Scotch Rising (18 page)

Instead the other man extended a large hand and grimaced. “I dinnae say this often, Captain. So ye better take heed, I may hae been hasty in accusing ye of threats and I am sorry fur it. I know it isnae ye meddling intae Markinch. Yer only the messenger and ye took a chance at telling me secret information.”

I took the other man’s hand and smiled with relief. “I should apologise too, the Christmas Eve gathering at Deoch may not have been the best time to reveal the English military were breathing down my neck. I often speak on impulse. It is a trait I have never learned from, it appears.” Grinning with relief. “I thought you might be coming over to remove my English presence from your house.”

Beathan waved a hand. “I realised the next day what I fool I made of myself. The Scots temper gets the better of me on occasion.” I stared at him incredulously. In all the time I had spent in Markinch I never once saw him angry. “Ye might be surprised, Captain. I can throw an impressive fit of temper. I know ye hae nae love for the militia, past experiences make fur the harshest of lessons.” Beathan caught the attention of a server and handed a glass of Scotch to me. “Hae ye made any progress since we last met?”

“Progress on what?” Phil joined us, something looked softer in her appearance. Her hair arranged in a much more fashionable style, the cut of her dress more current. Under the watchful gaze of Beathan, I sketched a bow and took her hand for a quick kiss. “Happy New Year to you, Philomena.”

She blushed and gave me a quick curtsey. “And tae ye a Happy Hogmanay, Captain. I hope the next year brings ye only joy.”

“The next year inevitably will if ye keep up with yer new beauty regime, sister.” Beathan received an ugly frown from his sibling. “Och, come on, I am happy tae see ye take such an interest in these things. A lass of yer great age must take care of her looks.”

Punching him in the side as children might, Phil shook her hand. Beathan looked as hard as a tree trunk. In an effort to steer conversation away from her appearance, she asked. “What is this talk of progress, Captain? Hae ye got any further with Turner’s diary?”

I tried to fill the awkward silence. Beathan stared at me. Phil looked between the two of us with a sheepish expression. I felt stupid for keeping the diary a secret in the first place. Shrugging casually. “I found Mr Turner’s diary while I recuperated from my accident in the fens. The contents a mystery, written in code.” I watched Beathan’s eyes widen and his expression show interest. I sighed heavily. “Phil helped me finally crack the cipher.” I smiled at her. “And I read through most of it, but I know what you are thinking, and you will be as disappointed as I. Turner makes no mention of any motives behind his death, only a bit of suspicion against the McKinneys.”

Beathan’s shoulder’s sagged, he cleared his throat, “Well, I can nae say as I’m nae frustrated Turner kept a diary and it holds nae answers tae any of the mysteries. Especially with the English breathing down our necks and threatening us with violence.”

A sharp intake of breath brought my attention to Phil. One of her hands pressed to her lower neck and the blood draining from her face. “What is this talk of the English threatening violence? Surely they can nae believe we caused Mr Turner’s demise?” The words tugged from her throat.

Unmindful of Beathan’s presence, I took Phil’s other hand to comfort her. The fingers felt small, vulnerable, not the capable hands I watched write with confidence. “There is no need to worry. Once I find who is responsible for the McKinneys’ deaths. All will be well, I have a good lead on someone who might have some valuable information.”

Phil shook my hand from hers. I felt stung at the rejection and tried to hide the reaction. It was foolish. She looked up at me with an unreadable expression. “The deaths of the McKinney’s are nae concern fur the English, and nae concern of yours. Yer only the damned gauger.”

I never minded the term used by others towards me. Yet when it spilled from Phil’s mouth. It took on a meaning of its own. For her to see me as someone who relentlessly ripped money from the mouths of her people, it felt as if a bullet entered my chest. My only refuge lay in civility. “Mistress Philomena, as I am sure you are aware. Mr Turner has been linked to their deaths and this rumour makes it my business.”

Whether my tone or the use of her proper name disturbed her the more, Phil physically stepped back, looked to her brother who wore an expression of non-commitment. I knew he would not fight her battles for her, as so many siblings did, as I had wanted someone do for me as a child. The urge to apologise immediately welled inside however, the clock chimed saving me from making a fool of myself. The three of us looked over and watched woodenly as the rest of the room counted down to the New Year. Smiles and good wishes exchanged, the chimes ended and everyone gave a great cheer.

A brief silence ensued, everyone turned to stare at the three of us, still near the entranceway. A firm knock on the door relieved us of any further awkwardness. Phil sprang into action and walked briskly to the door where a second round of knocking commenced. Pushed along by Beathan and the rest of the small crowd. We made a semi-circle around the door, with a breath of anticipation. Phil opened the portal for the first visitor of the New Year. The one who would bring good fortune to the occupants of the house.

With a mild grimace, I recognised Logan standing in the threshold of the door. To what might have been his own castle had his family’s fortunes been different. Offering a black bun on a silver plate to Phil, the mistress of the house. She accepted gracefully and invited Logan inside. Kieran followed closely behind him. He looked through the crowd and winked at me. His cheeks indicating he may not have taken my advice over the consumption of alcohol.

Beathan held the plate while Phil used a knife to cut into the cake. Took a small piece and ate it, smiling. I watched her thank Logan. He replied with a gracious nod and everyone crowded around for a piece of the cake. Instead of returning to the small drawing room, the butler ushered us through the opposite door, into a grand ballroom. Decked out with festive decorations, tables of food and drink and the same musicians from the village as were at the Christmas Eve party.

Relieving one of the waiters of a Scotch. I walked into the room. It must have been the castle’s old hall. The windows set high in the walls for defence. The ceiling held up with enormous beams of wood, a platform still stood at one end of the room. Where those who dined above the salt would have enjoyed their meals. Not having a coat of arms, the Clunes decorated the walls with antlers and swords. The effect might have been slightly over-dramatic if the great fires did not burn merrily, bringing warmth to the whole room.

Phil and Beathan eased their way through the growing crowd. Tavish took up a place next to Magnus who sat near one of the roaring fires. Looking as if he might not be able to stand for much longer, with a thought to walk over and thank my host. I commenced walking across the room and halted when I noticed Logan standing near the other end of the hall. He stood for a moment searching through the crowd and disappeared through a doorway.

I immediately changed tack through the crowd. I nodded to a couple of people I recognised. One man I was sure I had never met gave me a hard pat on the back and a drunken smile. The other guests would not miss me. Gaining the end of the hall. I faced a set of old flintlocks, organised in the shape of a starburst on the wall, muzzles pointed to the centre. I spied a small service door, probably used by the servants to bring food and drink into the great room without disrupting the main hallways. I slipped through the door and waited a full minute in the darkness on the other side. I needed to be sure none of the guests had watched me pass through and would come to investigate. I could not explain I was following Logan whom I believed to be a murderer or at least held potentially damning information.

Eyes adjusting to the dimness, I found a staircase immediately in front of me. It led both up and down the stairs. A quick search of the wall revealed no handrail and I descended a few steps keeping my ears strained for any noises. After only a couple flights I could here banging and shouted orders. The kitchen lay below stairs. Deciding Logan would not have bothered to make his quiet exit if he meant only to visit the kitchen. I cautiously headed back up the steps, the stones felt old and dangerous underfoot. I tried to make as little sound as possible.

A door abruptly swam before me and I took care to ease it open, revealing a long hallway. It looked empty save for a luxurious carpet running the length and several high tables along the sides. Standing between several doors, all of which could be hiding Logan. Making my mind up to keep following the trail, I stepped from my hiding place. Closed the hidden door with a click and walked down the middle of the hall, using the carpet to mask my footsteps. Six doors faced the middle of the corridor, two by two. I stopped in front of the first one on the right, and listened carefully, ear pressed to the wood, and no sounds emerged.

I went across the hall and used the same technique. Still nothing, the two middle doors also hid their occupants. Finally without much hope I listened to the second to last door. Before pressing my ear to the wood, heard a chair scraping the floor. Peering back down the hall I realised nothing could hide my large frame, and I quickly and quietly rushed the opposite door. Thankfully finding it unlocked, I stepped through into darkness.

Holding my breath I listened for noises in the hall, after what seemed an eternity. I heard a click from the door closing opposite. Counting to ten, I gently turned the knob and opened the door a fraction and with one eye I strained to identify the figure hurriedly making his escape. Broad shoulders and blond hair tied with a leather strap at the back of his head. I did not doubt it was Logan. I could not see the end of the hall and I counted to thirty before opening the door wider and glancing back down the hall.

It appeared empty again. Logan must have used the passage to join the rest of the revellers in the ballroom. I closed the door behind me and crossed the carpet. I tried the door and it did not open, the bolt remained firmly in place.

Swearing in frustration, I tried to use a bit of force. Hoping it might be stuck, however in the end I conceded defeat. Logan must either have a key or he was proficient at picking locks. Something, of which I only possessed the vaguest knowledge, and that, at this moment, seemed odd, as they were only tiny mechanical machines.

“Captain, I dinnae know what ye are up tae here in the family quarters.” A young girl’s voice sounded from the end of the hall and I winced in response. My carelessness had caught me out.

Thinking quickly, I staggered a couple of times and turned to face the young girl, whose eyes widened at my exaggerated drunken state. “Ah, girl, it is well you found me. I have been looking for the privy for ages. Must have taken a wrong turn some whereabouts. Might you point me in the right direction?”

Turning red at the word privy, the girl came forward a few steps and coaxed me forward. “Och, ye surely hae taken the wrong way. Ye can nae use Master Beathan’s office, as a privy tae be sure. Bring the whole castle down around our heads, ye will. Ye follow me and we’ll both stay out of trouble.”

At least I now knew what lay behind the locked door. Unfortunately it only raised more questions. Why would Logan be visiting Beathan’s office during the New Year’s Eve party? The rational part of my brain insisted it could be nothing. He could have a perfectly legitimate reason for being there alone. He could be conducting Deoch business, for example. I followed the small maid back down the main staircase. She pointed to another door leading from the front of the hall, curtsied and I gave her my thanks. At least none from the party saw my descent from the upstairs rooms.

I walked back into the ballroom and searched the crowd. I watched as Phil spoke with an extremely animated Freya, whose glass tipped precariously with every sudden embellishment, and on to Beathan who stood with several of the workers from Deoch. I finally found Logan whispering in low tones to one of the workers I had seen around Markinch, who kept to himself. Logan looked up and caught my eye. For a minute we stared at one another across the hall. He must be aware of my suspicions, know I followed him. My mind might be trying to convince me of one thing. As Logan looked back to his companion, my gut told me he broke into Beathan’s office for some reason of his own. The man I watched had a plan.

Chapter 14

I wriggled my shoulders a couple of times, and walked through the boisterous New Year’s crowd. Musicians set up on the dais at the other end of the hall encouraged dancers onto the floor and the whole appeared as a jumble of tartan and men’s legs. Every so often a buttock might make an appearance to the hilarity of most. After my failed attempt to stalk Logan above stairs and discern his mission in Beathan’s office, I decided to keep a close eye on him. The crowd made it easy to blend, the alcohol compelling people to be friendly and accepting, I spoke with several of the villagers as I walked over to Tavish and Magnus.

I found the two arguing over the best consistency for wort. With one eye on Logan’s position in the room, I interrupted their conversation. “Magnus, a happy New Year and thank you for opening your home to me this evening and, Tavish. I thoroughly enjoyed your at home, thank you.” I gave the older men a short bow.

Magnus nodded his grizzled head. “Thank you, my dear boy, please forgive me if I dinnae stand. These bones became tae auld years ago,” I could see tiredness creeping into his eyes. “I am very happy ye decided tae join us fur the celebrations. I dinnae think Mr Turner thought much of parties.”

Tavish peered up at me with bright eyes. He appeared to have garnered a second wind since he first arrived at the celebration. “I think he might hae been misunderstood.” He paused for a moment. I searched his expression, an emotion passed over his features, regret, sadness, guilt, it flew away in the next instant and I could not be sure of what I saw. He continued. “Seventeen hundred and eight is our year. Going tae be the best year fur Markinch and fur Deoch we ever had.”

“Hear, hear,” Magnus raised his glass in salute. Tavish and I followed suit with cheers of our own. I only hoped Tavish’s prophecy would be correct. Too much death had visited Markinch already. Yet with Francis Stuart causing trouble, there could be more hardships to come for the village.

“Ye out tae find my daughter, Captain.” Magnus winked up at me. “I never saw her dance half as well as I did when she stood in yer arms.” I caught myself before I could let my expression turn to schoolboy embarrassment over his cheek.

All three of us turned towards the group of people dancing and laughing. My gaze wandered to a couple making use of a dark corner to indulge in a quick New Year’s kiss. I quickly looked away and directly into Magnus’s over-perceptive eyes. I coughed a few times to hide my thoughts, however, I felt sure he knew I imagined his daughter in my arms in the same dark corner. Doing precisely as the couple.

“I believe I will find Beathan. I have not spoken to him since the beginning of the evening and it is growing late.” I bowed to each of the men and they nodded in return. “I do not want to stay abed all tomorrow.”

Glancing around the hall, I realised I had lost sight of Logan during my short conversation with Magnus and Tavish. Turning quickly on my heel. I scanned all the faces in the crowd until I finally found him standing under the arch of the doorway to the entrance hall. He did not face into the ballroom, rather into the entranceway. Something prompted him into quick action and he strode the rest of the way through with a determined gait.

Whatever might interest the deposed Laird of Markinch. Would also interest me a great deal. I tried to tack as quickly as possible through the drunken villagers. All of who decided tonight they would put their English prejudices aside and claim the excise man as one of their own. It would have been endearing if I had not been in such a rush. I did not want to lose Logan again. He could escape to any part of the house or even outdoors and I would not find him.

Extracting myself from the hard hug of one of the mill workers, I walked briskly into the entrance hall; it remained empty except for the sour butler. Not wanting to miss the opportunity to follow Logan, I put aside my objections to the man and asked. “Did you see Logan come through here? Which way did he go? I have business with him.”

The lie could be true. He managed Deoch after all and I collected the tax. The fact it might be close to two in the morning on New Year’s Day did not signify much. The other man turned and went out of the room. My shoulders slumped at the rudeness.

Walking towards the drawing room, intending to continue my search. The butler came through another secret door with my frock coat. He held it out and I decided to humour him. As I slipped my arms into its sleeves, he said in a low voice. “Master Logan left the evening’s entertainment nae ten minutes past. I believe he meant tae head home fur the evening.”

Relief at finding Logan’s direction turned to disappointment. I could not follow him home. What excuse did I have for stalking him through the night? “Thank you, I suppose I will also retire, please give my regards to the family.”

The butler nodded his reply and opened the door. The evening’s chill burned my cheeks. The Scotch should have fortified them for the cold. The large door closed behind me and I stood on the front porch for several minutes. I lost my quarry once again, cursing into the night. I obviously needed some practise navigating ballrooms and parties, yet I felt sure Logan acted as if he followed someone.

Not wanting the butler to open the door and find me still standing on the steps. I descended and walked slowly through the now empty courtyard. The fires in the cauldrons burned lazily, most of them would not reach the morning. Shrugging further into my lined coat for warmth, I walked under the portcullis and looked right and left. No souls remained outdoors, if the butler told the truth of Logan’s plans. He might well be home by now. Settled in bed for the coming New Year. It might be best if I followed suit.

Striding briskly down the road, I looked out over the fens, remembering the previous evening I dined at the Castle, I had left drunk and in an argument with Phil. This time I might be less intoxicated, yet she and I still fell into an argument. An odd sensation of familiarity came over me as I passed the spot where I previously entered the fens. Any trace of the events swallowed by the snow and the changing temperament of the landscape.

Whimsy prompted me to say a prayer under my breath for the McKinneys. I might have shared their grave for eternity without Kieran’s bravery. I gave another prayer hoping 1708 would be a year of beginnings rather than endings. I would put the tragedies of 1707 firmly behind me. Turning on my heel, I continued down the road. The first shadowy shapes of Deoch loomed in the distance. The torches lit to guide the revellers now extinguished, only the light of the moon remained.

My thoughts drifted to Phil. She had looked fetching this evening and she might have welcomed a second dance if Beathan had not mentioned the militia. I cheerfully damned him, slipping on a patch of ice invisible in the moonlight. I felt myself falling as a shot rang out above my head, and I hit the solid ground with a heavy thud. The healed gunshot wound in my arm throbbing dully after the impact. Instinctively I rolled to the side of the road as another shot rang out and the lead ball struck the place I fell. Heaving myself into the ditch. Luckily it remained frozen in the night air. Freya would never forgive me for another bout of fever so soon after the last one.

Breathing heavily I reached down and unsheathed the dagger at my ankle. I always carried a weapon of some description, never believing I would ever need one at a party. However I thanked Hania for his persistent teachings. Lying in the snow, hiding from an unseen gunman, appeared to be a frequent occurrence for me in Markinch. After a minute, I took stock of my position. Only two shots fired. Luckily each of them missed, though the first one only by the luck of providence. If I had not slipped on the unseen ice, my brains would be decorating the road.

I took long steady breaths until I could listen for any noises in the night. I couldn’t even hear the scratch of animals. They must have been frightened away by the sound of the gunshot. Heaving over onto my stomach. I searched through the hard-crusted snow until I found a clump of heather. I pulled it from the frozen ground with a grunt and slowly lifted it above the lip of the ditch and waited. Nothing happened, the moon only gave enough light to make out shapes in the distance. Not enough to lend aid in deciphering the object. After another full minute, I discarded the bush and carefully rose to my haunches.

All remained in silence as I rose to my full height and took in the rest of my surroundings. Stepping over to where the lead ball hit the road. I searched through the debris until I found it. Using the knife I dug it from the ground. The force had made it flat on one side. This ball of lead intended to end my life. Once again, I made the choice to take on the fens. Would I make it out for a third time? Searching through the side of the road until I found a bridle path. I stepped from the safety of the marked road and into the uncertainty of the Highlands.

A noise from behind forced me into a crouch. Without much brush to shield my presence I remained vulnerable. However, if it were merely a reveller making their way home for the evening, they would miss my presence. I needed to remain still. My position only a few yards from the road. The light and the way the ground rolled made it difficult to watch for the newcomer. I tried to hide the clouds my breath made. Become my surroundings, as I listened to heavy boots rapidly striding down the road.

The newcomer stopped near where I escaped the shooter. It might be a coincidence, yet they stopped for nearly a minute. I watched with shock as the shaded person left the road in precisely the same place I used. Presumably following my tracks. Heart beating quicker, I felt my muscles tense, hand-to-hand combat was a specialty of mine. I learned many tricks in the New World, finally a challenge in Markinch I could tackle with experience. I controlled the outcome of this battle, eyes straining, legs ready to lunge, arms and hands ready to grip, the knife held at a deadly angle, mind primed for the challenge. I felt alive again.

The dark shape noticed my presence too late. Without a noise, I pounced, punching the other man in the groin. He immediately fell to protect himself and I kneed him in the face. He howled in pain as I pushed him face first into the icy snow and kicked him in the kidneys. Using my cravat I quickly tied his hands behind his back and used his familiar hair to pull his face from the ground.

Logan coughed and choked. I knew all three blows I gave him would hurt like the devil. I leaned down and said, in a rough voice. ”Why are you following me? Did you fire those shots?”

The other man groaned and tried to speak through his newly broken nose. After a couple of failed attempts, he managed. “Heard the shots. Came tae investigate. I dinnae fire any weapon. Check my hands, nae gunpowder marks.”

With my knee pressed painfully in his back. I inspected his bound hands. The lack of light once again made it difficult to see and I leaned down and gave the cuff of his frock coat a sniff. No gunpowder, the smell would linger in garments for days. “So you did not shoot at me. It does not mean you did not have someone do it for you. Are you working with the McGreevys? Turner left behind some interesting theories. Did you kill the McKinneys? Did you kill Turner?”

Shaking his head vigorously in denial, Logan tried to keep his head from touching the cold ground. “Nae working with the McGreevys. I dinnae hae anything tae do with the McKinneys’ or Turners’ deaths. Brought it upon themselves. They operated an illegal still. Nobody knew of it, not even Agnes, I tried tae investigate.”

I stared up into the night sky, the stars twinkled back and a shooting star raced across. Looking down at Logan’s back it all made sense. “You knew the McKinneys received more grain than they could possibly use, you mentioned to Turner something odd might be happening up at the Turret distillery. Unfortunately, Turner was a clerk sent to do a soldier’s job and did not have the skills to carry out a proper investigation. He stumbled upon the truth, and confronted the McKinneys, however this does not explain his death.”

“Yer half right. I pushed Turner towards the McKinneys. I had nae idea he was nae a foot soldier. Though I should hae known. A scholar by the looks of the drawing room at the cottage, I was told he could do the job.” Logan shook his head. “He never stood a chance, though I dinnae think he killed the McKinneys.”

I stood and undid the binds around Logan’s hands. “You’re Colonel Manners’ spy. You are the one who told him of my misadventure and of the McGreevys’ possible involvement in operating an illegal still. You are the one responsible for possibly bringing the militia down on us. After all your bluster over how much you hate the English yoke. You are helping us gain a stronger foothold in your own community.” I spat on the ground, disgusted by his duplicity.

Hands on his thighs, breathing slowly, Logan spoke to the ground. “It’s nae as simple as ye say. I do hate the English. Ye took my birthright from me. I hate someone more than I hate them. The family who eats sleeps and breathes in the home I would hae owned if nae fur the English and their damned civil war.” Logan stood to his full height. “Colonel Manners promised me I would hae my inheritance back if I provided a service tae him, everyone knows the true King is coming back. Francis Stuart. He will sweep through the Highlands and trample the English.” A feverish light entered Logan’s eyes, made all the more disturbing as his nose still bled. “And the Scots will take their rightful place.”

“Is Colonel Manners aware of your leanings?” I watched the other man cautiously, uncertain of his motives. “I should not think he would want a spy who hoped for the old pretender to take the English throne.”

“Och, well, as ye know, Manners has his spies all over the Highlands, England, the world, for all I understand,” Logan rubbed his nose with his sleeve and winced. “He knows I would do anything tae hae Markinch back under its rightful family.”