Journey to Bongary Spring by Kasey Stockton

Chapter Fourteen

Alexander McEwan sometimes had to juggle his own personal convictions with what was best for his people, but oftentimes, the two went hand in hand. As they did now when he was seated in the great hall of Castle Moraigh across from a scrawny lad who had more nerves than wit. His bright copper hair reminded McEwan of Marion’s precious horse, the one that had been missing now for a week, and he clenched his jaw. He’d expected Kieran to return with Isobel by now, and his patience was wearing thin.

He had two marriages to settle within the next few months, and he could sacrifice neither of them. He needed these transactions to take place. Scotland needed it. The first marriage was Isobel’s. If Kieran didn’t return with her by the feast, McEwan would go himself and hunt her down. He cared for the girl of course—her father had been dear to him—but it was time for her to pay him back for all he’d done for her.

The only way to ensure safe passage through Inverness-shire was to restore peace to the lands, and the quickest way to accomplish such a monstrous task was by linking the Duncan and McEwan clans in marriage. So much was riding on Isobel’s ability to capture the laird’s hand in marriage, and she had not even returned yet. He wondered if he should have been more upfront with her about the situation, to explain how little he’d arranged with Miles Duncan already.

“I dinna ken any more than that, sir,” the boy said, swallowing hard.

McEwan held his gaze, refusing to speak. If he kept quiet long enough, the boy would break.

The Duncan lad slouched further in his chair and then straightened, wiping beaded sweat from his brow. He glanced around, shifting uncomfortably, clearly unable to sit still. “My mother will wonder where I am.”

“Teague, was it? Then ye best get on with it so we can send ye home,” McEwan said, his voice dangerously low and gravelly.

“All I ken is the message delivered to my laird, and I already told it to ye.”

McEwan suppressed his frustration. “Redcoats were seen on the eastern border, aye. But what were they doing there?”

“I dinna ken,” Teague said, his voice whiny.

“Yer laird’s messenger had naething else to say?”

How many redcoats were there? Were they planning to build a fort nearby and take over the lands, bleed McEwan’s people dry and eat their stores? McEwan needed to prepare for this potential eventuality, for the brutality that often accompanied redcoat outposts.

But apparently, this boy knew nothing.

“Och,” McEwan said, flicking his wrist in dismissal. “Useless.”

The boy stood, waiting for the signal that he was free to leave. Once he’d scurried away, followed by a few of McEwan’s men to be sure he crossed the loch safely back home, McEwan sighed heavily and lifted his booted feet, resting them on the now empty seat across from him. He flattened his lips together and surveyed the few men he could trust.

“Which of ye loons promised me information?”

Fergus stepped forward, lifting his hand. “The lad works for the laird; he’s around him always. The rest of his servants are too loyal.”

Or too large to be kidnapped for an afternoon of questioning.

“Could he be lying?” Rory asked.

Fergus’s pale eyebrows drew together. “He didna seem to be lying. Sweat too much for that.”

“Or he sweat because he wasna telling the truth,” Rory said.

McEwan shook his head. “I want ye both gone by first light. Find out why the redcoats are here, what they ken, and what they want.”

Rory nodded, his hand immediately moving to rest on the hilt of his weapon.

“No violence if ye can help it,” McEwan said, eyeing Rory’s eager grip on his sword. “And whatever ye do, dinna lead the soldiers back here. There’s too much at stake to risk uninvited guests,” he said quietly.

Fergus stepped forward and nodded. “Ye can count on us.”

* * *

Kieran wasn’t afraid of anything, but Captain Hunt’s predatory gleam made him increasingly uneasy. The redcoat leader leaned against a boulder near the dying fire, the sun filtering through tree branches overhead and spreading dappled light over him. Kieran had heard stories of men transported to Fort William on the flimsiest of reasons. He needed to be careful not to give these men reason to take him or any of his men.

Two redcoats remained with the horses behind Captain Hunt, and Kieran stood opposite, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Isobel fidgeted beside him, and he stepped slightly in front of her. Anything he could do to create a shield between Isobel and the greedy-eyed British officer would put him more at ease. The redcoat’s eyes raked over her like he was starving, and she was a freshly laid feast, and it made Kieran’s insides twist into uncomfortable knots.

If Captain Hunt’s beady stare bothered him this much, he could only imagine how horrible Isobel felt.

“My men should return any minute,” Kieran said. “They’ll bring hares and fowls if we’re lucky, and ye’re welcome to share our meal.”

Captain Hunt’s lip curled, and he looked down his nose slightly. “No, I thank you. We’re putting up at the Blue Dagger in Brelug. We do not wish to impose.”

They were a long way from Brelug if that were the case. “What brings ye to these parts?” Kieran asked, hoping he sounded casual.

Captain Hunt narrowed his eyes as if weighing whether or not to answer truthfully. He stood, adjusted his wig slightly, and clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ve been informed that there are men in these parts with dangerous ideas, Mr. Buchanan. The good king has sent us to root out the disease before it has a chance to root and spread.” He paused, studying Kieran. “You wouldn’t happen to be aware of any traitors in Moraigh, would you?”

Kieran’s body froze. Traitors? Disease? Dangerous ideas? This reeked of political unrest—what else would scare the king into sending an army?

“I canna say that I’ve heard any of what ye’ve described,” Kieran said, thanking the Lord silently that his words were true. He’d heard enough political unrest in his own home growing up. His father had held Jacobite meetings, and he was well acquainted with his father’s good friend, whose political leanings had led to both men’s demise. It wasn’t something Kieran wanted to involve himself in.

“For your sake, and that of your lovely wife,” Captain Hunt said, swiveling to spear Isobel with a look, “I do hope you are speaking the truth. It would be a shame to hang a man so soon after his wedding.” He paused, as though considering. “Forgive my presumption, I only assumed. When was the wedding?”

Kieran swallowed. Isobel stiffened beside him, and he reached out, taking her hand. “January,” he said with every confidence.

Hoof beats and whinnies signaled Rupert and Hugh’s return, and they rode into camp, multiple grouse hanging from a rope tied to the back of Rupert’s saddle. They froze when they caught sight of the redcoats and jumped to the ground, taking in everyone’s positions.

Captain Hunt eyed Kieran’s and Isobel’s clasped hands and smirked, the scar on his face pulling taut and making his expression uneven. “We do not wish to interrupt your meal. We’ll see ourselves off.”

Such fine English manners had no business in the back woods of Inverness-shire. Kieran wanted them gone before they could create trouble for him. He was tempted to assure the captain that he had nothing to fear at Moraigh, but if Kieran pressed the issue, he would only pique the man’s interest, surely.

“I wish ye luck on yer quest,” Kieran said instead, hoping to signal to the man that he shared his views on the matter of disloyalty to the crown.

Captain Hunt peered at Kieran before he stepped forward and bent at the waist in a bow. “Until we meet again.” He looked to Isobel, bowed again, and turned to leave.

The McEwan party kept their positions, no one moving a hair until the redcoats had all mounted their horses and left the area.

Isobel’s fingers tightened on Kieran’s, and he looked down, catching her troubled gaze. She breathed out, her mouth flat in a firm line. “Did ye feel as though Captain Hunt expects to see us again?”

“Aye. I wouldna be surprised if he pays us a visit at Moraigh.”

She lifted their clasped hands. “What are we ta do about this?”

“I dinna ken.” Kieran tore his gaze from Isobel, searching the trees for any remaining signs of the soldiers. “But we’ll devise a plan. We dinna have a choice.”

Perhaps Isobel would wed the Duncan laird before Captain Hunt made true on his threat to visit, and she would be gone from Moraigh. He wasn’t certain there would be any consequences for the lies, but it could be enough for Captain Hunt to deem it necessary to question them further. Kieran could hide away, let McEwan know of his deceit. The chief wouldn’t be pleased, but he would protect his own. Kieran was certain of that.

Ian slapped him on the back, his injured arm cradled to his side. Kieran startled. He hadn’t noticed his friend’s approach.

“Ye could marry the lass,” Ian said, grinning. “Then ye’d have naething to hide.”

Kieran dropped Isobel’s hand swiftly and pretended not to hear her sharp intake of breath. “That isna an option.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back, her eyes flashing. “Nay, it isna an option. But I put us in this predicament, and I will find a way to get us out of it.”

Kieran had a plan—or the beginning of one, at least. He would not let Isobel shoulder all the blame. She’d been cornered by a hungry-eyed British captain. What else could she have done? Well, she could have used her own surname, but they couldn’t change that now.

“We need to head out,” Hugh said, stepping into the circle they’d formed around the smoldering fire pit. “We can still ride for a few hours before dark. We can eat when we make camp.”

“Can ye ride, Ian?” Rupert asked.

Ian nodded. “It’s just a scratch on my arm. I’m no’ dying.”

Isobel scoffed. “Aye, and I’m just a man in a wig.” She turned away, taking her horse by the reins and leading it toward one of the boulders they’d used as a seat at the fire. The men all moved into action, Rupert helping Ian into his saddle, and Hugh swinging up on his horse.

Kieran watched Isobel’s sure motions, uneasy about their interaction. When he’d dropped her hand, the look which passed over her face almost appeared to be hurt, but that was impossible. The woman was set to marry the laird of Dulnain, was she not?

He shook his head before swinging up into his saddle and shaking out his shoulders. He never should have let her kiss him. His mind had been a wreck since then, and he’d been unable to get her soft lips and gentle touch out of his head. He’d kissed other lasses before, and he would surely kiss others again, but for now, he needed to clear his mind and stay away from women. It was alarming how unaware of his surroundings he felt when he was with her. He hadn’t even noticed Ian’s approach earlier nor heard the signs of the soldiers’ arrival. It was dangerous, and Kieran couldn’t afford to be careless.

Isobel had taken up too much room in his mind, and she was going to have to go.