and rising crags came into view, and not a single dragoon had been sighted along the way. As they passed key lookout points, Dirk mimicked a bird of prey. The calls he sent into the air were answered by someone in the distance—announcing their presence so they would not be shot by the scouts she had strategically placed to guard the croft they’d commandeered as the rebellion’s headquarters.
When they eventually reached the croft doors, another signal would be given to those within by a certain knock at the door. A signal that they’d have to change if Toran and his companion chose to flee. Maybe she should change it anyway once he was returned to wherever his clan was, even if he did commit to the cause. And with that notion she paused, realizing she didn’t know what clan he was from as his plaid was plain and covered in muck.
A cold knot formed in her belly. Every other recruit she’d picked up had been known to her, from conversation before the request or personal referrals. But Toran was a mystery.
She would find out before this night was through.
The farm’s main yard had a low stone fence surrounding it to keep in the animals, though the sheep often hopped over the enclosure without effort, as did the horses if the keepers weren’t careful. This particular croft held about ten acres of land, with a forest along the left side that curved around the back and acted as a natural barrier. The rest of the acres were covered in lush green grass for the few cattle and sheep they had to graze.
The thatched-roof house was just a main room with a cot, a table and cooking area, and a back chamber whose walls were lined with more cots. Above was a loft where the men who worked the croft lived.
There were two outbuildings, a barn and a stable. A small chicken coop pressed up to the side of the barn. On the right side of their yard was a vast vegetable garden surrounded by a wooden fence to keep the sheep from eating the crops.
From the outside looking in, this was an ordinary croft, complete with animals and people working the land. Nothing to see here, keep it moving.
Hidden beneath the seemingly benign wattle-and-daub house was a hoard of weapons, coin, and supplies, with new recruits sleeping above in the loft if they’d no place else to go.
The other men—all two hundred and forty-seven of them, if these two were to be included—lived their everyday lives as though nothing was amiss. They pretended to live in accordance with the rule of their laird—Jenny’s brother—doing what they must to survive until the day she called them to arms in the name of the prince regent.
Jenny frowned at the thought of her brother as they slowed their approach, coming just up to the stable. With the death of their father, Hamish had become chief of clan Mackintosh—and then promptly rejected the sacrifices of the generations before him who’d protected their Scottish heritage. When he’d ridden away from them, he’d left their mother sobbing on the castle steps. There’d be no turning back for him.
“After we get the wounded one inside, fetch Annie, will ye?” she asked Dirk.
“’Tis the middle of the night.”
“Aye.” Jenny left it up to her cousin to figure that part out. “We’ve a wounded man who needs tending.” She was grateful her childhood friend was visiting Cnàmhan Broch from MacPherson lands. Her expert hand would aid in healing the wounded man. And by doing so, the two new recruits would be more endeared to her, seeing that she was willing to take care of her own.
“I dinna trust that one.” Dirk nodded toward Toran as though he wasn’t sitting right behind her. The way her cousin was glaring at their new recruit, he would likely insist the men be locked away or executed in case they should decide to run off and expose the rebels to the English.
“Have faith, Cousin.”
“Aye, Mistress,” Dirk grumbled as he peeled away from their caravan to head toward the castle, the peaks of its roof showing just above the forest that separated them from the road.
A rumble shook against her back, and Jenny stiffened. “What are ye laughing at?”
“I’m hurt he doesna trust me.” The way he spoke soft and low in a teasing lilt, as though it were a secret shared between them, sent an unbidden shiver of pleasure down her spine.