REVELATIONS
Morgan spent the day behind the Tolbooth tending to the gun and the equipment necessary for it to function properly.
He’d accumulated a stockpile of sheepskins during the siege and supervised the cutting and attachment of new skins to the two long poles used as rammers, reminding his men that wool was an ideal sponge for scouring the barrel.
He checked the wad-screws, making sure they were still firmly attached to their wooden poles. If the gun had to be unloaded quickly and the wadding removed, a loose screw could prove disastrous.
His hands were busy, but his thoughts were on the night to come. Time dragged by so he decided to fill it by drilling his men on the proper terminology, though they could likely recite it in their sleep. Still, it was a way to involve Smythe who sat resting his ankle while the others toiled.
“And what’s the botefeux used for, Syddall?” he asked.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but you’ve already asked me that one,” came the reply.
Morgan clenched his fists. The lads must be wondering what had become of his usual concentration. “Nevertheless, it never hurts to repeat these things.”
Syddall eyed Atherton before replying, “Sir. The botefeux is the long stick, split at the end to hold the match.”
“Right! And how much powder must be in the primer?” He scanned their amused faces. Obviously, he’d already posed that question too. “Let’s have it then…Smythe.”
“At least a pound, sir.”
After a quick round of bread and cheese for luncheon, he had them strip to the waist and take off their boots so they could remove the wheels from the gun carriage and grease the axle. This took most of the afternoon and resulted in his men having filthy hands, feet, faces and, inexplicably, teeth. It evoked a memory of the urchins who labored in his family’s drift mines in Wales. The recollection wasn’t a pleasant one. His father treated the miners like slaves, and Aneurin cared nothing for the welfare of others. Mayhap it was disgust for his father’s cruelty that had made Morgan a more tolerant man.
His crew had worked well together and approached the dirty task with gusto. “Well done,” he said when everything was put back to rights. “You’ve earned a dip in the sea.”
They cheered. “Sir.”
“And off to the cook tent once you’re clean.”
“Sir.”
“Can we take Smythe to the beach with us, sir?” Wilcock asked. “We’ll ’elp him and I promise no malarkey this time.”
His batman sent him a pleading look, but Hannah was on her way ostensibly to check on the injured ankle. “Too soon,” he replied. “We don’t want to overdo the exercise. On the morrow, mayhap. We’ll see what Mistress Kincaid has to say.”
Smythe’s frown disappeared. “She’s coming to see me, sir?”
“Aye,” he replied, scratching his head after another lapse into the local brogue.
The men went off in the direction of the beach. Smythe watched them for a while then hobbled to his tent.
Suddenly aware of his own sweaty body and dirty hands, Morgan wondered if he had time to order a bath be brought up to his room, though where they’d put it, he wasn’t sure. He scooped up a few of the sheepskin remnants and decided on a quick scrub in the sea instead.
~~~
As Maggie strode towards her, Hannah’s instincts told her to run. Campbells weren’t to be trusted, particularly this one. But she’d never seen Maggie wear anything in her hair—and why a fern of all things on this day?
Too many strange events were happening all at once. She was a decisive person, but now stood rooted to the spot, wishing Morgan was still within hailing distance.
The whore grabbed her elbow and hurried her along. “Mistress Kincaid, as I live and breathe. Didna see ye in the queue for water. Doubtless ye’ve no need to wash. Too clean by far.”
Hannah opened her mouth to protest, but Maggie plucked the fern from her hair and twirled the fiddlehead under her nose. “Keep walkin’,” she hissed, shoving Hannah behind a wagon.
She used all her weight to press her victim against the wood and grinned. “Dinna fash,” she growled with a glint in her eye. “Look scared. That’s it. With the army on its way to Inverness, Glenheath has called a meeting o’ the clans at the hunting lodge at Bouchmorale. Yer uncle is pleased wi’ ye. Now ye must keep yer pretty captain and his gun away from the pass in the Grampians.”
Hannah’s emotions whirled. She gagged on the stink of Maggie’s unwashed body. She could barely comprehend what the wretched woman was telling her, then the whore snarled in her face, their noses almost touching. “Hafta make it convincin’, aye?”
She pulled away, laughing loudly as she flounced off to rejoin her companions.
Hannah gripped the wood, fearing her knees might buckle. Maggie Campbell a Royalist? Nay! Yet the woman knew Glenheath was her uncle. Even the Graingers were unaware of the relationship.
She tried frantically to recall the location of Bouchmorale, but then calmed when she realized it didn’t matter. The gathering was planned for somewhere in the Grampians, far away from the Causey Mounth and the road from Aberdeen to Inverness. Her spirits lifted. The meeting would be to plan strategy for the rebellion to sweep down from the Highlands and take the Lowlands while the English army was tramping through the wilds of northern Scotland.
She took the bracken from her girdle and pressed it between her palms, uttering a prayer of thanksgiving. Soon, soon, King Charles would be restored to the throne. She conjured an image of the Graingers gleefully digging up the treasure trove.
She’d have to tread cautiously. Morgan was a man of keen intelligence who would sense if she was hiding something. Perhaps it would be better not to go to the inn, though Solomon had probably already found another tenant for her sleeping space.
She shook her head, admitting to herself she longed to go to Morgan, wanted to enjoy the calm before the storm, the last chance to be held in the strong arms of a man who cared about her. He might suspect her role in the theft, but his anger and mistrust would know no bounds once he discovered she’d known about the Royalists’ plans.
She should do everything in her power not to implicate him, but knew she couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore the compelling feelings of desire he evoked.