14 July 1713
The midsummer crowd at the Inverlochy alehouse wasn’t as boisterous as in previous years. Robert didn’t care overmuch, as long as the buyers were in town. He took a long draw of his ale. After three months in the mountains, the brew tasted like mead from heaven.
“God’s bones, Grant, is that you? Ye look like a lion with all that hair sprouting from your face.”
Robert turned away from the bar and laughed. “MacDougall!” He thrust out his hand. “Och, ’tis good to see you, old friend.”
Ciar gave a firm handshake. “Och, I hardly recognized you.”
“I’ve been in the mountains for months. Haven’t had a chance to shave as yet.” Robert signaled to the barman. “Another over here, please.”
“I’m surprised you’re not in Glasgow.”
“Why the blazes would I go down there? I’ve brought my vealers down for sale, and then I’m heading back up to the herd. Mind you, no one will be poaching my beasties this year.”
“If anyone can stop the thieves, ’tis you.” The barman placed a frothing tankard in front of Ciar and he held it aloft. “Sláinte.”
“Sláinte.” Robert tapped his cup in toast and drank. “Now what’s this you say about Glasgow?”
“I just returned from there two fortnights ago. The new saleyards are booming.”
“Bloody hell, I’ve gone without news for too long. When did this happen?”
“The Baronet of Sleat has been petitioning for proper livestock saleyards for ages, and now that the shipyards are open for business in Newport Glasgow, everything else is falling into place. You ought to drive your vealers south. I saw them in the paddock, and they look better than any coos I’ve seen in ages.”
“Aye? Fat wee beasties, are they not?”
“They are, and it would only take a few days to drive them to Glasgow.”
Robert wasn’t convinced. Besides, there was a warm bath waiting for him out the back. “What about the coin? Same as Inverlochy?”
“I wouldn’t have suggested it if you wouldn’t double what you’d receive here.”
“Double?”
“Mark me.”
“Then why are you here and not driving your livestock to market?”
“I plan to.” Ciar patted his sporran. “I’m in Inverlochy by chance—had a meeting with my banker.”
“I hope all is well.”
“It is, and I’ll be driving my cattle to Glasgow come autumn.”
“I must give it some thought, especially for the harvest.” Robert signaled for another two ales. “What other news? It seems I’ve missed a great deal.”
“Not overmuch. The Baronet of Sleat had some correspondence with the Duke of Gordon. Evidently…” Ciar looked over his shoulders, then leaned in and lowered his voice. “There’s been a communication from the king.”
“James?”
“Aye.”
“A rising?”
“Nay, not yet anyway. His message to us is to be at the ready. He will not attack whilst his sister is on the throne, but the succession is paramount. We must repeal this beastly Occasional Conformity Act.”
“With the Tories in power, that ought to be easy enough.”
“One would think, but the Earl of Mar has earned the moniker Bobbing John. As the leader of the party, one day he’s with us and the next he’s not.”
“Bloody oath, at times I reckon the peerage ought to be sequestered to their castles and allow levelheaded lawmen to run the country.”
“I wouldn’t go spouting such radical opinions about, my friend. You’re likely to be escorted on a short walk up Fort William’s gallows steps.”
“I ken. But what of the Defenders? Will there be a gathering soon?”
“Aye, in Glasgow. You haven’t heard word about that, either?”
“Clearly not. I haven’t been amongst civilization for ages.”
“The Duke of Gordon is having a ball—and has made it clear all Highland lairds are welcome to attend.”
“Pardon? A ball?” Robert made a sour face. “What about a Highland ceilidh? What about games? I’d like to beat Dunn MacRae at the caber toss afore this year’s out.”
“Aye, perhaps you’ll have your chance another time. A royal ball will allay all suspicion. The idea’s brilliant if you ask me.”
“When is it?”
“Three weeks away—August third.”
Robert scratched his beard. “In that case, perhaps I should rethink driving my vealers to Glasgow—see what the new saleyards are about.”
Ciar slapped the bar. “Mind if I ride with you? I wouldn’t miss Gordon’s invitation for a purse of guineas.”
“Nay, but I thought you had just returned from there.”
“I did, and now I’ve set my financial obligations to rights, I’m free to return.”
* * *
Auntie Dallis bustled into Janet’s chamber with Lena on her heels. “My dear, you must make haste and don your riding habit at once.”
Janet set her knitting aside while her maid skipped to the garderobe. “What about the fitting at ten o’clock?”
“The seamstress can wait. Besides, the gown is already made. I’ll send word you’ll attend her on the morrow.”
“Very well, but why a riding habit? Does Mr. Ellis have a penchant for riding today?” After the white rose incident at the kirk, Mr. Ellis, a behemoth of a man who looked and acted as if his prior occupation had been that of a headsman, had been assigned the role of her guardian. The man spoke little, if at all, which was for the best given his limited vocabulary. With him sauntering behind her every afternoon, Janet oft wondered if she was truly safe—perhaps the white rose phantom mightn’t attack, but Mr. Ellis…She shuddered.
“Nay. Can you believe it? Ciar MacDougall is waiting below stairs and has asked to take you to the cattle sale.” Auntie clapped her hands and plucked the plumed tricorn from Lena’s hands. “Isn’t it wonderful? I’ve always liked Ciar very much. Very much!”
Janet turned her back for Lena to untie her bodice, all too aware August was but a sennight away and she had yet to find a man who appealed to her remotely as much as Laird Grant. Time was not in her favor. “Aye, Mr. MacDougall is one of Kennan’s closest friends and a staunch ally of Clan Cameron.”
“And an ideal match for you, sweeting. After all, that is why you are here, and I cannot allow you to return to Achnacarry without a suitor head over heels in love with you.”
With a roll of her eyes, Janet chuckled. “I assure you, Ciar shall not be my future husband.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because he is more like a brother to me, and we—” Janet bit her tongue. It would be best not to tell Auntie Dallis they had spoken about a mutual lack of attraction. However, Janet drummed her fingers against her lips; if Her Ladyship believed her to be slightly smitten with the MacDougall laird, she might stop her overbearing meddling. Perhaps Janet might even delay the inevitable by pretending to be interested in Ciar.
“Yes, my dear?” Her Ladyship pressed.
“Well, I must admit he is a dear friend and I am fond of him.” Janet stepped into the skirt, donned the shirt and jacket, then held her arms outstretched while Lena picked up the hook and began fastening the doublet’s brass buttons—fifty of them.
“And so you should, lass. A man of property like Ciar MacDougall is a good catch for any woman in Scotland.”
“I agree.” Janet gave a smooth smile, checking it in the mirror to ensure she appeared genuine.
“Splendid.” Her Ladyship shook her finger at poor Lena. “Boots—haste ye!”
“Lena needn’t rush,” said Janet. “I’m sure MacDougall has made himself comfortable below stairs.”
“Aye, but the sale is about to begin. And the laird has an interest in the livestock. I hope you do as well, Janet, living up there in that drafty castle with nothing but sheep and coos milling about.”
“We have horses as well.”
Boots in hand, Lena kneeled with a snort, clearly finding their hostess exasperating.
Janet gave the maid’s coif a pat. “Come along with us.”
“Nay, she will not!” Auntie objected. “Mr. Ellis has been doing quite nicely, and I have instructed him to remain at a generous distance.”
Not about to let it lie, Janet shifted her hands to her hips. “Och, then I promise to take ye for a stroll along the Clyde on the morrow, how would that be?”
Lena patted the bow she’d just tied. “I’d enjoy that very much, miss.”
“After your fitting, mind you.” Her Ladyship sidled toward the door.
In record time Janet had donned her riding habit. She reached for her hat and pushed it over her curls. Had she more time, she would have asked Lena to lower her chignon, but Auntie might end up having one of her spells.
In the entry Ciar greeted her with a smile, offered his elbow, and they were off. Once on horseback and out of earshot of any member of the MacLean household, including Mr. Ellis, who was at least fifty paces behind, Janet threw back her head and laughed.
“What the devil is so funny?” Ciar asked.
“Dear Auntie Dallis practically has us walking down the aisle.”
“Oh dear. Have you not told her about our pact?”
“Absolutely not. Until I find a suitor with whom I fall madly in love, I am afraid you will have to be the object of my affection.”
“Not an entirely bad guise for me—at least until I find my match—if one exists.”
“I am certain you will have no trouble finding the woman of your dreams once you set your mind to it.”
“Perhaps, though I think I prefer bachelorhood. I’ve watched too many of my friends succumb to the iron branks of marriage.”
“Iron branks? What a horrible thing to say. Besides, ’tis a torture device for women, is it not?”
Ciar shrugged. “I was speaking metaphorically. Wed a woman and you may as well have one of those contraptions holding your tongue.”
“Oh please…Now tell me, why are you taking me to this livestock auction, of all places?”
“I thought you needed a new horse.”
She grinned, loving his idea. “See? I ken why you are such a good friend.”
“Someone else told me about what happened to your horse on Finnach Ridge. That’s what gave me the idea.”
Janet nodded, assuming she knew of whom Ciar was speaking. “Kennan may have mentioned it in passing, but nonetheless, you are very thoughtful to think of me.”
* * *
A tent had been erected over the auction block, and Winfred Cummins sat at the rear of the benches with his hat pulled low over his brow. Due to the loss of his leg, pickings had been slim this year, not to mention that he’d lost some of his sources. In hindsight, he’d been smart to move the cattle he’d culled from the Highland herds to a Lowland croft. His man had altered the brands, and the beasts had grown fatter grazing on meadow grass for an entire year. If he’d been greedy, he would have sold the lot of the herd in Crieff last autumn, but then odds were he would have been caught, and thus he’d only sold twenty or so. But now there was little chance of anyone figuring out from where his beasts had originated. Even better, Glasgow was a new market, where no one knew of him.
At least that’s what he’d thought. Winfred’s spine shot ramrod straight when Ciar MacDougall escorted Janet Cameron to one of the benches in the front. The Highlander slavered over her hand, planted a kiss, and left her alone, the imbecile.
Licking his lips, Winfred leaned on his cane and pushed himself up. The harness on his wooden leg pinched. He grunted and adjusted the leather straps before he started for the woman. It wasn’t easy to walk soundlessly with a peg leg, but the grass underfoot helped, as well as the relentless work he’d done to master the prosthesis. He resisted the urge to laugh as he came up behind her. Though she wore a tricorn, her hair was pinned up, revealing a long slender neck. His fingers itched to close around it and choke the life from the selfish wench responsible for the loss of his leg.
She remained unaware of his presence while he pondered all the ways he could kill her. A dagger to the kidney? A quick slash across the throat? His fingers caressed the handle of the pistol in his belt. No, no, a lead ball to the skull would be far too quick. She needs to suffer as I have.
Beneath his brim, Winfred’s gaze shifted across the growing crowd. If he killed her now, there would be too many witnesses.
As if his thoughts had brushed the back of her neck, Janet shuddered and whipped around. “L-Lieutenant Cummins!” Her eyes flashed wide, betraying her fear. “I did not expect to see you here.”
“I’ll wager you did not, Miss Cameron.” He removed his hat and bowed deeply with a mocking flourish.
“How long have you been in Glasgow?” she asked, regaining her composure, though her gaze dropped to his stump.
“On and off for a time now.” No use telling her he’d been relegated to the lowly position of keeper of the records for the soldiers’ hospital. Neither was there any point in telling her he’d watched her alight from her carriage many an afternoon. He smiled, trying his damnedest not to sneer.
“You have an interest in livestock?” she asked.
“Overseeing my family’s affairs,” he lied, “since I am no longer required in Her Majesty’s service.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed while her lips pursed. “I am regretful for your suffering.”
“Not half as much as I.”
“That’s him!” a man yelled from the entrance to the yards.
Winfred’s gut dropped to his toes like lead. Leith Whyte pointed directly his way, the piss-swilling clodpoll. Worse, Robert Grant stepped out from behind the bastard. In a heartbeat Cummins fled, knocking over a bench as he stumbled toward his waiting horse.
* * *
Robert’s heart lodged in his throat when Leith pointed to Winfred Cummins. Moreover, the bastard had been standing beside Miss Janet, chatting as if they were best of friends. As soon as the cur looked up, he spun on his peg and scurried for a horse waiting just outside the tent.
“Halt, ye maggot tinker!” Robert shouted, sprinting across the sale arena and leaping over benches. Janet called his name, her voice high pitched and filled with surprise. His heart squeezed, tormenting him, begging him to stop and grovel, but he did not. Not when the phantom he’d been chasing for a year was within his grasp.
He reached the tent’s exit as Cummins spun his horse. Robert launched himself forward in a flying leap, and his fingers caught the edge of the bastard’s stirrup and latched on. His feet pummeled the ground as he fought to match the horse’s retreating gait.
“Let go, you dog!” Cummins threw a backhand with his cane.
Robert ducked, but the stick caught him in the shoulder. “I want my bloody beasts, ye pirate!” The next strike smacked him atop the knuckles. Unable to keep pace, he let go and plummeted to the ground, rolling over and over until he stopped on his back.
Damnation, I’ll kill that miserable excuse for a man.
“Robert!” Janet cried, running up with Leith in her wake.
God’s bones, why must she be here when I’ve been made a fool of by a cripple? With a grunt he pushed himself to his feet. “Miss Janet. What are you doing in Glasgow?” He thrust his finger in the direction of Winfred Cummins’s retreat. “Do not tell me you are colluding with that onion-eyed knave.”
“I beg your pardon?” Her eyes narrowed as she threw her shoulders back, heaving chest and all. “I do not hear one word from you in months, and in the blink of an eye you accuse me of siding with such an unsavory blackguard? How quickly you forget who is responsible for all that transpired after Samhain.”
Robert jammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “Forgive me. I am out of sorts. You may recall Leith?” He caught his breath while he gestured to the man.
Janet curtsied, as any proper, polite lady would. “I do. ’Tis good to see you, sir.”
The man tipped his bonnet. “Good day, miss.”
“I take it you are now in Mr. Grant’s employ?” she asked.
“He is,” Robert answered. “And he just identified our cattle thief.”
“The lieutenant?” Janet’s eyes grew round, lovely blue eyes that made his heart twist. “Oh, my word.” Her lovely mouth formed an O. “Lieutenant Cummins has a prominent mole on his right cheek.”
“Aye.” Robert sighed. “And now he’s at large.”
“Before you entered the tent, the lieutenant came up behind me, startled me something awful. He said he had an interest in the cattle sale—on behalf of his family.”
“Not this side of the border. The man’s from Newcastle.” Robert brushed the dirt off his doublet. “Did he say where he’s staying?”
“There wasn’t much time. He had hardly started a conversation when Leith spotted him. But…” Janet’s brow furrowed while she rubbed the outsides of her arms.
“What is it? Did he threaten you?”
“Not exactly. I-I just felt very uneasy, and he seemed to revel in my discomfort.”
“I’ll wager he did.” Robert offered his elbow. “Come, I’ll escort you back to the tent. The sale is about to begin.”
“Thank you—I’m here to purchase a new mount.” A delicate gloved hand slid onto his elbow.
God save him, he hadn’t been prepared for the bone-melting rush of emotion that came with the light touch of her fingers on his arm. But he wouldn’t linger. He’d see the lady to her seat and stand at the arena’s edge with his men. Nay, he hadn’t come to the sale to trifle with Cameron’s daughter, no matter how much he wished to.
“How is my mare?” she asked.
Robert shifted his gaze to her eyes—cornflower blues that had been etched on his heart forever. “She’s happy. Growing fat on lush Glenmoriston grass.”
“I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to hear such news.”
“Miss Janet?” A tall, gaunt man strode toward them. “Are you in need of assistance?”
She snapped her hand away from Robert’s arm. “Ah, Mr. Ellis, had you been here a moment ago, I might have.” Appearing none too pleased, she gestured between the men. “Allow me to introduce Grant of Glenmoriston.”