It had taken Balfour a fortnight to gain an audience with Colonel Hill. Fort William’s commanding officer had been away on a peacekeeping sortie while the lieutenant waited, pacing the wall-walk of the miserable fort. Christ, he could see Cameron lands across Loch Linnhe—just sitting there all peaceful-like. He could set his sights and fire the cannons—show them exactly what he would do to men who defied him.

Thank God Almighty he’d finally have his say this day. He’d be decorated for certain—given a new regiment to ride roughshod over anyone who crossed him.

Two dragoons accompanied him into the colonel’s study. Holding his hat under his arm, Balfour saluted. “Sir, I come to you with grave news.”

“Is that so?” The old man did not return the salute, but rested his quill in its holder and reclined in the chair behind his writing desk. “Come, lieutenant. I haven’t all day.”

Balfour stammered a bit. The colonel hadn’t dismissed the soldiers, nor had he offered a seat. “I caught the Baronet of Sleat breaking the law. The miscreants held a gathering at Dunscaith Castle. A clandestine Jacobite meeting it was, with a number of galleys in the bay, including three with eighteen-oars, clearly breaking the law.”

The colonel clasped his fingers atop his stomach. “And one of those boats belonged to Donald MacDonald.”

“Aye—another to Ewen Cameron, and the last to Robert Stewart. And they told me it was a MacDonald Clan gathering.”

“If there were so many chieftains at the gathering, why did you target Sir Donald’s galley?”

Taking a step forward, Balfour placed his palms on the colonel’s desk. “He’s the leader of that band of upstarts—led his regiment into Killiecrankie and Dunkeld after that.”

The old man issued such a heated frown, Balfour immediately straightened and drew his hands back to his sides. “True, but that was five years ago.” The colonel tapped his chin. “Since, I’ve known the Baronet of Sleat to be a peace-loving businessman. One who has traded with the fort—brought in precious supplies in the midst of winter when others didn’t dare.”

Glancing between the two soldiers, Balfour spread his arms wide. “Are you daft?”

His gaze heated, the colonel pushed himself to the edge of his chair. “Mind your station, sir.”

The corporal to his right moved his hand to the manacles suspended from his belt.

Blast it all, I must rein in my fervor. “Forgive me.” Balfour bowed respectfully. “Regardless if the baronet is trying to portray airs of peace, I ken he’s devious. I ken he’s trying to organize the Jacobites against us.”

“You, sir, are wrong.” Colonel Hill pounded the desk with his fist. “There are absolutely no indications of Jacobite insurgence. For the love of God, Glencoe still has every chieftain in the Highlands quaking in his boots.”

“I must respectfully disagree.” Balfour’s gut twisted in a knot. Regardless of the officer’s lofty rank, the lieutenant had a responsibility to make him see what was going on beneath his very nose. “From my post on Skye, I’ve watched them. They’re all rubbing their hands, waiting for a chance to strike.”

“Is that so?” Hill folded his arms. “What have you done to bring them in to your confidence—encourage the Highlanders to trust you?”

A rueful snort blew through Balfour’s nose. “Are you jesting? Jacobites must be controlled with a firm hand else they’ll murder you in your sleep.”

The colonel let out a long sigh, stood and faced the hearth with his hands clasped behind his back. “Too many people have the same view. Worse, the new trade embargoes against Scottish goods only make it more difficult for them to live. ’Tis setting us back—displacing all my work to bring peace to the Highlands.”

Christ Almighty, the man is softer than a feather pillow. Balfour batted his hand through the air. “I think they deserve every embargo the king invokes.”

Hill shot a hawkish gaze over his shoulder. “That’s odd coming from you, a man bred in Invergarry, is it?”

“Aye, but I support the Government. You’ll never find a more loyal soldier.” He’d bend the fool to his way of thinking if he had to talk all afternoon.

The colonel turned, moving his fists to his hips. “What do you think will happen when the locals can no longer feed their families because their livelihoods are being choked from them?”

“They’ll go to the Americas.” Balfour smirked. “The sooner the better.”

“Doubtless some will.” With a sniff the old man scratched his chin. “I fear we will leave no choice to those who remain but to take up arms against us.”

Balfour’s chest swelled. Finally, the colonel appeared to be bending to his will. “We should confiscate their arms forthwith, just as King William did in Ireland.”

Hill’s eyes narrowed. “Meet them with an iron fist at every turn, is that what you think will endear their hearts to the Williamite Party, lieutenant?”

Clenching his fists at his sides, Balfour stood ramrod erect, showing his deep loyalty to the crown. “Yes, sir.”

Frowning, the colonel sauntered forward and placed his knuckles on the desk. “I understand you kidnapped Mary of Castleton.”

The lieutenant’s spine slackened a bit. I’m not being duped, am I? Balfour glanced between the two soldiers who stood either side of him. Then he held fast to his stance. If nothing else, his intentions had been valorous. “I wish to marry her.”

“And the woman was amenable to such a union?”

“She would have come around if Sir Donald hadn’t stolen her from me.” Tugging his lapels, Balfour tried to stand taller. “I request leave to take her back.”

Hill’s jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely. I want to introduce Miss Mary to my mother—show her the kindness of my family.”

“Without her consent?” the colonel asked, throwing his hands up.

Balfour mimicked the old man’s gesture. “I said she would come around.”

“Dammit, man, seizing a galley is well within our rights, but you overstepped the very purpose of the King’s Army when you captured Miss Mary.” Hill’s fist again slammed the desk.

The back of the lieutenant’s neck flared with heat. “But she would have raised the alarm if I’d released her.”

“And so you took her—with intent to force her into your bed?” The man’s exasperated expression was unnerving.

“N-not before we were rightfully wed.” Dear God, can the officer not see reason?

“I know exactly what you were planning.” The old man shoved a piece of parchment toward him with Sir Donald’s bold signature at the bottom. “I’ve pardoned the Baronet of Sleat, released his ship as well as the two Highland gentlemen who attempted to reclaim the galley in Glenelg.” Hill gestured to the dragoons. “You, sir, are never to pose a threat to Mary of Castleton again. You are hereby reassigned to Fort William and for your first order of duty, you will spend an entire fortnight in the stocks.”

“What? No. I am outraged!” Balfour struggled as hands clamped around his arms. “You support them, do you not? You hypocrite!”

Colonel Hill slapped his hand through the air. “Take him away.”

While the cold steel of manacles closed around his wrists, Balfour glared at the colonel. “You’re one of them. You’ve always been sympathetic toward the Jacobites. I’ll wager you’d be thrilled to see King James reinstated to the throne.” A soldier grasped his arm, but he yanked it away. “I am an ardent servant of the king and I vow I will see to your demise.”

If his threat had struck a chord, the old man didn’t show it. He nodded to one of the soldiers. “I’ll need you to return and witness my statement, corporal.”

“Yes, sir.” The men forced Balfour outside, dragging him toward the bloody stocks—a place of humiliation meant for common filth—not for a lieutenant in the King’s Army.

“I am innocent!” Balfour bellowed for all to hear.

***

Climbing the stairs to her chamber, Mary couldn’t help but overhear the voices coming from Sir Donald’s drawing room.

“I’ll give you a sennight and if your shipment hasn’t arrived by then, I will have no alternative but to go elsewhere,” said a gruff man’s voice.

“I assure you my brother will not fail me.”

Mary stopped, grasping the bannister. William should have returned more than a fortnight ago. Had Balfour caused more problems? When the lieutenant and his men spent days chasing after her and Donald, she’d hoped their pursuit had given the baronet’s men time to load the salt and be gone.

She’d convinced herself Coll and Kennan were successful in retrieving the baronet’s galley. But what if they’d been caught? The clans wouldn’t rest whilst a chieftain and an heir to a chieftainship were detained.

Is that why Sir Ewen had not yet returned to Achnacarry when they had passed through?

Moving to the landing, she snapped her hands to her cheeks. What could she do to help?

The door swung open. Sir Donald glared at her as if she’d been caught with her fingers in his strong box.

Lowering her hands, she curtseyed politely. “Good afternoon.”

“Sir Donald,” chortled an overstuffed man wearing a long, flaxen periwig. He raked his eyes down her body as if he were assessing a stallion on the auction block. “You didn’t tell me you were entertaining guests of the female persuasion.”

“Miss Mary of Castleton is spending time with my sister until my galley returns and I can ferry her back to Skye.” He gestured toward the man. “May I introduce Mr. Smith, a business acquaintance.”

The man took her hands between his, offering a licentious smile. “The pleasure is mine. I do hope you will still be in Glasgow for the Duke of Gordon’s ball.”

Mary shifted her gaze to Donald. “I’m—”

The baronet affected an exasperated roll of his eyes. “Good God, Walter, the invitation only arrived this afternoon and you’re already plotting your dances.”

“That is right, and if you’re in attendance Miss Mary, I do hope you will reserve a dance for me.”

The last thing she wanted to do was dance with the pasty codfish who still held her hand between his sweaty mitts. “I’m certain Mrs. Smith will have something to say about that?”

The man threw his head back and laughed. “She does have a sharp wit, does she not, Sir Donald?” He started down the stairs. “I’ll wager Miss Mary is the cause of your lack of organization—anyone worth his salt can sail a galley down the coast of Scotland in summer.”

Mary watched Mr. Smith’s retreating form. “He’s vulgar,” she whispered.

“Mayhap, but he’s financing the trade between Scotland and the Americas. The cause needs him.” Sir Donald pushed past. “I’m going out for a bit.”

Mary followed. She’d hardly seen Sir Donald in the past sennight and had spoken to him less. In fact, she was certain he was purposely avoiding her. “To where?”

“I need some air. I think I’ll ride.”

“Oh, that sounds delightful. Can you have a horse saddled for me?”

He threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Do you not have lessons with Barbara?”

“I dearly love your sister, but we’ve been at it all day.” Mary accompanied Sir Donald out the rear entry to the stables.

All the way to the tack room, he carried his shoulders high as if he were completely vexed with her. “Miss Mary and I are riding, please saddle my horse and one for the lady.”

“Straight away sir,” said the groomsman before he disappeared into the barn.

Sir Donald pushed his hands into his gloves with a fair bit of force.

Mary crossed her arms. Truly, she had enjoyed growing to know Miss Barbara, but the longer she remained at the townhouse, the more of a burden she posed. Sir Donald grew more distant by the day. Goodness, days ago when she’d touched her lips with her fan meaning to tease him about wanting a kiss, he’d practically blanched.

“I apologize if I have become a burden to you.”

“Och, you’re no burden.”

“Is that so? I never would have guessed.”

His shoulders fell. “Forgive me. I’m afraid I’m not in good humor today.”

“You haven’t been in good humor since we arrived in Glasgow.”

“I’ve had a great many things on my mind.”

“Aye, it seems everything except me.”

He smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I did receive a missive from Sir Hugh MacIain, Colonel Hill’s son-in-law. It appears Lieutenant MacLeod has been reassigned to Fort William.”

“Not imprisoned?” In her opinion, Balfour deserved greater punishment than a reassignment.

“At least he will not bother you once you return home, which I hope will be soon.”

This time Mary’s shoulders fell. “Are you anxious to be rid of me, sir?”

Shod horses clomped through the aisleway.

Sir Donald scraped his teeth across his bottom lip, then he met her gaze with a shadow passing across his face. “Mary, I—”

“Saddled and ready for a ride, sir,” said the groomsman, handing Sir Donald the reins of a stallion.

The baronet balked at the roan mare. “You saddled Rosie for Miss Mary?”

The groom stopped short. “Miss Mary always rides him.”

“That loony filly? She’s hardly broke.”

Mary snatched the reins. “Rosie just needs a gentle touch is all.” She led the horse to the mounting block and mounted without assistance. Sir Donald didn’t even try to help—bless him. Whatever she did to lose his affections, she certainly hoped to win them back before he took her home. Perhaps showing him how well she handled the mare would do the trick.