The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (17 page)

“Truly?” Hugh’s spirits rose for the first time since he’d seen Robert Campbell of Glenlyon ride through Fort William’s gates.

“Och, aye.” A puff of pipe smoke swirled above Da’s head until it dissolved into nothing. “At dawn, we’ll inform the men to conceal their weapons in their thatch—aside from any daggers they can hide on their persons. Then I’ll meet Glenlyon with arms open—prove to him I’m the most hospitable bloody host in the Highlands.”

Hugh sat back and stretched his legs before the hearth. “As long as the men keep their weapons close at hand, I believe your plan is not only smart, ’tis sound.”

Charlotte’s fingers flew over the strings of her violin while the horsehair bow strained and frayed from the stress of sawing the strings with vigorous exertion. She’d been screeching out scales and woeful arias since she’d arisen that morn and hadn’t a mind to stop. If her father intended to imprison her, she would ensure he heard exactly how she felt about such undue overbearance.

“Miss Charlotte!” Emma hollered, stepping in front of the music stand and waving her arms.

With a shrill downward stroke on the high-pitched E string, Charlotte stopped. She’d been trying to ignore Emma’s prodding, but having the woman wave in her face only served to infuse her anger. “What is so important, it cannot possibly wait until I am finished rehearsing?”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing? It sounds more like you were calling all the house cats in the shire.”

Charlotte straightened the violin under her chin. “Did you stop me to issue an insult? Because I’m fresh out of forbearance this day.”

The woman gestured to the table in front of the hearth. “I need to know if you are planning to eat your breakfast, or if I should remove your tray.”

“Bloody Christmas,” Charlotte cursed.

“Miss Hill! What happened last night? Did Mr. MacIain behave improperly?” Emma snapped her fists to her hips. “If he did anything to bring on your fit of anger, I’ll knock—”

“
Mr. MacIain
behaved like a perfect gentleman as always. It is my father who is a complete and utter pig-headed, bombastic, unbending, maddening—” She stamped her foot. “Nincompoop!”

“Oh, my heavens.” Emma drew a hand to her mouth. “Did Mr. MacIain talk to the colonel last eve?”

“No.” Tears stung Charlotte’s eyes, but she refused to cry. “I told Papa I wanted to marry Hugh and he put me under house arrest.”

Emma gaped. “Can he do that?”

“Close enough. He’s confined me to quarters. Next he’ll throw me in the pit.”

The linen coif atop Emma’s head jiggled as she shook. “He would never do such a terrible thing.”

Lowering her instrument, Charlotte wiped her eyes with the crook of her elbow. “Curses to him. All my life I’ve tried to be perfect, pious, obedient. I’ve served Papa as a daughter ought in every way.” The accursed tears kept threatening, and streams from her nose oozed over her lips. She set the violin and bow on the sideboard and pulled her kerchief from her sleeve.

The chambermaid stepped beside her. “I’m sure once the colonel becomes accustomed to the situation, he’ll see reason.”

“I thought he was a reasonable man, but now I question everything about him.” Every painful experience she’d had in the past one and twenty years had played in her mind since Father’s chiding last eve. Charlotte hid her face in her kerchief and wailed.

Emma gently grasped Charlotte’s elbows and led her to the chair. “Come now, you must calm yourself. I’ll order some chamomile tea.”

“But I don’t want to be calm!” She rocked back in the chair, her arm slung across her forehead. “D-do you have any idea what it is like to be that man’s daughter?” Gasping, in a desperate attempt to regain control over her tears, she continued, “H-he was never home. W-worse, I was but ten years of age when Mama fell ill—and where was he?”

Sitting beside her, Emma’s brow furrowed.

“He was in Ireland on some superfluous military detail whilst my
mother
died in her bed in...” She panted, trying to take in a deep enough breath. “L-London.”

“Heavens,” Emma whispered. “How awful.”

Hiding her face in her hands, Charlotte wouldn’t be able to stop her tears no matter how hard she tried.

“There, there,” Emma’s calming voice soothed in between Charlotte’s sobs. “Everything will work out for the better, you’ll see. It always does.”

When Charlotte finally regained relative control, the blasted hiccups plagued her. “I—was sent to live with my—aunt and uncle—a—and never allowed to talk about it. Can—you believe it? I lost my mother, and was shut in the upstairs suite with a governess—until I turned six and ten.”

Emma’s palm stopped rubbing. “Did you not see your father at all during that time?”

“Seldom—an officer makes a living being a soldier, and that leaves little time for family.” She finally could breathe and inhaled deeply. “This is the longest I’ve ever spent with him.”

“Well that explains one thing.”

Charlotte dabbed her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve said it afore—you were a quiet wisp of a woman when you arrived, and gradually you have burst from your shell. You ken, I do not believe you’re shy.”

Swallowing, Charlotte knit her brows. She certainly had been bashful as a child, and honestly, she hadn’t thought much about her quietness as of late.

Emma grinned with fine lines crinkling around her eyes. “I think you have a great big heart under all that silk and linen—and being up here in the
wild
is opening your eyes to the iniquities around you.” Then she shook her finger. “I have a wee idea you are cleverer than the males in this fort.”

Charlotte snorted, wiping her tears. “Is that right? Look who’s locked in her chamber.” She grabbed the kerchief in her fists. “I’ve finally found true love and I’m being punished for it.”

Emma kneeled beside her. “Aye, but you didn’t fall for just any Highlander—it had to be the likes of Hugh MacIain.”

“Pardon me? Mr. MacIain is educated, well mannered, and…”
Exceptionally good looking, and his kisses…
Charlotte sighed.

“The way you talk about him, he’s the most affable lad in Scotland.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he is.”

“He’s also Alasdair MacIain’s son, with a reputation for avarice.”

“Oh? What about the Campbells? I understand they are the greediest clan of the lot.”

“Aye, but the Campbells always side with whomever is seated on the throne. That seems to make their misdeeds more acceptable.”

This conversation was entirely maddening. Charlotte shook her head at the ceiling. “And that’s where the MacIains have failed?”

Emma again smiled, but this time with a faraway glint in her eyes. “They’ve the blood of Angus Og pulsing through their veins. They’re wild men. Aye, they are educated and know how to be gentlemanly, but when backed into a corner, they are ruthless. You ken Hugh MacIain cannot be bested with a sword in a fair fight—even Farley has a healthy respect for him.”

“I had no idea.” Though this news only served to cement Charlotte’s respect for Hugh. So, he acted out in defense of his home? Who wouldn’t do the same? She could not think of a soul.

“Mayhap there are a lot of things about Hugh MacIain of which you are not aware.”

Lowering her hands to the armrests, Charlotte straightened. “Perhaps, but I’ve seen enough to know I’d rather marry him than a disingenuous man like Doctor Munro. Papa wants me to marry the physician? Well, I’ll have none of it.”

As she stood, the matron brushed her hands on her apron. “Are you certain?”

“I would marry Hugh MacIain this instant if he were here.”

Emma looked to the bed, that furrow deepening in her brow again. “What happened between you pair two nights ago?”

Charlotte’s face burned and she hid it by blowing her nose. “Nothing that a lady would reveal.”

“Did you…?” Emma stood and strode to the bed and pulled back the bedclothes. “Thank God, my suspicions are unfounded.”

Jumping to her feet, Charlotte dashed beside her. “Pardon me, but I do believe you are overstepping your bounds.”

“I am your servant, hired to see to your care, including protecting you from certain rogues who appear in your chamber after dark.” Emma raised her hands skyward. “Lord in heaven, regardless that you managed to keep your virtue intact, I was daft allowing that man to remain in your chamber. He’s addled your mind and turned you against the physician.”

“Stop!” Charlotte yanked the comforter from Emma’s grasp and threw it back over the bed. “I have never cared for Roderick the way I care for Hugh. I
will
marry Hugh MacIain. Bless it, have you not heard a word I’ve said?” It was her turn to furrow her brow and affect an angry glare. “Whose side are you favoring?”

“Your father pays my wages.” Emma thrust her finger toward the bed. “But I daresay not for long, especially if that man ever again sneaks into your chamber.”

Crossing her arms, Charlotte eyed her chambermaid whilst a storm roiled in her chest. “With all due respect, I am the one who decides if you are to remain employed here.”

Emma wrung her hands and paced the floor. “Oh, my goodness. Forgive me for being so outspoken, but life in Glencoe will not come easy for a well-bred English woman such as yourself.”

“Can you not see that a life of comfort does not matter to me?” Charlotte chose to focus on the only thing to set this situation to rights. “Papa will have to see reason sooner or later, and in the interim, I
must
have your support.”

“Of course, you have it.” Emma picked up the tray and headed for the door. “But I fear we’re all doomed.”

The morning of the 1
st
of February, Hugh and the family assembled in Da’s drawing room along with the clansmen who supported Clan Iain Abrach. It was no surprise when the runner appeared at the manse with news Captain Campbell and his retinue had taken Archie’s ferry from North Ballachulish and were now enroute to Glencoe.

Sandy leaned against the wall, sliding a dagger in and out of its scabbard.

“Are the weapons hid?” asked Da, though he knew the answer.

“Aye, stashed away in peat stacks or on the brae beneath piles of stones.” Hugh humored him. “If the bloody dragoons are coming to disarm Glencoe, the only thing Campbell will find is a pile of rust.”

Shoving the dagger up his sleeve, Sandy pushed away from the wall. “Regardless, our arms are close at hand should there be an attack.”

“There won’t be,” said Da.

Hugh arched an eyebrow. “Why are you so certain?”

“Your mother had a dream last eve. Said she saw the washer woman with two plaids—one Campbell and one MacIain—washing them in the same basin she was.”

Hugh rolled his eyes. Ma always had a knack for allaying Da’s trepidations, but he wasn’t about to be convinced by a dream. He had muskets and swords hidden in the pile of snow along the path to the house. If Campbell so much as hinted at a threat, the bastard would be the first Hugh would kill.

“How many?” Hugh asked.

“Counted sixty-five,” said the runner. “Mostly foot, but they all carried muskets.”

“Regardless, Captain Campbell is a Highlander.” Da took a puff from his pipe and pushed the smoke through his nostrils. “If they’re here to parley, we’ll extend our hospitality. Nary a man this side of the divide would turn backstabber when a welcoming hand is extended.”

“But we’d best be on our guards when we watch them take their leave,” said Sandy.

“That won’t come soon enough,” Hugh mumbled under his breath.

Sarah nudged her husband with her elbow. “Uncle Robert would never double back and slit the throat of a man who took him in. The Campbells are not as ruthless as you lot make us out to be.”

“Of course not,” Ma said from her chair nearest the hearth. Her knitting needles hadn’t stopped clicking since she sat over an hour ago.

“Are you ready, Hugh?” Da drummed his fingers on his trews. “Though we have John Hill’s letter of protection, your calm judgement is what I need standing at the forefront of my army.”

“I’ll make you proud, Da,” Hugh said. He wanted it no other way. And by God, he wouldn’t stand idle while his father met the snake head on. Oh no, such an err just might be too tempting for Glenlyon. Thirty years younger, Hugh was in far better shape to pose in his chieftain’s stead.

Tension hung in the air while they waited in silence, the only sounds: the ticking of the mantel clock, Ma’s clicking needles, and the occasional pop from the fire. Hugh’s mind rifled through his weapons. He had a dagger up each sleeve, two in his hose and, for good measure, a dirk hidden in his plaid behind his back. Though he preferred to face his opponents sword in hand, his aim was as deadly when throwing knives.

Muffled hoofbeats sounded outside. Alasdair Og pulled back the curtain and peered through the window. “They’re starting up the path now.”

Da stood first. “May as well go out and meet them.” He turned to Hugh. “My sword is in the drift?”

“Beside mine.” Hugh looked at Sarah. “And Sandy’s musket as well.”

The woman gave him a sharp nod. Unsure if she was just going along with the precautions or if she approved of their plan, Hugh shrugged off the chill of her cold stare. He stepped behind his father and followed him out the door. Once they were outside, Clan Iain Abrach formed an impenetrable wall in front of their chieftain with Hugh in the center.

In the distance, Glenlyon rode at the head of his retinue, dressed in a red-coated uniform, just as did all the men behind him. A long, curly wig powdered grey beneath his tall grenadier hat, he looked no more the Highland chieftain than he did a barrister from London. He held up his hand and the battalion stopped a good fifty feet away. Clouds of breath swirled above the soldier’s heads while their muskets remained pointed down, their pikes still.

Alone, Hugh marched forward, his chin tilted up in question while Glenlyon sent Lieutenant Lindsay forward with papers in hand. Hugh wished he hadn’t promised his father he’d not be the first to draw blood. Lindsay had been one of the bastards under Captain Drummond who’d detained the MacIains enroute to Inveraray to sign the oath—the very man who’d laughed in Hugh’s face, telling him they’d be too late for the king’s mercy.

Bastard
.

“Do you come as friends or as enemies,” he asked, fingering the dagger in his sleeve, a twitch firing under his eye.
Give me one reason not to kill you first
.

“As friends,” said Lindsay, pushing the papers toward him. “We require quarters.”

Hugh took them and read. Bloody hell, they planned to stay. “For how long?”

“Until Captain Campbell’s orders come.”

Hugh looked past the lieutenant at Glenlyon sitting a thoroughbred mount. “You mean to say, your leader is not traveling through the Rannoch Moor path to visit his missus at Meggerine Castle?” Charlotte had said they’d aimed to pass through.
Odd
.

“Ah.” Lindsay glanced backward. “No. Colonel Hill commanded us to await his orders.”

Hugh’s gut twisted as he glanced down at the quartering-papers, looking for a signature. Indeed, Charlotte’s father’s bold signature scrawled across the bottom of the second page. Hugh rolled the papers and stashed them in his belt. “Well then, may I extend you the hospitality of the Coe and Clan Iain Abrach. You and your men are welcome.” The words tasted like bile in his mouth.

Da strode forward, his arms open wide, his palms turned to the heavens demonstrating a warm welcome. “Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon. To what do we own this honor?”

After closing the distance on his steed, the gentleman dismounted. “I’ve come to visit my niece. She wed your son afore I had an opportunity to wish her good cheer.”

Gesturing to Sarah, Da grinned. “I’m certain my new daughter would enjoy your company if you aim to stay for a bit?” he pressed for answers.

“Yes, indeed. I hope our presence here will not cause you undue hardship. But these are difficult times, and to impose ourselves upon you in such weather—unfortunately the fort is full. Have you heard?”

“No—word hasn’t yet reached us.” Da peered around Glenlyon and his officers. “How many men are in your retinue?”

“A small company—myself, Sergeant Barber, Sergeant Hendrie, Corporals Campbell, MacPhail and Kennedy.” Glenlyon threw his thumb over his shoulder. “And I’ve fifty-seven foot in my ranks.”

Da scratched the long whiskers on his chin, his gaze shifting to Hugh. “Not a problem. Of course ’tis the Highland way to provide bed and comfort to a gentleman and a friend. I have a chamber above stairs I hope will meet with your approval.”

“No, no. I’d rather be a wee bit closer to my niece.” Glenlyon pointed. “I’ll stay with MacDonald of Inverrigan at the bend of the glen. However, I’m sure Lieutenant Lindsay will be quite comfortable with your chamber.”

“Very well.” Da ran his fingers down his long beard, his eyes calculating. “I suppose we’ll have to split up the rest of the troops—two or three to a cottage?”

Bloody hell—let the bastards sleep beside our clansmen and women…in their cottages?
Hugh nearly blew steam out the top of his head.
No dragoon is going to climb into the hills and make camp in my house
.

“Hugh, Og,” Da hollered. “Go spread the word. Every cottage must house at least two soldiers, more if they have the means.”

Hugh’s jaw dropped. So did his brother’s.

“Go on now.” Da flicked his hands at his sons and then turned to the captain. “I trust you’re ready for your nooning. Bring your men indoors and I’ll have Cook prepare a meal to melt the frost from your beards.”

Funny, Glenlyon’s face is shaved clean
. Hugh tugged his brother’s arm. “Come, we’ve accommodations to arrange.”

Once out of earshot, Og threw up his hands. “Why the hell are they not pitching tents—I ken a tidal marshland that would suit—might even drown a few of them.”

“Bloody right. But Da’s onto something with offering Highland hospitality. Once it is accepted, there’s no way one of them could raise a hand against us—even a snake like Glenlyon has some integrity and honor.”

Og shook his head. “This still must be a first. Clan Donald has feuded with Clan Campbell since we ruled as Lords of the Isles.”

Hugh knocked on the first cottage door with an image of Charlotte filling his mind. Lord, he’d never want her embroiled in the midst of a clan feud. “Mayhap ’tis time to hang up our spurs, brother.”

***

In the fortnight that passed, the flurries eased, giving way to melting snow on the floor of the glen. Every morning a grenadier drummer tapped a rattling snare at dawn. The blaring noise echoed off the white-capped cliffs of the glen, rousing every living thing and Hugh, asleep in his house in the hills was no exception.

Every day the soldiers drilled until noon, the bray of sergeant’s orders shouting above the relentless beat of the drums. “Pikemen take heed. Advance your pikes. Charge your pikes…” On and on the sergeants droned while Hugh and the clansmen and women watched from the corners of their eyes, grumbling Gaelic curses while tending to their chores.

Every morning Glenlyon walked from Inverrigan’s house to take his breakfast with Sandy and Sarah. Though Hugh’s younger brother voiced his unease to Hugh, the loose-tongued captain was made welcome. He gambled every night with his host, playing cards and backgammon, all the while swilling MacIain whisky and wine.

Two days past, Alasdair Og had led a hundred clansmen and women to Da’s manse and asked him to drive the soldiers from the glen. Hugh, as much as anyone wanted to see their backsides as they rode north or south—anywhere to be rid of their uninvited guests, but he stood beside his father. The old man’s face grew red with anger. “Glenlyon is a Highlander. His men are Highlanders. They have bowed their heads at our tables and have broken bread with our clan. Therefore no harm will be done on their part and we shall give them no offence.” His words were not shouted, but they seethed through clenched teeth as he disbanded the mob.

The afternoons, however, were never without amusement. Campbell’s men joined the MacDonalds in Highland games—wrestling, shinty, throwing the stone and tossing the caber, archery and sword dances with Clan Iain Abrach’s pipers playing well into the night. Hugh even found Sergeant Barber and Drummer Cuthbert Hunter to be good sorts—men with good humor and always willing to lend a hand.

Unfortunate there aren’t more like them
.

More than anything, Hugh wanted to send the regiment on their way because he desperately needed to see Charlotte. Since Glenlyon’s arrival, he hadn’t even had the chance to dispatch a letter to her. He’d left with such haste. It was no way to say goodbye to the woman to whom he’d proposed marriage.

This eve, Hugh strode beside Og on their way to Brodie MacDonald’s house in Inverrigan. Captain Campbell had invited them to play cards as he had done many times in the past fortnight. A gale whipped through the glen and even Hugh was forced to lean into it to keep from being blown down.

Og looked to the sky. “A storm’s brewing for certain. The clouds are so thick I can scarcely see the light in the windows ahead.”

“Och, we couldn’t expect the fine weather to continue. We have but to look forward to another month of winter afore the snow in the glen melts for good.”

After they knocked, Captain Campbell opened the door with a grin plastered across his timeworn face. “Gentlemen, the cards are waiting.” The man’s nose was already as flushed as his cheeks.

Hugh raised a flagon of whisky. “From my still in the hills. The spring water there adds flavor that cannot be surpassed. The spirit slides over the tongue like nectar.”

Glenlyon took the bottle and slapped Hugh on the back. “You’re a man of good taste.”

Sitting beside Cuthbert Hunter, Sandy waved from the table. “Brothers, come and save me from this shark—he’d winning already.”

“What? You didn’t wait for us?” asked Og.

“Just a wee wager,” Glenlyon said, handing the whisky bottle to Brody, acknowledging his host for the first time since Hugh stepped inside.

Hugh sauntered to the table while Brodie served drams of whisky all around. “Better you than I, little brother.”

Glenlyon shuffled the deck, his long fingers plying the cards like the efficient plucks of a harpist. “Shall we play All Fours?”

“Very well.” Hugh arched his brow at Og. “Why not make three teams of pairs to mix it up a bit?”

The captain grinned. “I’m not overly fond of splitting my winnings.”

“Who says you’ll win?” grumbled Og. Of all the MacIains, he was the least trusting of their long-staying guests.

“Come, Uncle.” Sandy raised his cup. “Side with me and we’ll show this lot of rabble how skilled we are.”