Josette raced through brush and bracken under the trees, thorns scratching the leather breeches she’d resumed beneath her skirt.

“Hurry,” she said breathlessly.

Henri did not answer—rightly—that he was moving as fast as he could. The ground was wet and boggy, and neither of them knew these woods well. But on the other side of the trees were the cliffs they needed to reach.

Bhreac, Errol, and others had followed Will and Mr. Macdonald—but not too closely, Will had admonished them. Macdonald was sharp-eyed and had been raised to know when an enemy was near.

Josette did not like that Macdonald and Will were alone in the caves, but she’d lost the argument of having Henri or Errol, or even herself, accompany them. Macdonald would only use them as hostages, Will had said, and Josette knew he was right.

But not knowing whether Macdonald would shoot Will in his anger, or just because he chose to, made Josette frantic with fear. Macdonald had not struck her as a man with the most even of tempers.

She and Henri emerged from the woods near the path to the cove, but remained far enough back from the cliff edge that anyone looking up from the shingle below wouldn’t immediately see them.

Boats waited out of sight—or should be waiting anyway—for Josette’s signal that Will had Macdonald cornered.

She caught her breath at the top of the cliff, while Henri moved along the edge, swiftly and silently. He was to go north of the cove and signal the additional ships that were supposed to be there.

Josette waited until the lad had faded back into the trees before she hastily unfurled a scarlet flag—a bedsheet dipped in dye—and waved it hard. Drops of red that hadn’t dried spattered her cheeks and hands like blood.

She saw nothing on the sea but the caps of waves under the wind. Josette continued waving the flag, her arms aching.

Had the ships not come? Will told her he’d extracted promises from Captain Ellis and Lord Wilfort, but perhaps they’d not been able to persuade their superiors to help.

A shot rang from the cove. Josette froze, more cold droplets landing on her face.

She had to keep signaling, to bring in the men from the ships, if they existed. But who had fired the shot? Will? Macdonald? Was Will lying on the ground, bleeding, dying? Or had he killed Macdonald and now he’d be the one arrested?

No ships appeared. Josette screamed through her teeth, dropped the flag, and bolted for the path.

She lifted her skirts and scrambled downward, skirting boulders along the way. She could see nothing of Bhreac, or of the men supposed to be keeping an eye on Will. Where were they?

Josette jumped the last few feet from the path to the shingle. Her boots splashed in water—the tide was coming in. She stumbled on wet rocks as she dashed for the cave where Will had found Duncan’s knife, and ducked inside.

The outer cave was empty, but Will had showed Josette the entrance to the inner chamber. Waves lapped the sand inside the first cave, but the ground would be dry in the second.

She squeezed through the niche to the inner cave, and stopped in horror, a cry dying in her throat.

Mr. Macdonald, braced with feet apart, held a pistol at his side, acrid smoke floating from it. Will was on the ground, but not laid out. He crouched next to a shaggy body, curses streaming from his mouth.

“Ye pox-rotted son of a bitch,” Will snarled. “Why’d ye shoot my dog?”

“Because it attacked me,” Macdonald snapped back. “You are next, unless you shut up and take me to what you stole.”

Beitris lay still under Will’s hand, but Josette could not see whether the dog was bleeding, dying, or already dead. All she knew was that tears dropped from Will’s eyes, streaking his exhausted face and falling on Beitris’s fur.

Josette’s fury erupted. Macdonald, the horrible, greedy bastard, cared so little for any but himself that he’d shoot a defenseless dog. He wanted to take everything from Will’s family—their land, their lives, and their name—all because Will’s mother had refused to have anything to do with him and his brother.

In spite of her rage, Josette knew how to move in silence—Will had taught her well. She had Duncan’s sgian dubh in her hand, and was behind Macdonald before he knew it.

As Clennan sensed her and began to turn, Josette crashed the bejeweled hilt of the knife into his temple.

McDonald grunted in pain. Blood trickled from the wound Josette inflicted, but he didn’t go down. His spent pistol fell to the sand as he staggered, and then he seized Josette’s wrists in a crushing grip.

Josette kicked him. She fought and twisted, struggling to break free.

Macdonald clamped down hard, his eyes filled with rage. “Give me that knife, ye bloody bitch. What I am going to do to you …”

Will rose behind him like a dark ghost. He roared an incoherent sound, one Josette had never heard come from his throat.

It was as if all the Highlanders Clennan Macdonald had sent to their deaths, including Duncan and Angus, screamed their fury, and their need to kill.

Will landed on Macdonald’s back, one hand gripping the man’s head, his other arm braced across his shoulders. Macdonald tried to twist, to throw him off without letting go of Josette, but Will clung fast.

He’d break the man’s neck. Clennan would be dead, gone, and the British soldiers would rush in to find an outlawed Mackenzie standing over the body of a loyal Highlander. They’d lead Will off in chains, and end his life.

That could never happen. Josette refused to live in the darkness Will’s passing would create.

Will was not the only one with ancestors who’d fought savagely. Josette came from a long line of men and women who’d had to battle to survive, in a country so many throughout the ages had tried to possess.

The cries of her ancestors streamed from her mouth as she wrested her hands free and battered Macdonald’s face with the very sturdy hilt of Duncan’s knife. Macdonald tried to seize her again, at the same time struggling to be free of Will, who transferred his grip to Macdonald’s throat, squeezing hard.

Macdonald gasped for breath, clawing at Will as his legs buckled. Will continued to squeeze, and Josette crashed the jewel-encrusted hilt between Macdonald’s wide eyes.

Macdonald fell more or less on Josette, who jumped backward, yanking her skirts out of the way as he crashed to the ground. Macdonald thudded forward on his face and lay still, blood seeping to the sand.

Josette didn’t bother finding out whether he lived. She raced past Will and fell to her knees beside the unmoving dog.

She gathered Beitris to her, cradling her as Will sank beside them. Josette saw no blood on the dog’s fur, but she ran her hands over Beitris’s body, searching for broken bones. Will bowed his head, his cheeks wet with tears, and rested his large hand on Beitris’s side.

The dog blinked open her eyes, swiveled them to pin Josette with a welcoming gaze, and thumped her tail. She betrayed no hurt or worry as she heaved herself onto her belly and thrust her nose into Josette’s hand.

“Will!” Josette cried with gladness. “She’s alive. She’s all right.”

Will rubbed his face with the heel of his hand, smearing dirt, blood, and tears across his skin. He took in the dog who shoved her head under Josette’s arm, then he turned on Josette.

“And what the devil are you doing here?” Will demanded, voice like broken gravel. “You’re supposed to be waiting at the top with your flag.” His eyes widened as he took in the scarlet spatters on her face and gown, but she shook her head.

“This isn’t blood. I heard the shot. I feared …”

“Aye, the great bloody dog followed us, and tried to attack Macdonald. He fired at her, and she yelped and fell. I thought …” Will dragged in a shuddering breath. “I thought he’d killed her.”

Beitris climbed stiffly to her feet and then shook herself. Droplets of blood flew, scattered by her tail, which she continued to wag. Josette gently caught the tail in her hand.

“The bullet grazed her. See?” She showed Will the tip of Beitris’s tail, which was stained red. “Poor thing.”

Beitris jerked her tail from Josette and put her paws on Will’s shoulders, giving him a grin before she began to thoroughly lick his face.

“Daft beastie,” he managed as he climbed to his feet. “Ruining my plans and all. And you—” Will hauled Josette up to him, his eyes flashing golden anger. “Running in here alone. The man had a gun, knives. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of saving you,” Josette returned. “I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“Aye, she gave him a right tap,” came the admiring tones of Bhreac. He stood just inside the cave behind Errol and Captain Ellis, who strode to bend over Macdonald’s unmoving form. “About time too. I was tired of listening to him yap.”

“Please tell me you heard everything he said.” Will addressed Captain Ellis. “I doubt he’d confess to you, even under torture.”

“I did,” Ellis answered quietly. “That he purloined a treasure sent by the King of France and kept it for himself, and sells secrets to Cumberland when it suits him. That he sells British secrets to the French when that suits him instead. I will make certain my testimony is heard and noted.”

“If any listen to it,” Bhreac said skeptically.

“They’ll listen to a hero of the Jacobite war,” Will assured him. “And to Lord Wilfort. As long as Wilfort diverted those ships here, I’m happy. Or else, I’ll just shoot Macdonald right now.”

Shouts sounded without, and Josette heard boots on rock, then the clink of swords. The men from the boats—they’d come.

Errol and Bhreac shoved Macdonald through to the outer cave, which was fast filling with water. Perhaps that was why the ships had remained out of sight, Josette thought dimly as she slid out after them. They were waiting for the tide to rise, easier for them to land.

Macdonald began to wake when his boots hit the cold water. Beitris galloped past to play in the waves, as Macdonald opened his eyes.

Josette enjoyed the look on Macdonald’s face as he beheld the cool, tight countenance of the Earl of Wilfort and the stern one of Captain Ellis of the British cavalry.

“Clennan Macdonald,” Lord Wilfort said in his quiet voice. “I arrest you in the king’s name for treason, for spying, and for other crimes against the crown. You’ll be taken to London, where you can expect a trial. I will tell you now that a confession will bring an easier death than denial.”

Macdonald threw his head back, but he stumbled, still dizzy from Josette’s blows and Will’s chokehold. “I a traitor? The traitor is there.” He gestured at Will as well as he could with Bhreac and Errol holding him, and swayed again. “I give you Lord William Mackenzie, who took up arms against the king and never contradicted the lists that showed him as dead. But maybe you don’t care about that, Wilfort, because you let your own daughter marry his brother. Maybe you are the traitor, my lord.”

Wilfort regarded him with cool blue eyes. “You admitted treasonous activities and deliberate interference with British army campaigns before witnesses, who are of good character and willing to testify.”

“Tricks and lies,” Macdonald ground out. “Will Mackenzie’s a damned trickster—everyone knows it.”

“You’ll be able to put your case in court,” Wilfort said. Josette didn’t know what was more chilling, the red-coated marines flanking Mr. Macdonald, murder in their eyes, or Wilfort’s calm assurance that justice would be done. She reminded herself never to make an enemy of Lord Wilfort.

Wilfort nodded at the soldiers to take Macdonald.

“One moment.” Will calmly faced Macdonald, then balled his great fist and slammed it into the man’s face. “That is for my mum.” Another slam. “And this for my lady.” He stepped close to Macdonald, an inch of space between them, Macdonald bleeding profusely from nose, lips, and temple. “I’d rather kill you, you bastard,” Will said, voice low and vicious. “But I’ll sacrifice that joy for my lady’s sake. And for my family, and my home.”

Josette saw the flicker of fear in Macdonald’s eyes as he realized he’d underestimated Will and what he was capable of.

Then Errol and Bhreac relinquished Macdonald to the marines. The men half dragged, half shoved him toward a boat, which pushed off as soon as they were over the gunwale. Captain Ellis helped push then climbed quickly aboard, as though not wanting Macdonald out of his sight.

Will had turned to Lord Wilfort and was speaking to him quietly. Josette caught the last of Will’s words as she approached.

“Just so you keep your part of the promise.”

Wilfort looked offended. “I gave you my word, remember? All will be done.”

Will nodded. “Good.” He offered his hand. “I’m pleased to call you friend, Wilfort, even if you’re an English aristocrat toady to the king.”

“And you,” Wilfort answered. “Though you are a barbarian Scot.”

Will thumped the man on the shoulder. “Come to the house with us—whisky all around.” Will shouted the last. “There’s much to celebrate.”

“Aye, and soon.” Bhreac shook out a booted foot. “Me feet are getting wet.”

Wilfort cleared his throat, a dry sound. “A moment, Mackenzie. What about the French gold? Where have you stashed it?”

Will burst out laughing. He lifted his face to the rain, mirth and joy erasing fatigue and sorrow. “It’s not here. I didn’t lie to Macdonald. It’s gone. Long gone, I wager.”

Josette regarded him in confusion. “You knew it was gone? Then what were you going to show Mr. Macdonald?

“Not a thing, love.” Will smiled down at her, eyes golden and warm like Mackenzie malt. “That money is truly gone—who knows where? These are smugglers’ caves, and they’re still used, if the supplies left are anything to go by. Do ye think those men wouldn’t go over every inch of the place when they came to ground?” Will brushed hair from his eyes as the wind picked up. “I imagine they couldn’t believe their luck when they found an entire treasure of Louis d’or waiting for them. They’d have snatched it up and run off with it to the Continent to live the good life in a trice. Poor Macdonald. His home is nowhere near the coast, and he has no idea what desperate men will do to survive. He’s never been desperate enough himself. Until now, that is.”

Will gazed after the boat that was hauling Macdonald away, but when he looked at Josette, his smile was light. He’d finished with Macdonald, and it wasn’t his way to continually savor his revenge. He’d put it behind him, and face the next thing.

“Shall we, love?” Will asked, and gestured her toward the path.

Josette rose on wet tiptoes to answer without words. Then she took his hand, and led him home.

When they reached the distillery, a figure broke from a group of women in the courtyard and raced for Josette, slamming into her and nearly knocking her over with a wild embrace.

Will kept mother and daughter on their feet as they hugged, then joined in the greetings with exuberance.

Glenna, it seemed, had traveled to Kilmorgan with the other ladies, who’d all disobeyed the order to remain at Strathy Castle. They’d been looked after on the journey by the tall Naughton. The ladies talked all at once, asking about the gold, about Macdonald, Sir Harmon, Bhreac, Henri, Josette.

Josette, taking over, got them all sorted, inside, warm, dry, and sitting with coffee or whisky—she firmly took a glass of Mackenzie malt from Glenna’s hands and passed it to Will.

Questions were shouted, explanations demanded. Will told them all how he’d positioned Captain Ellis, Bhreac, and Errol, in the second of the small caves, where Macdonald’s words had echoed to them.

The ships had arrived courtesy of the navy and Lord Wilfort, some of the same ships Bhreac had seen floating around Loch Broom weeks ago. The fleet captain had agreed to stay out of sight while Will lured Macdonald to the cave and got him to talk. Not difficult, Will said, as the man loved to boast about his cleverness. Josette and Henri had waved their signal flags once Will had Macdonald in the caves, and boats had slid from the ships and put in for shore.

Will spoke glibly, as though nothing had been difficult. However, he didn’t like to think about how close he’d come to have his plans thwarted. How Captain Ellis had arrived very soon after Ewan’s announcement that Macdonald was on his way, narrowly missing being seen by Macdonald himself. How Ellis told them Lord Wilfort should be coming by ship, but he wasn’t certain that Wilfort had convinced his naval contacts in time that they were needed.

Will could only be relieved that it was done, and that the men, including Naughton and Henri, happily imbibed whisky, and the ladies rested, eyes shining with excitement. That Beitris, doctored by Josette and Glenna, would be right as rain.

As the celebration continued, Naughton beckoned Will into the still room and handed him a tightly rolled tube of oilcloth. “Thought you’d be wanting this. Or Mrs. Oswald would.”

Will unrolled the cloth until he beheld a young Josette on a painted canvas, her head turned, dark hair flowing down her back. He quickly rolled it up again.

“Thank you, Naughton,” he said in true gratitude. “She’ll be delighted to have it back.”

“I brought the other paintings Macdonald stole from Kilmorgan too,” Naughton went on. “Thought I should retrieve them before the king’s men take apart his house.”

Will laughed. “You’re a good man, Naughton. Thank you for conveying the ladies here safely.”

Naughton rubbed his red hair with a long-fingered hand. “When I stopped at Strathy to check on them, as you asked, they insisted they come, most adamantly. ’Twas I who needed safe passage.”

Will laughed again and handed the man another glass of whisky.

The revelry wound higher, laughter filling the house.

Back in the main hall, where dancing had commenced, Lillias approached Will in some trepidation to apologize for sending Bhreac to see what Will was up to, but she made it clear she’d done so for the best reasons—in her opinion. “I feared ye’d take what ye found and leave us. I know you too well.”

Will gave her a stern look. “Not well enough, if you thought I’d desert lassies who were counting on me. Josette wouldn’t have let me, even if I’d think of it.”

“I know.” Lillias flushed, ashamed. “I’ve been grieved, and afeared, for a long while. I’m not one to hide while others go out to fight.”

Will laid a hand on her shoulder. “I am so very sorry for your husband, Lillias. Sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Not your fault, I know.” Lillias shook her head. “It was the bastard English who killed him. I’m finished with the Highlands, Will. Bhreac is taking me to Amsterdam. Not with the gold you gave us—I’m leaving that for the others. But I’ll prepare the way for them to come. They’ll be helped?”

Will nodded. “I have the word of a very powerful and honest man that they’ll be reunited with their men and in safety as soon as they can be.”

Lillias took Will’s hand, squeezing it hard as tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Will Mackenzie.”

“There now.” Will pulled her into a quick embrace. “You lift a glass to your husband, who’d be glad to know you are well.”

Lillias pushed away, wiped her eyes, and left him with a sad smile. Bhreac fell into step with her, the two walking close together.

She would grieve, Will knew, but Bhreac would take care of her. The two might be journeying to the Continent as traveling companions for now, but Will guessed that within a year or so, they’d be much more to each other than that.

In the great hall, fiddlers and drummers began to play, and dancers joined hands. They’d celebrate far into the night—men and women who’d lost everything finding joy wherever they could.

Henri fell easily in with the circle, dancing Scottish dances with skill. Will, watching him, looked forward to reuniting him with his Scottish family. Wilfort would make it possible, Will knew, and Will would have the pleasure of seeing Henri’s grief and anger flee.

The merrymaking continued, but as the others ate, drank, laughed, and danced, Will steered Josette upstairs. Glenna had already gone to bed in a chamber she’d share with Mysie, though she insisted she wasn’t tired—Josette had taken her up when she’d found the girl slumped on a bench, fast asleep.

Josette’s bedchamber was cool, empty, and relatively silent. Will shut the door against the noise downstairs, and put himself in front of Josette.

“I never thanked ye properly for helping me bring down Macdonald,” he said. “Let me do that now, lass.”