The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,29
soldiers are backbiting bastards, and Wilcox is the most ruthless of the lot.”
Ciar groaned, dragging himself against the stone wall. Condemned for a murder he didn’t commit. “When will the governor return?”
“Who kens? The longer he’s away, the better.”
* * *
“Stay,” Emma said, slicing her hand downward in front of the dog’s face. She walked to the end of the lead, set it down, then proceeded around the hedge and stood while Sam used his father’s pocket watch to keep track of the time. By the ticking she knew exactly where the lad stood, not but a pace away.
They remained agonizingly silent as Albert sat alone in the middle of the grass. He yowled, making her bite her lip to keep from uttering a sound. They’d been practicing the stay command for days, and the dog had done so well. But Emma was his worst problem. She hated to make him stay behind while she disappeared. How he must fret. And she knew all too well what being in the dark was like.
“Time,” Sam whispered.
Emma stepped out from around the shrubs. “Albert, come!” she called, clutching her hands to her chest while the patter of his paws neared. “Sit.”
She could sense him obey by the burst of excitement in the air and the swift brushing of his tail on the grass. Finally, she reached out to give him a scratch. “Good boy!”
“I think he has it. But you’ll need to keep practicing until he’s able to sit for a half hour without becoming distracted.”
“A half hour?” She dropped to a knee and snickered with the slurp of Albert’s tongue. “That is unbearably long for him.”
“The better trained he is, the happier he’ll be.”
“Truly?”
“The dog loves the attention. And look at you pair—you’ve only been at it a sennight. In a year imagine all you will have taught him. Ye ken, dogs want to please their masters.”
“And they adore praise.”
“Everyone does, I reckon.”
“Aye.” She brushed her hands over Albert’s coat and stood. “You are an excellent trainer, Sam. I thank you.”
“I hope to train Lochiel’s hunting dogs one day.”
“Then I shall do my best to put in a good word on your behalf.”
“You would do that for me?”
“Absolutely. Lady Janet has taken a keen interest in our progress, and she is Lochiel’s daughter. I’m certain His Lairdship will listen to her when he returns from his journey to London.”
Emma’s attention shifted toward the sound of a horse cantering over the courtyard cobblestones. “I’ve urgent news from Fort William!” shouted the rider.
“Who is it?” Emma asked.
The lad stepped out from behind her. “’Tis one of the guardsmen.”
“Come,” she said, grasping Sam’s hand and hastening to hear the guard’s report.
As soon as her feet hit the cobbles, she asked, “What has happened?”
“’Tis Dunollie,” said the guard. “They’re holding him in the gaol. Nearly a week ago he was taken into custody for the murder of Tommy MacIntyre on the road to Spean Bridge.”
Emma gasped. “Murder?”
“Aye, miss. In broad daylight, and there were witnesses—soldiers of the crown saw it all.” Shod horseshoes tapped the cobblestones. “They say he murdered the MacIntyre man for coin. Dirked the poor blighter in the back, he did.”
Emma’s blood turned icy. Ciar would never commit murder. And for coin? That made no sense at all. Dunollie was one of the most prosperous lairds in the Highlands.
“He’ll hang for certain,” the guard continued.
“No.” Emma’s strangled whisper caught in her throat.
She clutched her hands around her neck. Lochiel had sailed to London with his son. Robert was in Inverness. She inclined her head toward Sam. “I must speak to Janet straightaway. Albert, come.”
With the dog at her side, Emma swiftly climbed the stairs into the keep and found Janet in the library. “Dunollie is in Fort William’s gaol, charged with murder!”
Emma hastened through the door. “One of your father’s guards just returned with the news.”
“Dear God.” Janet’s voice warbled as the gravity of the situation became clear. “Robert said things would be riotous, but I never thought something like this would happen. Dunollie a butcher? Nay, nay. It smells of skullduggery.”
Emma dug her fingers into a chair’s upholstery. “Of the worst sort.”
Janet strode across the floor. “I’ll dispatch messengers to intercept Robert. But my father and Kennan might be another matter. I’ll wager they’re at least halfway to London by now. We must also send word to Braemar Livingstone straight away.”
“Let us hope they have already been informed. Surely someone in