“Winter is coming, lieutenant, we’re making repairs to our castle in preparation for the harsh months ahead.”
“What with, madam?”
Jessalyn lifted an eyebrow. “With the goods and supplies brought to us from Edinburgh by caravan.”
“Which caravan, madam?”
“The heavily laden one whose tracks lead from Edinburgh to our door. There has been only one and there’s not so much traffic on the roads that you could have mistaken it. But, of course, you knew that already, Lieutenant, because you followed it.”
“There’s been no traffic to speak of in the highlands for months, madam. A heavily laden caravan accompanied by livestock and drovers and stonemasons was bound to attract our attention—especially since it arrived so quickly upon the heels of the disappearance of our soldiers. It was quite rich and large,” he said. “I cannot help but think that it might have contained a considerable ransom.”
“It contained my dowry, Lieutenant. I am recently wed and it has taken months for my dowry to arrive.”
“I see,” the lieutenant replied. “From where did your dowry originate, madam?”
“From my husband.”
“And where did he get it?”
“I do not know the source of my husband’s finances.”
The lieutenant was rapidly losing patience with the word game she was playing. “Come now, madam, even I am aware that every highland clan knows the origins and the connections of the other highland clans.”
“There are many lowland Scots,” she said.
“Your husband is a lowlander?”
“My marriage was arranged.” Jessalyn chose her words very carefully. “It’s quite common for women in my position to be betrothed from birth. I know nothing of my husband’s connections or allegiances and I’ve never met his family.”
“But they provided your dowry.”
“He provided it and a factor in Edinburgh arranged the purchase and the transportation of it because the English army stole the one my family provided.”
“Is your husband a Jacobite sympathizer?”
“I do not know.”
“You don’t know your husband’s political leaning?”
“I am a woman, lieutenant. I do not concern myself with politics.”
“If not politics, what does concern a female lord of a clan?”
“Staying alive.” She stared at the lieutenant. “I did not abduct your soldiers, Lieutenant,” Jessalyn told him.
“You are lord of a clan, madam, you could order it done without participating in the actual abduction.”
“I did not abduct your soldiers, Lieutenant, nor did I order it done and I can assure you that no member of Clan MacAonghais or any other highland clan would dare to do so without sanction from the laird.”
Lieutenant Burton studied her closely, then signaled several of his men to step forward. “I have the authority to search these premises.”
Several of the children began to cry. Jessalyn caught a movement in the corner of her eye and saw Hannah MacCurran, her pick of the litter held tightly in her arms, move behind her mother’s skirts. Hannah’s eyes seemed as big as saucers and Jessalyn followed her gaze past the lieutenant’s shoulder toward the gatehouse where three more riders—all in bright red English uniforms—were entering the bailey. A man tied at the end of a length of rope struggled to keep his balance and to keep up with them as he ran along behind the horse. Droplets of perspiration popped out on Jessalyn’s upper lip and the hair at the back of her neck stood up on end at the sight. She knew the man running behind the horses wasn’t Neil. She knew that Neil was safely locked in the Laird’s Trysting Room, but she didn’t know if it was some other member of her clan. She was frightened and it took every measure of her control to keep from wringing her hands and to quell the knocking of her knees. “And I cannot stop you,” she said.
“I could order your castle and village torn apart, your livestock slaughtered and your food stores destroyed. Is that what it will take to gain your cooperation?”
“I cannot give you what I do not have,” Jessalyn said.
“Tell me, madam, what will happen to your clan if I command my men to do the things I’ve just described to you?”
“We will starve,” Jessalyn answered matter-of-factly. “As we have done since your last visit.”
The lieutenant was taken aback by her words and her unshakable courage. He stared at the highlanders, all of whom bore the signs of recent starvation and felt sick to his stomach at the thoughts of what they’d endured. He softened his approach and tried again—this time hoping to sway her with reason instead of threats. “One of the men abducted from the fort is Major Neil Claremont, seventh earl of Derrowford and grandson of the marquess of Chisenden, one of the most powerful men in England. Surely, you have heard of him?”
“I have heard of such a man,” she said. “And if he is as powerful as you say he is, perhaps you should enlist his aid in finding his grandson.”
“There have been reports that the caravan we followed originated in London not Edinburgh and that it was sent by the marquess. How do you explain that, madam?”
“I cannot explain it. I have never been to London.” She gave the lieutenant a half-smile. “My family isn’t welcomed at court, so I have never met the marquess or been privy to the idle gossip that I’ve heard goes on in court circles. I do not know the source of your inaccurate reports.”
Lieutenant Burton almost smiled. The woman standing before him was a worthy sparring opponent. A woman of intelligence and wit and courage and loyalty and beauty. He had no doubt that she knew more than she was telling, but he also knew that prodding her further was useless. The lieutenant turned at the sound of the approaching riders and groaned. “That’s my commanding officer, Major General Sir Charles Oliver. Madam, please, if you have any knowledge of the missing soldiers, tell me now.”
Jessalyn remained silent.
“We appreciate your cooperation, madam.” The lieutenant did an about face as the general rode up beside him. He snapped a salute to the general, then turned back to Jessalyn. “I thank you for your cooperation, madam, and I know that if you see any of these men or hear anything concerning their whereabouts, you’ll bring it to my attention.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” Jessalyn replied, smiling up at him to give credence to the lie.
“Bullocks!” Major General Sir Charles Oliver shouted.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” The lieutenant turned in his saddle to face his commanding officer.
“I said, ‘Bullocks!’ You won’t get any cooperation out of these savages, Burton. Not without a show of force. That’s all they understand. Enough of this nonsense. I want answers.” Oliver reached down and grabbed hold of the rope tied to the ring on his saddle. He jerked the rope and pulled the man tied to the other end forward.
Jessalyn bit her bottom lip to keep from gasping in horror when she recognized the bloody and battered man as the driver of one of the carts in the caravan. Davina had pointed him out to her and mentioned the fact that he was a Sutherland who had left the highlands and sought work in Edinburgh. She stared at the commanding officer. Spotty Oliver was dangerous. There was nothing in his eyes except contempt. If he uncovered the key to Neil’s hiding place, her husband was doomed. Thinking quickly, Jessalyn waited until the general was deep in conversation with the lieutenant, then surreptitiously slipped her hand into her pocket and carefully looped the chain twice so that it would fit around her wrist instead of her neck.
“We encountered the caravan on its way back to Edinburgh,” the general said. “And this barbarous creature, this highland spawn, was good enough to volunteer some information about the people who sent it and its contents.”
“The lady explained the caravan and its contents to my satisfaction,” Lieutenant Burton said.
“She hasn’t explained it to my satisfaction!” The general shouted. “I am Major General Sir Charles Oliver, commander of His Majesty’s Roya
l Corps of Engineers at Fort Augustus and I wish to hear what this savage highland wench has to say.”
She lifted her chin, straightened her back and shoulders and pulled herself to her full height. “I have given my answers to your lieutenant,” she answered when the general turned his attention to her.
Oliver’s mouth flattened to a thin disapproving line. He turned to Lieutenant Burton. “Did you ask her about the shoes, lieutenant?”
The lieutenant was silent.
“I asked you a question, lieutenant?”
“No, sir. I did not ask her about the shoes.”
The general smiled. “Nice shoes, madam.” He looked down at Jessalyn’s feet.
A chill went up her spine as he repeated the words Neil had said to her the night before.
“You may have noticed that I’m something of a connoisseur of fine clothing.” He adjusted the gold braid on the front of his lapel and wiped away an imaginary speck of dust to draw her attention to the fine tailoring. “Your shoes have the look of a London cobbler about them. And your gown is much too fashionable to have been created in Edinburgh. How did you come to possess such finery?”
Jessalyn didn’t answer.
“I asked you a question, madam, and I expect an answer.” With deceptively calm voice and an almost imperceptible gesture, he nudged his horse forward and knocked her to the ground, then quickly dismounted. He grabbed Jessalyn by the front of her bodice, lifted her to her feet and backhanded her across the mouth. Hannah MacCurran began to cry and her puppy began to whimper. Jessalyn recognized the sounds as she lay sprawled in the dirt. The general moved to stand over her and the MacInnes women formed a circle around him, separating him from his men. “Step back!” he ordered, drawing his sword and placing the tip of it against Jessalyn’s bodice front. “Step back and give me room or I’ll gut her.”
The women opened their ranks.
Oliver pulled Jessalyn to her knees, then drew his sword down the front of her gown, slicing the fabric. “The next cut will be deeper,” he warned. “Now, tell me about the shoes! I want to know where they came from.”
“Sir! I protest this treatment of a lady!” The lieutenant started forward.
“Stay where you are, Lieutenant.” The general glanced at the junior officer. “I’m interrogating this prisoner.”
“She isn’t a prisoner, sir.”
“We are at war with these savages, lieutenant. She’s a prisoner if I say she’s a prisoner.” He turned to Jessalyn. “Now, let’s continue. Where did you get the shoes?” General Oliver took another slice of her bodice and this time a line of red droplets beaded against her bodice, staining the white chemise she wore underneath. “My sources tell me that the caravan contained three cartloads of shoes all ordered by the marchioness of Chisenden for the earl of Derrowford. I’d like to see how Derrowford spends his money. Where are they?”
“She doesna know, sir.” The cart driver rushed forward.
Oliver stopped him with the point of his sword. “What’s this? Another Scottish hero? Tell me, what doesn’t she know?”
“She dinna know about the shoes,” he said. “They were a surprise. She doesna know where they’re hidden.”
“Where are they?” Oliver asked.
“I dinna know. I was …”
“You don’t know. She doesn’t know. What good are you?” General Oliver plunged his sword into the man’s chest, twisted the handle, then withdrew it and wiped the blade on the dead man’s trews. He cut the rope that had held the man attached to his saddle, but left his hands tied in front of him. “Oh dear,” he mocked. “Another dead Scottish hero. Now, who’s next?”
Several women let out screams and the puppy began to wiggle and to bark excitedly. Major General Sir Charles Oliver pointed his sword at Hannah. “Shut that dog up!”
Hannah began to cry harder as the puppy slipped out of her hands and began to run around the general’s legs. Oliver lifted his foot to kick the dog, but Jessalyn was quicker. She caught hold of the general’s silver spur and pulled, upending him. His sword clattered against the ground as he fell and Jessalyn wasted no time. She scooped the puppy up in her arm, struggling with him for a moment or two before she shoved him into Hannah’s arms. “Go!” She ordered pushing Hannah away. “Take this dog back to where you got him! Now!” Hannah ran. Jessalyn reached for the general’s sword but was brought up short when Oliver grabbed her by the hair. He wrapped the thick braid around his arm and pulled with all his might.
Jessalyn winced in pain but she refused to cry out. She gripped the sword, holding it with both hands as General Oliver got to his knees and pulled her up with him.
“Drop the sword!” he commanded. “Drop it or I’ll give the command and have my soldiers shoot every man, woman and child in this village.”
Jessalyn didn’t budge. She kept the sword pointed at his heart.
“Present arms!” Oliver ordered and the soldiers in the column drew their muskets. The deadly silence seemed deafening. “You may kill me,” he told her. “But you and your clan will die.”
“Then we all die,” Jessalyn told him.
“Sir! You cannot do this!” Lieutenant Burton dismounted and started toward his commanding officer.
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll be slaughtering dozens of innocent people. Even if she knew where Major Claremont is hiding, she wouldn’t tell us.”
“Not even to save her clan?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps she’ll do it to save one member of it.” Oliver surveyed the crowd of women and picked one at random. “Shoot her,” he ordered, pointing to Sorcha.
Jessalyn recognized the fear in Sorcha’s eyes and dropped the sword.
“That’s more like it,” the general purred. “Come little savage, we’re going on a little journey.” He kept his grip on Jessalyn’s hair as he pulled her toward his horse, then bent and retrieved the rope he had used on the Sutherland man and tied it around Jessalyn’s wrists.
“Sir, what are you doing?” Burton demanded.
“I’m baiting the trap for Claremont.”
“How do you know he’ll follow?”
“He bought her three hundred pairs of shoes,” Oliver replied. “No man would go to that expense to impress a woman. He would only do that if he cares about her. And for her sake, she’d better hope he does.” He turned to Jessalyn’s kinswomen. “I’m riding out and I’m taking this Scottish rebel with me. If you know where Claremont is, you’d better find him. It’s a long way to London and I’m afraid there might not be a whole lot left of her by the time we arrive.” He swung up into his saddle, then issued orders to the soldiers. “Give me two hours’ head start, then return to Fort Augustus. Once I ride out, shoot anyone that moves.” He pointed to the lieutenant. “And start with him.”
Jessalyn was so busy running alongside the horse, trying to stay on her feet that she barely heard the first two shots.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Neil’s fists were bloodied from pounding on the doors and the walls and he was hoarse from shouting. Davina was nearly hysterical. “He’s taken her, your lairdship! He’s got Jessie!”
“Who?” Neil yelled.
“Major General Sir Charles Oliver!” Davina spat out the name. “He shot the lieutenant and Sorcha and he took our Jessie!”
Neil’s heart seemed to catch in his throat. Heaven help him but Spotty Oliver had his wife! “How long ago?”
“Hours!” Davina wailed.
Neil began to pound even harder. “Get me out of here!”
“It’s no use, yer lairdship.” Davina shouted through the secret door. “I’ve tried every key on my ring. I can’t open the door!”
“Break it down! Find Vincenzio!” he ordered. “Do whatever you have to do, but get me out of this room! And hurry!”
“Aye, yer lairdship!” Davina called through the door. “I’ll be back with help.”
Davina left the entrance to the Laird’s Trysting Room and
exited through the kitchen. She nearly tripped over Hannah outside the doorway to the kitchen. Hannah held the puppy cradled in one arm, but clutched at Davina’s skirt when she attempted to step past. “Have ye seen Neil?” she asked. “I’ve searched the whole castle and I canna find him.”
“Not now, child.”
“But I have to find him!”
“I’m trying to get to him myself,” Davina assured her.
“Good,” Hannah nodded. “ ’Cause Jessie told me to gi’ my puppy back to him.” She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand.
“Och, child!” Davina bent down and used the hem of her skirt to wipe Hannah’s tears and her runny nose. “I dinna think Jessie meant ye couldna ha’ the puppy. She just wanted ye to get him away before the general hurt him. Ye can keep the wee doggie.”
Hannah beamed. “Are ye sure, Davina?”
“I’m sure. Now, run along and play.”
Hannah scrambled to her feet and started across the bailey, then turned back to Davina. “Can I keep this too?” She held up the puppy so Davina could see the sparkle of silver glistening in the afternoon sun. “I know she ga’ it to Neil when they got married, but she ga’ it to my doggie this mornin’. Neil must na want it anymore. Can I keep it?”
Davina squinted. “What is it child?”
“The laird’s key,” Hannah said. “Jessie put it on my wee little dog. I think it looks pretty. Dinna ye?”
Davina hurried to the child. “I think it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” she said. “But ye canna keep it.”
“Why not?” Hannah asked.
“Because Neil needs it back.”
“But I can keep Lady?” Hannah nuzzled the collie’s soft fur.
“Aye.”
Hannah considered the situation for a moment, then nodded. “Aye.” She pulled the silver chain over the puppy’s head and handed it to Davina.
Within minutes Davina was back at the secret door.
She inserted the laird’s key into the lock and opened the door.
Neil was pacing the length of the room when the mirror suddenly swung open. He rushed the door. “Thank God!” he breathed.