Janet clutched her cloak tight while her teeth chattered. The brisk wind chilled to the bone, so savage it made her taffeta gown feel like ice. Things had never been so miserable, so wretched. Why did she have to slap the lieutenant? Good heavens, no one traveled in a ball gown. Worse, the night was darker than coal, with brooding clouds looming overhead. Rain spat on and off as she followed Kennan up the North Road.
Shouts came from behind. “Halt in the name of Queen Anne!”
Janet slapped her riding crop harder, leaning forward. “Hurry, Kennan!”
Her brother reined his horse to a stop at the river’s edge. “She’s swollen. Her current is swift.”
Janet cued her horse to step into the rushing water, but the mare backed and whinnied.
“I’ll give it a test. Mayhap we can still cross,” he said.
She looked upstream. “We could try the Lochaber bridge. ’Tis only another mile.”
“No time.” Kennan’s horse waded partway, and he beckoned her. “’Tis only up to his barrel, come.”
Cuing her mare to follow the gelding, Janet leaned forward and hunched her shoulders to block the wind whistling up the river. But when the icy water ran over Janet’s feet, the mare stopped with a shake of her head. “Come on, lassie.” Janet smacked her crop and kicked.
Snorting, the mare reared. Janet tightened her grip on the reins and clenched her knee around the upper pommel. Up and up the horse continued, beyond vertical. Screaming, Janet lost her grip as she was thrown, arms flailing, into the torrent.
Her back hit hard. Frigid water enveloped her like thousands of tiny knives. She opened her mouth to scream, only to be silenced by a flood. Choking, she shook her head and fought for the surface. Strong fingers grabbed her shoulders and dragged her, coughing and sputtering, to the shore.
“Bloody Christmas,” Kennan growled as he crouched beside her on the bank.
Janet wheezed, gasping for air as she shook with the shock of the cold.
“That’s far enough,” said a menacing voice. Winfred Cummins sat a steed, looking down the muzzle of his flintlock. “Release her.” And he sounded almost sober.
Kennan drew his dirk. “On what charges?”
“Striking an officer.”
“Aye?” Kennan emitted a mocking laugh. “You cannot handle a wee slap from a lass?”
“You insolent blackguard. For that you will enjoy the comforts of Fort William as well.” Cummins signaled with his pistol. “Bind their wrists.”
Janet pushed to her feet as Kennan lunged in front of her, slicing through the air with his knife. “Not on your bloody life.”
Five dragoons circled him while his dirk hissed in a constant X pattern. “Stay back. Leave us be.”
They crept nearer until a redcoat dove for Kennan’s blade. From the opposite side, another slammed a fist across his jaw.
“Stop!” Janet screamed, so cold she could barely move.
But no one listened. On and on the soldiers beat him, punches, kicks, every hit landing in a sickening thud.
“Stop, I said!” Shards of icy pain shot up from her feet as Janet ran to Cummins and grasped his horse’s bridle. “Tell them to stop. Now!”
“Will you agree to come peaceably?”
“Aye. Anything, just order your men to stop hitting my brother afore they kill him.”
“Mount your horse.”
Her gown soaked and heavy, Janet did as the lieutenant bade.
Cummins gave his men a nod. “Enough. We ride.”
She glanced back to Kennan, lying on his side in the thick grass and not moving. “You cannot leave him there.”
“You, miss, are in no position to tell me what I can and cannot do. You’re lucky he’s still breathing.”
* * *
Shortly after Robert and his men took a turn to head into the hills, a piercing scream carried on the wind. By the chill spreading across his nape, there was only one person who could have uttered it. He pulled on his left rein and spun his stallion. “Miss Janet’s in trouble! We’re going back.”
“We’re what?” asked Lewis, his voice shooting up, he and the others following at a canter.
As they rode down the hill, a retinue of seven riders turned onto the North Road, but in the dark it was impossible to make out who they were. Lead sank to the pit of his stomach as Robert urged his horse faster. When he arrived at the crossing near Old Inverlochy Castle, a riderless horse caught his eye. Dread gripped his chest while he reined his mount to a skidding halt. “Miss Cameron!” he bellowed.
“’Tis Kennan’s gelding,” said Lewis. “His initials are on the saddle.”
“Cameron!” Robert yelled as he dismounted, turned full circle. A dark form curled near the brush caught his eye. “Jesus, they’ve beat him.” He kneeled beside Janet’s brother and tugged him into his arms. “Where is Miss Janet?”
But Kennan was out cold. Robert felt for a pulse. Thank God it was strong, his breathing deep as well, but there was no sign of his sister. “Blast it all to hell, she must have been with the riders back yonder.”
“Aye,” Lewis agreed. “I reckon it was Cummins’s retinue we passed, and I reckon they’re headed for Fort William.”
“What the blazes happened here?” shouted Ciar MacDougall, reining his horse to a stop with four riders following his lead.
“It appears Cameron has been enjoying camaraderie with Her Majesty’s dragoons.” Robert peered at Kennan’s face, but the man wasn’t going to be of use to anyone until at least the morning. He shifted his attention to Ciar. “I thought you were going to stall them.”
“I did. Told them I reckoned Kennan had taken Janet back to the boardinghouse.”
“Not convincingly enough.” Making a quick decision, Robert stood and hoisted Kennan across the Cameron horse, then handed MacDougall the reins. “Take him to safety. I’m riding after Miss Janet.”
Ciar nodded his assent. “She’ll be doomed if they take her inside the fort.”
“Aye.” Robert mounted his stallion. “That’s why we’ll be taking Black Parks Path. ’Tis the only chance we have of heading them off. Come, men.”
Snow began to fall while Robert rode as if he were being chased by Satan, praying Cummins would be in no hurry now that he’d secured his quarry.
With a gnashing of his teeth, Robert berated himself for not heading for the hills as he’d planned. Janet Cameron meant nothing to him, though her family owed him a great deal—cattle and now recompense for a scar he must carry on his face for the rest of his days. A reminder that the Camerons were never to be trusted. But still he continued. He wouldn’t leave any Highland lass with those horrible redcoats.
He’d witnessed the whole incident at the Samhain ceilidh. Cummins had been in his cups while Miss Janet tried to politely dismiss him, and the arse refused to stop. The lieutenant mightn’t have struck her, but, nonetheless, he attacked first by grabbing her arms. Holy hellfire, Robert had itched to draw his sword and challenge the lout to a duel there on the spot.
But that would only have purchased a one-way ticket on a convict ship headed for hell.
Christ, I’m headed for hell one way or another.
They rounded the bend where Black Parks Path crossed the North Road, and Robert slowed his mount. Sure enough, hoofbeats came from the north—several riders by the sound of it. A quarter mile up, lantern light winked through the flurries. Aye, the retinue approached at a steady trot.
“Ready your weapons, men. But only kill if you are about to be killed.” Clan Grant might make it through this without forfeiting hearth and home, unless some dragoon decided to be a hero and ended up dead.
Robert drew a flintlock pistol—one he always kept primed—and dropped in a musket ball. “Halt!” he cried.
Now twenty feet away, Cummins raised his hand and reined his horse to a stop. The men rode in a diamond formation, shielding Miss Janet in the center, blast it all. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Ah, Grant.” Cummins peered from beneath his snow-covered tricorn, his face cadaverous in the dim light. “Now I shall have two felons to hand over to Fort William’s colonel.”
“If you should live so long.” Robert steadied his pistol, aimed at the lieutenant’s heart. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when the queen’s dragoons saw fit to set upon helpless women during a public gathering.”
“She struck me,” Cummins whined like a spoiled youth.
“A wee lass?” The men behind Robert laughed. “Come now. Every man in the hall will attest that you provoked her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’re far outnumbered. Hand Miss Cameron’s reins to me and I’ll spare you.”
Cummins inched his mount forward. “Sir, if you do not lower your weapons, I will order my men to shoot you dead. And if perchance you happen to escape, I will hunt you to the corners of Christendom. You will have no rest. You will live in fear. And I will break your spirit.”
Aye, the man had sobered enough all right.
The corners of Robert’s mouth turned up in a sneer. “I’m certain a spirit will be broken, and it will not be mine.” He shifted his aim slightly and shot the grenadier hat clean off Cummins’s head. “Charge!”
Throwing his reins into his teeth, Robert shoved his pistol in his belt with one hand while drawing his sword with the other. At a gallop, Clan Grant attacked, barreling through the retinue of soldiers. Robert used the broad side of his blade to knock Cummins off his horse. On the recoil he slammed the pommel into the temple of another. As he rode past, he grabbed Miss Janet’s reins and raced for the hills.