The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,24
need to be armed and on alert. “It begins.”
“The news grows worse,” said Livingstone.
Ciar eyed him. “Out with it.”
“George of Hanover has been named her successor.”
Chapter Seven
Seated at the table in Lochiel’s solar, Ciar rubbed his temples while he listened to his friends voice their disgust at the prospect of being ruled by a king who’d never set foot in Britain.
“Gentlemen.” Ciar pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was well past time for the evening meal, and most every man at the table would need to rise early next morn. “It is time we take matters into our own hands. We must ride at once to unite the Highland armies.”
“Do you mean to start a rising?” asked Lochiel.
“I mean to find out exactly who supports us and who does not. And, aye, if we cannot right this wrong peaceably, then we’ll have nay choice but to take up arms.”
Chisholm nodded emphatically. “Someone must cross the channel and speak to James.”
“Mar will do it,” said Lochiel. “My son and I set sail for London on the morrow.”
“Isn’t he away with his bride?” asked Grant.
“Aye, but I ken where to find him.”
“Very well, but the rest of us must ride at dawn,” said Ciar. “Grant, you take the road to Inverness. MacRae, head for Skye and the isles. Gordon, the Northwest. Murray, take Perth to Dundee. I’ll go west and start at Spean Bridge, and ride down through the southwest Highlands.”
Lochiel rocked back in his chair. “That’s bold of you, Dunollie. Stay clear of royalist Campbell lands. The lot of them can’t be trusted.”
“I intend to.”
“But what of home and hearth?” asked Stewart. “I border Campbell lands. I wouldn’t put it past them to attack Castle Stalker.”
Ciar rubbed his palm over the pommel of his dirk. “I aim to send my men to Dunollie and keep the peace there. The news will be spreading through Scotland like a brushfire. I expect there will be rioting across the kingdom if we do not stop it straightaway.”
Grant scowled. “The imposter from Hanover will learn what a riot is if he dares to cross the channel.”
“That’s why we must act immediately.” Ciar pushed to his feet. “I’m planning to leave tonight since summer days are long. Mind you, if we wait until the man is crowned, it will make dethroning him far more difficult.”
* * *
After the announcement of the queen’s passing, the rest of the clans moved to the great hall while the chiefs met. The roast pork was served, but Emma could scarcely eat. Obviously, the news meant everything would change, and just when she was growing accustomed to Achnacarry—and all the people—especially one person in particular. Especially when the gathering was supposed to continue a few more days.
The tension in the hall was as tight as a harp string. “Whatever is taking them so long?” asked Betty.
Janet’s knife tapped her plate. “If I ken Robert, they’re strategizing for war.”
“God save us,” Emma said. Albert growled and moved against her leg, his posture rigid. “What is it, boy?”
Just as she posed the question, footsteps resounded from the stairwell.
“At last,” said Janet. “There’s Robert now.”
“Where’s Dunollie?” Emma whispered to Betty.
“They’re both heading this way, and their expressions are as grim as a pair of men attending a funeral.”
“We are riding this night,” said Robert. “Each chieftain is to take sections of the Highlands and unite the clans. My dear, I want you to remain here until I send for you.”
“Here?” Janet asked.
“Traveling right now is too dangerous.”
Albert wagged his tail, gently brushing Emma’s calf. By the dog’s change in attitude, she guessed Ciar might be near. Interesting how the pup could alert her to things.
“Miss Emma.” His gentle voice rumbled beside her as the laird took her fingers between his rough palms. “I did not want to leave without saying goodbye.”
“Must you go tonight?”
“Aye, time is of the essence. I’ll sleep at the inn at Inverlochy and meet with any allies who happen to be in town, then on to Spean Bridge.”
She squeezed his hands, desperately wanting to say something to make him stay. “It seems like madness. Does it really matter to us who sits on the throne?”
“Aye, lass, it does very much. We’ve bided our time whilst James’s sister was in power. After all, Anne is of Stuart blood. But to usurp James, the rightful heir, a man born in Britain no less, and put a foreigner on the throne is an outrage.”