The Valiant Highlander (Highland Defender #2) (8 page)

The grenadier again lifted his musket to his shoulder. “Of course he didn’t say, but I reckon Mr. MacLeod took that into account when he drew up the writ of seizure. Now off with you afore you force me to command my men to fire.”

Bloody, filthy imbeciles
. All of Britain had gone to hell when the backstabbers rebelled against King James.

Don motioned to his men. “It seems ignorance is rife among these dragoons. Come.” Riding away, he refused to look back. Let the bastards stare at their horses’ arses. No one in the Highlands would dare shoot a man in the back—unless they were in Glencoe.

Once out of earshot, Coll removed his bonnet and scratched his full head of auburn hair. “Now what?”

“I cannot think, I’m so bloody hungry,” Don grumbled under his breath—not to mention his head still throbbed like the pounding from a smithy’s shack. “We head for the alehouse for our nooning. If we cannot dig up a bit of gossip there, we’ve naught but to return to Castleton for reinforcements.”

***

The three Highlanders sat at a table toward the rear of the alehouse. Coll hadn’t touched his tankard since the barmaid set it in front of him—quite out of character for a man who earned the bulk of his living from distilling Speyside whisky. “Devil’s fire, you’re lord of these lands. Since when does that mean nothing?”

“Too right,” Kennan held up a wooden spoon. “Each one of us is the overseer of our lands and the bastards see fit to push us out at every turn.”

“The times are changing, for certain.” Don took a healthy swig of his ale. “But that doesn’t mean we lay down and let them kick us like dogs.”

Kennan shoved his spoon into his lamb pottage. “I’ll never stand for a redcoat coming to Achnacarry and telling me how to manage my clan.”

Though the ale did nothing to help his sore head, Don took another drink, then picked up his spoon and dug it into his bowl. “Mayhap we should hold all the gatherings in Achnacarry.”

“You’re bloody mad.” Coll finally picked up his tankard. “Achnacarry is a stone’s throw away from Fort William.”

“Aye, but at least Colonel Hill understands us,” Kennan said with a full mouth.

“Does he?” asked Coll. “Wasn’t his signature on the order commanding Glenlyon to put innocent men, women and children to fire and sword? And even if he acted under duress, the man is older than Ben Nevis. What will happen when he’s gone?” The big Highlander downed his ale with one long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Mark me, never trust anyone who dons a red coat. If he’s not a backstabber already, he’ll become one in very short order.”

Don couldn’t disagree, but sitting in an alehouse talking about the injustices spewing from the man who currently sat on the throne did nothing to help him find his damned ship—or Mary of Castleton. “Do either of you have any idea where MacLeod may have sailed my galley after he left Castleton? And why the blazes did he take Miss Mary with him?”

“That’s where he’s crossed the line, for certain,” said Kennan. “The law may allow him to seize your galley, but we can bring him up on charges for nabbing the lass.”

“I hope he has the sense to keep his hands off her,” Coll said.

Those words made a shudder creep up Don’s spine. Of course he knew how much peril Mary was in, but he’d refused to think about it. His palm slipped down and encircled the pommel of his dirk. “If that bastard so much as lays a finger on her I’ll—”

“Excuse me, sir,” an elderly voice cackled behind him.

Don turned. A bent old man grinned, revealing a single tooth and long, stringy hair hanging in his face. “What is it, man?”

“Ye are the Baronet of Sleat are ye not?” The man pinched a piece of the Don’s lace cuff, his fingers filthy, not to mention he smelled like a privy. “Dressed in such finery, I assumed as much.”

“What business do you have with the Chief of all MacDonalds?” asked Coll, giving the man a menacing glare.

The beggar shirked away. “I-I…ah…only what I overheard the lieutenant say.”

Don narrowed his gaze. “MacLeod?”

“Aye.” The man regarded Don’s doublet like a starved deerhound. “I reckon what I have to say would be worth a crown.”

Coll raised his palm. “You miserable tinker, I ought to—”

Don caught his friend’s wrist before he struck the old fella. He might be a bit unsavory, but the man looked brittle enough to shatter. “I’ll need to hear what you have to say afore you see any coin from me.”

Licking his lips, the codger nodded. “I reckon that’s fair…Ye see, I might clean the chamber pots, but it sees me inside the fort—and in places most common folk cannot go.”

By the pall, Don had no cause to doubt the man’s occupation. “When was this?”

“Yesterday.” The man swiped a dirty hand across his mouth. “The lieutenant was meeting with the corporal in his chamber—a secret meeting it was.”

“Go on.”

“He said he was going to strike a blow to the pompous Baronet of Sleat and his Jacobite renegades.”

The baronet shook his head. “Did he say where he was taking my boat?”

“Nay. He mentioned nothing about a boat, but told the corporal to meet him in Glenelg across the sound.”

“Rumor is they’re planning to build a fort there,” said Kennan.

Don nodded. “And Mary of Castleton. Did you overhear anything about Sir John’s daughter?”

The man gasped. “Ye mean the redcoat bastards have Miss Mary?”

“Afraid so.” Don should have known the lass would be popular with the locals.

“Bloody, fobbing, fly-bitten wagtails. Why didn’t ye say they had Miss Mary? She’s the kindest lass in all of Skye. Kept me from freezing winter last.”

“And we had to ride ponies rather than take a boat,” grumbled Coll.

Don ground his molars. The MacDonell Chief was right, of course. Had they sailed to Teangue, it would have taken a bit longer to navigate around the peninsula, but they’d be less than an hour from Glenelg. “Do you ken anyone who can ferry us across the sound?”

“I can take ye, but it’ll cost a bob apiece.”

Kennan looked the man from head to toe. “You have a seafaring vessel? What is it, a raft bound together with hemp?”

“Nay, my brother-in-law ferries people across all the time—even ferries the lieutenant.”

Don looked to Coll. “It looks as if we’re in luck.”

“With the luck this day has brought?” The big man shook his head. “I’ll give it no more than a thumbs up for improvement.”

“Aye,” Kennan agreed. “We haven’t seen the sea vessel as of yet.”

Chapter Eight

After Balfour finally left her side, Mary toiled, twisting her wrists, wrenching them back and forth against the coarse ropes. The more she tugged, the more the hemp cut through her skin, but she was too close to stop. With every agonizing twist, the bindings loosened slightly. Her lips trembled as she kept her countenance neutral, forcing herself not to grit her teeth, all the while blinking back tears of pain.

When the galley ran aground, Mary’s heart surged with palpitations as her bindings dropped to the timbers. She watched the men while they secured the boat, resisting the urge to rub her burning wrists. If she bent down to untie her ankles, Balfour would catch her for certain.

By the time all of the crew members had climbed over the side, the lieutenant, once again, clambered over the benches and stood in front of her. “I have arranged an escort to Invergarry. The horses are waiting.”

Mary met his gaze with the most heated glare she could muster. If she could shoot daggers through her eyes she wouldn’t hesitate. “What makes you think I’ll ride?”

“You will.”

He kneeled and began untying her foot bindings.

Behind her back, Mary made a fist, patiently waiting until the ropes eased from her ankles. “Lieutenant,” she said with more control than she felt.

He looked up with a grin. “Aye?” Holy Moses, she hated his smug, pinched features.

This was her chance.

Taking in a sharp inhale, Mary clenched her fist. With all her might she slammed a jab across his jaw. Following through with her shoulder, she grabbed his pistol and yanked it free.

Balfour stumbled back, his hand flying to his face, his eyes stunned.

Springing from the bench, she raced for the ladder.

Dear God, help me break free of this nightmare
.

“Damn it, Mary.” The timbers clomped behind her.

She cocked the musket and pointed it at the cur. “Stay away.”

He stopped and spread his hands to his sides. “You ken as well as I ’tis not charged.”

Blast it all. She should have gone for his sword. “Aye?” Mary held her hand steady. “I can still strike you with it.”

Stepping toward her he reached forward. “Come. Give it to me.”

She shoved the weapon into her belt. She’d find a powder flask soon and a pebble would do if she hadn’t a musket ball. Raising her chin, she silently dared him to come after it.

A villainous grin spread across his lips, his eyebrows angling down. “I’d like nothing more than to fetch the pistol myself.”

She grabbed the rail and stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” With his next step he lunged.

Shrieking, Mary leapt over the side. Feet smashing onto the stony beach, hot shards of pain shot through her knees.

No time to stop.

She forced her legs to pump beneath her. This might be her only chance to dash for freedom.

A blur of redcoats hastened from the left. Mary bolted to the right. Footsteps crunched the stones behind. Two saddled horses stood ahead with mounted soldiers behind them. Forcing her legs to run faster, she sprinted straight toward the nearest horse.

Stretching as far as she could, she reached for the reins.

A deep bellow roared, making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Two more steps and she’d have hold of the leathers.

Burly arms wrapped around her.

Mary reached.

The reins slipped through her fingers as her body sailed downward.

Smacking the stones with her chin, her teeth bit so hard, sharp knifing pain shot through her face. The air whooshed from her lungs as Balfour’s body slammed atop hers.

Vexed, Mary thrashed beneath him and sucked in life-giving air.

“Damnation,” he cursed, wrenching her arm up behind her back. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Crying out, stars darted through her vision as he twisted her wrist up her back. She tried to roll away from the force, but the more she fought the more the blackguard punished her.

“Stop fighting me, you feisty wench,” he growled through clenched teeth.

If he pulled any harder, he’d break her arm. Panting, Mary stiffened. “I will not marry you and you cannot make me.”

“Och, lass,” his voice suddenly became buttery as he forced her arm down beneath his body while trapping her other hand. “In time you’ll learn to like me—mayhap you’ll even find love. Just give me a chance.”

She bucked against him. “You’re mad.”

“Angry, yes.” Sliding off her, he lashed a length of rope around one wrist. “Insane? I’d say not.” Pushing her to her back, this time, he tied her wrists in front, but bound them so tight, her fingers throbbed.

Balfour may think himself sane, but on one thing Mary was certain. The lieutenant had lost all capacity for rational thought.

He examined her wrists and with a tsk of his tongue, he examined the raw skin peeking above her ropes. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had trusted me.”

“Truly? Trust a pig who abducts me from my home and then plans to force me into wedded misery?”

He drew back his hand, threatening to strike. But then he chuckled and let it drop to his side. “I figured you’d be hard to break. The best horses take the most time to train, but once they take to the bit, there’s none better. Och aye, we shall be the most envied couple in the Highlands, mark me.”

He speaks as if he’s expecting to receive title and lands for his ill deeds. My father won’t give him a penny of my dowry
. How many times had he threatened to strike her? It was but a matter of time before he lost control and issued a slap or worse. Mary glared at him, lips pursed. Balfour MacLeod might have her in his clutches now, but there would come a time when he’d slip, and when that happed, she would be ready.

***

Donald paced around the clearing. After they’d spotted his galley on the shore by Glenelg, Don had instructed the ferryman to sail a half mile down the coast where they could alight with their ponies and not be seen. And since Kennan was the least likely to be recognized, Don had allowed the younger man to pose as a traveler and ride into the village. Still, such a move was risky. Glenelg had but a couple of cottages and a shack that looked as if it could be an alehouse. If a dragoon caught wind of a spy, their plan would be foiled.

“I reckon we should have waited for dark and gone in with guns a-blazin’,” said Coll, pacing in opposition to Don. If only they had an eighteen-gun galleon at their disposal, the Chieftain of Keppoch would be raring to blast the entire regiment out of Scotland.

Honestly, Donald would be the first to hold a torch to a cannon’s fuse, but carefully laid plans were not founded upon wishes. They were three men against a battalion of trained dragoons. “He’ll be here,” Don said, growing less convinced by the moment. Nonetheless, he wasn’t about to hint to his misgivings to Coll. The cavalier chieftain would charge in with his musket and take the redcoats all on—and that would get the three of them killed faster than a dip in an ice-filled loch.

Regardless of the jittery prickles firing across his skin, Don would keep his head and act with maturity. He’d act with sharp judgement and his wits intact. Continuing to pace, he clenched his fists tighter with every step. “Blast it all, dusk is upon us.”

“Bleeding, bloody, miserable hell.” Coll stomped toward his horse. “I told you I should be the one to ride in there. Now we’ll have to fight them all. You never should have sent Kennan. He’s too bloody young.”

“Haud yer wheesht.” Don sliced his hand through the air. “The lad takes after his father. He has a good head on his shoulders. Damn it all, we’ll give him until dark. If he’s not back by then, we’ll have no recourse but to spirit into the fort and find Miss Mary.”

“God’s bones, if their thievery wasn’t bad enough, they had to snatch John of Castleton’s daughter. I’ll tell you, if she weren’t behind those wooden ramparts, I’d blast my way—”

“Enough with the blasting.” Don stopped pacing and grabbed Coll by the back of his collar. Damn, damn, damn. He owed a visit to his clan. They’d soon think he deserted them. But… He groaned. “Never forget she’s kin. As much as I want to blast the redcoats to hell and sail my galley up to Trotternish, we have a responsibility to see Miss Mary back to Dunscaith Castle.”

Coll’s face fell. “Right. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I ken.”

A twig snapped.

Both men silently drew their swords.

“’Tis just me, gentlemen,” Kennan’s voice came through the shadows. Thank God they wouldn’t be forced to stage a rescue mission for him.

Don shoved his sword back in its scabbard. “We’d just about given up hope.”

Dismounting, the lad led his pony into the clearing. “It took a few more than a couple tankards of ale to convince the townsfolk I wasn’t a tinker, then a few more to find someone who’d seen Miss Mary.”

“Don’t tell me you’re in your cups,” Coll groused.

The young Cameron heir wobbled with a wry grin. “Aye, my liver is floating up near my teeth, I’d reckon.”

Don’s gut squeezed. “You didn’t let on who you were?”

“That’s what took me so bloody long.” Kennan hiccupped. “A fisherman told me he watched Lieutenant MacLeod chase after some ginger-haired lass. When he caught her, he threw her down and bound her wrists.”

“My God.” Coll yanked his dirk from its scabbard. “I’ll kill the bastard.”

“Too right,” Kennan agreed, throwing his thumb over his shoulder. “Then he tossed her on the back of a horse and headed east.”

Don’s gut dropped clear to his toes. “You mean Miss Mary isn’t in Glenelg?”

“Nope.” Kennan shook his head as if the gravity of the situation hadn’t hit.

Combing his fingers through his hair, Don scowled and looked to Coll. “Must this situation grow worse by the hour?”

MacDonell shrugged. “Bloody, miserable, bleeding…” The rest of his string of curses rolled together in one long mumble.

Don resumed his pacing, pushing the heels of his hands against his forehead. “Do you ken where the lieutenant was headed with Miss Mary?”

Kennan swayed in place and shrugged. “Just east.”

“That makes no sense at all.” He kicked a rock. “What, is he taking her to Inverness?”

Coll followed, kicking a rock the size of a large pinecone. He didn’t flinch though his toe must have hurt like the devil. “Mayhap he’ll turn south for Fort William.”

“Damnation!” Don stomped his foot. All he needed was to embark on a lengthy pursuit, chasing a slippery officer through the Highlands. What a nightmare. Who knew what the man intended to do with Miss Mary. He’d attacked the poor lass and bound her wrists. She must be frightened out of her wits.

“You want me to haste after her?” asked Kennan, still swaying.

“No.”
Nothing like the inept chasing the insidious
. “You look as if you’ll fall off your mount if you ride fifty feet.”

The young blighter belched. “But you told me to act like a traveler.”

“I also bloody told you to find out where Miss Mary was, not to come back here and report that she’s been absconded on horseback to the east. Bless it, now one of us will have to track them.”

“I’ll go.” Coll raised his hand.

Don growled and jammed his fists into his hips. Why in God’s name did Miss Mary have to continually be such a nuisance? Let Coll MacDonell chase after her? With her luck, the lass would likely be hit by one of the chieftain’s stray musket balls.
Blast it all.
“She’s my responsibility. I cannot, in good conscience, sail for Trotternish knowing John of Castleton’s daughter is in peril.” He pointed at each man. “I’ll need the two of you to sail the galley north. Meet my brother, William, at Duntulm Castle and tell him it’s up to him to have the cargo loaded and in Glasgow in a fortnight. I’ll meet him there.”

Coll stooped to pick up his musket, tucking it under his arm. “So are we off to take possession of your ship?”

“After dark—at high tide.” Don looked to the Cameron heir. “You think you can sober up in a few hours.”

The young man gave a nod. “I’ll be right, no need to worry about me.”

The cocky youth had Don worried since they’d alighted from the rickety old ferry. But there was nothing like war and danger to turn a lad of nineteen into a full-grown man. They mightn’t be leading a regiment into battle like Don had done at the same age, but recapturing a galley out from under the noses of a hundred dragoons was every bit as dangerous. “Leave the ponies at the tree line. Spirit to the ship and, by all means, ensure the watch doesn’t see you.”

“I was born sailing a galley. We won’t unfurl the sail until we’re well out to sea.” Kennan sounded like he was sobering already.

“Good lad,” Don said, then he looked to Coll. “MacDonell, I’m putting you in charge of my boat. I don’t need to tell you how much it cost or how important it is to our cause.”

“Yes, sir.”