the next bend.”
Chapter Four
Fiona’s heart pumped faster as Stuart put his hand on Piseag’s bridle to halt her, and whistled softly between his teeth. Gair hurried back to them, and Padruig gathered close.
Fiona tried to stay calm, forcing herself not to beg Stuart to hide, to flee back to the inn. He could blend in with the throng there and escape during the Christmas revelry.
Stuart’s face set in stubborn lines, his blue eyes quiet as he withdrew into himself. Fiona watched him leave the carefree, laughing, impetuous Highlander behind and become the honed and deadly soldier.
They stood in a thick stand of trees, the land sloping sharply upward on their right, downward on the left. At the scrape of boots of the approaching soldiers, Stuart left the track, fading noiselessly into the uphill woods, his dark coat blending with the black rocks and boles of trees among the snow.
Padruig seized Piseag’s bridle, and Una moved restlessly behind Fiona.
The soldiers rounded the bend and stopped in surprise. No officers, Fiona thought with relief. Just infantrymen, possibly heading for their camp or perhaps even Balthazar’s inn, anticipating a warm room and a draught of ale.
No worries that the soldiers would search her bag, Fiona reflected. Stuart still had it on his back and he was gone.
The three Black Watch, in their kilts—the tartan ban did not extend to them—looked more annoyed than worried when they beheld Fiona and party. Fiona’s idea that they were heading to camp or the inn to go off-duty solidified.
The Englishman with them, in the red coat of Something-or-Other Foot, appeared as anxious to push past them as the others, but it was his duty to stop and question any Scots person on the road.
The four formed a barrier across the track, the Englishman slightly to one side, as though ready to let the Black Watch deal with any trouble.
One of the Black Watch soldiers lifted his rifle from his shoulder and aimed it vaguely at them. “No farther. Who are ye, and what’s your business on this road?”
“I don’t call it much of a road.” Gair spat to the side of it. �
��We’re taking this lady safely to shelter. It’s brutal cold, if ye’d not noticed.”
The man had the sharp blue eyes and fair hair of a Highlander, his accent putting him from the north and east. “What lady, and what shelter?”
“This lady.” Gair jerked his thumb at Fiona. “Whatever shelter we can find. Any houses the way you’ve come?”
“Only burned ones.” The man smiled a little over the barrel of his rifle.
Fiona lost her temper. These were Scotsmen who’d turned on their own people, burning homes of those suspected of hiding Jacobites, throwing entire families out with nowhere to go.
She dragged her scarf from her mouth, letting the cold burn her lips. “I see you there, Iver MacGregor,” she said to another of the Black Watch who hovered behind the man with the rifle. He was thinner than the others, with brown hair under his bonnet, and scraggly whiskers on his face to match. “What would your mother say about that beard? Ye should grow it out or cut it off entirely.”
Padruig remained stoic, but Gair shot Fiona an alarmed look, trying to silence her. The Englishman and the soldier who hadn’t spoken struggled to hide grins.
“Fiona?” Iver bleated. “I mean … Miss Macdonald? What are you doing out here in the weather?”
“Trying to get out of the weather. But you and your friends are blocking my way.”
Iver’s mouth popped open, which was its usual position. Iver MacGregor lived in the next glen from Fiona’s family home, and he and Broc had played together as children. Iver looked perpetually bewildered, had even when he’d come out of his shell enough to dance with Fiona one Hogmanay, before he’d joined the Black Watch.
“We can’t let none pass,” Iver explained as though Fiona hadn’t heard about the Uprising. “Rebels about.”
The Black Watch leader lowered his rifle but didn’t move, seeming happy to let Iver speak for all of them.
Fiona made a show of looking around. “I see no Highlanders here. Only these men I hired to see me through. You know them. Gair Murray and Padruig.”
Iver flushed, and the others shuffled, uncomfortable. Most people in the Highlands had bought smuggled goods from Gair and Padruig. The minute Gair was arrested, he could reveal what he’d sold not only to every soldier whose duty it was to stamp out smuggling, but to their superiors as well, all the way up the chain of command.
Iver stepped closer to the horse, on the side opposite Padruig, and peered up at Fiona. “Ye trust them?”
“I do to lead me true until they receive their pay at the end of the road. I’m only going home. My brother is ill, as you might have heard.”
Iver nodded, brow furrowing. “Aye, he took injury at Falkirk, I recall. Give him me best.”
“I will. Now, shall you let me pass?”
The Black Watch leader roused to life. “Sorry, ma’am. Orders. Everyone on the road is to be searched.”
“Very well.” Fiona nodded to Una, who started to slide down. Padruig caught Una and set her on her feet, but Fiona swung off herself, not waiting for assistance. “Be quick about it. I’d like to be indoors before nightfall.”
Thank heavens for Stuart. She could be serene, knowing the soldiers wouldn’t find the extra clothes and food she carried, would never realize what she intended to do with them.
Gair was less sanguine. “Ye can see I’m not carrying guns or a casket of gold, can’t ye? Will ye rob me of the few coins I have? I’m reduced to escorting a woman across the Highlands for pay. Take pity on me.”
Iver winced. “Sorry, Gair. I’ll make it quick.”
Iver found four knives, two flasks of whisky, and a few English gold sovereigns in Gair’s pockets, but nothing that seemed to alarm anyone. Padruig had one knife and a flask and that was all.
With Iver’s persuasion, they allowed Una and Fiona to turn out their own pockets, showing they carried only dried meat, bread, and cheese for the journey.
The leader clicked Gair’s two gold coins together. “We might have to confiscate this. Could be the spoils of smuggling.”
“Now, hang on—” Gair blustered.
“Give them to him, Gair.” Fiona kept up her air of an inconvenienced highborn lady as she turned back to her horse. “I’ll give you the cost at journey’s end.”
She allowed Padruig to give her a leg-up into the saddle, settling herself and paying no more attention to the men, as Una was lifted on behind her.
The leader grinned, and the coins disappeared. Gair snarled. Padruig stepped to Gair and simply looked at him. Gair subsided.
“Give my best to your mum, Iver,” Fiona said graciously. “Good day, gentlemen.”
Padruig grasped the bridle again, though Fiona held the reins, and led the mare past the soldiers. The Englishman and the two other Black Watch seemed pleased with their chance encounter. Iver saluted Fiona wistfully.
“Take care, Fiona. Perhaps I’ll see ye at your brother’s at Hogmanay?”
“Perhaps.” Fiona nodded down at him, as though it made no difference to her.
She managed to remain composed as Padruig led her on, Gair following, but her mouth was dry, her limbs trembling. She adjusted her scarf over her nose, its warmth welcoming.
Would the soldiers see Stuart? Hear him? Shoot him outright? And where had Stuart gone? He knew these woods and valleys better than most. Would he vanish over the mountains, never to be seen again?
Her heart pounded, and her fingers twitched. She wanted to urge Piseag to run, run, run, so she could find Stuart but knew that would be the height of foolishness.
They rounded the bend. The soldiers did not follow, though Fiona did not risk glancing back to see whether they watched.
Padruig and Gair kept up a steady but not rapid pace, Gair raising his voice in a badly out of tune song. Another mile went by, and another. They saw no more soldiers, and Fiona began to relax.
Fiona also did not see Stuart. They traveled for an hour, the road leaving the hills and striking over a glen toward mountains beyond and the castle where Broc Macdonald had retreated, nursing his injury.
Clouds began to blot the sky. Fiona would have to turn aside soon, as she’d promised, though how she’d fulfill her mission without the bag Stuart had taken she did not know. She could only do her best.
They stopped in the shelter of a tree to water the horse in the nearby stream, Padruig breaking ice with his boot. In a low voice, Fiona explained to the two men what she meant to do. As predicted, Gair argued, but Padruig gruffly agreed and stared Gair to silence. Then they went on.
Fiona saw no sign of Stuart as the clouds gathered, and she realized as the miles went by, that he was truly gone.
Stuart, who’d been shadowing Fiona and party, pulled his coat close against the growing wind. He knew they were heading for Broc’s castle in the next glen, so he could simply hurry there and wait for them. But leaving Fiona to the mercy of Gair and Padruig, not to mention any Hanoverian soldiers lurking about, did not appeal to him.
Stuart was surprised, then, when Fiona turned off the small road that would take her to her brother’s castle, and wended her way up a path toward a tiny crack between two tall mountains.
Chapter Five
Stuart followed at a discreet distance as Fiona’s horse went higher into the foothills, around a stand of snow-covered boulders, and out of sight.
There was nothing back there. Stuart knew every nook and cranny of this part of the Highlands, especially so close to his own lands. No one lived in that bleak area of the mountains, and no road led through the rocks. It was a dead end.
The phrase made him shudder. Stuart scanned the open ground between himself and the boulders, then sped his steps to cross the snowy valley, not slowing until he’d reached the rocks behind which Fiona had ridden.
The bag he carried weighed on his back. He’d had a look inside and found Fiona’s things, but also men’s clothing, secondhand and worn, the kind laborers would wear. Several sets of them. He’d studied them in puzzlement—why on earth
was she riding around the Highlands with such gear?
Stuart reached the outcropping in time to see Fiona, the horse, Una, Padruig, and Gair, vanish in a cleft in the rocks. Stuart skirted the snowy boulders and approached.
When he started into the black shadow between the rocks, he suddenly found himself staring down the tip of Padruig’s knife. Stuart halted, the point against his nose.
Padruig recognized Stuart, blinked, and relaxed. “Ye’d better come in.”
A blanket had been tacked between tall rocks, forming a door of sorts against the cold. Behind it, Stuart found Highlanders, half a dozen of them.
The men had grubby, bearded faces and weariness in their eyes. Stuart recognized a few of them, the rest he did not. Retainers and men, foot soldiers of Prince Teàrlach’s army. Those who’d fought and then fled for their lives when the word came down that no quarter was to be given.
Fiona glanced at Stuart. “Good. You’ve come.”
She might have been welcoming him to a small garden party she’d arranged. Saying nothing more, she reached for the bag Stuart slid from his shoulder.
Fiona plunked the bag down and opened it, digging past a flash of women’s underclothes to pull out breeches, shirts, and coats. Una busily helped.
“I should have things to fit everybody,” she said as she laid out the garments. “The coats might be a bit small, but they’re the best that could be found.”
“Aye, well, I’ll have me tailor sew me a new one.” One Highlander flashed his teeth in a grin. “Next time I visit him in London.”
A few guffaws sounded, but mostly these men were exhausted.
“Gair,” Stuart said quietly. “Hand round your flask.”
Gair turned innocent eyes to him. “What flask is that?”
A Very Highland Holiday Page 18