Eight
ON AN EARLY-SUMMER day the previous year, much like this one, Jamie had sat in the laird’s chair at Dundavie, his finger tracing over the crack in the leather, and received the Murchisons, a well-to-do English family who had purchased the land next to the Campbell clan lands and infested it with sheep. Mr. Murchison had made an enticing offer to some Campbells to buy their parcels of land, which they had accepted. Many in Jamie’s clan didn’t fully grasp that the ability of each of them to prosper was based on their ability to prosper as a whole. Each clan member owned his or her parcels of land, but the yields from those lands went into clan coffers and benefited the entire clan. So when parcels were sold, it reduced the land available for the clan to profit from.
Change was coming swiftly to Dundavie, and Jamie was trying his best to steer a rocking ship to the new reality. However, he was naturally predisposed to dislike the Murchisons, who had come that summer day with an offer to buy more acreage.
But what Jamie recalled about that day was how Murchison’s daughter had interrupted her father twice to make a point of her own that she seemed to think critical to the conversation. He’d been surprised by it, for women generally were not present when matters of business were discussed, and if they were, they certainly didn’t speak. Particularly Englishwomen. He’d never known a young, unmarried Englishwoman to be any more engaged than a piece of furniture in matters of business.
Miss Daria Babcock, he was learning, was in some regard much like that young Englishwoman. Give her a podium and a proper cause, and he’d wager she could beat men into submission with her tongue. She was certainly trying to subdue his rage, talking quite a lot as she paced before the table, her robe trailing behind her, her knotted hair swinging loosely above her waist, her arms wrapped tightly around her.
He liked the way her hips swung as she paced, the way she knit her brows as she concentrated on her argument. He liked the curve of her neck, the swell of her bosom above her folded arms. If the circumstances were different, he would like her quite a lot.
Miss Babcock suddenly halted and stared at him, clearly waiting for a response. When he did not offer one, she demanded, “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”
Jamie shifted uncomfortably. He’d heard some of her words, although which ones he could not say. It hardly mattered—nothing she could say to him would change his mind. He was of the firm opinion that Mrs. Moss should be cast into gaol and left to rot. But as he had no gaol to cast her into, he’d not decided what he would do with the old woman quite yet.
Miss Babcock suddenly leaned across the table so that she was at eye level with him. “She’s ill, Mr. Campbell, quite ill, deserving of your compassion. You have my word that I shall see your uncle’s money repaid if you will allow me to escort her home to Hadley Green, where my mother might care for her as she needs.”
Jamie cocked his head to one side. “Do you suggest that I allow you and the old woman to leave Scotland, then wait patiently for one thousand pounds to magically appear?”
“I gave you my word.”
Jamie smiled. He slid his hand across the table and wrapped his fingers around her wrist before she knew what he was about. She tried to yank free, but he pulled her closer until she was forced to brace herself on her elbows, bent halfway over the table, her face only inches from his, her light brown eyes sparkling with ire. “Your word will no’ be sufficient. That old woman deserves to be put away, if not hanged, aye?” His gaze slipped to her mouth. “Consider yourself fortunate that she’s no’ been dealt a Scot’s justice quite yet. Or you, for that matter.”
“Me? What have I done?”
“In the Highlands, a family stands on the actions of one.”
Miss Babcock yanked her hand free and stood back, glaring down at him. “You will not frighten me with threats, sir. I think it is clear that my grandmother is not herself. I’ve known her for one and twenty years and I’ve never known her to do the slightest bit of wrong.” Her expression softened, and the young woman suddenly looked very weary. She sighed and slipped into the chair directly across from Jamie. “She is the kindest, most generous woman,” she said sadly. “I have always adored her.”
“Touching,” Jamie said. “But no’ enough to sway me.”
“Oh!” she snapped, and shifted around in her chair so she was facing to the side, her arms folded tightly across her chest once more.
“I beg your pardon if you are offended. I donna know how the English treat those who will, unprovoked, shoot a man in the back, but in Scotland, generally speaking, they are no’ allowed to roam freely.”
Miss Babcock glanced heavenward and closed her eyes. “Then would you at least consider helping me?”
He snorted. “You?”
She cast a cow-eyed look at him. “Surely you can appreciate how difficult this is for me.”
He could not begin to guess why he should care, given the injustice that had been done to him. He suspected the Brodies were behind it all somehow, seeking vengeance for the trouble with Geordie. If that were true, it only made Jamie want to put the old woman away that much more. But he could not look into the lovely eyes in the lovely face across from him now and say so, though he would like to. He gave her an indifferent shrug.
She twisted in her chair once more to face him. “The irony, Mr. Campbell, is that you are the only one who can help me now. Isn’t that absurd? But it’s true! Who else but you can help me discover what has happened to my grandmother?”
“No.”
“I am new to Scotland,” she doggedly pressed on. “I can’t even tell you where in Scotland we are at present. How could I possibly go about the business of discovering what has happened to my beloved grandmother? But you . . . you seem to know some things, and you are clearly in a position to learn more. There is no one else I can turn to for help.”
“Very touching,” he said, and looked away from those pleading eyes. “But no.” His leg was beginning to ache fiercely. He picked up the tot she’d left untouched and downed it.
“How can you refuse me?” she pressed. “Will you not put yourself in my shoes for a moment?”
He pushed himself up, determined to walk on his injured leg.
The moment he did, Miss Babcock was up, too, darting around the table and tucking herself up under his arm, draping it over her shoulders to help him walk. Jamie debated not using her as a crutch, but the sooner he could move, the sooner he could leave this wretched little cottage.
He began to move, leaning heavily on her.
“I don’t understand your reluctance,” she said as she slipped her arm around his waist to bear his weight.
Jamie grimaced with the pain that sliced through him at each step, shooting up his side and back, into his shoulder.
“Are you all right? Perhaps you should sit.”
“I’m fine.” He gritted his teeth against the searing pain as they moved into the small parlor. An ornate clock ticked the seconds by with each excruciating step. He didn’t need to be reminded how slow and infirm he was, and turned away toward the windows. Surprise and relief filled him when he saw Duff and two of his men making their way down the path.
Jamie turned Miss Babcock about so that she would not see them.
She was oblivious to the change in direction, so intent was she on convincing Jamie to let them go unscathed. “I refuse to believe a man of your obvious stature would truly desire to see an old woman pay unfairly for her madness.”
“Then you would be disappointed,” he said gruffly. His dog Aedus pricked his ears up and looked to the door.
“Perhaps I could give you the banknote I brought Mamie? It’s not enough to cover your entire loss, but you might hold it as collateral until my father can send what is owed. That’s all I have to offer at present,” she said impatiently. “I didn’t come prepared to bargain on her behalf. How could I have—What is that noise?” she said, pausing, trying to turn her head to the window.
Jamie prevented her from turning completely, but he couldn’t prevent Aedus from rushing to the door, his tail wagging furiously, dancing to be let out.
“Is someone here?” Miss Babcock tried to move away from Jamie, but he sank against her at the same moment someone knocked on the door. “Mr. Campbell, if you please,” she said, pushing against him and exhaling with her effort when he would not release her.
“Who is it?” Mrs. Moss cried, emerging from her exile. She looked frantic, her cheeks tear-stained and the skin beneath her eyes dark. She had changed her gown and tucked up her hair, but there was a wildness yet in her eyes.
“Go on, then,” Jamie said to her. “Open the door.”
“Let go,” Miss Babcock said.
Jamie did not let her go. “Open it,” he said again to Mrs. Moss.
The old woman paled even more. But she walked to the door, pushed the dog aside, and opened it. She instantly stood back, lifting her chin high, defiant.
Duff’s large frame filled the doorway. His gaze swept over Mrs. Moss, the room, and then fixed on Jamie. “ ’S fhada bho nach fhaca mi thu.”
I’ve not seen you in a while.
And Jamie had never been quite as pleased to see Duff as he was now. “Aye. Ran into a spot of trouble. What took you?”
Duff glanced at the two women. He put his hand on the dog’s head, scratched him behind the ears, and responded in Gaelic, “I went back to fetch some men. I wasn’t certain what I might find. What in hell has happened to you, then?”
“She shot me,” Jamie responded in their tongue.
Duff looked at Miss Babcock.
“No’ her,” Jamie added in English. “The other one.”
Mrs. Moss gasped and took a step backward as Duff turned his large head in her direction. “Carson a?”
“Why? I have my theories. But the lady will tell you it was quite by accident.”
Duff’s face darkened as he stared at Mrs. Moss.
Mrs. Moss, however, had made a slight recovery. “And who are you, sir?” she asked imperiously.
“One of my men.” Jamie coaxed Miss Babcock forward. “Duff Campbell is his name.” The pain in his leg was excruciating now. But Miss Babcock’s loyalties lay elsewhere, and she tried to wrest herself free of him. Jamie clamped his arm around her, pulling her back against his chest, her bum against his groin. He clenched his teeth against the pain—or something else, he wasn’t certain. “My horse is somewhere nearby.”
“Aye, we found him. Robbie’s gone to fetch him,” Duff said. “He’s well, he is.”
Relief swelled in Jamie; at least the old woman hadn’t harmed his horse or his dog. “Good. We’ll have one more with us.”
Miss Babcock cried out in alarm and struggled again, causing him such discomfort that he let go of her. She leapt to stand before her grandmother, her arms outstretched, and declared dramatically, “You’ll have to shoot me. I will not allow you to harm her!”
“Ach, lass, there’s been enough shooting,” Jamie said.
“And just where do you propose to take me?” Mrs. Moss demanded. “This is Brodie land! They’ll not abide your savagery!”
Jamie groaned at that word. “I am well aware it is Brodie land, but that has little bearing on the wrong done to me. Rest easy, old woman—I donna mean to take you. I mean to take her,” he said, nodding to Miss Babcock.
Both women cried out in unison. “Me!” Miss Babcock exclaimed. “What have I done? You can’t take me against my will!”
“You have made your argument for it yourself, lass. Your desire is that I do no harm to your grandmamma. My desire is that we handle this matter by applying the rules of Highland justice. Plainly put, if your grandmamma wants to see you returned to England, she will repay the money she took from Uncle Hamish.”
“What?” Mrs. Moss cried. “Are you implying that you intend to hold her for ransom?”
“No’ implying it at all. I am stating it quite plainly.” Jamie reached for a chair to hold himself up at the same moment Duff moved, with startling quickness, to apprehend Miss Babcock before anyone could pick up another blunderbuss. The lass was no match for Duff. She struggled, but Duff clamped her to his chest with one arm so that she could not move.
Mrs. Moss began to panic, gasping for breath. Duff stoically placed his free hand on her head and pushed it down, forcing it between her knees. “Breathe, then,” he ordered.
“You cannot take me as your hostage!” Miss Babcock shouted, struggling futilely.
In no mood to argue, Jamie began his arduous journey to the door, thankful to see his cousin Robbie and MacKellan there, wearing twin expressions of surprise.
“This is unlawful!” Miss Babcock shouted. “If you so much as try to remove me from this property, I shall see that you are brought to the courts to answer for your actions!”
“I donna see how you will do that.” Jamie nodded at the men who were gaping at him, looking rather startled to see how oddly bent over he was, wearing nothing but a plaid. Even his boots were missing.
“I will send for the authorities at once,” Mrs. Moss said. “I shall have the Brodies down around your ears before you even crest the hill!”
“Aha, so now they are as near as that, are they? Go on, then, madam. Bring them round. You are very fortunate I donna hand you over to Hamish’s children to be dealt with privately. Robbie, a hand.”
“But I haven’t any money!” Mrs. Moss cried as Robbie grabbed Jamie around the waist.
“Where are your boots?” Robbie asked.
“Donna know,” Jamie said. “Let us go. MacKellan, the horses.”
MacKellan disappeared into the garden as Duff began to move with Miss Babcock. The lass screamed so loud that the four men winced. “I am not going with you!” she shouted, and began to kick at Duff’s legs.
“Ach, scream your head off your shoulders, then. No one will hear it,” Duff said.
“No!” Mrs. Moss shrieked, and threw her weight against Duff. It scarcely moved him. “All right, all right,” she said desperately, reaching for Jamie’s plaid before Robbie swatted her away, “I beg you, leave my granddaughter and take me! I am the one you want! Give me to Hamish’s children, so be it, but leave Daria be!”
Jamie was fast running out of patience. He wanted home, where Rory Campbell, the clan’s doctor, could tend him. “I think you will be a wee bit more compelled to return the money you stole if we hold her as collateral.”
Mrs. Moss let out a wail unlike anything Jamie had ever heard and sank to her knees, her hands braced against them, her shoulders stooped as she sobbed.
The sight of her sobered Miss Babcock. She stopped fighting and tried to reach out to her, but Duff would not allow it. “Mamie! Mamie, I shall write to Charity in Edinburgh and she will send for Pappa straightaway—”
“If you harm her, I will kill you!” Mrs. Moss shrieked, despair twisting her features.
“I’ll no’ harm her, madam,” Jamie said impatiently.
“But . . . but you can’t take her like this!” she argued tearfully, and gestured wildly at Miss Babcock. “She’s in her nightclothes!”
“I’ve a funny trunk we found on the side of the main road. I reckon it’s hers,” said Duff.
Jamie had had enough. “Bring her, Duff.”
He struggled alongside Robbie out of that cottage, Aedus trotting before them, his nose to the ground. Mrs. Moss’s wailing cry rent the air, competing with the angry shouting from Miss Babcock as Duff carried her bodily out the door.
With Robbie’s and MacKellan’s help, Jamie was able to put himself on Niall’s back—but the pain was almost more than he could bear. It felt as if the lead were still in him, moving about, tearing tissue and organ from their roots. This ride over the hills would be a lesson in searing pain. Jamie sucked in a deep breath and glanced back. Duff had a furious Miss Babcock firmly in hand.
“Here, then,” Jamie said, gesturing to his saddle. “If we run into trouble, you’ll need your hands free.” If the old witch was able to summon help, the Brodies would delight in a reason to engage the Campbells.
Duff put the kicking, struggling Miss Babcock before Jamie. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her firmly, while Mrs. Moss shrieked that he would regret this action.
“There will be an army of Brodies at your door!” she shouted.
“Bring whom you like,” he snapped. “But bring a thousand pounds.” With that, he set Niall to lead, feeling the sickening swirl of pain with each jolt.
“Mamie, don’t fret, you mustn’t fret!” Miss Babcock cried hysterically. “I shall write to Charity and she will bring help!”
Mrs. Moss sent up another wail of agony to the heavens; it was almost as great as the wail of pain Jamie felt climbing up his throat.