Rogue of the Isles (29 page)

“A plan thwarted, thank God, by the blizzard.”

“Aye, but nae forgotten. Duncan and Broc bear watching.”

“That they do,” Jamie said and remembered Mari had told him Jillian suspected the men had wanted her to follow them. “We must take care.”

“Ye be taking a care now that ye do naw drop the wee one,” Darcy said as she descended the stairs behind Mari. “Be sure ye protect the babe’s head.”

Mari tucked the soft woolen blanket around her precious bundle and smiled at Darcy’s presumptuousness. The maid did not have any more experience handling babies than Mari did, but to appease Darcy for being left out of the birthing room—heaven only knew what kind of a scene that would have been—Bridget had appointed Darcy the baby’s nanny. Darcy had lifted her chin and smiled smugly while Effie scowled. Bridget quickly had reminded Effie her skills were needed in helping Jillian recuperate, causing Effie to lift her own chin and gloat.

But both maids seemed content with their roles, and Mari was beginning to think Bridget was a miracle worker.

They approached the library where Mari could hear Ian talking to Jamie. Before she could knock, Darcy opened the door and stepped inside. “Ye can see yer daughter now,” she announced, sounding for all the world like she was in charge.

Both men fell silent as Mari stepped through the door. Jamie’s golden eyes widened slightly, and Mari supposed she did look a little strange, holding a baby in her arms. Suddenly, she felt shy, remembering the kiss earlier and how she had responded to him. She turned quickly to Ian.

“Do you want to hold your daughter?”

A look of trepidation swept across his face as he stepped closer. “I dinnae want to drop the bairn.”

“She will naw break,” Daisy said authoritatively.

“She is such a wee thing,” Ian replied, tentatively brushing the baby’s hand with his, but not making a move to take the child.

Jamie came to stand behind him, looking only a bit less apprehensive.

Mari bit her lip to keep from laughing. Imagine the two large MacLeod men, fearless in fighting and able to brandish claymores that weighed almost as much as she did, yet here they were—both of them afraid of a tiny baby.

For heaven’s sake. Obviously, she would have to take charge. Mari thrust the baby at Ian who instinctively put out his arms to grasp it, the expression on his face changing from terror to incredulousness when he realized he was holding a bairn—his bairn. She covered a smile with her hand and glanced at Jamie, who was staring at her with the strangest look on his face.

A look that gave her delightful shivers and had nothing to do with fathers and babies.

Three mornings later, Mari rested her arms on the paddock fence, watching two of Jillian’s prize Andalusian mares nuzzling their respective foals. It seemed all the mothers and babies were doing fine. The doctor had arrived shortly after Jillian gave birth—too late, Effie had muttered—but he declared the midwife had done all the right things and Jillian was on her way to recovery. Luckily for the doctor, Ian was enthralled with his infant daughter and spared the man a stern lecture on not being there sooner.

Mari lifted her face to catch the warmth of the wintery sun. Most of the snow had melted, thanks to some unusually warm, thawing temperatures, and it felt good to be outside. Jamie and Brodie had ridden into Glenfinnan earlier to collect supplies, and Jillian was comfortably settled in the solar with baby Rose, the twins and her sisters-by-marriage competing with Effie and Darcy for turns holding the baby. Mari smiled to herself. She doubted anyone even realized when she slipped out to get some fresh air. Maybe she should grasp the opportunity to go for a walk.

“I dinnae think ye would care for horses.”

Mari jumped at the sound of Broc’s voice behind her. One of the mares raised her head anxiously, nostrils flaring as she scented the air and then nudged her foal to move farther away.

“You startled me.”

Broc merely shrugged. “’Tis wise to be aware of yer surroundings.” He gestured toward the horses. “The clan was pleased with the fine dowry Ian brought home.”

Mari was about to retort the horses were not a dowry, but Jillian’s pride and joy, but she decided against it. With the baby’s birth, Broc and his brother could no longer deny Jillian’s place. Perhaps Mari could convince them not all English were bad. Horses seemed a safe subject.

“I used to be a little afraid of horses, but Jamie taught me to ride in Hyde Park. I find I actually enjoy it now.”

Broc gave her an appraising look. “’There is an abandoned croft nae far from here and two more down by the glen. ’Tis only a trail too narrow for a carriage that leads to them, but ye could ride there.” He paused, his eyes narrowing a bit. “That is, if ye were truthful in your talk of wanting to ken about the Clearances. Ye could see for yerself.”

“I would like to see them. I will ask Jamie to take me when he returns,” Mari replied, glad that Broc was actually conversing with her. “I meant every word I said. It was horrible of King George to threaten to take the lands away and to raise taxes so high that families had to leave.”

“Aye,” he answered and then looked across the bailey to where Duncan was gesturing for him. “I must go, but there is nae reason for ye to wait for Jamie to return. ’Tis a fine day for a ride, and there are nae highwaymen about in these parts. Ye can pick up the trail just outside the gates. Along the way ye can truly see what the Scots have suffered.”

Mari watched him leave. Broc had actually been pleasant. Maybe Rose’s birth was a real turning point for everyone. She hoped so.

She looked at the castle. Having spent most of the past week inside the stone walls, she was not ready to go back. Mari looked at the sky—clear blue except for a faint line of grey forming along the horizon. Based on the small drop in the barometer Shane kept at the castle, Ian had warned another storm was likely on the way, which was why Brodie and Jamie had ridden in for supplies. Mari really did want to see those empty crofts. They sounded like the same ones Shauna had mentioned the day they’d talked. And it would give her conversation to share with both Duncan and Broc. If she went today, before more snow arrived, they would know she was sincere. Briefly, she thought about asking Ian to accompany her, but since he’d spent so much time caring for Jillian, he had accounts and business to take care of, and she would only be gone an hour or two. She was hardly likely to be accosted on what would be little more than a deer trail.

Mari made up her mind. Why not take advantage of the good weather and go for that ride?

Half an hour later, Mari almost giggled as she nudged the aging gelding into a faster walk outside the gates. Her escape—as she was beginning to think of it—had been surprisingly easy. No one had been about when she’d gone to change into the riding habit with its split skirt. Her story that she needed a bit of exercise and fresh air went over easily with the young lad who saddled her horse—especially since she’d brought one of the cook’s freshly baked scones with her. Apparently, Jamie’s edict of needing an escort hadn’t reached the stable boys. She’d made sure to pull the tartan well over her blonde curls in case the guards had been notified not to allow her out, but the ancient battlement over the portcullis was empty.

Mari breathed in the crisp air. It seemed colder than it had been earlier, but that was probably because she was not longer inside the bailey shielded from the wind. The important thing was that she was free for the afternoon. No one following her, no one ordering her about—just free to go.

The trail had been easy enough to find. It was the same one Jillian had followed on that ill-fated night, and Mari found the first croft quickly. Most of the thatch had blown off the roof of the cottage, but an assortment of rotted furniture still remained, a sign that whoever had lived here had left with very little. Inside the little lean-to, she found a spade and hoe as well as a wood-handled hand plow with its curved blade rusted. Jillian had probably cut her hand on it, causing the infection that had nearly taken her life. Mari decided once Jamie got back, she would ask him to have someone remove the tools.

Going outside, she looked at the sky. Although fluffy clouds now partially shaded the sun, it hadn’t moved far, which meant she still had enough time to ride down to the glen. It couldn’t be more than a kilometer or two away.

She turned the horse back on the deer trail that began to wind its way around craggy boulders as the path descended to the valley below. The slope was not particularly steep, but it did twist and turn a lot, sometimes with rather narrow ledges that dropped off to rugged ravines. Mari began to understand how Jillian had tripped and fallen, especially in the dark. Still, the gelding seemed surefooted, and there really was only one path to follow.

Eventually, the terrain leveled off, giving way to smaller jutting rocks and prickly hedge-row and then bracken and tall ferns as the trail led through a sparse forest of conifers interpersed with beech and rowan. The white bark of beech contrasted with the dark green of firs, while the golden leaves and red berries of the rowan gave wonderful color. Somewhere close, Mari could hear the bubbling of a burn that had not yet frozen over. Mari was beginning to see why Scotland appealed to Jillian.

Emerging from the woods, she saw the glen stretch out in front of her. At the far distant end, a small herd of red deer grazed, as yet undisturbed by her presence—but perhaps because the wind was blowing toward her and away from them. Mari tugged the plaid closer. The breeze had definitely grown stronger and colder. She glanced at the sky again. The fluffy clouds had flattened bottoms more grey than white. It was probably going to rain before she got home, but this was Scotland. Rain did not last long usually.

Mari urged her horse across the meadow as she spotted the first abandoned croft. Only a shell of two walls remained. The rest of the cottage was nothing but charred rubble. This place had been burned, unlike the home closer to the castle, and Mari recalled Shauna telling her the MacLean clan, who owned most of the land surrounding Ian’s holdings, had been Jacobites, supporting Bonny Prince Charlie. King George’s troops had dealt harshly with them. Mari felt saddened to think her own countrymen had forced innocent farmers from their homes and hoped this family had survived.

The second croft was harder to find since it was actually in a smaller glade just inside the forest bordering the other side of the glen. If it hadn’t been for the deer turning tail and running into the trees here, she would never have found the trail. At least this cottage had not been burned, perhaps because the English soldiers had been afraid of starting a timber fire.

Mary dismounted and went up to the sagging door. The lone, rusty hinge it hung on creaked loudly as she pushed it open and went inside. A musty smell of mold and something long abandoned assailed her nostrils as she looked around. Parts of the thatched ceiling had torn away, but some of it still held. The wattle and daub walls had cracks, allowing the cold air to seep in, and the shutter covering the small window was partially rotted. An iron pot still hung suspended from rods in the huge fireplace, and Mari realized the hearth was used for both warmth and cooking. A stack of dry, brittle logs still lay beside it. A small, knife-scarred table had probably served as a cutting board and was still intact as were two straight-backed chairs, although whatever cloth had covered the seats was long gone. All that was left of a small bed were the metal frame and leather straps that had served to hold whatever straw-stuffed mattress had once lain over it. The small trunk beside the bed held remnants of a man’s breeches and shirt and a woman’s muslin overdress along with a thin, much-washed chemise.

Crossing over to the small cupboard, Mari found it contained a few chipped dishes and a drinking cup along with several small, crumbled burlap sacks probably once containing barley or oats and flour.

Mari sat down on one of the chairs. This home had been spared, but the occupants had not even had time to take food or clothing with them. She felt tears sting her eyes. How could humans treat other humans so cruelly?

She didn’t know how long she sat there, but when she finally dried her eyes, she realized it was definitely darker outside. Startled, she jumped up. It could not be dusk already. She could not have stayed so long.

As she stepped outside, wet snowflakes struck her face. A light powdering already lay on the ground. Quickly, she pulled the plaid closer and gathered the reins of the gelding who had turned his hindquarters to the wind and hung his head. “I’m sorry,” she said, giving his neck a pat as she mounted. “There will be an extra ration of oats for you when we get home.”

As if he understood, he picked up his pace to a trot as they exited the trees into the large glen. The snow was thicker here in the open, but Mari could still faintly see the forest line on the other side. The gelding did not need any urging to head in that direction. Mari lifted the tartan over her head, pulling it close to her face so only her eyes remained uncovered, but even so, the swirling snow stung as the wind increased. She tugged on the reins, turning the horse toward the closest part of the trees she could still see. He fought for his head, but she pressed her legs firmly against his flank and he acquiesced. If they could just get inside the forest, the snow would not be so blinding and they could find the trail.

The wind began to howl in earnest, driving the snow directly into their faces. The horse hung his head and his pace slowed. Mari shielded her eyes with her hand but could see nothing but blinding white.