One month and seven days since the dragoons stormed into his home and slapped manacles around his wrists for this farcical charade, Don’s days had grown empty after William had paid a visit and told him Sir John had taken Mary back to Castleton. For the past sennights, he’d missed her with every fiber of his being. The only things he ever looked forward to were Mary’s visits. After she left, the days droned on, as dreary as watching a snail climb a tree.

But her father was right. She needed to go home—to be as far away from Glasgow as possible and save what remained of her reputation.

Don looked up expectantly when Mr. Oliphant stepped into the antechamber where he awaited his trial. A hollow void expanded in Don’s chest. “What news from Fort William?”

The old advocate shook his head, the grey wig jostling. “Still nothing, but the magistrate insists on proceeding.” He patted Don’s shoulder. “Have faith. I think we have enough to prove your innocence.”

“Think?” Every muscle in Don’s body tensed. “I am innocent. ’Tis my word against a fork-tongued whoreson who received punishment for his abduction of Mary of Castleton.”

The bailiff pushed through the door. “’Tis time.”

As he stood, Don closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. The only way to weather this farcical trial and prove his innocence was to project an image of calm. If he acted on his instincts and wrapped the chain between his manacles around the bailiff’s neck and choked the life out of him, it would considerably reduce his chances of freedom. Oh no, this was no time to forget his breeding. He was born the heir to a baronetcy and he would ensure he behaved in a manner commensurate with his station.

Low murmurs filled the maple-paneled courtroom when they entered, the bailiff leading Don to the prisoner’s platform. To add to his humiliation, like a commoner he would be forced to stand in his manacles through the duration of the trial. A smirk came from his right. Out of the corner of his eye, Don regarded the sniveling maggot—the lowlife he wanted to strangle. Balfour was a dirty liar. Don didn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of a look, but he swore on his father’s grave if justice didn’t prevail this day, Balfour MacLeod would meet his end screaming. Don just hoped to God he would be there when the dirk slid into the whoreson’s gut and slowly twisted.

The gallery of the courthouse was filled with commoners. How eager everyone seemed to watch the demise of one of Scotland’s gentry. Don scanned their faces and saw not a sympathetic visage.

Once the magistrate had entered and took his seat at the board, he motioned for the bailiff to open a scroll. “Sir Donald MacDonald of Sleat, you have been accused of the attempted murder of one of the King’s Army officers, Lieutenant Balfour MacLeod. And furthermore, the same lieutenant accuses you of arson which occurred on the first of August in the year of our Lord sixteen ninety-five.”

The gallery erupted with rumbles of dissension.

“I am innocent,” Don boomed loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

The magistrate hammered his gavel. “Silence.”

Mr. Oliphant then proceeded to call the festering-pustule of a lieutenant to give testimony.

Don stood silently on his platform, clenching his fists as his wrists strained against his manacles. How the lieutenant could stand across from him and spew untruths sent Don’s mind into a frenzy. Strangling was too easy a death for the maggot. Balfour spouted lies about how Don had accosted him in the alley, about how he’d seen Don set fire to the warehouse and to his own sea galley so he could collect on fire insurance marks.

Thank God Oliphant paused the litany of lies and turned to the baronet. “Sir Donald, did you take out fire insurance marks for your galley?”

A tic twitched in his jaw. “No, sir, I did not.”

The advocate stroked his chin and returned his attention to the lieutenant. “Why would the Baronet of Sleat set fire to his property when he had no insurance marks placed against it?”

“You’d have to ask him, sir,” said the lackwit.

Then MacLeod gave a similar response when questioned about the trail of blood on the floor leading down the servant’s stairwell. “How on earth would I know how blood ended up in the baronet’s servant’s stairwell?”

The advocate sniffed. “But you alleged he stabbed you in the arm.”

“In the close behind the stables,” MacLeod lied.

“Hmm.” Oliphant tapped his fingers together. “And why were you lurking behind the baronet’s stables?”

“I was trying to gain an audience with Mary of Castleton.”

“And what is your relationship with Miss Mary?”

“I…” He turned red as an apple.

“Haven’t you, in fact, pursued the lady without her consent?”

“No, I have not.”

“I have her testimony which purports the contrary.” Mr. Oliphant handed a sheet of parchment to the magistrate, then turned for all the court to hear and relayed Mary’s statement, as it was recorded and witnessed by the court clerk.

Oliphant then focused on MacLeod. “You, in fact, did take Miss Mary from her home in Castleton without her consent and with intent to force her into marriage, again without the lady’s consent.”

“I—”

The advocate held up his finger. “Do not deny the truth in this court, sir. You are infatuated with Mary of Castleton and abducted her from her home on the eighteenth of June, the year of our Lord sixteen ninety-five.” He held up a missive. “I have in my hand a missive from Sir Hugh MacIain of Glencoe informing Sir Donald that Colonel Hill of Fort William locked the plaintiff in the stocks for a fortnight in punishment for said abduction. What say you, lieutenant? Were the stocks not enough to dissuade your lustful urges?”

“MacIain lies.” Balfour scowled. “I should have dirked him in the Coe when I had the chance”

As the advocate continued, Don’s confidence grew while MacLeod’s face faded from red to pale.

After the lieutenant, William gave his testimony. Though Balfour had fled before William arrived in Mary’s room that night, he had seen the blood, as well as Mary’s injury. To Don’s surprise, Oliphant called a chimney sweep to the stand who testified he’d sold his all-black costume to MacLeod for a bob the same day as the fire.

“Why did you need a chimney sweep’s clothing?” the advocate again pointed to the plaintiff.

“Ah…” MacLeod’s eyes shifted across the courtroom while a bead of sweat streaked from his brow. “So I wouldn’t be seen whilst I was watching Miss Mary.”

Oliphant leaned forward like a hawk on its perch. “So you admit to stalking the Castleton maid?”

“I love her.”

Don cracked his knuckles, relishing what it would feel like to have that sniveling swine’s neck in his grasp.

Love? The beast is obsessed. He knows nothing of love. And if he ever dares to place a finger on Miss Mary, it will be his last act on this earth.

Next, the advocate made a bold move and called the Duke of Gordon forward. If he won the trial, Don would ensure Oliphant received an additional quarter for his intestinal fortitude.

“Your Grace, can you testify that the Baronet of Sleat was attending a ball at your manse on the eve of the first of August?”

The duke arched an aristocratic eyebrow. “Indeed, I can. In fact, I spoke to Sir Donald only moments before my gala was interrupted with the announcement of the fire on the waterfront.”

MacLeod sprang to his feet. “He is a Jacobite and a liar!”

“Sit down, lieutenant,” said the magistrate, pounding his gavel. “How dare you speak ill of a peer of the realm? Your accusations are wearing thin and tolerance for your outbursts even thinner. I suggest you apologize to His Grace before he leaves this courtroom.”

The lieutenant glowered at Donald as he resumed his seat.

Ignoring the flea-bitten boar, Don offered a subtle nod of thanks to the duke.

The door at the back of the courtroom burst open. “My lord,” said a corporal, marching forward. “Forgive my tardiness. We were delayed en route from Fort William by a band of highwaymen who were looking for this.” He held up a missive and placed it before the magistrate. “They caught us at a bend, demanding we hand over the mail. Fortunately, we were able to overpower the varlets.”

Rumbles escalated from the crowd.

“Silence.” The magistrate rapped his gavel. “I hope you brought the outlaws in. It will be my pleasure to oversee their trial.”

“Aye, the survivors are in manacles and my sentinel is escorting them to a cell as we speak.” The corporal pointed to the missive. “They admitted to being in Lieutenant MacLeod’s regiment, m’lord.”

“Good work, soldier,” the magistrate said, glaring at MacLeod whilst he reached for the missive.

Don held his breath, watching the man ran his thumb under the red wax seal and read the contents.

“Mr. Oliphant.” The justice placed the missive on the bar. “This corroborates MacIain’s letter stating the lieutenant received punishment for kidnapping Miss Mary of Castleton. And combined with the evidence you have presented, I have no reason to believe any of Mr. MacLeod’s testimony to be truthful.”

Balfour’s chair clattered over as he sprinted for the door.

“Seize him!” bellowed the magistrate. He hammered his gavel on the board. “This trial has been a sham. Sir Donald, you are free to go on one condition.”

“What is that, sir?”

“You promise to avoid any and all activities organized by Jacobite supporters.”

“Very well,” he said, making eye contact with the Duke of Gordon and being very careful not to pledge an oath.

With one last thwack of his gavel, the magistrate pardoned him. The bailiff removed Don’s manacles and in turn, slapped them on Balfour. Guards then ushered the lieutenant to the Tolbooth as he shouted curses about all Highlanders being Jacobites.

The Duke of Gordon shook Don’s hand. “Isn’t MacLeod a bloody Highlander?”

“Aye, he is.”

“Well then, he must be one of the Jacobites of whom he is so vehemently shouting about.”

“Indeed, he must.”

Mr. Smith hastened toward them. “Sir Donald, congratulations on proving your innocence.” He bowed deeply. “I am in grave need of your services. How soon can you have packing salt aboard my ship?”

William stepped beside them. “This very day.” He grinned at Don. “Sir Coll and Sir Kennan arrived with a new shipment last eve.”

“You never fail me, brother.” Don clapped his brother on the back. “I’ll enjoy sharing a tot you all.”

William shook his head. “Unfortunately, they’ve gone. Sir Coll received word of a MacIntosh raid on his lands at Glen Spean.”

“Dear God. Will we ever have peace?”

“I fear there are many battles left to fight before we see it.” The duke cleared his throat. “This morn I dispatched my regiment to provide assistance to Coll of Keppoch. The young chieftain has always been a loyal ally to the Gordons.”

Don bowed his head. “My thanks. I shall send troops at once.”

“Only if this skirmish is not quickly resolved.” The duke nudged Don with his elbow. “You are doing us a great service here in Glasgow.”

“Aye, but I owe Sir Coll a debt of gratitude—Sir Kennan as well.”

“I’m certain there will be many opportunities to express it. I’m leaving for Huntly on the morrow. I do hope to see you at the gathering next spring.”

“You will. I wouldn’t miss such an assembly of fine Highlanders for the world.”

***

The voyage home took forever as Mary’s father anchored the galley at every allied seaside castle along the way, introducing Mary as his eldest daughter for whom he was seeking a husband. She could have murdered him.

Finally walking through Dunscaith Castle’s sea gate, Mary felt as hollow as a soap bubble.

“Welcome home, Miss Mary,” piped Narin, holding the gate open. “We’ve missed you ever so much.”

Gulping back her melancholy, Mary grasped his hands in greeting and smiled. “’Tis always good to see your face.” She meant it, too. Seeing Narin reminded her of how comfortable and familiar home could be. And when she strode through the archway, it seemed the entire clan had gathered to welcome her with Rabbie, Florence and Lilas waving at the top of the path.

Regardless of her woes, it warmed Mary’s insides to see so many happy faces. Dashing ahead, she opened her arms and welcomed her siblings into her embrace. “I have missed you three.” She didn’t realize how much until wrapped in a family hug.

“You simply must tell us everything,” said Florence.

“Did you shoot any redcoats?” asked Rabbie.

“I want to hear about the Baronet of Sleat. Word came he rescued you from that vile lieutenant.” Lilas drew the back of her hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon. “How utterly romantic.”

“Aye,” agreed Florence. “And the baronet is such a braw Highlander.”

The two lasses looped their elbows through Mary’s and led her into the keep with Rabbie trailing behind.

Once inside the keep, Mrs. Watt stood wringing her hands. “Welcome home, Miss Mary.” The words came out as if sweetened with honey, but the woman’s eyes regarded Mary like those of a moray eel.

Mary curtseyed. “Thank you.” Then she hastened to the stairwell with her sisters.

“Mrs. Watt has been playing at being lady of the keep in your absence,” whispered Lilas.

“Wheesht.” Mary glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the stairwell. “Wait until we’re above stairs.”

“Da really cares for her,” Florence whispered.

“Eew, you’re disgusting.” Lilas pushed ahead.

Florence gave her sister a shove. “But she’s trying to be friendly.”

“Aye…too friendly if you ask me.”

The lasses giggled all the way up to the fourth floor landing—Rabbie evidently had been distracted because he hadn’t followed. Just as well. Florence and Lilas proved enough to make Mary’s head spin. Together they sat in front of Mary’s hearth and yammered about everything that had happened in the past few months.

Of course, they insisted Mary relay the details of her adventure, which she did, leaving out all the romantic parts about Sir Donald. If father caught wind that the baronet had taken certain liberties, who knew what he’d do? Goodness, on the voyage to Skye when he wasn’t talking about finding her a husband, he’d threatened to confront Sir Donald and demand to know if anything untoward had occurred…and if it had, he would demand to negotiate terms for a betrothal.

Deep down Mary prayed a demand wouldn’t be necessary, but that a betrothal would, indeed, be negotiated. Though she dared not hope for herself. She focused all hope on Mr. Oliphant proving Sir Donald’s innocence.

But still, the further they sailed away from Glasgow, Da’s ramblings had Mary’s insides twisted so tight she wanted to scream. How could her father ramble on about Sir Donald when he was being held in the Tolbooth for crimes for which he’d been falsely accused? All Da seemed to care about was Mary’s virtue and reputation, and her waning prospects for a formidable marriage.

Lord, she was only one and twenty.

She couldn’t bring herself to tell Da that Sir Donald had asked her to marry him. Not now. Not with his very life in peril. What if the baronet decided to renege? Goodness, such an admission on her part could start a feud between their clans.

Listening to Lilas and Florence prattle about their petty problems and ask her endless questions about the baronet only served to increase Mary’s unease.

“You attended a ball?” Lilas asked, her eyes round as shillings.

Smoothing her skirts, Mary tried to feign excitement. “Aye. ’Twas nearly the most fantastical part of my adventure.”

Florence fanned her face with her hands—as if she’d taken lessons on being flippant from Lilas. “I want every detail.”

“Very well, but then that will be all. It took sennights to sail home and I’m ever so tired.”

They eagerly agreed and Mary told them about Barbara and her exquisite gowns and fan language. Then she was careful to stress how much dancing she did with Sir Kennan so no one would suspect the depth of her affection for Sir Donald—Don—the man who could take her to the moon and send her back floating on the air like a feather.

Her voice was dry and sore by the time she’d finished, but after, Florence and Lilas left her alone as she’d asked. Rubbing her outer arms, the hollow feeling in her chest returned. While she’d sailed north, Mary’s thoughts of how she could be reunited with Don consumed her mind. If only they could have stayed for the trial.

And there he sat, alone and suffering in that blasted Tolbooth.

Of course, it was completely improper for her to write to him, but she could pen a letter to Barbara.

Mary fetched her quill, ink well and a slip of parchment.

9th September, the year of our Lord 1695

Dear Miss Barbara,

I must apologize for leaving Glasgow so abruptly. It was quite a surprise to see my father. He hadn’t traveled since the wars.

I must also enquire as to Sir Donald’s hearing. Please do send word about the outcome as soon as possible. It would have been best if I’d been on hand to give my testament to the baronet’s innocence. I only pray that justice will prevail. I, indeed, need to thank him and you for your kind hospitality, if you could please convey my sincere gratitude.

Though it is good to be home at Dunscaith Castle among my brother and sisters, I do miss you terribly. And how are you faring? Have Sir Coll and Sir Kennan returned with the new shipment?

Of course, I cannot forget how much you wanted to visit Castleton. Please know you are always welcome. I do hope you and your brothers can pay us a visit before winter sets in. Wouldn’t it be a boon for our families to spend Yule together?

Do write soon.

Your dear friend,

Mary of Castleton

She sanded the parchment and re-read it to ensure she hadn’t made any unladylike mistakes. Holding a red wax wafer to the candle, she sealed it closed with her brass seal bearing the family crest. She’d been very careful not to mention anything to indicate she and Donald had been lovers. A missive could always fall into unwanted hands and be read and resealed. Hopefully she’d shown enough concern without being blatantly obvious that she was desperately in love with Sir Donald MacDonald of Sleat.