The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) (21 page)

He panned his gaze around the walls until he’d made eye contact with every soul. “Did you not see Miss Charlotte tending Ma? Who else lifted a finger to cleanse the blood from between our mother’s legs? I say
our
mother because she was just that to every one of you. She always had compassion in her heart—treated each and every one of you like her own.”

“Aye—always being friendly.” Kenny stepped into the circle. “Mayhap that’s why we’re cowering in a ramshackle cottage in the mountains in the midst of winter.”

Og slid his dagger back into his sleeve. “I think the Sassenach woman should go back to Fort William. She isn’t one of us.”

“Aye,” agreed Tavis. “She represents the bastards who put us under fire and sword.”

Hugh glanced down at Charlotte’s face. The lass looked stricken—as if they’d issued consecutive slaps to her face. Well, he was chieftain now. His word was law. “I’ll hear no more of this. We are not the animals the redcoats are. Miss Charlotte has my protection until I can take her home. If anyone hurts her, ’tis the same as hurting me.”

Hugh looked directly at Og. “Do I have your vow, brother?”

The anguish on his brother’s face reflected the same pain in Hugh’s heart. But taking his ire out on an innocent woman would solve nothing. Hugh pushed Charlotte behind him and took a step toward Og. “I need your word,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Aye. She did warn you.” He folded his arms with an up-ticked chin. “No one touches the lass whilst under your protection.”

Hugh turned full circle. “Does anyone disagree?”

A few shook their heads.

He slid his hand into his sleeve and fingered his
sgian dubh
. “Does anyone wish to challenge me as Chieftain of Clan Iain Abrach?”

Several men mumbled, “Nay.”

“Very well.” He drew in a deep breath. “’Tis a new day, and if we aim to survive, there’s much to be done. First, we prepare Ma’s body for burial. I need an account of our weapons. We need firewood. Farley MacGregor set snares. We need them checked and more set. If we’re to stay alive, we must have a constant supply of food. Guards will be posted around the clock. As soon as the weather lets up, I want a volunteer to go to Appin to beg blankets and clothes from the Stewarts.”

Alasdair Og held up his hand. “I’ll go.”

“Nay.” The elder, Graham MacDonald stepped forward. “The request must come from the chieftain. The Stewarts might turn anyone else away.”

Hugh nodded his agreement. But appointing himself to go—possibly sleep in a bed and eat at the high table in Castle Stalker while his people suffered did not sit well. Dammit, Graham was right. “Very well. A visit to the Stewarts will also enable me to send a missive to Donald MacDonald of Sleat. The baronet should be aware of this abomination to our clan.”

After three days of wind and snow, Charlotte thought they’d all die of starvation in that dank cottage. The experience had tested her to the limits of forbearance. Yes, she wanted nothing more than to work beside Hugh while he pulled his people out of this disaster, but she hadn’t counted on being the brunt end of their ire. Even after Hugh had declared her under his protection there were persistent hateful looks and hushed murmurs of distrust.

Worse, Hugh had withdrawn. He never let her leave his side, but that was all. There were no fervent looks across the fire. He didn’t reach out and hold her hand or draw her into his arms. He’d been as cold and frigid toward her as the icicles hanging from the cottage’s eaves. Sometimes she thought he blamed her for the massacre. Perhaps he did in some illogical way.

Charlotte hated it—almost wished she had returned to Fort William with Farley. Goodness, she was only trying to help—trying to start a life with the only man she wanted to marry. Why did this have to happen to Hugh’s clan? Had their love been torn away along with everything else he’d lost?

At least he’d brought her along on this journey to Appin.

Sitting in the saddle, she hunched over and clutched her arms close against her body. The snow may have stopped, but the wind blew a gale, cutting through her woolen gown as if she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. In no way could she have asked them to return her cloak or the blanket that Emma had lent her.

Leading the garron pony through the rugged terrain, using only discrete animal trails, Hugh wore only a shirt with his plaid belted around his waist, spread across his shoulders. At least he was one of the few with a pair of leather Highland boots on his feet.

“Why can we not ride double?” she asked, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“You want the old fella to founder?” Hugh didn’t bother to turn around. His curt remark mirroring the other clipped responses he’d tossed her way over the past few days.

“I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

“I would have left you at the cottage if I thought you’d survive.”

Charlotte shuddered. Without Hugh there to protect her—curt or not—she didn’t want to be left alone with them. Not when so much bitterness coursed through their blood. They all wanted revenge—were driven mad by it, and she was the nearest English person within reach.

But heaven help her, she wanted Hugh. Wanted the same ruffian who’d been so bold to visit Fort William with his father and kiss her in the window embrasure. She wanted the Highlander with the cavalier spirit who slipped into her chamber with hundreds of dragoons mulling about. Yes, Hugh had put on a stoic face and set everyone to task, but Charlotte feared he’d lost his spirit and thirst for life.

Once they reached the burn the going grew easier, and when they turned south on the road along Loch Linnhe, the horse didn’t stumble at all. In fact, the snow wasn’t nearly as deep as it had been up at the cottage.

“How much further?” Charlotte asked.

“Should be there by midday.”

Hugh may have spoken the words in a monotone, but Charlotte’s stomach rumbled. Half-starved like everyone else, midday meant one thing—a meal. Mayhap one with bread and cheese—perhaps a meat pie with fluffy pastry. Shivering, she closed her eyes and hugged herself tighter against the frigid wind blowing off the loch.
Am I being heartless for craving a good meal? If only I could take such mouth-watering delights back to Meall Mòr. Would they accept me then?

When a castle sitting atop a tiny isle came into view, Charlotte’s heart squeezed. “Is that it?”

“Aye.”

“Are the waters shallow enough for the horse to cross?”

“Nay.”

“Will we have to take a boat, then?”

“Mm hm.” Nothing had changed since they’d left the cottage.

Charlotte shivered again. This time she wasn’t certain if the tremor had been caused by the cold or by Hugh’s aloofness.

***

Since Ma’s death, Hugh had felt like he had a cannonball lodged in his chest. And dammit all, Charlotte kept trying to raise his spirits. Didn’t she know to keep silent? Aye, his feelings for the lass hadn’t changed, but he needed time. Over and over, he’d kicked himself that he hadn’t insisted she return to her father.

His kin were right. She didn’t belong in the shieling. Mayhap she didn’t belong with him. If nothing else, the past few days of suffering with his kin had shown him a glimpse of the long and arduous road to rebuilding. He had nothing to offer the lass. Nothing. He couldn’t even kiss her without an audience. Worse, marriage was the last thing he could think about with hungry mouths to feed, and the thirst for revenge roiling through his blood.

The one good thing? He hadn’t spotted a single redcoat on the journey to Appin. Aye, he’d kept to the burn and the byways, aside from the last stretch, but even Glenlyon wouldn’t attempt an attack so close to the Stewart of Appin seat.

Met by Sir Robert Stewart’s guard, Hugh and Charlotte received an escort, boarding a skiff to ferry them across the water to Castle Stalker—the grand old keep rose out of Loch Linnhe like a warrior from the sea clad in age-old armor, ready to take on anyone who tried to breach her walls.

The guards led Hugh and Charlotte straight to the great hall.

Footsteps pattered down the stairwell until Robert Stewart’s bonny young face appeared. Christ, Hugh felt like he’d aged fifty years when he saw the young chieftain grin. “My God, you did survive.”

Hugh offered a clipped nod. “Aye, and I’ve now gathered near three score of clansmen and women. They’re all freezing in the hills, too afraid to show their faces, lest they be murdered by any red-coated bastard who happens past.”

Robert looked Charlotte from head to toe—in truth the ordeal hadn’t been kind to her either. Her matted hair draped over her thin gown, made thinner by her lack of petticoats. “Have you no mantle, no bonnet?”

Remembering his manners, Hugh gestured toward her. “Miss Charlotte Hill and I were fortunate to escape with the threads on our back. Most of my kin were not so fortunate.”

“Charlotte Hill?” The chieftain extended his hand, his eyes filled with question. “The governor’s daughter?”

She shot Hugh a startled glance, then nodded.

“If it weren’t for this lady’s warning, I’d be dead.” Hugh still couldn’t smile. “I’ve come to ask for your charity. I’ve nothing to pay you with, nothing to trade, but my people are cold and starving, and I’ve no alternative but to stand before you with my upturned palms and beg.” His gut twisted into a hundred knots as the words slipped through his lips.

Robert drew his hand over his mouth and glanced at his guardsmen. “Of course. With the season our stores are low, but you’re welcome to anything we have to spare.”

“Clothing and blankets?” Charlotte asked.

“I’ll send word to the clan, requesting that every family contribute something.” Robert gestured to the dais. “Please, would you share my midday meal?”

Hugh’s knees practically buckled. “I am honored.”

“I hope you plan to stay. I’ve had word from Donald MacDonald of Sleat—he’s requested accommodations whilst he visits Fort William—intends to find out exactly what happened.”

Hugh ground his teeth, though glad to hear the baronet and head of all septs of Clan Donald had learned of his plight. “I can give him a first-hand account.”

“I’d like to hear it myself.” Robert led them up the steps to the high table and raised his eyebrow at Charlotte. “Your father is anxious for your return.”

She followed the chieftain, lifting her filthy skirts to her ankles as she ascended. “He should have thought about that before he condoned an annihilation of an entire clan.” Aye, she did have spirit, but Hugh had been wrong to woo her.

He now feared he’d be set upon by Colonel Hill because of his misshapen love for his daughter. Too right, he should have sent Charlotte home with Farley—bless it, how many times did he have to kick himself over that dull-witted decision?

Once seated, servants filed into the hall with trenchers laden with food. Lord in heaven, Hugh couldn’t stop his mouth from watering. He tried to hide his trembling fingers under the table while a servant placed two juicy slices of roast pork on his plate—after Charlotte and Robert, of course.

“Applesauce?” another servant asked.

He licked his lips. “I’ll have it all.” Parsnips, turnips, bread, gravy. Though it had been less than a sennight since he’d eaten a meal like this, it felt more like he’d been starving for a month. Even sitting in a chair was a luxury. Christ, Stewart set the table with forks.

Once everyone had been served, Charlotte picked up her fork and knife, cutting her meat as if she weren’t famished. “So, Sir Stewart, where is your wife this day?”

He raised his tankard of ale. “Ah, m’lady, I’m but eight and ten.”

Her eyes bulged as she delicately placed a bite into her mouth. “You’ve risen to such an esteemed rank for one so young.” Oh, yes, her soft “mmm” didn’t escape Hugh.

“My father died of consumption but six month’s past.” The young chieftain dipped his bread in a bit of gravy as if he had all day to eat.

Certain he had juice dribbling from the corner of his mouth, Hugh wiped it with the back of his hand. “Delicious.”

Robert smiled. “Simple fare.” He turned his attention to Charlotte. “Would I be too bold to offer you a chambermaid and warm bath above stairs, Miss Hill?”

She glanced down at her gown and cringed. “Heavens, that would be a kindness I could not allow to pass by. I’m afraid I must look dreadful.”

The young buck smiled politely. “Not at all.”

Hugh reached for the tankard and guzzled his ale, washing down the mouthful of bread, pork, turnip—everything he could stuff in his mouth.

“Slow down, big fella.” Robert sat back and folded his arms. “By God, you
are
starving.”

Hugh could only nod.

“Once you’ve eaten your fill, we can retire to my solar for a dram of whisky—Glenlyon’s abomination—” Robert eyed Charlotte and cleared his throat. “Well, it looks as if it may have breathed new life into the
cause
. If nothing else, we’d best put quill to paper and record all the sordid events whilst it’s still clear in your mind.”

Bloody oath, Stewart’s words infused Hugh with a thread of hope. He’d lead the Jacobites raiding across Britain today if King James was ready.

***

Wearing a woolen dressing gown tied at the waist, Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed wanting to drop to her back and sleep for a sennight. She hadn’t been appointed with a chamber this grand since she’d lived in London with her aunt and uncle. The four-poster bed was enormous, yet it didn’t even take up a third of the floor. A welcoming fire crackled in an enormous hearth, in front of which was placed a wooden bathing tub.

A half-dozen chambermaids efficiently moved about with buckets of water and armloads of everything Charlotte could think of from drying cloths to petticoats, to hairpins and brushes.

“This was her ladyship’s chamber, God rest her soul.” Mrs. MacCallum, the housemaid in charge, frowned woefully. She had grey streaks peeking beneath her coif and wore a black frock buttoned all the way up to her throat. She hadn’t smiled since they were introduced by Sir Robert. In fact, none of the lasses had. “Sir Robert thought you might be able to wear her clothing.”

“That is very kind.” Charlotte gripped her hands in her lap and smiled at one of the girls who instantly looked away. Another practically hugged the walls as if she were afraid. Charlotte’s knuckles grew white from clenching her fingers too tightly. After her stay at Meall Mòr, she should be growing accustomed to leery stares by now, but still their behavior was unwarranted. “Have I done something to upset you?”

Draping a petticoat over a wooden chair, Mrs. MacCallum glanced up. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you’re all looking at me like Judas.”

The maid who kept to the walls gasped and fanned her face.

Then a fair-haired lass stepped forward, folding her arms. “The men say you’re Colonel Hill’s daughter. Is he not the one who ordered Glencoe?” She said it as if it were an event rather than a place.

They all stopped and stared at Charlotte as if they expected her to draw a flintlock pistol from her sleeve and fire it at them.

She tried not to cringe. “My father tried to stop it. He remained at Fort William while officers Hamilton, Glenlyon, Duncanson and Drummond fell upon the glen, far outnumbering the poor MacIains.”

“He stayed at the fort?” asked the fair one.

Having tried to rationalize it herself, Charlotte gave the only answer she knew to be true. “Because the Master of Stair ordered him to do something he could not abide.”

Mrs. MacCallum now folded her arms. “But didn’t the directive come from the colonel?”

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but yes—the orders to mobilize the troops came from him.” Charlotte couldn’t lie—true her father had played his part, but he seemed to be the only person who realized the order signed by the Master of Stair and King William was pure insanity. She hung her head. “Please do not judge me in the same light as the government troops. When I learned of Papa’s orders, I rode all night to warn Mr. MacIain.”