Mary huddled in the rear of the galley with her mouth still gagged, her ankles and wrists bound. She refused to meet Balfour MacLeod’s leery-eyed stare. Every time he’d caught her gaze, he’d grinned like he was flirting. Of all the twisted, nonsensical villains, this man had to be the worst. Not that she’d met many horrid people, but her father had told her numerous tales of the wars and the vile men who took up arms and turned evil.

What a predicament. The filthy redcoats had stolen Sir Donald’s galley and kidnapped her. Thank God they hadn’t taken Lilas or Florence. At least Mary could hold her own—especially with a musket in her hands. She eyed the cache of weapons in the bow, far out of her reach. Her fingers itched to snatch one.

And by the saints, she would escape at her very first opportunity. Balfour MacLeod thought he could bully her? Well, he would rue the day he forced her to board this galley. Either that or she would die trying to flee.

From his position at the bow, he continued to stare at her. Blast him. She had no intention of playing his games. Keeping her gaze focused on the timbers of the hull, she feigned ignorance. But make no bones about it; Mary could sense his every move in the periphery of her vision.

When he climbed over the rowing benches and headed toward her, her every muscle tensed. If I had use of my hands I’d slap him and bear the consequences.

His feet stopped in front of her. Big, fat, ugly black boots. She hated the uniform. It reminded her of everything wrong with the Government. The King’s men continually attacked the Highlands with fire and sword. Their motive? To root out the Highland way of life. Didn’t they know the clans would rather die than live like Londoners? Why did the redcoats have to march north to Scotland and enforce their will? Why couldn’t her kin be allowed to live in peace among their clans as God intended?

The cur chuckled. “Miss Mary of Castleton, I daresay you look like a miserable rat.”

Spittle seethed through her teeth. If he would remove her gag, she’d tell him who the rat was.

Then the swine had the gall to sit beside her. His hip touched Mary’s hip, his arm pushed flush against hers. She tried to scoot away, but the hull and the bindings tying her legs to the bench would allow but a fraction of an inch.

“I suppose I’d be rather upset as well, given the circumstances.” He ignored her discomfort and feigned friendliness. “But you must believe me when I say I mean you no harm.”

Snapping her head around, Mary regarded the pompous braggart. The corners of his mouth seemed to always be turned up in a sneering grin, as if now that he’d attained the rank of lieutenant he thought he was lord of the land. Priggishness flickered in his grey eyes. Set too close together for his round face, his eyes were the most unpleasant part of his visage—aside from a nose that curved to the right as if it had been broken. Surely it had. If Mary had use of her fists, she just might attempt to break it again.

When he reached up his hands, she shied, fearing he would deliver a slap, but he untied her gag. “Apologies for the muzzle. We couldn’t risk being seen. The odds were too great that there would have been retaliation from the castle.”

“Too right.” Mary rubbed her jaw, clicking her tongue to moisten her arid mouth. “You never would have left Dunscaith Castle alive.”

“You see?” He patted her thigh—touched her as if he had the right to be so shamelessly familiar. “A man tries to enforce the law and the cavalier Highlanders want to open fire.” He tsked his tongue.

Mary squeezed her legs together and shoved her knees flush against the hull. “Pardon me? You stole the Baronet of Sleat’s galley.”

“Stole? Your father allowed there to be more than two eighteen-oar galleys in the bay—not to mention the plethora of smaller boats. The law clearly states that Highlanders who are suspected of aligning themselves with the Jacobite cause are threats to the crown, especially with a gathering of so many large vessels in one place.”

If only she could slap that smug grin off his face. “I cannot believe you support such farcical laws. Do you not see ’tis just another ploy to take the livelihoods away from Highlanders and reward the English?”

“And you are naïve,” he snapped. “But I would expect no less from a woman who has lived in an archaic castle on a remote peninsula all her life.”

“Truly?” Clenching her fists, Mary stole a glance at the muskets—any one of them would do. “So a sheltered lass cannot develop common sense?”

“I didn’t say that. But you cannot deny you’ve been shielded from the world—you’ve never been away from the Highlands. You have only been exposed to one side of the argument.”

What was the problem with that? Mary had seen and heard plenty of the Government’s rules. Almost their every action in Scotland demonstrated they had no care for the Highland way of life. “So you say your thievery is acting in line with your king—”

“Our king,” he corrected.

Mary huffed—she wasn’t about to bend to the lieutenant’s will. “Your king’s edicts.” She held up her bound wrists. “What about abduction? I did not willfully set sail with you, nor did I do anything to warrant this barbaric treatment of my person.”

“Finding you and your cart was a wee surprise but, I have to say, a fortuitous one.” He threw his head back and laughed. The man had to be completely mad.

“To what on earth are you referring?” Mary squared her shoulders and raised her chin. This man wouldn’t belittle her. “I demand you return me to Dunscaith Castle immediately. You have taken me against my will and I will file charges with the magistrate if you do not take me home at once.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” His gaze drifted to her lips, then lower. The lecherous blackguard. “What chance did I have with so many Highland chieftains mulling about—men like the baronet and Coll of Keppoch? And don’t think I was unaware of your father’s plans to make a match.”

Her jaw dropped. “You intended to kidnap me all along?”

“Not exactly.” He rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin. “But I see my good fortune as destiny. You fell right into my hands.”

“Pardon me?”

He gazed at her with far too much intensity in his beady eyes. “Do you not know? I have loved you since the very first moment when I set eyes on you but two years past.”

Mary snorted and laughed out loud. The first time they’d met, he’d come to tell them he was the new law on the peninsula. Lorded it over her father like he was a stuffed-shirt general.

Balfour’s face fell. The man actually looked crushed.

Mary felt absolutely no sympathy—not one thread. “You have a queer way of demonstrating your affections, lieutenant.”

“Possibly, but I would prefer it if you saw my side for a change.” He grasped her bound hands between his ice cold palms. “I know we would make a splendid match—me an officer and you the daughter of a laird. All of Skye would be astounded. Why, it would be a step toward harmony between the Government and the Highlanders.”

She jerked her hands free. This man had completely lost his mind. He stole Sir Donald’s galley. He supported policies meant to break Highland clan and kin. The worst thing? Mary could not hold her tongue. “You were in Glencoe. You were part of the massacre. You opened fire on innocent men, women and children.”

He frowned, his face growing tempest grey. “I was ordered to do so.”

“Do you think for a moment that an order as heinous as the one given by Glenlyon was in any way acceptable?” She again threw her shoulders back. “What? When you joined the army did they ask you to leave your ability to reason in your powder flask?”

He groaned and looked away. “Och, Mary. There are things in this world you cannot understand. A soldier must act on orders when given. There is no questioning. There is no refusing, else it is an act of treason.”

“Even when committing murder against your own countrymen?”

He jerked up his palm while anger flashed through his grey eyes.

Mary flinched.

Clenching his fist, he lowered it to his side. “I see we have some differences. But I refuse to let that dissuade me. By the time we reach Invergarry, you will discover exactly what a suitable husband I will make.”

She swallowed. Hard. I sincerely doubt that. I’d rather die than marry this bombastic, sniveling blowfly. “Invergarry?” Now she knew the lieutenant had to be insane.

“My family lands. Once we deliver the ship to the fort at Glenelg, I’ll take you to meet my mother. She will adore you.”

***

Cresting the hill, the wooden fort at Teangue came in to view. Don had brought the toughest men in the Highlands with him—Coll of Keppoch and Kennan Cameron of Locheil. Both men were solid as a horse’s hindquarter. Kennan was especially talented with pistols and Coll, well, even Don wouldn’t want to meet him in a narrow close after dark.

“Dammit. Your boat’s not there,” Coll grumbled.

Kennan pulled his horse to a stop behind Don. “Bloody hell, I kent we should have taken a galley.”

“So now you’re all the wiser?” Don patted the neck of the old garron gelding beneath him. True, it was his decision to ride rather than sail, but he wasn’t yet convinced he’d erred. “Well, we’ve no recourse but to ride down and ask a few questions.”

Coll leaned forward, resting his arm on the saddle’s pommel. “You’re serious?”

Spreading his palms, Don looked from one Highlander to the other. “You have a better idea?”

The big man shook his head. So did Kennan.

He’d rather go in with muskets in hand and swords at the ready, but the odds were a bit steep. Besides, if he laid low and played by the Government’s rules, they just might be civil. The stakes were too high to throw caution to the wind. Prickles fired across Don’s skin. Riding into a camp of redcoats always bore a risk.

He again glanced between the two men. “Keep your hands where they can see them.”

“Aye,” said Kennan. “I’ll hold them in front of the pistol in me belt.”

Coll sniggered. “I reckon we can take out half the camp afore they ken what hit.”

“I’d like nothing more.” Don jabbed his finger in the overzealous chieftain’s shoulder. “But if we don’t try to parley, we may never discover what they’ve done with my boat.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the hill, a dozen dragoons stood in front of the gate, muskets raised to their shoulders.

“Such a welcome for the man who is lord of these lands,” Coll growled under his breath, gesturing to Don.

“Aye,” He had to agree. “The troops in Glasgow are far more subtle. Though I think I like this tack better. At least a man kens where he stands.”

They pulled their horses to a halt not twenty paces from the black-holed barrels pointing their way. Dropping his reins, Don raised his palms. “You aim to shoot us afore we’ve had our say?”

An officer in a grenadier hat lowered his weapon and scowled. “You’d best state your business quickly, else we’ll shoot you for suspicion of attack.”

“Why is that?” Indeed they all had their hands visible as he’d instructed. “We’ve come peacefully, our weapons sheathed.”

The officer stood his ground. “I ken who you are—the Baronet of Sleat.”

Don chuckled, exchanging glances with Coll. “I had no idea I instilled this much fear into the hearts of dragoons.” He gnashed his teeth together. Aye, he had a lot more to say, but such derogatory remarks wouldn’t help him find his galley. Smoothing the reins through his fingers, Don looked the grenadier in the eye. “My galley went missing afore dawn this morn.” He pulled the writ of seizure out from inside his doublet. “Lieutenant MacLeod took it—though he was fully aware I intended to sail for my lands in Trotternish this very day.”

The officer glanced at the note, but didn’t take it. “He thought you’d come begging. But you broke the law. Too many eighteen-oar galleys at one gathering. Now you’d best be on your way.”

A dragoon sniggered, his finger twitching on his musket’s trigger.

Don maintained a heated gaze on the soldier. God save him, he wanted to stuff that smirk down the blackguard’s throat, but he needed that goddamned boat too much. “I only ask you tell me where the lieutenant has taken my ship so I may negotiate its release from impound.”

“’Tis in his majesty’s service now,” said the soldier with the twitchy finger, all too joyfully.

Don paid the maggot no mind and glared at the grenadier. “If you please, sir. I have matters of business to attend. Business that will benefit all of Scotland.”

“Benefit the thieving Jacobites,” said twitchy.

“Silence,” the officer sniped, then looked to Don. “Clearly, the lieutenant is not here.”

“He didn’t tell you where he was taking the baronet’s galley?” Kennan asked.

“It is not my place to question my superior officer.” That had to be the most cunning ruse the man could have used.

Don tightened his fist around his reins. “I’ve a crew heading to Fort William to lodge a formal complaint, but it would be far easier for all if I could settle this quarrel outside the courts.”

The grenadier again lifted his musket to his shoulder. “Of course he didn’t say, but I reckon Mr. MacLeod took that into account when he drew up the writ of seizure. Now off with you afore you force me to command my men to fire.”

Bloody, filthy imbeciles. All of Britain had gone to hell when the backstabbers rebelled against King James.

Don motioned to his men. “It seems ignorance is rife among these dragoons. Come.” Riding away, he refused to look back. Let the bastards stare at their horses’ arses. No one in the Highlands would dare shoot a man in the back—unless they were in Glencoe.

Once out of earshot, Coll removed his bonnet and scratched his full head of auburn hair. “Now what?”

“I cannot think, I’m so bloody hungry,” Don grumbled under his breath—not to mention his head still throbbed like the pounding from a smithy’s shack. “We head for the alehouse for our nooning. If we cannot dig up a bit of gossip there, we’ve naught but to return to Castleton for reinforcements.”

***

The three Highlanders sat at a table toward the rear of the alehouse. Coll hadn’t touched his tankard since the barmaid set it in front of him—quite out of character for a man who earned the bulk of his living from distilling Speyside whisky. “Devil’s fire, you’re lord of these lands. Since when does that mean nothing?”

“Too right,” Kennan held up a wooden spoon. “Each one of us is the overseer of our lands and the bastards see fit to push us out at every turn.”

“The times are changing, for certain.” Don took a healthy swig of his ale. “But that doesn’t mean we lay down and let them kick us like dogs.”

Kennan shoved his spoon into his lamb pottage. “I’ll never stand for a redcoat coming to Achnacarry and telling me how to manage my clan.”

Though the ale did nothing to help his sore head, Don took another drink, then picked up his spoon and dug it into his bowl. “Mayhap we should hold all the gatherings in Achnacarry.”

“You’re bloody mad.” Coll finally picked up his tankard. “Achnacarry is a stone’s throw away from Fort William.”

“Aye, but at least Colonel Hill understands us,” Kennan said with a full mouth.

“Does he?” asked Coll. “Wasn’t his signature on the order commanding Glenlyon to put innocent men, women and children to fire and sword? And even if he acted under duress, the man is older than Ben Nevis. What will happen when he’s gone?” The big Highlander downed his ale with one long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Mark me, never trust anyone who dons a red coat. If he’s not a backstabber already, he’ll become one in very short order.”

Don couldn’t disagree, but sitting in an alehouse talking about the injustices spewing from the man who currently sat on the throne did nothing to help him find his damned ship—or Mary of Castleton. “Do either of you have any idea where MacLeod may have sailed my galley after he left Castleton? And why the blazes did he take Miss Mary with him?”

“That’s where he’s crossed the line, for certain,” said Kennan. “The law may allow him to seize your galley, but we can bring him up on charges for nabbing the lass.”

“I hope he has the sense to keep his hands off her,” Coll said.

Those words made a shudder creep up Don’s spine. Of course he knew how much peril Mary was in, but he’d refused to think about it. His palm slipped down and encircled the pommel of his dirk. “If that bastard so much as lays a finger on her I’ll—”

“Excuse me, sir,” an elderly voice cackled behind him.

Don turned. A bent old man grinned, revealing a single tooth and long, stringy hair hanging in his face. “What is it, man?”

“Ye are the Baronet of Sleat are ye not?” The man pinched a piece of the Don’s lace cuff, his fingers filthy, not to mention he smelled like a privy. “Dressed in such finery, I assumed as much.”

“What business do you have with the Chief of all MacDonalds?” asked Coll, giving the man a menacing glare.

The beggar shirked away. “I-I…ah…only what I overheard the lieutenant say.”

Don narrowed his gaze. “MacLeod?”

“Aye.” The man regarded Don’s doublet like a starved deerhound. “I reckon what I have to say would be worth a crown.”

Coll raised his palm. “You miserable tinker, I ought to—”

Don caught his friend’s wrist before he struck the old fella. He might be a bit unsavory, but the man looked brittle enough to shatter. “I’ll need to hear what you have to say afore you see any coin from me.”

Licking his lips, the codger nodded. “I reckon that’s fair…Ye see, I might clean the chamber pots, but it sees me inside the fort—and in places most common folk cannot go.”

By the pall, Don had no cause to doubt the man’s occupation. “When was this?”

“Yesterday.” The man swiped a dirty hand across his mouth. “The lieutenant was meeting with the corporal in his chamber—a secret meeting it was.”

“Go on.”

“He said he was going to strike a blow to the pompous Baronet of Sleat and his Jacobite renegades.”

The baronet shook his head. “Did he say where he was taking my boat?”

“Nay. He mentioned nothing about a boat, but told the corporal to meet him in Glenelg across the sound.”

“Rumor is they’re planning to build a fort there,” said Kennan.

Don nodded. “And Mary of Castleton. Did you overhear anything about Sir John’s daughter?”

The man gasped. “Ye mean the redcoat bastards have Miss Mary?”

“Afraid so.” Don should have known the lass would be popular with the locals.

“Bloody, fobbing, fly-bitten wagtails. Why didn’t ye say they had Miss Mary? She’s the kindest lass in all of Skye. Kept me from freezing winter last.”

“And we had to ride ponies rather than take a boat,” grumbled Coll.

Don ground his molars. The MacDonell Chief was right, of course. Had they sailed to Teangue, it would have taken a bit longer to navigate around the peninsula, but they’d be less than an hour from Glenelg. “Do you ken anyone who can ferry us across the sound?”

“I can take ye, but it’ll cost a bob apiece.”

Kennan looked the man from head to toe. “You have a seafaring vessel? What is it, a raft bound together with hemp?”

“Nay, my brother-in-law ferries people across all the time—even ferries the lieutenant.”

Don looked to Coll. “It looks as if we’re in luck.”

“With the luck this day has brought?” The big man shook his head. “I’ll give it no more than a thumbs up for improvement.”

“Aye,” Kennan agreed. “We haven’t seen the sea vessel as of yet.”