The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,72
dropped to the pillow, weak as a bairn. “I’ll not sit idle whilst she suffers.”
“Didn’t think you would.” Livingstone picked up the cloth and tossed it into the washbasin. “As I was saying, dragoons were lying in wait—Wilcox’s men they were and thank God they were bad shots. Willy was hit with a glancing blow to his shoulder, but he’ll survive. Moreover, there were only three of the bastards. It didn’t take long to overcome them.”
“Where are they now?”
“Locked in the back vault beneath Gylen Castle—I left a pair of men there to guard them until ’tis safe to release the maggots—else they’ll go cryin’ to Wilcox.”
Ciar ran a hand over his whiskers. “Who else kens we were there?”
“No one as far as I’m aware. Their orders were to wait until you returned and to stay out of sight. After you arrived they were supposed to return to Fort William and summon the governor.”
“They told you this?”
“With a wee bit o’ encouragement.”
Livingstone held a cup of water to Ciar’s lips. As soon as it touched his mouth, Ciar guzzled greedily. “How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
“But the Coe is nearly a stone’s throw from Fort William.”
“Brilliant, aye? Keeping you in the devil’s back garden.” Livingstone set the cup on the washstand. “’Tis the only place I could think of they wouldn’t look. After his da’s house was burned to the ground, MacIain built another with a false ceiling. No one kens you’re up here.”
“Aside from the serving wench.”
“She’s loyal to the cause.”
“What of Riley?”
“He’s here—under guard. After you were knocked unconscious, I sent word to Kelly. He and Tommy Jr. nabbed Brown and Manfred. They’re holding them in Inverlochy.”
“Then there’s no time to spare.” Ciar pushed himself up and swung his feet over the side of the bed, grabbing the post to steady himself. “Do the captives ken why they’re being held?”
“I told Kelly not to say anything to tie him to you. They have no idea Dunollie is involved.” Livingstone patted Ciar’s shoulder. “Your face is as white as bed linens. It might serve you well to stay abed for another day.”
“I’ll rest when this is ended and nay before.”
“Thought you’d say that.”
Ciar stood, his legs shaking beneath him.
Livingstone caught his arm. “You’re in no shape to be going anywhere, let alone the dragon’s lair.”
“Give me a slab of bacon, a half-dozen eggs and a shot of whisky, and I’ll be set to rights.”
“Aye. Or face down in your plate.”
“Shut it,” Ciar growled—right before his knees buckled beneath him and everything faded into blackness.
* * *
Only a fortnight had passed since Emma bid farewell to Ciar on the Isle of Kerrera. But it seemed like an eternity.
“I’m sorry Robert is so anxious to take you home,” said Janet sitting across the coach. “He should have given you more time to recover.”
“Aye,” Betty agreed, swaying into Emma’s arm as a wheel rolled through a hole in the road. “You’re in no state to be traveling.”
After Robert had rescued her from the pillory, he’d taken her to Achnacarry, where she was fed and sent straight to bed, though they only stayed one night there. First thing this morning, her brother had insisted the only place he could keep a proper eye on her was Glenmoriston, where they now headed directly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Emma mumbled.
Janet’s fan zipped open, the breeze from its flapping strong enough to cool Emma’s face. “It most certainly does. You have had a terrible ordeal. Whatever prompted you to slip away from Achnacarry in the first place, I cannot understand.”
“I must concur, miss,” said Betty, the traitor. “You could have ended up in grave danger. Och, in fact ye fell straight into unimaginable peril.”
Emma folded her hands. How could she ever make them appreciate what she’d accomplished? “I did that which needed to be done, and that is all.”
“Good heavens,” said Janet, her voice scornful. “I can name dozens of Highlanders who would have rushed to Dunollie’s aid.”
Emma sat forward and pounded her fist on the bench. “But they were all out organizing a rising to thwart the Hanoverian king.”
“Grant and Cameron would have come around to help His Lairdship,” said Betty.
“Neither of you understand.” The walls of the coach felt as if they were closing in around her. “Ciar was accused of murder. Governor Wilcox was planning to send him to the gallows.”
“Oh, I think we understand very well,” said Janet, the slats of her fan hitting in rapid repetition as she closed it.