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Chapter I

The Son of the Laird

 

Andrew Cameron was breathless. He had run for several miles through the forest that morning, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of the beautiful place. Above him the sun cast its light through the canopy, a dappled shade spread across the forest floor covered by ferns and mosses, a carpet of greenery stretching out before him. Soon he was deep into the forest, running along a path which was often used by the deer. At length, he came upon them quite suddenly, startling them from their grazing and causing them to scatter. As he watched the young creatures disappear into the woods, a magnificent stag appeared into the glade, taking little notice of Andrew who posed no threat to this monarch of the glen.

 

The young man watched as the stag grazed, it’s majestic appearance an astonishing sight to behold. Turning its head, the animal looked at Andrew for a moment and instinctively bowed its head, as though recognising Andrew for who he was: the rightful heir and Laird of all he surveyed. Andrew stood motionless as the stag turned and ambled off into the forest after its herd. A sight so spectacular that it took the young man’s breath away. Such views were the reward of solitude and Andrew would have gladly resided in the forest his whole life, the peace and tranquillity of that place as much a home to him as the crofts from which he had just descended.

 

He had left home as the dawn broke, the first crofters emerging with him to see to the animals, the sun rising over the moorlands. His mother and stepfather, Rhona and Stewart, had still been asleep as Andrew left the croft quietly, running off across the heathers towards the forest.

 

Rhona and Stewart had lived a happy life together, though one which was always fraught with danger. At any time, they could expect a raid by Murdoch’s men, though the pretender himself never dared to face his brother. Stewart and Rhona had raised Andrew to always honour the memory of his father, Iain Cameron, taking every opportunity to remind the young boy of the brave deeds and great acts of heroism that the Laird had achieved.

 

“Ye are very like yer father in so many ways,” Rhona smiled. Her son was growing quickly, and the young laddie loved to think about his father and what he might have been like.

 

“What was he like, mother?”

 

“A brave and noble man, my son,” Rhona looked wistfully into the distance as memories of her dear husband returned to her

 

The crofters lived a simple life, tending to their cattle and making a living from the land. As a child Andrew had learnt to hunt and catch fish and following in his father’s footsteps he had learned to fight. He was taught by his stepfather Stewart and uncle Duncan, the brother of Rhona.

 

“We must always be ready for a Mackintosh attack, laddie, ye must be ready to defend yerself and yer dear mother tae.”

 

Andrew was as capable with the sword as he was with the tools of a crofter, and as he grew, came to be liked and respected by all. He was a handsome young man, with the strength of his father and the gentle good looks of his mother. A crop of blonde hair and green eyes gave him an attraction which many a young lassie had noticed over the years. But Andrew found little interest in such things, at least he had done until now, the lassies on the crofts were all the same, simple folk and the daughters of peasants, he knew himself to be the son of the Laird and could not merely chase after any lassie who took a fancy to him.

 

Besides, it was not the excitement of the battlefield or the work of the croft which interested Andrew Cameron. As often as he could, he would go off by himself into the forest. There he would run through the trees and feel the rush of fresh air around him. The scents and sights of the forest a familiar home to him. Ever since he could remember, he had loved to be alone in the forest. Solitude gave him time to think, and often he would ponder on the future and his destiny to be Laird of the glen, it was this inheritance which often troubled him, a sense of unworthiness hanging like a rain cloud. Could he ever emulate his father’s deeds? Or be strong like his uncle and stepfather? Andrew was still a boy and had much to learn, but in the forest, he was master of all he surveyed.

 

He knew every part of it, from the waterfalls which cascaded down from the high mountains to the glades where deep pools and gushing streams flowed through the trees, and where it was said that the faery folk lived. He knew the paths which the animals took and the best places to watch the deer grazing and the wildcats at play. Often, he spent the night there, kindling a fire and sleeping beneath the stars, the ways and moods of the forest as much a part of him as they were of themselves.

 

It was this solitude which Andrew Cameron longed for that morning as he set off across the heathers and down into the forest below. He took his familiar route, one walked a thousand times before, following a path which led him deep into the woods.

 

As a child, his mother had warned him not to stray too far, and to always keep an eye on where he was going. Evil men lay at the other end of the forest, and she recounted the tale of his father’s death and the capture of the Cameron castle all those years ago when Andrew was but a bairn in arms. Occasionally he had dared himself to walk deeper into the forest, seeking out new paths and edging closer to the mysterious castle which held so much fear for them all.

 

“Tis’ Murdoch Mackintosh who now resides there,” Rhona furrowed her brow “and no more wicked man can be found than he. Ye know the tales of what he did tae me and tae yer father. How he murdered him upon the battlefield and would gladly have murdered us all if given a chance. Long has he sought an opportunity to be rid of ye, my son.”

 

Stewart nodded in agreement. “Stay away from that castle my laddie tis’ a dark place and ye do not want tae encounter my brother Murdoch. If I never see him again, then I shall be glad of it.”

 

“Keep yer wits about ye at all times, nephew,” his uncle added, “the woods are full of Mackintosh spies if ye are intent upon walking there so often then be prepared tae use yer sword and dagger upon any stranger.”

 

At these words, Andrew remained silent, secretly wondering just what the castle was like and whether every Mackintosh was truly as bad his relatives made them out to be. Once he had gone almost too far to the walls of the castle, following a track that seemed to lead directly there. He had caught sight of one of the castle banners in the distance, just as a party of Mackintosh men had appeared on the road ahead, patrolling for Cameron insurgents, their swords drawn and murderous looks upon their faces. Andrew fled quickly back into the forest, running with all his might in terror at the sight of such wicked men.

 

Ever since then, he had kept his distance, the vast forests big enough to ensure that he need to go nowhere near that evil place again. Now, as he walked into the trees, he breathed in the fresh scent of pine and smiled to himself as above him the birds sang, a cuckoo echoing its song in the distance, as the first dawn rays broke through the canopy.

 

Today all he desired was to be alone. He walked more slowly through the forest, but decided against visiting his Godmother Cairstine and her husband Alistair as he often did, who resided in a cottage deep in the woods, instead he took the hidden paths, known only to the animals, pausing to collect berries which he ate and drinking from one of the streams. The cold, icy water refreshed him, and he was soon running through the trees intent upon reaching the waterfalls which flowed down from Cornevis, the mountain towering high above the glen, and even in summer had wisps of snow about its top.

 

As he ran, Andrew thought once more of his destiny. Ever since he could remember his mother and stepfather had impressed upon him the fact that he would be Laird and that when he was of age, it would be his responsibility to lead the Cameron Clan to revenge Murdoch Mackintosh, the man who had murdered his father and left them in exile.

 

“Ye are the rightful Laird of this glen, my son,” Rhona instilled in the boy, “ye are the one who will lead the Cameron’s home and vanquish that wicked man from the castle.”

 

Duncan remembered the past only too well. “Aye, the honour of our clan is yers tae defend, ye are the one who will lead us intae battle.”

 

“We have suffered tae much at the hands of the Mackintosh’s, the years since ye were a bairn have been long and hard. Many a good man has been lost in their raids, and in the battles we have fought. Now is the time for us tae emerge as victors,” Stewart could never forgive or forget the treachery of his brother.

 

It was a well-rehearsed narrative and one which Andrew knew all too well, yet the thought of such responsibility unnerved him. He was as accomplished a swordsman as any of his fellow clansmen, but the idea of facing his father’s killer in battle terrified him. He had known nothing different to life amongst the crofters, and he had no real desire to reside in a castle which had been described to him as a place of such wickedness. But the time was approaching, and already his stepfather and uncle had begun to rally those forces friendly to their cause in preparation for an assault upon the Mackintosh clan. For too long the Cameron’s had been on the offensive, protected only by the stoutness of their men and the geography of their crofts which, lying high up in the mountains, made an all-out assault impossible. Occasional raids still decimated the lands and caused much hardship to the Cameron’s, and they knew that the time was coming when they must fight on their own terms.

 

“A foolish quest,” Andrew thought to himself, pausing to catch his breath beneath the shady trees. It was then that he heard a sound, not of birdsong, or the noise of animals in the forest, nor the movement of the trees, but rather the sweet sound of someone singing. Startled, he stood still and listened. The sound coming from just a little way away.

 

“I left my baby lying here,
Lying here, lying here
I left my baby lying here
To go and gather blaeberries.

 

I found the wee brown otter’s track
Otter’s track, otter’s track
I found the wee brown otter’s track
But ne’er a trace o’ my baby, O!”

 

The words sounded sweet and gentle upon the air and Andrew stood transfixed as he listened to the song, wondering as to who might be singing. Rarely did he come upon anyone in the woods and rarer still to hear such a beautiful song. It was one he had heard his mother hum occasionally, and he crept forward to see who was singing.

 

The foliage was thick and lush, the perfect camouflage as he approached the sound of the voice. He had been there several times before and came to it on a side which he knew to be well covered by ferns, following a path used by animals who went there to drink.

 

The chorus was now repeated, the distinctive sound of a lassie singing. Andrew wanted to call out in response but worried lest he should scare away the singer he crept forward as quietly as he could, his heart beating faster as the source of such beauty came into view.

 

Chapter II

The Lassie in the Glade

 

A little further down the path, it opened into a glade where a stream flowed merrily into a great pool. The water was deep and blue, invitingly clear, the current swirling a little as the water cascaded white and foaming into its depths. There, swimming across, was a lassie, as beautiful a one as Andrew had ever seen.

 

He stooped behind the ferns which bordered the glade, watching her in fascination. She had a face so fair and lovely that he was instantly captivated by her and as she swam her long hair flowed out upon the water, her body gliding effortlessly as though she had swum there every day of her life.

 

Her singing continued, the words echoing around the glade. More folk songs of the glen, which told of faerys and mythical beasts, of love and loss, of great battles and glorious deeds. She was a songbook of words and Andrew was enchanted, unable to take his eyes from her.

 

The lassie swam for around an hour, back and forth across the pool, gliding through the water and occasionally diving into its depths and emerging with a great splash, shaking her head in refreshment. Finally, she emerged from the pool, the sight of her naked body, causing Andrew to blush and look away. He desperately wished to speak with her. He had never seen a lassie more beautiful than her, and as she finished dressing, he made the decision to boldly step forward.

 

Across the water, Andrew could hear her humming another ditty, straightening her dress and tying back the wet hair. She was shivering a little, for despite the summer sun breaking through the canopy the water must still be icy. The day was drawing on, and with the sun at its height, it was clear to Andrew that she was preparing to go home. Realising this might be the only chance to speak with her, he took a deep breath and stepped forward.

 

Andrew Cameron emerged from the ferns, stepping upon a dry branch as he did so and causing it to crack. The sound of the splitting wood caused the lassie to turn in shock as she saw Andrew across the water. Letting out a scream, she ran off into the forest, taking a path which Andrew did not know, her figure disappearing rapidly before him into the trees.

 

“Wait, I just …” Andrew Cameron began, but his words were lost, as the lassie fled into the forest.

 

Andrew ran downstream a little, forging the water just below the pool and running to the place where she had stood just a few moments before. There, beneath the trees, lay a woven shawl, left by her in her haste to run away. Andrew stooped and picked it up, holding it to his chest and breathing in the sweet perfumed scent. Turning towards the forest, he looked down the path, but there was no sign of the lassie whose name he did not know, but whose looks had so enchanted.

 

He began to run down the path, thinking that perhaps he might catch her and apologize for startling her, intent upon returning the shawl, but there was no sign of her. Walking deeper into the forest, he had no idea where he was going and stopped, catching his breath and looked around at the unfamiliar trees.

 

“I shall not find the lassie now,” Andrew called out loud, the trees seeming close, as overhead the sky became overcast, the sun disappearing behind a cloud.

 

Reluctantly he turned, retracing his steps to the forest glade and sat beside the pool a little while. Staring into the water he clutched the lassie’s shawl and began to sing snatches of a song he remembered from his childhood.

 

“With careless step I onward stray’d,
My heart rejoic’d in nature’s joy,
When, musing in a lonely glade,
A maiden fair I chanc’d to spy.

 

Her look was like the morning’s eye,
Her air like nature’s vernal smile,
Perfection whisper’d, passing by: –
‘Behold the lass o’ Ballochmyle!”

 

Andrew sat for an hour or so by the pool, singing stanches of songs he knew and thinking of the young lassie. What an unexpected encounter it had been. She was beautiful, and her image was clearly imprinted upon his mind, the thought of her emerging from the pool a sight he would never forget. He felt guilty for startling her, she had seemed so frightened, as though she feared any person she might meet in the woods.

 

Idly skimming a stone across the water, it bounced along the smooth surface. It was not easy for Andrew to meet women. There were the daughters of the other crofters of course, but he was to be Laird, and they were just ordinary folk. He could not just court any lassie he desired, a fact his mother often reminded him of.

 

“Ye are of noble blood, Andrew and it must be tae noble blood that ye marry,” Andrew spoke aloud, repeating his mother’s words.

 

This lassie had appeared different. She looked as though she had never worked a day in her life. Her skin was soft, her hands gentle and delicate. The dress she wore and the way her hair was smooth and long suggested a woman of noble means. Such thoughts made him even more curious. Had he seen one of the faery folks? Unlike many of his fellow kin, Andrew was not easily given to superstition, but there were tales of woodland creatures enticing men to their doom, beautiful faerys in the glen who would assume the form of a maiden only to lead a man to his death.

 

Andrew looked around him as though a host of faerys would leap out upon him or a spirit of the trees descend upon him in a cloud. There was nothing though, only the gentle breeze blowing through the forest which now rippled across the water. He skimmed another stone and stood up, tying the shawl around his waist as he walked through the forest towards home.

 

Andrew had not realised how far he had walked, and it took several hours of walking along seldom used paths and deer runs before he emerged onto the moorland path. A steep climb brought him onto the heathers, high on the mountainside and he turned, looking down onto the glen below. There in the far distance was his father’s castle, the banners of the Mackintosh’s fluttering on the turrets.

 

Andrew wondered if perhaps the lassie had come from there, yet she seemed far too beautiful to be associated with such fiends. Further above him were the crofts and coming towards was his uncle, Duncan, striding through the heathers to meet him.

 

“So, this is where ye have been all day? I was expecting ye tae assist me with the cattle, several of them have lamed themselves upon the rocks, and it has taken us most of the day tae make things right.”

 

“I am sorry, uncle. I had need of time alone. I will assist ye tomorrow, I promise,” Yet all he could think of was the beautiful lassie.

 

“Ye can assist me now, Andrew. Ye are not Laird yet remember, there is work to be done. Idle hands receive idle portions at the dinner table, just ye remember that.” Duncan shook his head at his nephew’s tardiness, “we lost three of our finest beasts in the last Mackintosh raid, and must ensure the young calves grow intae strong animals for the winter, do ye hear me?’

 

‘Aye uncle, I hear ye,’ Andrew sighed.

 

Reluctantly he followed his uncle towards the crofts, casting one final look back towards the glen he had seen a sight so beautiful it would enchant his heart for a lifetime.

 

~

 

The lassie swimming in the pool that day was Nairne Mackintosh, who hailed from the castle of Andrew’s long-dead father Iain, now inhabited by the murderous Murdoch Mackintosh and his clansmen She too had been warned about walking in the woods, yet often she failed to heed the warning. Nairne was beautiful, but she also was headstrong, and not one for heeding the instructions of her family.

 

That day she had left the Cameron castle early, running off into the forest, a place of solitude and peace for her. She knew the paths well but was always wary of the dangers she might encounter. Despite her headstrong nature, she had been raised on tales of the evils which lay high above the forest, of the wicked crofters, amongst whom resided her uncle, the man who had betrayed his own clan for a Cameron

 

Occasionally Nairne had caught glimpses of the Cameron’s in the forest, she knew that some lived amongst the trees and was always wary of straying too far towards the edge of the woods. That day she had walked to her favourite swimming spot. The deep pool with its gushing waterfall was the most beautiful place, and she delighted in swimming there, diving into the crystal-clear waters, a place of refreshment and peace.

 

When Andrew Cameron had emerged from the ferns, she had been terrified of the mysterious man before her. He was well built and looked of noble kin, his red tunic and blonde hair standing out starkly amidst the greenery of the forest. The sight of him had terrified her, and she had rushed forth from the pool, leaving her shawl behind her as she fled.

 

Having run for several miles without stopping, she now came to the path leading towards the castle and surrounding village, breathless and scared lest she had been followed. Several watchmen were stationed along the road, and who saluted as she passed. As a noble daughter of the clan, she could come and go as she pleased, her beauty a source of constant fascination to the men tasked to guard the lands of the self-styled Laird, Murdoch Mackintosh. As she emerged breathless from the forest, they wondered what had happened to make her run so fast.

 

“Are ye alright, lassie?” one asked, as Nairne looked behind her, relieved to see she had not been followed.

 

“Aye … I … saw a man in the trees, he startled me. It was a man I dinnae recognize, and he took me by surprise. I have run ever since,” she stood breathing heavily, still catching her breath.

 

The men looked worried, two of them drawing their swords and proceeding to the path from which Nairne had emerged.

 

“A man ye say, what did he look like?”

 

“He had a red tunic and blonde hair, I took him for one of the forest dwellers,” Nairne responded truthfully.

 

“Aye, or a Cameron fiend,” the guards spat on the ground at the name of their sworn enemy, “do not worry though lassie, ye are safe now and we shall guard this way so that ye have nothing tae fear. Shall I inform the Laird about this?”

 

“No,” Nairne turned to the guard beseechingly, “if he knew then I should never be allowed tae walk in the forests by myself again. Please, dinnae tell the Laird, my time in the forest is such a consolation for me, and if I did not have that, then I should be truly sorrowful.”

 

“Aye, very well lassie, but ye must be careful in the forests, many a fiendish man walks there, many a Cameron devil. Never forget that our enemies are everywhere and seek only tae destroy us.” At that, the guard led his men down the forest track, searching for any sign of the mysterious young man.

 

Nairne now walked more slowly, catching her breath. A breeze blew gently through the trees causing her to shiver, and it was then that she realized she had lost her shawl. It was one which her mother had woven for her, and she was upset at having lost it.

 

“I must have left it by the pool,” Nairne realized, emerging from the forest and walking along the track towards the castle.

 

The Cameron castle was a dark place. Once it had rung with happiness and laughter, when Iain Cameron had been Laird and his wife Rhona had been its mistress. Now the place appeared foreboding, even in the summer sun, its ramparts patrolled by guards, the gates closed against would-be intruders. Nairne was let in by two of the Laird’s henchmen and made her way into the keep where she found her mother, Una, in the Great Hall spinning wool upon a wheel.

 

“Ye have been gone all day, Nairne. The Laird has been searching for ye,” Una laid down her wool and smiled at her daughter.

 

“He knows I would have been in the forest. I went tae swim in the pool and in my haste to return I have left the shawl ye made me behind,” Nairne smiled sadly, coming to sit beside her.

 

Nairne loved her mother dearly and hated how Murdoch Mackintosh so cruelly treated them.

 

“I shall make ye another one, Nairne dear. Dinnae fret, by the time winter comes again ye shall have an even warmer shawl to place about yer shoulders and keep out the cold.” Una patting her daughter’s hand as she told her not to worry.

 

“What is all this about lost shawls, and where have ye been lassie?” Murdoch Mackintosh strode into the Great Hall, standing before Una and Nairne.

 

“I have been tae swim in the pool. Just as I often do. Sadly, I left my shawl there, but mother says she will make me a new one,” Nairne spoke quickly, trying to avoid Murdoch’s eyes.

 

She could hardly bear looking at him, his face disfigured by the injury suffered long ago when his right ear was cut off during a fight. It was not just his physical looks that repulsed her, the most disfigured of men can be beautiful if the person who bears the scars is beautiful, but Murdoch was not. He was cruel, a cruelty which had only become more pronounced in the years following his brother’s betrayal and the loss of Rhona. He seethed with anger, and his soul had become bitter and twisted. There was no love in Murdoch’s heart for Una or for Nairne. Or indeed anyone.

 

“She is idle enough yer mother. I am sure by winter ye shall have several shawls, all she does is sit and spin all day,” Murdoch laughed, giving Una a contemptible look.

 

The two women ignored him, Una returning to her spinning and Nairne stroking her mother’s hair.

 

“Ye will not go intae the forests so freely from now on,” Murdoch continued, “the paths and ways of that place are not safe for a lassie. Not when Cameron fiends stalk them seeking to snatch our bairns and make mischief for our people.”

 

“Murdoch, when was the last time a Cameron even came near this castle?” Una was not afraid of Murdoch since there was little more he could do to hurt her given the life which he forced her to lead, and the misery forced upon her daughter.

 

“The Cameron’s are our enemy, Una. Dinnae forget that, and they will stop at nothing before they have this castle returned tae themselves. Mark my words, that laddie, the pretender in the hills, is just waiting for the chance tae invade us.”

 

“Ye have said that these many years past,” Una stood her ground, “and never has it come true. Ye keep yer iron grip upon this glen, Murdoch.”

 

“Enough woman, go back tae yer spinning and Nairne, mark my words and stay out of the forest, ye hear,” and with that, Murdoch stormed from the Great Hall.

 

“I will still walk in the woods,” Nairne spoke defiantly.

 

“Aye, of course ye shall, and very soon ye shall have a pretty new shawl made by yer mother in which tae do so,” Una patted her daughter on the shoulder and returned to her spinning.

 

Nairne went to the window from which she could see across the castle walls and up into the forests beyond. It was the same view which over twenty years ago Rhona Cameron had looked upon, wishing she could escape the clutches of the vile and despicable Murdoch Mackintosh. Now, as Nairne stood there, she too completed one day escaping and wondered at the people who lived far out above the forests and up upon the moorlands. The Cameron’s, home she had inhabited her whole life, and of whose reputation had heard many horrific tales.

 

She thought too of the mysterious man by the poolside, had she been too swift in running from him? It had seemed a natural reaction, though he had appeared to mean her no harm. It was a thought which came back to her often in the days which followed, and far from being frightened, had every intention of returning to the pool. Whether Murdoch liked it or not.

 

As she watched from the window, she saw the guards upon the road hurrying into the courtyard. Murdoch was there too, shouting orders at the stablemen as they brought out his prized steed. Approaching theLaird, the guard spoke to him, at which point Nairne’s face fell. She knew exactly what the man was saying to Murdoch, despite his promise not to tell the Laird about the man who had followed her in the woods.

 

A moment later, Murdoch turned and looked up at the window where Nairne was watching, mouthed something indiscernible and spat upon the floor. Nairne sighed, perhaps it really would be impossible for her to walk in the woods. But she could not rid herself of the image of the strange man, and the desire to swim again in the beautiful pool. The only place she could escape from the life she was forced to lead at the hands of Murdoch and his men.

Chapter 1

Early November 1750, London, England

 

Amelia Parker rose with the sun shining through the large bay windows of her bedroom. Her blue eyes squinted at the light. Even though the maid would always close the bed curtains every night, Amelia would open them up just a crack after she’d left. She liked to see the beautiful morning light stream in, and it gave her enough light to read. She loved to feel the morning warmth on her face and savor those few moments of peace before she experienced the busy movements of the day.

 

Her lady’s maid, Beth Smith, entered quietly.

 

“Good morning, Miss” Beth said with a curtsy. “Let me assist you to dress.”

 

“Thank you, Beth.” Amelia removed the covers and touched her toes on the cold floor. She shivered, since she was just in a white, linen shift. While Beth was busy at the closet, Amelia asked. “Beth, will my father be joining us this morning for breakfast?”

 

Beth looked uncomfortable and kept her head down. “No, miss. No one has seen Lord Parker since he left last evening.”

 

Amelia’s face scrunched up in concern. She sighed, “I suppose he’s making quite a habit of it lately, coming in reeking of whiskey and smoke.” Where could he be again? And why every night? What was so important about drinking and smoking in dark clubs with other old men?

 

Beth’s eyes widened in surprise at her mistress’ confidence. She simply nodded and replied, “Yes, Miss.”

 

Amelia’s mind snapped back to reality. “Oh, forgive me. I’m ready now.” She stood in front of the long mirror and held out her arms.

 

“Pardon me, miss, for my delay. Let me get your stays and gown.”

 

Amelia stood in front of the mirror while Beth gathered the pieces of clothing. Her father’s continual nightly adventures continued to prey upon her mind.

 

Beth began to lace up her stays tightly. Amelia had to hold onto the cabinet next to her as the corset kept getting tighter and tighter. Thankfully, she didn’t need her corset to be laced as tightly as some women, as her breasts were already quite large and the tops of them peeked out coquettishly from the brim of her stays.

 

Her blond braid fell over her shoulder as Beth did her work. But, then a smile crossed Amelia’s face.

 

“I forgot! Today is the day Mother and I will search for my wedding trousseau! Oh, I have been waiting for this day for so long! Beth, I must look my best today. We can’t forget a single detail!”

 

“Yes, Miss,” said Beth as she pulled the gown over Amelia’s head and adjusted the fit. “I’m so excited!” Amelia started dreaming of her wonderful fiancé.

 

“Lord Charles Devereaux is a viscount, you know, Beth. I can’t believe I will be marrying him!” She clapped her hands in front of her. Charles was tall, young, and deliciously handsome, with a swirl of thick blond hair and dark green eyes that put a spell on every young woman, even the old ones too. Amelia and Charles had met at a ball recently; her father had introduced them. The viscount was known to be quite a lady charmer, but as soon as Amelia saw his face and danced with him, she was in love, and knew that she could change him. She knew then from his winning smile and clever wit as they danced, that she had found the one.

 

Last week, he had proposed marriage!

“You are going to be a beautiful bride, Miss.” Beth smiled at Amelia in the mirror while continuing to smooth her dress.

“Thank you, Beth. I was surprised at so quick a proposal, but I can’t say I’m not blissfully happy!” He and her father had talked long in the study after their union, and she could barely contain her excitement. Me and the most eligible bachelor in all of London society–to be married! And he loves me, and I love him!

Before Amelia could continue with her daydreams, Beth said, “Please, sit, Miss. Let me make your coiffure.”

 

After an hour or so, Amelia glided down to breakfast with her hair curled atop her head just so, and a smile on her face. Her blue eyes matched the lovely blue gown Beth had chosen.

 

But her face fell slightly as she watched her mother sitting alone at the breakfast table once again. “Hello, Mother. Good morning. How are you feeling today? I see Father has decided not to join us once again.”

 

“Good morning, my dear,” said Amelia’s mother Henrietta with a slight, almost imperceptible sigh. Amelia was about to inquire further, but then Henrietta looked up and smiled at her beautiful daughter.

 

“Don’t you look absolutely lovely? You’ll be a sight to see on our shopping trip. Are you excited for today? But, first, have some breakfast.”

 

Amelia went to the sideboard to make her selections of toast, jam, sausages, and eggs, before returning to her seat. The butler poured her a cup of steaming tea, and she began to eat quickly. “Mother, I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited! What do you think Charles, I mean Viscount Devereaux, would like most? What colors, what fabrics?”

 

“I don’t know, my dear, but we’ll be sure to make the best selections.”

 

From a side door, the butler quietly entered with a silver tray which held a solitary envelope and opener, and he paused in front of Henrietta.

 

“The post has just come, my lady.” The butler bowed his head as Henrietta took the letter.

 

“Thank you, Stevens.” She turned the envelope over in her hands. “Hmm…no sender’s address, and it’s a very plain envelope. I wonder who it could be from?”

 

She smiled at Amelia next to her who was still eating happily and cut open the envelope. Suddenly, Amelia was jolted out of her wedding reverie by her mother crying out and slumping over in her chair.

 

“Mother!” She yelled. Stevens rushed into the room once again. “Please! Send for the doctor! I believe Mother has just fainted!” Stevens nodded and hurried off to send a boy for the doctor. Henrietta awoke with a groan and tears were in her eyes.

 

“What is it mother? Are you all right?” Amelia’s face was poised in concern as she took her mother’s hands and felt her forehead gently.

 

“Look. Look at the letter,” Henrietta whispered, and her body wracked with sobs. Amelia decided to first help her mother over to the couch in the sitting room next door before hurrying back to the dining room for the letter. I wonder what could cause her to faint so?

 

She picked up the letter, written in a hurried hand on rough, grayish paper.

 

My dears,

It is time I admitted the truth. You must have noticed my nightly disappearances and my recent absences from the breakfast table. The authorities have taken me in from the gambling hall last night. I’m afraid I’ve gotten a taste for the wretched habit in recent months, and my dear Henrietta and dearest Amelia, I’ve gambled it all away. There is nothing left. The creditors will be at the house by morning to organize and evaluate all furniture and other belongings to be sold for repayment. There will be nothing left for a dowry. I am so sorry. I have arranged for you to go live in a small cottage in Brechin, Scotland tomorrow morning by carriage. The carriage will arrive at dawn and knows where to take you. Take whatever money you have saved. Send all the servants away. Please do not come by the prison. I cannot bear the shame.

I love you, but I am not worthy of you.

Be well,
Jonathan Parker
1750

 

Amelia sank to her knees to the ground, a few stray curls falling from her coiffure. She could not cry; she could not even speak. The letter fell to her side, and the only question in her mind as she stared at the carpeted floor was What are we going to do?

 

Chapter 2

Early December, Brechin, Scotland, Kinnaird Castle

 

“Och, ye dinnae need a companion, ma,” said James Kinnaird to his mother, Fiona, as they sat in front of a roaring fire in the main hall. James had a pint of ale in his hand, and he turned to his mother with concern.

 

“And why not? Ever since your father died, I’ve been so lonely. We haven’t been to any social functions or had any balls, and it’s far too cold for me to travel for visiting.” She stared into the flames, and discretely wiped a tear from the corner of one eye.

 

“But ye have me, dinnae ye? Am I not companion enough?” James moved to kneel by his mother, and he took her hands in his, looking into her soft brown eyes.

 

Fiona smiled and squeezed his rough hands. “Ach, Jamie, you are a wonderful son, of course! But it’s time I had a little female company. Women need other women, you know, my dear. I would love a young girl with a good education to come and read to me and discuss the gossip of the day. I’ve already sent out an advertisement in the newspaper.”

 

Jamie sat back down, sipping his ale again. Fiona chuckled.

“Now, why do you look so concerned?”

“‘Twill be a stranger, ma, in our house! I don’t very much like the idea of leaving ye alone with someone we don’t know while I’m away on business.”

 

Fiona lifted her chin stubbornly. “I’m left all alone with no one to speak to while you’re away. Think of the danger of that in such a cold and lonely place!”

 

Jamie said, “Aye”, and he stared into the flames.

 

Fiona sighed next to him, “When your father was here, every hall of this old place was filled with laughter. He was always so kind to everyone, from the kitchen cook to your angry cousin Donald.” She laughed slightly to herself, remembering. “He was the love of my life.” She turned and placed her hand on Jamie’s. “I wish as much for you, my dear.”

 

Jamie thought back to when his father, Laird James, had died four years prior in The Battle of Culloden. He saw his father, pride in his eyes, fall victim to an English bullet and release his lifeblood into the grassy hills. Since Jamie returned home alone limping from the battle, released from prison and spared his life, a light had gone from his mother’s eyes, and no matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been able to replace it.

 

Fiona’s hand upon his shoulder roused Jamie from his dismal reverie. “All will be well, my dear. We shall hear a response from someone, I hope, in the next few weeks. But, I must retire to bed. Good night, my son.” Fiona bent down to kiss him on the cheek and placed her hand on his brown hair.

 

“Good night,” Jamie replied with a weak smile.

 

After his mother left, Jamie went to lean against the mantle, his muscled shoulders stretching as they angled upwards, and he stared at the flames. He began to pace the floor in front of the fire.  He disturbed the sleep of his dog, Prince Charlie, and the dog began the pacing rhythm with him. “Charlie, I hope ma is making the right choice. It has been so long since I’ve seen her smile. But will this bring her the happiness she so desires?” He couldn’t bear the thought of his mother being disappointed after so many years of sorrow.

 

Feeling hot from the pacing and the proximity to the fire, James removed his dark green wool coat and the linen stock from his throat. His white shirt was damp with sweat, and it hung loosely on his body. His brown hair was hanging below his shoulders, and its ragged look matched the multiple emotions he felt swirling around in his belly. It wasn’t only his mother. Something else was tugging at his mind…

 

***

 

Late November, journey to Brechin

 

Amelia felt her mother squeeze her hand as they bounced along roughly in the carriage. Amelia turned her head from the window and smiled weakly at her. Henrietta looked tired with heavy circles etched under eyes, but she was all out of tears for now. Amelia and her mother had left their London home the morning after receiving her father’s letter, early enough to avoid being seen, and it had been several days since. She assumed the creditors were finished their work, having picked over each and every one of their belongings, evaluating it for sale.

 

Her throat thickened with impending tears, but there was also another feeling that reared its head: disgust. Her father, a man she had so trusted and depended on, turned out to be utterly flawed. How could he have treated his family with such callousness? He is weak to have let his base urges ruin his entire family. I hope we never see him again.

“How could father have done this? Leave his family to starve?” Amelia said aloud to the air. But, Henrietta grabbed her wrist, a fresh batch of tears making their way down her face.

“Please dear. I can’t bear it. I don’t know how we’ll survive.”

 

Henrietta was a beauty, with her blond hair still full of color and pale skin with full, red lips. Amelia had inherited her mother’s beauty in full, but that was the farthest thing from her mind.

Her mother’s whole body seemed diminished somehow, as if it lost the confident countenance of a wealthy English lady, and she was practically curled up on the seat next to Amelia. Once she spoke to Amelia, she swallowed and turned her head to the window, her gray eyes looking unfocused.

 

Amelia touched her mother’s hand and attempted to make her voice sound as strong as possible. “Mother, I will take care of us. Please, don’t worry.” Henrietta turned back to her daughter, her eyes wide, and she spoke in a loud whisper, “Amelia, please, we must see if we can bring your father back! Oh, I can’t even imagine how he’s faring in such a horrible place. We must try!” Seeing the desperation, fear, and fatigue in her mother’s eyes, Amelia knew that she would have to do whatever it took to get him out of prison and restore her mother to her original good spirits, and she turned her face forward, resolve formulating in her mind.

 

 

Along with the morning carriage another letter had come, bearing the seal of Devereaux. Amelia had thought perhaps Charles would offer his assistance in such a time. But, in the world of the English aristocracy, word traveled fast, especially about calamity, and saving face was everything. It was two lines:

Amelia, We can no longer be wed. My family’s reputation is at stake.
Best of luck in your endeavors. C.D.

 

And with one swipe of the pen, Amelia had not only lost her home and father and possessions, but also her fiancé. Over the past few days, Amelia and Henrietta had had to stay in filthy little inns to rest and take their meals and take care of their needs. Amelia had been saving a bit of money she’d received as an allowance, and so they were able to pay for scant meals and dirt-covered rooms. It had been their first time in such places, and they clung to each other tightly in the bed they shared, fearing who or what might be next door to them.

 

The journey was over 800 kilometers, and while she brought a few books and her poetry journal to keep her mind focused on something other than the painful carriage ride. Her eyes wandered down to the small, thin volume in her hands. It was a book of Thomas Gray’s poems, one of her and her father’s favorites. Her father had gotten her this volume as a gift a few years ago, and she’d been attached to it and poetry ever since. Just the thought of her father made a solitary tear slide down her cheek.

 

She thought of her leather journal in her bag, filled to the brim with her few whimsical rhymes, hoping to mold them into finely crafted poems one day, worthy of publication. There weren’t many female poets, but she hoped to become one of them. These two items were the only possessions she had in the world now. Were they tainted with her father’s betrayal?

 

Despite her mind being busy enough swirling with thoughts and questions and plans, Amelia was tired of travel. It would take over a week to get to Brechin, and each bump of the carriage reminded her of their new fate. She held onto the note she was to give to the cottage landlord; it kept her focused on their goal.

 

“Shall we stop soon for the night, mother? You need to rest with some warm food in you.”

 

“No, dear, I can make it for a few more hours. We need to try to cover as much distance as we can each day.” Henrietta laid her head against Amelia’s shoulder and soon fell asleep.

 

After 12 days of monotonous travel, in and out of inns, barely able to get enough food or a proper bath, Amelia and her mother were riding through the Scottish countryside on a cloudy afternoon, and Amelia spotted a small cottage coming into view as the horse’s hooves made their tattooed rhythm on the soft ground. The cottage was made of gray stone, with ivy climbing the walls, twisting and turning around the corners, and it covered the whole left side of the house with its little green fans.

 

Looking around her at the surrounding Scottish wilds, she was overwhelmed with a vision of green. It covered the hills for as far as she could see. Other than the river, and a small cemetery a little farther to her left, closer to the river’s far bank, the land was the cottage’s only companion. To Amelia, this seemed like the loneliest place in the world. And suddenly, the carriage stopped right in front of the stone cottage.

 

 

Chapter 3

Early December, Brechin, Scotland, Kinnaird land

 

Once they alighted from the carriage, Amelia and her mother stood motionless in front of the cottage, a little unsure of their next move. The carriage driver dropped off one bag from the back of the carriage, and without a word, continued, the sound of hooves growing fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

 

Both of them had lost weight in the past 12 days and looked drawn and tired. They were dirty and in much need of bathing and rest. Amelia took her mother’s hand, and with a voice as confident as she could muster, said, “Come, Mother, we will bear it as best we can.” Henrietta smiled weakly and nodded her head.

 

She moved to open the door of the cottage. A cry of “Ahoy!” made Amelia turn her head towards the sound. She saw a ruddy-faced man waving as he walked towards them over the lush green grass.

 

He approached them smilingly and breathlessly greeted them, his hat and head tipped in politeness.

 

“Welcome, ladies. Welcome tae Brechin. Well, I suppose yer outside of the town a wee bit, but Kinnaird land it is. I was informed yer arrival would be around this time, so I’ve been comin’ tae the cottage every day to see if ye had arrived and checking that everythin’ was in order for ye.”

 

Amelia and Henrietta were both so tired that they couldn’t find the words right away to make in reply.

 

Amelia cleared her throat and began. “Hello, Sir. Forgive us. We have had a very long journey. You must be the landlord. Here is the paperwork we were told to give you?”

 

“Aye, I am Laird Kinnaird’s land agent. Fletcher’s me name. I tend to the cottages and farms on the estate.” He peered quickly at the paper Amelia had handed him. “Well, everything’ is in order. Let’s see ye young lasses comfortable.”

 

Mr. Fletcher pulled out a key to open the door to a darkened hallway. He led the way to a side table where he lit a candle and held it up to his face. “Aye, this cottage is a bit drafty this time of year, but I will make ye ladies a fire ye won’t forget!”

 

Amelia almost groaned with pleasure at the thought of being warm and comfortable and not being jolted about a carriage over the rough Scottish terrain. She touched her mother’s hand and led her along the hallway until Mr. Fletcher illuminated the armchair by the fire.

 

“Sit, Mother,” Amelia helped her mother ease into an armchair, and then she felt a curiosity to see the rest of their new home.

 

Mr. Fletcher busied himself with making a fire and making pleasant conversation with Henrietta. “And so, tell me all yer about yer journey, milady.”

 

Henrietta replied, “Thank you, good Sir, for your kindness. Well, we’re a long way from home in London, but the journey was pleasant enough.” Amelia’s mother would always have the politeness of an English lady and would never complain to a stranger. “The scenery is quite breathtaking here,” Henrietta continued while Amelia found another candle, lit it, and took off on her own to explore the cottage.

 

Besides the main room area, she found a small kitchen, pantry, a tiny drawing room, and one bedroom. Furniture was scant, but the necessities were there. A bed was set in the center of the bedroom with fresh sheets. On her search, Amelia had also found a small writing desk and vanity, with only one cupboard for clothing. She spied a small privy around the back of the cottage. Was this it? Just these few rooms? Amelia held back the tears that threatened to course down her cheeks as she took in their new home. Just 12 days ago I was about to buy my wedding trousseau, and now… How will we live? What will we eat? My mother, Lady Henrietta Parker, should never have been subjected to this. I will do whatever I must do to make her comfortable.

 

Amelia took a few deep breaths while alone in the bedroom and steeled her resolve. If her father was to be a weak man with no conscience, no feeling of responsibility or care for those under his care, then it must be totally upon her shoulders. For her mother only, she would find work, she would save, and she would pay the debts. Her father could come back, and her mother would be happy.

 

Amelia pushed her shoulders back and walked back towards the main room. But her reflection in a cracked mirror on the wall made her pause. She approached the mirror. Could this really be me? Her blond hair was darkened with dirt and grime, and it hadn’t been brushed. A rough braid lay down her shoulder, and stray pieces fell by her ears. Her face was covered in dirt and dust from the journey, and her eyes looked heavy with worry and fatigue. She wore a plain gray dress that she was able to buy from the last inn, and she wore no corset. She had sold her last pair of stays to buy food. Once she had been a young lady of tall stature, with elegant gowns and finery, being asked to dance at every ball during the Season, and now, she looked like no more than a pauper’s daughter. She remembered the first day she’d met Charles Devereaux, and how he’d looked at her–hungrily. A sharp pain in her chest made her remember his hurried note and callous tone. All men were self-centered bastards. But, she’d spent her tears already for Charles on the rough pillows along the journey. Now, this is what she was. It made her think of a line from her favorite poem: “Thy sun is set; thy spring is gone—”

 

Amelia turned her face away, not wanting to see any more. She must make the best of what she could. And now, with a fire, she could have a bath! She smiled to herself. That was one small pleasure in this sea of troubles.

 

Amelia heard laughter, if her hearing was correct, coming from the main room. As she entered, the fire was in full blaze, crackling merrily as it filled the small stone room with delicious heat. Her mother was chuckling.

 

“Oh, Amelia! You must hear Mr. Fletcher’s story. I say it was quite restorative after such a dreary journey.”

 

Mr. Fletcher smiled.

 

“Oh, another time, Mother. I believe you need some tea, food, and rest.” Amelia touched her mother on the shoulder.

 

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell ye. Me wife will be comin’ by with a basket full of treats for ye. She’s a lovely woman, and having no children of her own, likes to spoil those on the estate if she can. She should be by shortly.”

 

He stood from kneeling at the grate and dusted off his knees. “Well, now that yer settled, I’ll be takin’ my leave. The rent is due on the first of next month, and I’ve brought ye a newspaper from Brechin, as I’ve been told that,” he cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly before them, “that ye are ladies of good breedin’ and would enjoy a bit o’ readin’.”

 

They thanked Mr. Fletcher heartily for his kindness and help, and then Amelia took a seat in the wooden chair by the fire next to her mother.

 

Her stomach growled fiercely, and she wished for Mrs. Fletcher to make her arrival soon.

 

***

 

Jamie awoke the next morning, feeling more rested but still anxious about the worries of last evening. It had been a late night by the fire with Prince Charlie, and he had resolved to be comfortable with his mother ‘s decision to have a companion. He knew it was not his decision to make.

 

Jamie dressed in his shirt, waistcoat, and thick tartan coat for warmth. The stone walls of the castle were no form of insulation, and as soon as his feet hit the floor out of bed every morning in the winter, a chill would run through his body. His hair was tied back in a bun, following the English style. He hated it this way, but it made his mother happy and feel more like she was back at home in England.

 

He hurried down to the main hall for breakfast and was surprised and pleased to see his friend, William Fraser already helping himself to sausages at the wooden dining table with a large fire crackling at the hearth.

 

“Good morning!” yelled William heartily with a mouth full of sausage. “I didnae think you’d mind if I, uh, began early. I’ve had a busy night and need a bit of sustenance to put me back in order.” William winked.

 

Jamie laughed and clapped his red-headed friend on the back. “Of course not, lad! My friend, ye are most welcome, and yer coming is very fortuitous. I have a few issues tae discuss with ye.”

 

William rolled his eyes as he took a sip of morning ale. “Och, it’s about that dim-witted, jealous, power-hungry cousin of yers, ‘tis not?”

 

Jamie sat down across from him but didn’t yet grab for any food. “Aye, unfortunately. He’s been giving me a lot of trouble, lately. He’s spreading rumors that his father was the firstborn and shoulda been the true laird, making him the heir insteada me. What do ye think I should do?”

 

“Well, the only thing I’ve seen the idiot do is visit a few of yer relatives to blather on about his ideas. I donnae think they pay him much mind. I wouldnae worry about it, lad! And if he needs a bit of straightening out, well, ye know we can handle him.” William pounded his fist into his hand and laughed. But then, he paused and cocked his head to the side to look at his friend. “What’s really troubling ye?”

 

“What if me da kept this secret from me all these years? Did he know and willingly steal the lairdship for himself? If that’s true, then I can’t rightly take it from the true heir. And now that he’s gone, I cannae tell for sure.”

 

“Och, ye know that’s ridiculous! Yer father was a good man, a true lord, and he wouldnae taken what wasn’t rightfully his tae take. Ye know that’s true. And ye were left alive after the battle because of yer ma’s English heritage, and the real ownership belongs tae the English crown anyway. So, what could Donald want? Hmm…perhaps we ought tae make a visit tae your cousin, lad?”

 

Jamie laughed and grabbed a plate of sausages and bread. “Aye, perhaps yer right. Now, tell me about this busy night of yers…”

 

“Och, lad, yer going to enjoy this one. See, I’m not one for names, but ye know me, I remember faces. Unfortunately, the faces I remember don’t match with all the names I’ve got in me head. These two lush lassies approach me card table, greet me by name, and ask for another tup like the last time.”

 

“Aye, so you’ve made a big impression on the one whorehouse down in Brechin.”

 

William laughed, “Aye, but I got their names mixed up and called one the other one’s name, and instead of ending up in bed, I ended up with the pint over me head. Ah women…” William leaned back confidently. “Guess they just can’t get enougha me! It’s been a lot easier to get them tae notice me since ye haven’t been there stealing all their gazes.” He winked. “I’ll probably regret this, but why don’t we go taegether one night soon? It’s been a long while.”

 

Jamie clinked his cup of ale with William. “Agreed. Guess I’ll need to be there tae protect ye, anyway.”

 

Then, William began another tale that had Jamie laughing so hard that he forgot his troubles with Donald, for a time.

 

***

 

Soon enough, as if hurried by Amelia wishing it with all her might, Mrs. Fletcher finally arrived. The three ladies were sat around the fire together chatting pleasantly over freshly made cups of tea. “Aye, it does get a bit cold around this time of year, but ye both have each other tae keep warm, and ye must always keep the fire going! Was your journey very difficult?”

 

Amelia and Henrietta glanced at each other briefly before replying politely, “It was as good as can be expected, thank you. It was quite the long journey.”

 

Mrs. Fletcher looked off into the distance with a smile. “My goodness, all the way from London. I’ve never been there meself. My Lord, it must be a sight tae see.”

 

Mrs. Fletcher turned to open her basket. “Now, I’ve brought a few things for ye here tae eat yer evening and morning meals. A bit o’ bread and jam and meat. I’ve also picked out a young girl tae help ye both and tend tae yer needs. She will be by in the mornin’. Ye can give her two shillings a week.”

 

Amelia looked at Mrs. Fletcher’s round face and thought of her as their angel of mercy. Perhaps there was some hope after all?

 

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Fletcher, that was something I wished to speak to you about.” Amelia gripped her tea cup tightly. “Thank you so much for all you’ve done, but is there anywhere I could find work? You see, my mother and I are no longer supported by my father, and we will of course need to have income. It would be of great use to me if you could make any suggestions.” She sipped her tea to appear calm and collected, not starving and desperate.

 

Mrs. Fletcher touched Amelia’s knee and smiled at Henrietta. Amelia was grateful for the small kindness. “Aye, there is something!” Mrs. Fletcher clapped her hands. “Lady Kinnaird up at Kinnaird Castle. Ye can almost see it in the distance there on a misty day. She needs a lovely young companion for conversation and company. She’s told me herself she gets quite lonely up there in the long cold winters, especially while Laird Jamie is away. I think this would be suitable for ye.”

 

Amelia’s whole body tensed with excitement at the hopeful prospect of a job, but she didn’t want to appear rude or indelicate and encouraged Mrs. Fletcher to tell her the details. “Laird Jamie? Is that her husband?”

 

Mrs. Fletcher looked down and shook her head. “Och, no, sadly. The older Laird James died in a final battle for Scottish independence four years back now. This is her son, the new laird, quite young and handsome, but a wee brash at times. He hasnae the manners of his late father. But he’s a good boy, I can tell ye that.”

 

“Well, may I write a letter to Lady Kinnaird, expressing my interest in the position? Would you be able to give it to her for me?” Amelia almost cracked her tea cup as she gripped it tightly waiting for an answer.

 

“Aye, of course! Why donnae ye write yer letter, and I’ll help yer lovely mother tae get some food for the evening.” And Mrs. Fletcher took her basket into the kitchen.

 

Amelia hurried away to find something, anything, to write on to send her letter. She had butterflies in her stomach. This could be it! Then, we won’t have to starve, and we can help ourselves out of this mess. Perhaps my mother will gain some comfort. And I’ll be able to save for my father’s return! She eventually spied the small bag her and her mother brought with them from England–their only possessions. Her notebook of poems was inside as well as her ink and a pen. She tore out a page and thought about how to proceed with dignity and respect. She was to be a working woman, but she wanted it to be clear that she would be a well-educated companion for Lady Kinnaird.

 

Dear Lady Kinnaird,
I am writing in response to your advertisement for a companion…

 

Chapter One

Argyll, Scottish Highlands. February 1747.

 

Emily Nasmith lifted her head at the sound of her father’s voice.

“Well,” he said, with forced cheer, “here we are and not a moment too soon!”

Their small party stopped as they crested the last hill and gazed down upon the town. They were three in number: Emily, her father and Mortimer, her father’s adjutant. Behind them a little troop of sixteen red-coated soldiers drew up smartly in file, two abreast; the polished brown wood of their muskets shining dully under the gloomy sky. A little covered donkey cart brought up the rear, driven by a tired-looking manservant.

Emily sighed, closed her eyes for a moment and then gathered strength to show well for her father. She pushed her heavy hood back from her thick red curls and tried to add cheer to her voice.

“It has certainly been a long journey Father. And is this our destination?”

“Yes, dear, your new home! Come and look with me before we go down.”

It was a most squalid-looking little place; a small, white and grey town of thatched stone cottages clinging to the head of the loch and framed by the looming hills. She sighed.

“You see the castle?” Her father pointed into the near distance. She hadn’t. Now she looked again and there it was, a forbidding-looking mass of grey stone squatting on a low hill just above the town. It looked as cold and uninviting as the town itself. The red, white, and blue of the Union Jack flew bravely from the highest turret.

Not far up the hillside to the right of the road, the man who had been watching them sighed. It was the first sound he had made for some minutes and he gave a tiny shake of his head. He was dressed from head to toe in muted forest browns and greens, and his handsome, clean-shaven face was darkened with dried mud to blend in with his surroundings. His hair was brown, tied up tight to the back of his head with a leather thong and his eyes shone like two points of darkly polished obsidian in the deep shadow of the woods.

He was leaning forward against a mossy outcrop of rock and across this he laid a long musket of the same kind carried by the British soldiers. The firearm was primed and loaded and the man’s finger sat next to the trigger, but not upon it. He watched down the sights as the little party of redcoats formed up behind their leader. This would be the new captain of the Inveraray garrison. He gazed at the captain along the sights of the gun. What a coup it would be to see the new captain off before he had even reached his posting.

But that was not his intention. On the road below, the woman beside the captain was staring down at the town. The watcher looked at her with interest. She was too young to be a wife; a daughter perhaps? And that hair, as red as an Irishwoman! He smiled. It was time to go.

Lifting the musket from the rock to sling it onto his shoulder, there was a deafening bang as it went off, discharging its load of lead and acrid smoke high into the air. The watcher cursed and fell backward under the force of the accidental shot. On the road below he heard the Captain shout an order.

“Get behind the soldiers, Emily! Mortimer, stay with her!”

Emily went from a calm contemplation of the ugly town to a heart-pounding fear of attack. Who had shot at them? Mortimer and her father were flanking her as the soldiers turned and fell into a well-drilled line, five abreast with their sergeant at the corner. They had finished priming their muskets and raised them to their shoulders by the time Emily and Mortimer had sheltered behind their ranks. Mortimer held tightly to her reins.

The muskets clattered as the soldiers aimed up the hill in the direction of the shot. Emily had seen soldiers drill and had heard the sound of muskets firing but had never found herself in a position of genuine danger before. She did not care for the experience.

“Hold fire!”  Captain Nasmith called to his men. “Mortimer, the glass, quickly now!”

Taking a leather case from his saddlebag, the adjutant handed his captain a gleaming telescope. The captain took it, clapping it to his eye and scanning the hilltop.

“Nothing,” he muttered into the stillness. “’wair there! There, up by that big oak!”

Emily watched the woodland. At first, she could see nothing and then as the soldiers took aim, she saw him; a brown and green-clad figure, flitting like a deer from tree to tree, his powerful legs carrying him up the hill as if his life depended on it. Which she supposed, it did.

“Fire!”

The crack from the first rank of muskets firing was followed by a whizz of bullets as they landed harmlessly among the trees. The first rank of soldiers knelt to clear the way for the second.

“Fire!”

The second row fired, the smoke from their barrels hung in the still air.

“Fire!”

As the third rank discharged their rain of death into the trees, Emily saw the figure pause. It stood to its full height and turned, staring down upon the little party on the road. The soldiers were priming their muskets, but it was not a quick process. Emily could see him clearly, a tall, well-made man, clad in brown and green with his musket slung over one shoulder. Even at this distance she could make out his dark eyes as they roamed her party. For a moment it seemed as if their eyes met and a shiver ran through her body. As she watched, he raised both hands in a wide gesture, almost like a welcome. As the front rank of soldiers finished their reloading, he turned and vanished into a thicket.

“Hold, hold, he’s out of range,” her father called to the soldiers and the redcoats stood down.

Captain Nasmith scowled. “Damn rebel scoundrels, Mortimer, stay with Emily. Sergeant, form your men and let’s get down to the castle, and not a moment too soon.”

***

The brown-clad man moved steadily up the hill, breathing hard. He could have kicked himself for letting his musket go off but there was nothing to be done about it now. Gaining height, he glanced back to check for pursuit, but there was no sign. They would not risk it with such a small force. But damn it, now they would be on their guard.

After he had gone some distance, he heard a rustle to his left. From the bushes emerged a small bearded man about the same age and dressed in similar clothes but was slight and sinewy where the other was broad shouldered and tall. The newcomer was armed only with a long dirk – a Highland dagger – hanging from his belt.

“Murdo,” called the newcomer in a low voice, “is a’ weel?”

“Aye, Ewan,” Murdo nodded to his friend. “And wi’ you?”

“Aye, but I heard firing! Man, I was feart for yer skin! Whit happened?”

“Later, let’s put some mair ground between us and the road before we speak.”

The two brown-clad Highlanders fell into a steady trot, moving with practiced ease among the birches, oaks, and hazels cladding the hillside. After half an hour they reached the top and looked carefully around before venturing out onto the exposed hilltop. Confident all was clear, they moved quickly across the open heath to the relative shelter of a deep patch of gorse, flowering yellow under the gloomy grey sky. A long, flat plain dotted with gorse bushes and brown with last year’s bracken lay before them, and on either side the rock-strewn hills climbed up toward the clouds.

“Ye’d see the fools’ red coats a mile awa’ upon this moor,” Ewan smiled at the folly. “We’re safe for a while now, there’s nae scouts. I think they dinnae hae enough men at the castle to send out scouts. Come, we can walk a while, and tak’ a bite, and hae a wee dram. It’s a good step back tae the camp. Tell me whit happened!”

They stopped at a small stream, ate and drank a little as Murdo told Ewan his tale. Ewan laughed until he was breathless at his friend’s folly, before becoming more serious.

“Yon was a near thing, Murdo.It would hae been a bad job for us if we’d lost ye now. Ye should take mair care wi’ yon gun.”

“Aye, I ken that. I never liked the things anyway. Gie me a broadsword and a dirk any day, and I’d make the redcoats sing for it, but the muskets… Och, there’s nae honor in that kind o’ fighting.”

His friend nodded sagely.

“Let us hope that we’ve no’ brought down trouble doon upon our heads, Murdo.The toon of Inveraray hauds the key tae our success, and naething can be allowed tae jeopardize that.”

“The gold: aye. That gold is the maist important thing for us. If we dae nothing tae raise their suspicions, then that’s for the best. I hope indeed that my foolishness in letting my gun go aff like that doesnae bring mair trouble doon upon us. Come on, let’s put on some speed and get back tae the camp ‘afore nightfall.”

***

The castle at Inveraray was a rambling affair, poorly dressed stone and bare flagstones; a functional military outpost with no creature comforts. For all that, Emily was glad to have reached a place that she could call home for a while.

Lieutenant Roberts, in charge of the small garrison brought out his men to meet them. Captain Nasmith explained quickly what had happened on the road.

Roberts looked serious. “Yes, sir, there are rebels camped in the hills north of here. Major Clairmont sent orders from the castle at Dumbarton that he is on his way to Inveraray with the express intention of hunting them down. I do not doubt that the man firing upon you was one of them.”

By the time they reached the stone-flagged central courtyard of the castle, they were dusty, sweaty, and very tired.

“Mortimer!” Captain Nasmith called to his adjutant. “See to my daughter and to the unpacking and billeting of the soldiers. Lieutenant Roberts, escort me around the castle and show me where everything is.”

As Mortimer gave orders to the guard of soldiers, Emily noticed a young woman about her own age, hurrying toward them. She was a little taller than Emily and thinner, her gleaming dark hair pinned up under a little lace cap, carrying her skirts above her ankles as she hurried forward.

“Ah, Miss,” she addressed Emily in a pleasant Scottish lilt, “ye hae come tae us at last! Och, but whit a road ye hae travelled.”

Reaching the little group, she curtseyed.

“My name is Alice Murphy, miss, and ye must be Miss Emily Nasmith? We hae been waitin this past three days for ye and the chambers hae been kept warm. I’m tae be yer maidservant here at Inveraray Castle, if ye please, miss, I’ll show ye tae yer chambers.”

Emily glanced at her father who smiled absently before turning away to speak to Lieutenant Roberts. Mortimer nodded to her.

“Do make yourself comfortable Miss Nasmith.Your father and I have business to attend to. We will no doubt see you at the evening meal once everyone has rested and settled in a little.”

Alice Murphy led Emily across the courtyard and through a doorway, up a flight of stairs and along a corridor. It was dark inside the castle: the only light coming from torches flickering unevenly along the walls. The only windows on the lower floors were narrow gun-loops, wide enough to fire a musket but letting in little natural light.

“Aye, it’s a gloomy auld warren o’ a place, right enough.” The maidservant smiled, seeming to read Emily’s thoughts. “But ye’re seeing it first on a gloomy day. Tae be sure, when the sun shines the hills aroond Inveraray are the bonniest sight a body could hope tae see, and the great hall here at the castle isnae sae poor when the fire is built up. Your rooms are the finest chambers in a’ the Castle. The fire is burning, and hot water is ready for washing the road dust frae yer face and for tea if ye should wish it?”

Despite her misgivings, Emily was encouraged by her new companion’s cheerful chatter. She liked this woman immediately, and after days spent in the company of her father, his adjutant, and the taciturn, disciplined soldiers, it was a relief to be in the company of a pleasant young woman of her own age.

When Emily reached the chambers, she was not disappointed. There was a cosy bedroom, a comfortable sitting room, and an antechamber for her maid. Alice proved herself a pleasant, attentive and intelligent companion, as tired of the military men as Emily herself, and very pleased to make a female friend of her own age.

That night they dined well in the gloomy hall. The castle steward was an elderly man by the name of Campbell and was ready with many dull tales of the castle and its history. Emily did her best to look interested but slipped away as quickly as she could claiming that she was very tired and wished to rest. The two women left the hall and made their way back to Emily’s room.

They were nearly at their destination when Alice stopped abruptly.

“What is it, Alice?” Emily’s new friend looked worried. She began to walk again, more slowly.

When they entered the cosy room, Emily sat while Alice moved around the room, lighting candles and adding wood to the fire before sitting down opposite Emily, her dark eyes serious and her mouth fixed.

“Miss Emily. I ken it’s only been a wee while we’ve ken each other, and I dinnae wish tae speak oot o’ turn, and yet I feel I cannae keep silent. Miss, I hae something I must tell ye straight awa’.”

Emily leaned forward and took Alice’s hands.

“You may trust me. What is wrong?”

“Oh, Miss, I ken the secret, the secret o’ this toon. The secret for which the rebels would kill ye and yer faither for, and a’ the soldiers, aye, and me wi’ them like as not. Miss, I ken where the treasure is.”

 

Chapter Two

The night was cold. By the light of the stars and the waning half-moon, Alice and Emily picked their way through the leaning gravestones of Inveraray kirkyard.

“Careful!” Alice reached a hand to Emily and together they skirted the edge of the squat church building.

“I must be mad to be out here in the middle of the night when I should be in bed!”Emily whispered through the still night air.

“Aye, and I must be mad tae be showing ye this, but I hae told naebody for there’s been naebody I could trust wi’ it. It was by sheer chance I found it. I was walking the wee short cut behind the kirkyard intae toon and I heard a cat wailing. I climbed the wall at yon gap where we came through just now and followed it here.”

They had reached the far back corner of the squat little chapel. Alice crouched down and struck a light to the stub of a candle which she had produced from a fold in her skirts.

“Look here. The cat was trapped at the bottom of yon hole. Go on, look for yersel’.”

Emily crouched beside Alice, intrigued. She took the proffered candle and thrust it through the gap, peering through. The gap was small, only a few hand-spans across, but Emily could see a square, stone lined chamber; perhaps half the height of a man. At the bottom sitting on damp stone stood a large wooden box. The lid of the box had rotted away, and one corner of the wood nibbled by rats or mice. In the candlelight she saw the unmistakable glint of gold.

Emily sat back with a gasp as Alice grinned unashamedly, taking the candle from her shaking hand and blowing it out.

“Ye see? The cat climbed up ontae the box and I was able tae reach doon and catch him and bring him oot, but then I looked again and saw whit ye hae just seen. And Miss, they say the rebels in the hills tae the north o’ the toon are MacPherson men. They can only be coming here for this. ‘Afore the rebellion began a great MacPherson chief had his holding tae the west o’ here, and the minister o’ this kirk was a cousin o’ his clan. When the rebellion broke oot the minister must hae hidden his cousin’s treasure here. But the MacPherson chief died on the way tae meet wi’ the rebel army and the minister fled alone and on foot when he heard that the rebels had been finally beaten at Culloden. Perhaps he took the news o’ this treasure back north tae the MacPherson lands when he fled?”

Together they made their way back through the graveyard and walked the wooded lanes above the town back toward the castle. Alice had shown Emily a little-used doorway at the side of the castle near the kitchens where it was possible to slip in and out unseen. Emily looked in growing admiration at her adventurous new friend, touched by Alice’s trust.

“What do you think about the war, Alice?”

The young girl was silent for a long time.

“War brings nae good tae anybody Miss and that’s the truth. And the Duke o’ Inveraray, Laird Campbell, has never been anything but kind tae me and my family. But I hae a brother whae took up wi’ the rebels when the news came that the army was gathering, and he went tae fight for Scotland tae be its ain ruler once again as it was in aulden times. He is still oot there wi’ the rebels. He escaped the battle o’ Culloden and fled tae the hills wi’ the remnants o’ the clansmen whae escaped the slaughter. He sent me a message here tae tell me he had survived, and tae tell me tae have hope. ‘Tis freedom the rebels fight for – freedom frae tyranny and frae poverty, and tae be masters o’ their ain destiny. And I cannae but feel that is right.”

***

The next morning Alice was standing behind Emily, hairbrush in her hand and carefully combing the night-time tangles from her mistress’ flaming red curls.  They gazed at their reflections in the glass.

“Yer hair is as red and as wild any Scotswoman’s. Hae ye Scots blood at a’ Miss?”

“Aye.” She laughed, trying to put on a Scottish accent and failing badly. “My mother’s father was from Edinburgh but my mother’s hair was dark, and my father’s family are English as far as I know, but I know little of the family history. My grandparents on both sides were poor, obscure people.”

“Yer mither.”  Alice hesitated. “She is lang deid?”

“Just over five years ago. It was at Christmas and so stupid. She was caught in a rainstorm and took a chill but thought nothing of it and carried on as normal. Then she began to cough. The next day she took to her bed and three days later she was dead. Pneumonia, the doctors called it. There was nothing they could do.”

“My mither is deid, tae,” Alice confided, working the last of the tangles out of Emily’s red mane. “Though I ne’er kent her. She died gieing birth tae her second child twa years after I was born. The child deed too.”

Emily winced as the hair pulled at her scalp. “How did you come to work at the castle?”

“Oh, my faither is the cook. Has been a’ his days. When I was a lassie, I used tae work wi’ him in the kitchen and run messages for the soldiers or what haee ye. The Duke was aroond mair then and the castle was busier, but the Duke hasnae been seen here for ower a year, no’ since he went doon tae London efter the great rebellion. They are building a new castle for him now ower by the river, but it’ll be a lang time until that’s finished and until then this auld fortress is hame.”

Alice finished dressing Emily’s hair and stood back to admire her work. Emily regarded herself critically in the mirror. She was perhaps not classically beautiful. Her nose was a little too broad perhaps and her jaw just a little too strong and jutting. She hated the scatter of freckles across her nose and brow. But her eyes were attractive: a fascinating shade of green and rather large. Her mouth was her best feature though. It was full and sensuous. She opened her mouth a little and ran her tongue across her lips. Alice giggled.

“Oh, Miss,” she said, smiling. “Let us get ye dressed and prepared for the day.”

They were choosing a dress when a commotion outside drew their attention. This room was one of the few in the castle which boasted a window of any size and looked out onto the courtyard. It was covered with heavy wooden shutters and a heavy black curtain, but the two women pulled the curtain back and opened the shutter to see what the disturbance was. Emily’s low-cut nightgown concealed very little of her figure, and she huddled her shawl close around her as she peeped around the corner of the shutter. Alice hung back, keeping to the shadows of the room.

In the courtyard below, the bright morning sun cast a sharp line of shadow across the cobbled courtyard, lighting the wide gateway. The tall wooden doors had been flung open and cast the back of the courtyard into deep shadow.

Emily’s father stood in shadows with Mortimer, Lieutenant Roberts, and old Mr. Campbell the castle steward. They stood in silence facing the wide gateway. Hooves clattered on the cobbles as a small troop rode into the courtyard at a canter, two by two through the gate: their heavy woolen coats glowing scarlet in the bright light of the sun. They wore the ubiquitous black tricorne hat except for the leader who was bare headed.

This man pulled up his horse, holding up a fist as his followers formed a line behind him. He was a striking-looking man. In height he passed any other man in the courtyard. He was lean with a long face, a sharp nose, high cheekbones and very bright, penetrating blue eyes. His hair was black and cropped close to his skull and pointed over his brow in a pronounced widow’s peak. The high forehead rose over the dark, scowling eyebrows of a tyrant. On his hands he wore black leather gloves and sat on his great brown warhorse with the practiced ease of a man born to the saddle.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the shifting and blowing of the sweating horses as the newcomer looked carefully around the courtyard. He looked at the men standing in the shade awaiting him before suddenly glancing up to the window where Emily stared down at him. Their eyes locked.

She could not have felt more exposed if she had been standing naked in front of him. The ice-blue eyes hooked deep into her soul and she could not breathe. His face remained unchanged, save for the tiny upward flicker of one eyebrow. As he looked away the spell was broken. Emily fell back from the window.

“What is it Miss?”  Alice was full of concern.

“It must be the new Major. I don’t know, he looked up and saw me in the window. I… I didn’t like the look of him.”

Hand in hand they approached the window again and peeped once more into the courtyard. The tall man was speaking. His voice had a nasal twang, the pitch higher than expected.

“You had my orders?”

Captain Nasmith nodded. “You are Major Henry Clairmont?”

“Yes, and I have ridden ahead to see that all is prepared for me and my men. Who is the ranking officer here?”

Emily’s father stepped forward. “I am Captain Edward Nasmith, sir.”

“Captain? Well, sir, I have fifty men of the 48th Regiment on foot marching at my back and a hand-picked squadron of dragoon cavalry waiting outside. I am your ranking officer Captain, but I am not here to take command of this castle. My men and I are here to reinforce this garrison and root out the rebels reported in the hills to the north of here. I will place half my infantry under your command. You shall keep command of the castle and the reinforced garrison. I shall keep my dragoons and the other half of the infantry for the purposes of my mission. We will be billeted here in the castle and while billeted we shall defer to your orders. Understood?”

Agreeing he turned to Mortimer and the castle steward to give them orders to see to Major Clairmont’s men and horses.

With nothing left to see, Emily and Alice moved away from the window.

“I don’t know why Alice, but I shall be very glad when that man has finished his mission and is well on his way. Did you hear what he said about the rebels in the hills?”

Alice nodded. “Aye, Mistress, I heard. And the rumour is abroad in the toon, tae. It’s nae secret that James MacPherson and his son Murdo were seen at Glen Etive not twa weeks back.”

“Murdo MacPherson,” Emily mused to herself, thinking of the dark-eyed man in the hills. “And where is Gen Etive?”

“No’ five day’s walk north o’ here by road Miss, and those outlaw rebels are known tae move fast through the wild country, such as it is between here and there.”

“But why would they come here?”

“Alice shrugged. “Mibbe they heard that there’s twa bonnie lassies at the castle whae may be hoping for strapping Highland husbands?”

She laughed lightly and Emily laughed along with her. Arm-in-arm they left the room and set off for the great hall.

As they entered Captain Nasmith rose from the table.

“Major Clairmont, allow me to present my daughter, Emily Nasmith, and her maid Alice.”

“Charmed.”

Clairmont spoke without feeling, inclining his head in Emily’s direction and ignoring Alice. The two woman sat down, some distance from the men and as Alice served them food, they could hear clearly as Clairmont spoke to the Captain.

“You bring your daughter on campaign with you Captain? That seems a little unusual.”

“My poor wife is dead Major, and it is my wish to keep an eye on my daughter for the moment. She can be headstrong although she is a good girl at heart. I thought it best to keep her by me. She is not married…”

He raised an eyebrow at the Major, his meaning so obvious that Emily flushed red.

Major Clairmont turned slowly towards her once again. It was only Alice’s firm grip on her hand under the table that kept Emily from squirming under the relentless, cold gaze. She was horrified.

“Indeed,” said the Major turning slowly back to the Captain. “And neither am I…”

---

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