Jenny ran with her men, keeping her head low, her targe raised up in protection.
A volley of arrows hit the ground around them, one of them piercing the calf of a Mackintosh soldier. He cried out but didn’t stop running, batting out the flames with his hands and breaking off the shaft before leaping onto his horse.
They rode away as swiftly as they could in the snow. For a breathless hour she veered this way and that, trying to avoid a pursuing enemy who would surely be able to follow their tracks in the snow. Finally, Jenny called a halt. There was no one behind them. No pursuer, and she wondered if there might never have been—if those who’d shot at them never intended to follow.
Who would attack and then not pursue?
One name came to her mind. One person who would want to toy with her—Hamish. If it were the English, they’d have come after the rebels, rushed them when they gathered their horses. They would have done more damage—and with bullets. If it were outlaws, they would have given chase, if only to rob them.
Jenny burned with rage. Had Hamish really fallen so low?
A small part of her had hoped that when she was finally able to confront him, she could convince him to come back to the Jacobite cause. That she could remind him of their father’s and grandfather’s legacy, prove to him that this had all been a big mistake. Maybe Hamish was confused, lured by the treasure trove of coin he had been promised, the titles, the land. It was greed that spurred him on, not allegiance to the pretender on the throne.
“They dinna follow,” Toran mused.
“Nay. But dinna doubt they are behind us.” Jenny gritted her teeth. “I’m certain ’twas my brother.”
The men grumbled, their irritation with Hamish already at a high level after his constant drain on their provisions.
“He wants Cnàmhan Broch back. A stronghold in the Highlands for his English puppet masters.”
Toran cursed under his breath. “We’re not far now.”
“Aye. If we ride through the day, we can make it by midnight.”
“The horses will be exhausted.”
She nodded. “’Haps when we reach MacPherson lands, they’ll allow us to trade them out.”
After tending to the warrior with the wounded leg, they continued on, changing out the horses at a MacPherson croft and updating them about the battle at Falkirk.
When at last Jenny and her men arrived at Cnàmhan Broch, Lady Mackintosh, Isla, and Camdyn greeted them with massive embraces. Mac gave her an update on all that had happened while she was away, which was thankfully void of any conflict.
Jenny ordered the men who’d arrived with her to get some warm food, ale, and rest and had those on guard duty lock up the gates tight and double their forces, telling them to look out for any signs of her brother or his impending arrival.
Inside the castle, Jenny’s mother ordered her a hot meal from the pottage that still boiled in an iron kettle in the kitchen from their own dinner. Toran had gone out to sit with the men, and she wished he was inside with her now.
“Ye need a bath.”
“Aye, a hot one,” Jenny said, feeling the grime that was caked to her skin and the chill in her bones that just wouldn’t go away. She remembered Toran’s whispered words the night they’d made love, saying she needed a hot bath, and the wicked side of her wished he would climb into the tub with her now that she had the chance for one.
Between bites, Jenny filled her mother in on the events of the battle and her intentions for the next few days.
“Eat the rest of your supper and I’ll have a bath drawn up for ye.”
After scraping the last of the pottage from her bowl with the remaining hunk of her bread, Jenny climbed the stairs with heavy legs to her chamber, achingly aware of her exhaustion, grateful for the castle’s staff, and reflecting on how damn lucky she was to be home when she could have died so many times over. To have escaped unscathed save for a few minor scrapes was a miracle.
In her chamber a steaming bath awaited her, strewn with dried rose petals and herbs. A fire had been built up high in the hearth, and already her room was feeling toasty.
“I’ve laid out a clean night rail and some thick woolen hose to keep ye warm,” her mother said. “Do ye want me to wash