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- Herausgeber: Bookbinder Press
- Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
- Serie: Highland Soldiers
- Sprache: Englisch
Only an enemy soldier could save her life–and her heart.
Highlander Callum MacDonell battled lowland Covenanters at the service of the King. Now charged with hunting an assassin, his journey will lead to a murderer’s passionate Covenanter sister, Mari McEwan.
Betrayed and abandoned by the man she loved, Mari faces judgment by a tribunal of her people demanding she name the father of her unborn child, or be exiled from her beloved home and family. As she stands trembling before her community, she knows she must refuse. And yet, if she does so, a cruel fate awaits her.
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Seitenzahl: 432
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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About The Enemy
Only an enemy soldier could save her life–and her heart.
Highlander Callum MacDonell battled lowland Covenanters at the service of the King. Now charged with hunting an assassin, his journey will lead to a murderer’s passionate Covenanter sister, Mari McEwan.
Betrayed and abandoned by the man she loved, Mari faces judgment by a tribunal of her people demanding she name the father of her unborn child, or be exiled from her beloved home and family. As she stands trembling before her community, she knows she must refuse. And yet, if she does so, a cruel fate awaits her.
Book 1 in the Highland Soldiers series
Get the Audiobook
jljarvis.com/highland-soldiers-the-enemy
Also by J.L. Jarvis
Waterfront Summers
(Can be read in any order)
The Cottage at Peregrine Cove
The House on Serenity Lake
Moonlight on Mariner’s Bluff
Drake & Wilde Mysteries
(Reading Order)
1 Love in the Time of Pumpkins
2 Secrets in the Hollow
3 Shadow of the Horseman
Standalones
(Can be read in any order)
A Christmas Eve Stop
Christmas by Lamplight
A Kiss in the Rain
App-ily Ever After
Once Upon a Winter
The Red Rose
Highland Vow
Short Stories
(Can be read in any order)
Seasons of Love: A Short Story Collection
The Eleventh-Hour Pact
A Christmas Yarn
The Farmer and the Belle
Work-Crush Balance
Cedar Creek
(Can be read in any order)
Christmas at Cedar Creek
Snowstorm at Cedar Creek
Sunlight on Cedar Creek
Pine Harbor
1 Allison’s Pine Harbor Summer
2 Evelyn’s Pine Harbor Autumn
3 Lydia’s Pine Harbor Christmas
Holiday House
(Can be read in any order)
The Christmas Cabin
The Winter Lodge
The Lighthouse
The Christmas Castle
The Beach House
The Christmas Tree Inn
The Holiday Hideaway
Highland Passage
(Can be read in any order)
Highland Passage
Knight Errant
Lost Bride
Highland Soldiers
1 The Enemy
2 The Betrayal
3 The Return
4 The Wanderer
American Hearts
(Can be read in any order)
Secret Hearts
Forbidden Hearts
Runaway Hearts
For more information, visit jljarvis.com.
Get monthly book news at news.jljarvis.com.
The Enemy
Highland Soldiers 1
J.L. Jarvis
THE ENEMY
Highland Soldiers 1
Copyright © 2012 J.L. Jarvis
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
ISBN (ebook) 978-0-9858554-0-6
ISBN (paperback) 978-0-9858554-2-0
ISBN (audiobook) 978-1-942767-28-2
Published by BookbinderPress.com
Contents
1. A Walk Down the Aisle
2. The Highland Dragoons
3. The Minister’s Son
4. Crying the Banns
5. Rock of the Raven
6. A Dangerous Path
7. Not Forgotten
8. Traitorous Heart
9. The Dirk Oath
10. No Word from Callum
11. A Wild Wind from the Moor
12. The Battle
13. The Promise
14. At Home in Edinburgh
15. The Price of Freedom
16. An Honorable Act
17. The Crown of London
18. Farewell
19. A Wind from the North
20. The Shadowy Wynd
21. Escape from the Finfolk
22. Highland Vengeance
23. First Footing
24. The Visitor
25. The Truest Heart
26. The Long Journey
27. The Drovers’ Road
28. The Blackhouse by the Sea
29. The Legacy
30. The Arrangement
31. For Duty
32. For Love
33. Forever
Author’s Note
The Highland Soldiers Series
Thank You!
Book News
About the Author
A Walk Down the Aisle
Dunross, Scotland, June 15, 1679
Mari wore only her shift and bare feet. They had taken the rest. With nothing to confine them, her dark chestnut waves tumbled over her shoulders. The beadle sent her on her way with a prod of his beefy fingers. She fixed her eyes forward and walked down the makeshift aisle in the barn that served as kirk for today’s secret meeting. Whispers wafted in waves as she passed by each row of parishioners and pressed toward her goal. On she proceeded past a grim gauntlet of narrow-eyed elders to arrive at the stool of repentance. It was oaken and plain, with a hole in the middle. A commode: meant to inflict shame. She sat on it and folded her trembling hands on her lap. Her bare feet were flat on the ground, and she pressed her knees close together. Her moss green eyes drifted over the congregation. Skin like cream and full lips of a muted rose hue softened the dread from her features to her detriment. She appeared almost untroubled, which would only inflame the kirk elders as they meted out accusations and determined her punishment.
Steps away stood the minister, a lanky man with keen eyes that could shrivel a soul. His stentorian scolding rang out through the barn, where a few dozen people sat on folding stools watching.
“Marion McEwan, you are charged with engaging in the sinful act of fornication. Confess and repent of your wickedness before this assembly now. Name your partner in sin so he might likewise be brought to justice.”
Her gaze drifted toward him, but lips never parted to break the long silence.
“Speak or suffer the wages of sin. It is your choice. No one else can save you,” he said, with an edge that grated through his tone.
When no answer came forth, his wrath simmered. “Marion McEwan, hear me now. Confess your sin! Repent before God against whom you have transgressed or be cast out from this congregation!”
The minister’s indignation rang into the heavy oak rafters. “Fall down before God. Show your tears of remorse! Name your partner in sin that he might share your utter disgrace and plead for deliverance from the fires of hell!”
Still she offered no words of repentance, nor a name of the father. A gust from the moor blew out the candle she held in her hand.
Suddenly quiet and measured, the minister’s voice intoned his contempt, rising and falling with well-practiced effect. “Are you so shameless and prideful to think you can raise this wee one with no father and no kirk? Will you wallow in your blasphemous ways rather than swallow your pride? We can have you imprisoned, and when you are released, you will be an outcast! Do you hear me? Cast out from your kirk and your kinsmen! Your only hope is confession. Repent now and be delivered from—”
The minister stopped mid-rebuke as a shadow eclipsed the main source of light coming in through the doorway. Before muskets could be raised, a fierce Highland dragoon strode in. Hair, dark and wild as his mood, was lashed back, but the wind caught loose waves. A daunting form, he was draped in plaid colors of earth, dried bracken, and heather. Powerful legs took him in a few strides to the minister, who found his chin caught in the crook of the Highlander’s elbow as if in a vise. Fear-numbed faces looked on. A handful of parishioners by the back wall lifted their muskets, but lowered them as three more kilted men appeared in the doorway with doglock pistols aimed at them. The Highlander whirled about and took stock. Satisfied that his men had matters under control, he pressed a pistol to the minister’s temple. One man rose from behind and lunged at the Highlander. He was dispatched with a sharp backward jab of his elbow.
“Blinking eejit! Are there any more fools here?” The Highlander brandished his pistol. “Look outside. Do you see the rest of my men at the top of that brae?”
Heads turned toward the doorway. The setting sun blazed from over the brae. “If these lads and I dinnae join them soon, they will thunder down here and strike down all who dare hinder us.” Confident he had secured their attention, he went on with chilling calm. “Let us leave, and I will neither kill nor report you for this illegal meeting today. But stand in my way, and the whole Highland Host will descend and hunt down every man Jack of you.”
His eyes met those of the minister’s son, and he allowed himself a brief moment to burn his scorn into the man’s onyx eyes. He was tempted to pummel the scoundrel, but not today. He would leave this one to the vengeance of God; or better yet, to the sorry lout’s wife.
Sweat beaded the minister’s forehead as the Highlander shoved him toward the stool of repentance. Mari watched, her face now drained of color.
“Kneel,” he ordered the minister. As he did, the Highlander kicked his feet out from beneath him, making him fall face first into a pasty of cow dung and hay. A noise from the back caught the Highlander’s attention. With a sudden pivot, a flash from a musket caught his eye just as one of his men returned fire with his pistol. The musket shooter clutched at his grazed arm and watched his blood darken his sleeve as he slid his back down the wall in a faint.
As the Highlander wielded his pistol to keep other foolishly brave souls at bay, he cast a quick glance at Mari McEwan and his deep brown eyes softened. “Come, lass.” He held out a strong hand and she took it. While rising, she faltered. With a sure grip, he steadied and guided her up to his side while he took in her unsteady state.
Without warning, the Highlander stomped his heel on the minister’s hand, which had inched its way down to his belt and grasped a knife hilt. The Highlander relieved the reverend of his knife and, with an easy yank, pulled the offending hand onto the stool. With a shuddering stab, he pinned the minister’s sleeve to the seat of the stool of repentance.
Mari’s eyes drifted half closed as she swayed. The Highlander circled her waist with his arm as the burnt-out candlestick fell from her limp hand. “Steady, lass,” he said as he tightened his grip.
With a weak glance up to him, she whispered, “I’m fair done.”
Shoving his pistol into his belt, he scooped her up into his brawny arms. Warmth softened his eyes as he looked at her, even as his jaw tightened. Now livid, he strode toward the door with a few well-placed dark glares that forbade any to stop him. “Shoot me and you’ll shoot her as well,” he said, casting the words over his shoulder with conviction and measured haste. Once outside, he hoisted her onto his large gray drum horse, and then mounted behind her. His men backed away, pistols pointed, then mounted their horses in a run as they all galloped off toward the brae. Soon they were but silhouettes against the last remnants of the day’s sun.
* * *
The minister finished wiping the dung from his face and returned the handkerchief to its owner.
“Someone do something!” said a man who showed no signs of moving himself.
“Dinnae be daft,” said the reverend with biting impatience.
“We should follow!” said another.
“And do what-complain to the authorities that our illegal worship meeting was interrupted by the king’s royal dragoons? He has the law on his side. And as long as we meet against the law like this-outside of the kirks that were taken from us-we can do nothing!”
Thomas settled his shaken new bride in a stool, and then turned his attention to the men’s discussion. “We were fortunate, aye? They could have killed every one of us on the spot and been thanked by the crown for their service.” His words were met with spontaneous nods of agreement, for while he was an accomplished student of St. Andrews University and therefore deemed worth their attention, he was also the minister’s son.
“Right you are, Thomas,” said the Reverend Blackwell.
“We shouldnae act in haste,” his son added.
“Thomas is right,” said an Elder. “‘Sufficient unto today is the evil thereof.’ Better we rally and fight for freedom another day!”
“And what if it were your daughter spirited away? Would you just let her go?” said Margaret McEwan, the young woman’s mother.
“Whisht, Margaret,” said her husband, Archie, in a low voice. Discreetly, he gripped her arm.
Thomas said, “She brought it upon herself-and on us.”
“How so?” asked her father as he leapt to his feet. Now it was Margaret who clutched Archie’s arm to restrain him.
The minister said, “One has to wonder why the whole Highland Host has descended upon us for one girl.”
“The whole Highland Host?” said her mother. Mouth agape, Margaret looked first to him, then her husband.
The reverend ignored her interruption and continued, “Highland barbarians came seeking your daughter. What has she done to draw such interest, I wonder?” He gave her a knowing look.
“Och!” Margaret fumed and opened her mouth to protest, but Archie tightened his grip on his wife’s arm. She closed her mouth and looked down to the ground to conceal her anger.
Reverend Blackwell studied her with sharp eyes. “It’s clear now where your daughter gets her rebellious spirit. Hold your tongue, Mistress McEwan, or you will find yourself taking your daughter’s place on the stool of repentance.”
Margaret took in a sharp breath to reply, but Archie’s quiet, throaty grunt cautioned her to hold back her rage.
Having dispatched his authority, Reverend Blackwell continued, “Thomas is right. Marion brought this upon herself by consorting with those savage Highlanders. Ah well, we ken who the father is now, do we nae? My only surprise is that he came to claim the wee bastard and its mother.”
Several of the men nodded.
Archie quietly asked, “Can we nae send a party to search for my daughter?”
The reverend shook his head. “The wages of sin have been paid on this day. I’ll nae stand in the way of God’s judgment.”
With a sideways glance toward her husband, Margaret whispered through tight lips, “Archie, you’d best take me home before I say what I’m thinking.”
* * *
As they rode from the kirk, Mari turned and looked over the Highlander’s shoulder to see whether anyone followed.
He said, “Dinnae look back, lass. ‘Tis bad luck.”
“Aye? Well my luck couldnae get any worse.” Had she been stronger, she might have laughed, but instead she leaned wearily back against the Highlander’s solid chest, secure in the strong arms that held her.
He glanced down with a soft smile. “Have I not changed your luck a wee bit?”
“Aye, so you have.” She let her eyes close and she rested against him, this Highlander, royalist, and papist from whom she drew strength and support. He had done more for her than her own people this day, and the truth of that ached.
Beneath the waving grasses, the uneven moorland made for a rough ride. Unaware she was doing so, she clutched his arm tighter as each wave of pain struck. Despite effort to conceal it, a small moan of pain escaped.
He leaned his cheek against her hair, his voice quiet and low. “We’ll slow down as soon as it’s safe. Then we’ll find a place for you to rest.”
“Ensign?” she said faintly.
“Aye?”
“I cannae see the rest of your men on the brae.”
“No? Och well, the sunset’s too bright. You wouldnae see them.” His mouth twitched up at the corner. “Even if they were there.”
The Highland Dragoons
Two Months Earlier
Mari McEwan crossed the moors with her brother, Jamie, and his sweetheart, Ellen. They were on their way to an illegal outdoor church meeting, which the Covenanters called a conventicle. She walked ahead, while Jamie and Ellen lagged behind, stealing fond looks.
“How much farther have we to walk?” Mari turned back and caught Jamie planting a kiss. Mari cleared her throat loudly, causing Ellen to flinch.
With a grin, Mari raised her eyebrow and said, “‘Tis a good thing we’re going to worship.”
Ellen rushed over to Mari as they continued on their way. “Marion! You willnae tell anybody?
Working to keep a straight face, Mari said. “Tell what? That you’ve succumbed to the sins of the flesh, and you lust for my brother?”
Clapping her palm to her mouth, Ellen gasped and said, “Marion!”
Jamie put a light hand to Ellen’s waist to guide her over so he could walk between them. To Ellen, he said, “Dinnae mind what my vexatious sister says.” His eyes lingered fondly before he turned to give Mari a withering look.
Unfazed, Mari hooked her arm into her brother’s. “I ken that you love her. ‘Twas only jest, Jamie.”
His expression hardened. “‘Tis nae right to jest about sin. And you know how I love Ellen. I’d marry her today if I could, but we’ll wait till we’ve had a proper courtship. You’d do well to consider the same.” His jaw clenched as he looked straight ahead and walked on.
He had seen her a few days before with Thomas, the minister’s son. They’d been talking, nothing more. He and Thomas were friends, so she saw little reason for Jamie to disapprove. But he did, and he would not discuss it. Ellen leaned back so Jamie would not see her catch Mari’s eye and give her head a slight shake to dismiss Jamie’s harshness.
Mari smiled back, and then turned to face forward before Jamie could see their exchange. Ellen was good for Jamie. She hoped that Ellen’s gentle nature would soften Jamie’s austere temperament. The two were a good match, as any who knew them agreed. More important than that, they were deeply in love. Mari envied their confidence in it. Never once did they doubt that their feelings were real and would last forever.
Mari’s affections, in contrast, were unsure and secret except to her young man. It was how he insisted it be. He would never have brought her to worship like this. They hid how they felt from the kirk—perhaps for good reason, but it made her feel wicked. The kirk elders were stern and unyielding, and her life surrounding the kirk was an uncomfortable fit. She only came to these open-air meetings for Jamie, to serve as a chaperone. Otherwise, he could never have brought Ellen. He paid well for the favor in farm chores. In truth, although she would never admit it to Jamie, she would have done this for either of them. She loved Jamie, although, as his sister, she felt it her duty to take every opportunity to point out that Ellen was far too lovely and good for the likes of him.
Jamie clutched Mari’s wrist. “Jamie,” she protested, as she tried to twist her arm free. But she followed his eyes to the distance, and fixed her eyes on it. With increasing apprehension she watched. Kilted horsemen bore down upon them.
“Accursed Highland dragoons!” Jamie spat the words out.
There were no trees to conceal them on this part of the moor. If they tried to run, they would only look more guilty. Either way, the horsemen would catch them. Their only chance was to face them and hope they could talk their way out of suspicion.
Without taking his eyes from the approaching horsemen, Jamie said, “Ellen, give me your Bible.”
“Jamie, no.” She clutched his hand. They both knew that the mere possession of a Bible would put them in danger. They could be called upon to swear an oath renouncing everything they believed in—everything they had sworn before God to uphold. If they did not swear it, soldiers had the legal authority to kill them on the spot.
* * *
Ellen was carrying the only bible among them. Mari had accidentally left hers at home. She and Jamie had bickered about it after leaving. When she realized she’d forgotten her Bible, Mari had taunted him with wide eyes. “I’ll just share with you, Jamie.” She’d grinned at his glare, knowing that sharing a Bible afforded her brother the chance to touch Ellen’s hand, which was as much intimacy as could be had in a kirk service—even if that kirk service was held in a field.
Mari continued to torment him. “Of course, I’ll need to sit in the middle to be able to see it. My eyes are so weary from sewing.” She put her hand to her brow with a pitiful sigh.
“Och! Brilliant! You’d have me court Ellen with you in the middle!”
With feigned sweetness, Mari said, “But Jamie, are you not there for the worship?”
“Aye, to worship my Ellen ‘neath the braw moon and stars.” He glared at her sideways. “With my daft wee sister between us!”
Mari had grinned broadly, thoroughly satisfied to have irked her brother.
* * *
But now, as three Highland dragoons approached, there was only one Bible that concerned him.
“Ellen, give it to me,” Jamie told her with quiet urgency.
“I cannae, Jamie. I’ve already hidden it.”
Knowing full well what she was risking, she met his eyes and showed him the depth of her love in a look. His expression pled for what could not be, for the dragoons were upon them. It was too late for the Bible to change hands. Jamie gripped Ellen’s hand and pulled her beside him as the dragoons came to a stop.
“Good evening,” said Jamie, with dark caution in his eyes.
Two of the soldiers dismounted, while one remained on his horse. The three men were a fearful lot, with skin mottled and leathered by their austere existence, but it was their leader who made Mari shudder. He had the features of someone who might have been handsome in his youth. But his nature had etched brutal lines in his features, from which two eyes reflected a cavernous soul. To Jamie he said, “It’s a bit late to be out for a walk.”
“It isnae too late for us.”
The dragoon’s tone sharpened. “Where are you going this evening?”
“Home.”
“Where is that?” asked the second. He had the look of a man who had fought hard battles and survived with even harder emotions.
“Dunross,” said Jamie as he eyed the Highlander.
“Dunross?” asked the leader, dismounting.
Jamie nodded warily.
“Search them,” he ordered his men as his eyes went from Ellen to Mari.
One soldier wrenched Ellen from Jamie’s grasp, while another circled and grabbed hold of Jamie from behind. Mari lurched toward them.
“Stay back!” commanded the one on the horse. With his pistol aimed at Ellen, he said, “I’ll shoot them both.” Mari warily did as directed.
In the struggle, Ellen’s Bible dislodged from beneath her jacket and fell to the ground.
“What’s this?” asked Ellen’s captor with a smirk.
Jamie lunged toward him, but the heftier dragoon had his arms hooked about Jamie’s from behind. Jamie struggled in vain.
The one on the horse aimed his pistol at Ellen.
Helpless, Jamie clenched his teeth in terror for Ellen.
“Will you swear allegiance to the king and acknowledge him as head of the church?”
Ellen steeled herself with steadfast grace and was silent.
“Say it, Ellen,” said Jamie in a low voice. “They’re only words.”
Tears shone in her eyes as she looked at him. “Jamie, I cannae.”
The dragoon twisted her arms further back with his iron grip, and spoke in her ear. “Swear allegiance.”
The leader studied her for a moment and then said, “Never mind. She can swear by her actions.” He dismounted and pulled out his flint and steel. “There’s a chill in the air. Start a fire for us, lassie.”
He thrust the flint and steel at her. Reflexively, she took them with trembling hands. He gestured toward the Bible, which lay on the ground, the wind whipping its pages. Her captor released her with a shove to the ground. “Light it.”
Ellen’s back stiffened.
The leader echoed the command. “Light a fire for us, lassie.”
When Ellen did not respond, the leader grabbed her chin in his rough hands and pulled her up to face him.
“No,” Ellen whispered.
Jamie watched with horror.
Mari saw her chance. All were focused on Ellen. Mari bent over and lifted a large rock with both hands. She was close enough to strike the man holding Ellen.
“Set it down.” The leader clamped his arm about Mari’s waist. She let the rock drop on his foot. He cried out a curse. She pounded her fist back to his groin and took off in a run. In a few strides, he caught up and lunged for her, knocking her down to the ground. She tried to scramble away, but he climbed over her and took hold of her hair. She reached behind her neck and grasped his wrist. She tried to roll over. She fought with her nails and teeth to be free, but he pinned her face down to the ground with his body.
Mari lay beneath him, unable to see. Ellen screamed, and Jamie let out a deep wail. “Do what you will to me, but leave her alone,” pleaded Mari.
He replied with a backhanded slap that struck her ear with a painful ringing. She lay still, trying to work through her pain to think what to do next. A rough hand took hold of the folds of her skirts and pulled up. Jamie called out Ellen’s name. A shot sounded.
The man on top of Mari shifted his position as he lifted his head to see where the shot came from. Sounds of a struggle subsided, followed by rhythmic grunting that made Mari’s stomach convulse. A single sob came from Ellen, and then another shot fired.
“Your turn, minx,” said the dragoon as he flipped her onto her back like a rag doll in his brutish hands. As he did so, Mari felt the hard shape of his dirk. As she put her arms about him, she slid his dirk from his belt and completed the embrace with the dirk in her hand. He moaned with pleasure and reached up with one hand to paw at her breast while his hand clutched its way up her thigh. Bile heaved to her throat.
Feeling her spasm, he said, “You like that, do ye?”
He let out a grunt as she thrust the dirk into his back. When he cursed, she pulled at it to strike him again, but it stuck. He reached back for her hand as she freed the dirk. With a thrust, she sank it into his side. He wrapped his hands around her neck. As he tightened his grip, she gasped and choked. His mouth opened. Sounds came from his throat, the beginnings of words never finished. His grip loosened and he fell upon her, limp and unconscious. She pried his hands from her neck, panting for air.
Hearing his grunts through the darkness, one of the others laughed. “Kilgour, need some help over there?”
Mari pushed and squirmed until she was free, then she slipped silently out of earshot and ran into the night.
Moments later, she heard hoof beats behind her. She rolled down a peat hill. There was a cave not far away. Behind, a voice cursed the soft peat that was slowing the horses. At the foot of a brae was a burn. Once there, she would know her way. She and Jamie had played here as children. As soon as she heard the water trip over the rocks, she knew she did not have far to go. Following the sound to the water’s edge, she soon gained an advantage by being on foot. She deftly maneuvered along the bank, over boulders and around gnarled trees. Not far ahead was a small cave. Just as the horsemen were nearly upon her, Mari slipped inside its moss-covered entrance, edging her way to the back of the cave. Cowering against the cave’s wall, she forced herself to take slow, quiet breaths as she listened to the men, now on foot, leading their horses outside the cave.
* * *
Just after dawn, Mari stepped inside the farmhouse. Margaret rushed to her. “Marion! Where is Jamie?”
“Mum.” She had been strong through the night, but no more. With the helpless face of a child, she said, “Jamie’s dead.”
When the story was told, her mother sat in her rocker and stared at the fire, while tears pooled in her father’s eyes as he sat at the table and stared at his hands. It was a good while that passed before anyone spoke of what had to be done.
“I must tell Ellen’s family,” she said.
“Aye. Bring her father and some men to help bring the twa souls home to be buried.”
“Father, you ken we cannae. The English Royalists willnae let Covenanters bury their dead.”
A deep sob came from Margaret as she wept her first tears.
Archie said, “Och! I willnae leave a child of mine on the moors for the crows.” He stopped, unable to compose himself.
“No, Father.” She rushed to take hold of his hands to console him. “We must wait for the gloaming. Then we’ll go find him. ‘Tis no but a few miles from here.” Her eyes teared.
“We used to play hide and seek there. Och, how we’d go crawling and climbing. I hid last night in a wee cave Jamie found years ago. It saved my life.”
A long silenced passed.
Archie tamped down his emotions. “Tonight, then.”
The Minister’s Son
Thomas Blackwell arrived with his mother. He carried a basket of oatcakes, chicken pie, jelly and tea, which he handed to the maid as they all took seats in the sitting room.
“You’re very kind, Mistress Blackwell. Thank you,” said Mari’s mother.
“Not at all, Mistress Thomas.” She laid her hand on Rowena’s for a moment in silent sympathy. As she withdrew it, she said softly, “Reverend Blackwell is gathering men to go out after dark and bring Ellen and Jamie back home where they belong. They will wait until dark, to avoid suspicion. The Highland Host are all about us. No one is safe.” With a sharp intake of breath, she stopped, her eyes darting about before settling on her clasped hands in her lap.
Rowena nodded. “Aye, ‘tis a truth we ken well.”
Mistress Blackwell said, “Your Jamie was a brave martyr.”
“I’d rather he were alive.”
The maid arrived with tea. While Rowena started to pour, Thomas spied Mari through the window and excused himself.
Once outside, he approached her, taking care to arrive at a suitable distance from her so as not to prompt tongues to wag. “May I walk with you, Marion?”
When his eyes met hers, his thirsty gaze lingered too long to mistake what lay behind them. “Where are you going?”
“I thought if I walked I might keep my mind off of it.”
His lips parted, but the question that burned from his eyes was not forthcoming. “May I walk with you?”
Mari hesitated. To go walking together would draw notice, which they had both worked to avoid.
“I cannae let you go walking alone after—they’re all around us, Marion. It’s not safe, and well you know it.”
With a nod, Mari went on her way walking with Thomas beside her. In silence, they followed a path that led over a hill and past a small copse of trees. When they were well out of sight of the farm, Thomas took Mari’s wrist and led her into the trees, out of sight. Pulling her into his arms, he cradled her head in his hand and planted kisses on her forehead. “My dear Marion. I’m sorry.” A long while passed as Thomas stroked Mari’s hair back from her brow. He touched her hairpin and her hair tumbled free.
Mari looked up in sudden shock, as she reached up to put her hair back in order.
His hands grasped her wrists. “Don’t.” Burning eyes bore through hers. “Let me touch but your hair as it falls in long strands over your breasts.”
“Thomas! You musn’t speak like that!”
Thomas slowly coaxed her hands to rest on his shoulders, and her reached round her neck and combed his fingers up her scalp, through her hair to the ends, guiding the strands to the front as his fingers released the ends gently to land on her breasts. “Och, Marion, you’re a beauty.” He breathed in as he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You’re mine. You know that you are.”
She lifted her chin as his breath warmed her ear. A tear slipped down her cheek. “My brother and Ellen have died. Thomas, how can I think of anything else?” She took a step back on weak knees and found her back against a tree.
“Let me comfort you, Marion.” Thomas pressed the full length of his body against hers. “‘Tis right that you should come to me. For you’re mine, and you know it.” And he combed his fingers once more into her hair and he pulled her to him. “You belong to me. Say it.” His body insisted before his voice did, and he put his mouth on hers and his tongue in her mouth.
Against thought or will, her lips parted to his as a thrill shot through her. His hands were on her, drawing her closer as he kissed her until her head swam. Her heart ached as an image of Jamie’s dead body flashed through her mind. Mari gasped at the thought. Thomas stiffened against her. “Marion, you’ve been mine since that day you gave yourself to me. Let me have you again.” He fumbled with the cloth that covered her corset, slipping his fingers inside, but not reaching the tips that he sought. His voice edged with frustration, he said, “Take it off. Let me touch you.”
His insistence made her uneasy. She tried to move away, but was pinned against the tree. “Thomas, no.” Pressing her palms to his chest, she tried to wriggle free, but he had her securely pinned with her arms in his grip and his body against hers.
“But you liked it before,” he whispered, as he kissed her neck. Pressing his groin against her, he slid his hands down to her skirts, clutching and pulling the fabric to get underneath.
“We should never have done it. If the church elders knew-”
“But they don’t. And they’re not here now, are they?”
“But it’s wrong. What you want is for husbands and wives, which we’re not.” She looked boldly at him.
He would not meet her eyes. “Do you think I would marry a woman who thinks she can lead me around like a bridled horse? Well, I’ll marry when I’m ready. Don’t force your will, Marion. I’ll marry when I’m sure that you love me enough.” He took a step back.
Mari put her clothing and hair back in order as he talked.
“The Bible speaks of a virtuous woman. You’d do well to read it and study it well, for you’re lacking some traits that a future minister’s wife needs to have.”
Her last vision of Ellen haunted her mind, and the thought of being touched now sickened her stomach. She had loved Jamie and Ellen, and now they were gone. What right did she have to give in to pleasures of the flesh? How many times had she heard Thomas’s father preaching about the wages of sin? How could Thomas continue to ask this of her when he knew it was wrong? She said, “Perhaps I am not the virtuous woman you would wish me to be, but to ask it of me now isnae virtuous, either.”
Thomas scoffed. “I’ve been patient with you, but you vex me sometimes.”
As he said it, his face took on the look of his father while preaching.
Mari could not absorb what she was hearing. “I vex you?”
“Aye, woman, you do.” He looked stern and unyielding.
In that moment, Mari saw her future with him, being told of her failings by a man who would never see his. It took her breath. When she could speak, she said, “Jamie and Ellen are dead. You found me in a moment of weakness. I’m sorry for that. Please show some respect for the dead, if you won’t for my wishes. Jamie wouldae approve. I willnae do what you wish on his grave.”
Her words silenced him, and his eyes grew cold and dark. Turning, he offered his arm. Mari shook her head. “We shouldnae be seen touching.” She lowered her eyes for a moment, and then turned toward her house and walked back alone.
Crying the Banns
May 4, 1679
Two weeks after Jamie and Ellen were buried, five Highland dragoons in gray waistcoats and plaids rode southwest from Glasgow atop pale gray horses. The officer in charge sat tall with broad shoulders and a comfortable confidence. From his blue bonnet, dark hair was pulled into a tie at the nape of his neck. Looking straight ahead, he spoke to his men, who flanked him two on each side. Keeping pace with the ensign’s brisk canter, they rode with abandon, invigorated by the bracing wind that swept over the moorland. Rounding the top of a gently sloped hill, they came upon the ashen remains of a Beltane fire from a few days before. Charlie flashed a broad smile. It was, by far, his most dangerous weapon. He cocked his sand colored head as though deep in thought, but a mischievous grin lurked just beneath the surface. “Alex?”
“No,” Alex summarily answered, for he knew what was coming. Alex was older by a year, with the mighty build and bearing of a formidable warrior, which made him an unlikely subject to tease. But everyone has a moment of weakness at some point in his life. For Alex, there had been only one—one which Charlie remembered in brilliant detail.
“Hughie, you remember, do you not?”
“No, I saw nothing,” said Hughie, holding up a flexed palm to distance himself.
“Och, aye, now I recall, Alex.” Charlie took his time, grinning broadly. “Remember, Alex, when you drew the oatcake marked with coal?”
Even Duncan, the quietest of the group, had to suppress a snicker.
Charlie went on. “Three times. You only had to jump over the flames three times. But you just about did a damned sword dance over the flames.” He smiled with unbridled pleasure. “‘Twas a braw dance, that was, laddie.”
Alex lunged forward to urge his horse over toward Charlie, but Duncan grabbed the bridle of Alex’s horse and stopped him.
“Aye, it was,” Charlie said, relishing the moment. “And when your plaid caught fire, it burned brighter than the bonfire. Or maybe it was just the reflection from your bare arse when you pulled the burning plaid off!” By this time, not one of them could keep from laughing.
Alex said dryly, “Aye, laugh all you want, Charlie. But if you had some bollocks of your own, you’d do the same to protect them.”
Unscathed, Charlie grinned.
They rode along quietly for a moment or two, until Callum, their leader, said, “Do you not want to ken where we’re going?”
Duncan said, “South.”
Callum glanced at him sideways and proceeded as though the answer were yes. “Archbishop Sharp was murdered yesterday on his way to St. Andrews. He was in a carriage with his eldest daughter when a band of Covenanters shot him, then dragged from his carriage and—in front of his daughter—stabbed him sixteen times until he was dead.”
Hughie said, “In front of his daughter?”
“And they call Highlanders barbaric,” said Duncan.
Charlie cocked an eyebrow. “Daughter? What does she look like?”
Alex pulled off his bonnet and swatted Charlie with it.
“They were led by Hackston of Rathillet and Balfour of Kinloch. The others were poor men—probably weavers. At least one of them is from Ayrshire, so we’ve been sent here to find him and anyone with him.”
“He’s in Ireland by now, I’ll wager,” said Duncan.
“Aye, I’ll wager you’re right,” Callum said.
“But Callum—I mean, Ensign MacDonell—” said Duncan, with a hint of sarcasm.
Callum cast a wry look sideways. They’d all been boyhood friends, but he outranked them now. While his friends did not mind, it made Callum a bit uncomfortable. Knowing this, they took turns raising the point now and then for their own entertainment.
Hughie grinned as he watched Duncan, whose only sign of amusement was a slight curve at the corner of his mouth. A gentle breeze brushed blond strands back from Hughie’s brow, exposing the fresh face and bright eyes of one who still found excitement in battles. At seventeen, Hughie was sure he had lingered too long at home, and was excited to be on this adventure. “Callum, what are we to do here if the weavers we seek are in Ireland?”
“Our orders are to quash any Covenanter activity that we find.”
“And I’m sure there’s a brilliant plan to accomplish that,” Duncan said dryly. He was a practical man, which some mistook for pessimism. But in matters of battle he was most often right.
“Aye.” Alex laughed as he brandished his sword. It caught the light as he sliced the air deftly toward imagined Covenanters. “We’ll accomplish the task with the well-applied tip of my sword here, here, and… here—Sorry, ma’am. I was aiming for your daughter. You, uh, might want to tuck those back into place.”
When the snickering subsided, Callum explained, “The curates have a list of everyone in the parish. We’re to investigate those who fail to attend Sunday services.”
Duncan lifted dark, knowing eyes to meet Callum’s. “Investigate. In English, does that mean to beat or hang them?” he said dryly.
“We willnae harm anyone without good reason. We’re not like that, and you ken it,” said Callum sternly.
“We may not have a choice,” Duncan said.
With a spark in his eye, Charlie said, “Aye, we do. We’ll just ask them politely to trot their wee arses into the English kirk. I’m sure that will work nicely.”
“I say we use the same manners they used on our parents when they were wee children. Thousands marched into our homes with their civilized manners and burned our chapels and families. But we are the barbarians,” said Duncan.
Hughie said, “Now we’re marching onto their land and forcing them to go to a different church. How is our cause any better?”
“You ask too many questions,” said Charlie.
“No,” said Callum. “It’s a fair question. The difference between the Presbyterians and us is that we fight for our clan. If our clan takes on the king’s cause, then that cause is ours. We honor our clan, for without our clan and our honor, we are nothing. It’s simple and true.”
“We can keep our minds simple enough—some of us more easily than others,” Alex said with a sideways glance toward Charlie, “but dinnae expect welcoming hugs when we get there.”
With a sharp look, Callum said, “That’s why we willnae let down our guard, ken?”
The men all gave a nod.
Callum went on. “I ken you’ve all heard of what goes on—robbing, reiving, and the like. That willnae happen with us, or you’ll answer to me. And that goes for the women. Treat them like our own.”
“That’s been my plan all along, to treat them like me ain!” said Charlie.
“Like our mothers and sisters,” added Callum, reprovingly.
Charlie held his arms up in defense toward Callum. “I was joking!”
Shaking his head, Callum smirked. “You’re a sorry swine.”
* * *
They made camp on a hill overlooking the farms of Dunross. While they worked, Callum said, “We’ll bide here for a while.”
“And do what?” Alex asked.
“Watch and wait.”
Alex, looking unusually serious, said, “Can you not tell us more about the man we are looking for—perhaps what he looks like?”
“Aye.” Callum looked at him frankly. “We got a detailed description from the Archbishop’s daughter and servants: average height, average build—wearing bonnets or hats.” Callum rolled his eyes.
“Well that narrows it down to half the stinkin’ men in Scotland,” said Charlie.
“Aye, but I do have a name,” Callum added.
“A name? Well, you might have mentioned that sooner,” said Alex.
“James McEwan,” Callum said with a sly glint in his eye.
“See that farm down there? That’s where he lives, and that’s where we will quarter ourselves when the time’s right.”
* * *
Archie Ferguson was a tacksman, with one of the larger farms in the area. Because of this, his farm was often used to host Covenanter meetings. But today it was quiet, except for the usual workings of the farm. People were once again going about their everyday work, but now Jamie and Ellen were gone. Two weeks had passed, and the weeping was over—except for occasional moments when, in an instant, tears would well up unexpectedly. But the grief was still fresh.
Janet Ferguson greeted Mari and her mother and accepted the basket of shortbread Margaret offered. They sat outside weaving straw baskets and talking, sometimes as though nothing had happened. It bothered Mari to feel this way, but it was the way to go on, she supposed, else her grieving mind would unravel. And there was something comforting about hearing the two older women talking about other things—normal things—that concerned other people in the kirk.
“They’ll be crying the banns for Thomas Blackwell and Agnes Bell.”
“No! Agnes?”
“Aye.”
“With Thomas—the minister’s son?”
“Well! I didnae ken they were even courting.”
The two women were so engrossed in the news that they barely noticed Mari get up and leave. She made it past the corner before she vomited. Wiping her mouth, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, catching her breath, her palm on her abdomen. As she salvaged her composure, she sensed something and glanced up to discover the dairymaid, healer and midwife, Grizzal MacRorie, standing not far away, staring at her.
Since childhood, Grizzal had frightened Mari, with her brusque and often hurtful ways. “Some people just dinnae like children,” her mother had told her. But Mari thought this woman simply did not like people, for as Mari grew up, Grizzal continued to express her annoyance whenever it suited her and regardless of its effect. But today it was Mari who had little patience. She met Grizzal’s eyes squarely and said, “Have you no work to do?”
The woman stared straight back at her and, with a knowing look, said, “Aye.” But she made no move to leave.
“Then why didnae you go do it?”
“Och, I was just thinkin’ o’ sumpin’ me mither used to say.”
Not wishing to seem rude, but in no mood to hear more, Mari gave a polite nod and walked back toward the house.
Behind her, still within earshot, she heard Grizzal say, “What’s done in the corner will come to the hearth.”
Mari needed no help feeling queasy, but she willed herself to get past the door, around the corner, and far enough past the buildings and workers to somewhere private where she would not be further observed. Her head spun for a moment. She clung to a tree. No, I willnae boak here.
She walked past the byre through the field densely dotted with yellow buttercups in bloom at her feet. She came to an oak, where she leaned on the far side of it, wiping her tears. Then on she walked into the shade of the woods, where no one would hear her weep. Tears freely flowed as she found herself by the cool water. She pulled the fillet from her hair and dipped it into the water, then pressed it to her red eyelids and cheeks as she continued along the worn path. The path was well traveled, but not at this time of the day, when the farmhands were working. No one would trouble her now. She followed the path to a high cliff from which water poured as if from a spout between two steep walls of rock. Mari stopped to be sick again, then finished her climb to the top of the falls, where she stood and watched water pound the rocks far below.
She leaned against a large tree and cried out, knowing that the roar of the waterfall would drown out the sound. No, it could not be, and yet she had wondered, but tamped down the thought and the fear that now roiled inside her. It could not be true, but when Grizzal as much as said it, she knew that it must be. She was with child—an unmarried sinner. Before long, it would show and bring shame on her parents, who had endured so much heartache already. The kirk folk would judge her, and her parents as well. She wept until she could cry no more. She gazed at the water approaching the falls, and a strange calm came over her. The water was smooth, almost as if it were still, and it soothed her. She stepped closer to watch it. The power of it mesmerized her. Closer yet she stepped, wondering at the way the clear water seemed to slow just before it sprayed over the ledge in a seemingly solid white mass. Her handkerchief slipped loose from her hand. Caught by the breeze, it billowed and seemed for an instant suspended in air before resting on the surface until the water swallowed it.
She had not planned or imagined this, yet she was here. It made sense to accept the immediate pain in exchange for the rest, which would last beyond her life and cling to the wee one. The wee bastard. When would that label lose its grip on her child? She could not bear to imagine their two lives, the unending judgment and pain—and the loneliness. Who would have her now? Worse yet, anyone who would have her would do so without love. Someone would have need of a wife to do farm chores, and her parents would marry her off. She had ached from loneliness before, but there had always been hope of it ending. Now there would be no end. She would live life alone, never having known love.
She peered down at the rocks below. In mere moments she could join Jamie and Ellen. She reached out her hand and let the mist from the waterfall settle on her smooth skin and calm her. She seemed apart from herself. The cool moisture dulled her pain. She stood there for a very long while. Her toes crept closer. One step, then another. Now was the best time to do it. No one would ever know why. They would think it was an accident. Her parents would not be shamed. If she waited, her family would suffer more, and that kind of suffering would be worse to bear. This would spare them. Yes, she was a coward, for she would also be spared. The torment of keeping the secret until the inevitable public disgrace was too much to fathom. She leaned forward and took one last step.
