“Jamie?”
He collapsed in a heap at her feet. Mari pulled him inside far enough to close the door. She knelt down beside him, touching his face. “Jamie.”
He moaned. His eyes fluttered, trying to open, and then he was still. Mari rushed to the basin of water and brought back a damp cloth, which she pressed to his face and parched lips. Then she laid the cloth across his forehead. With trembling hands, she struggled to start a fire. “Blasted flint!”
At last she set the kettle on the hook over the fire and returned to her brother with a cup of water. She squeezed drops of water into his mouth. “Jamie. Jamie, wake up.”
When at last he opened his eyes, he smiled up at her.
“Drink this,” she told him. It revived him enough to be helped up, leaning on Mari, guided to the bed. There he lay propped up on pillows. Mari brought him the broth and a thick slice of bread, which he eagerly took.
“Dinnae fash. I just fainted. I’ve not eaten in a sennight. Have you any more bread?”
“Jamie, why are you here?”
“I’m sorry, Marion.”
“You should be,” she said. “Do you ken what you’ve done?”
“What? Oh, the escape. But surely you were not held to blame.”
Mari’s face flushed with anger. “No, but Callum was!”
“Was he?” said Jamie, barely looking up as he ate.
“He took your place.”
Jamie sopped up the last of the broth with his bread. “Serves him right, the Highland Royalist scum.”
Mari slapped his face. “He was my husband, and he died in your place!”
Jamie gave her a look devoid of emotion. “I am sorry.”
Mari stared in disbelief.
He said, “But the truth is, the cause is better served with me alive and one less Royalist to oppress us.”
“I never knew you to be cruel.”
“Marion, we are engaged in a battle for God. We cannot let our own feelings get in the way.”
“Do you not remember how you felt when Ellen died?”
Jamie’s harsh look started to crumble, but he forced back the emotions that caught in his throat.
Mari said, “You have caused such a loss for me. Can you not see that?”
“I could not turn from my calling.” He spoke gently, but it hurt just the same.
She quietly said, “Your calling? Were you called to kill my husband?”
“That isnae my fault.”
“It’s your fault Callum’s gone, and I miss him.”
“Just as I miss Ellen. Do you not see it’s the same?”
Mari looked at him with eyes full of sorrow. “Except that I did not cause Ellen’s death.”
“I did not cause Callum’s. But, yes, I do have a calling, and I will do all that I can to defeat papist tyranny.”
“And just what have you done that was worth Callum’s life?”
“I’ve been fighting for freedom.”
“Have you? You look like you’ve crawled out of a byre.”
“I’ve been in hiding.”
Mari rolled her eyes in disgust.
“I’m biding my time until the time’s right to take action.”
“Aye, well it was worth it then, was it not?” she said, unable to conceal her scorn.
“Aye, it’s worth more than his life or mine. If we cannot worship as we choose then what are our lives worth? I will live and, if need be, I will die for freedom.”
Mari could no longer sort her way through her grief for Callum and her anger with Jamie. Perhaps one day she might find the forgiveness she knew she should feel for her brother.
A loud rap at the door startled them both. “Dinnae answer it,” Jamie whispered.
“Why?”
“Someone’s following me. Bolt the door.” Jamie got up and looked out the window.
“Och, Jamie! What have you brought to my home?”
Before he could answer, another loud rapping sounded. Mari carefully stepped toward the door. After Jamie fainted, she had left it unbolted to tend to him. Now she would have to do it without making a sound. Halfway to the door, the wooden floor creaked; she froze. Any of the lads would have called out her name. It was quiet. Had they gone? Mari took another step, and another.
With a booming crash, the door opened. Mari flinched as her eyes locked on the piercing gaze of Lieutenant Kilgour. In a flash, she relived it—the dark moor, the crack of the gunfire as Jamie and Ellen were shot, and Kilgour on top of her. She stepped back and stumbled against the table. Spying a kettle of broth in the kitchen, Mari seized it and hurled it at him, but it had been off the fire for too long for the liquid to scald him. He deflected the kettle with the palm of his hand as he sneered.
“I see you’ve not lost your charm, minx. Come, gie us a kiss.” He grabbed her arms and slammed her back against the wall. Then he ground his stiff groin against hers. Mari fought against his overpowering strength as he clamped his hand about her chin and cheeks and forced his mouth over hers. She tried to keep her mind focused on how to escape. He leaned his forehead against hers and said softly, “Now why dinnae you tell me where he is?”
“My husband has stepped out—but he’s coming back any moment,” she added, hoping the lie would persuade him to leave.
“Husband, is it? And which one would that be?” He grinned with cold eyes. “I’ve been watching you, minx. You’re a busy girl. You’ve got so many dragoons coming in and out that I’m hard pressed to find you alone. But I’m a patient man. I knew he would show up sooner or later.”
Before she could answer, he spied the closed door to the bedroom. With the swipe of an arm, he hurled her aside. She crashed into the table, and clutched a chair to right herself. With desperate haste, she said, “Why bother with the bedroom. You can take me here,” she said, hoping to buy Jamie time.
He flashed a chilling smile. “Dinnae worry. I will.” Then he kicked in the bedroom door and strode in.
Mari followed. The bedroom was empty, but the curtains billowed from the open window. Kilgour chuckled, knowing they were too high up for Jamie to jump. He strode to the window and cautiously looked out, ready to seize Jamie from the ledge. Mari waited, heart pounding. Kilgour stuck his head out the window, but found nothing.
Relieved, Mari guessed that Jamie must have leapt down to the lamp jutting out from the building, then dropped to the ground and escaped down the close. But in doing so, he had left her alone with Kilgour. She inched quietly back toward the door as he pulled his head back inside and spun around to face her. She looked about for something to strike him with. Her eyes swept past pillows and quilts to the fireplace poker. It was too far away. She bolted for the door, but he lunged at her. Hooking his arm about her waist, he yanked her against him. No match for his strength, she could not pry herself loose.
“I should use that on you,” he snarled, nodding toward the fireplace poker.
He smiled slyly. He was toying with her. He allowed her enough freedom to struggle, and grinned to see her fear mounting.
With a sharp pull, she was flat against him. He took hold of her hair and pulled her face against his. His hot breath in her ear made her shiver. He chuckled.
“Well, now, what will we do now that your brother has left us alone?”
“Who do you mean? No one was here. You saw that for yourself, so now you can leave,” she said, hoping to distract him.
“I’ll just have to come back, for we both know your brother will. Just one thing before I go.” He pulled her into his bruising embrace and pushed her face down onto the bed. Mari screamed and thrashed about, but he pressed her face into the mattress. She fought to breathe. “One more sound, minx, and I’ll leave your face down there, ken?” He pulled her up by the hair.
Mari nodded, frantic for air.
He turned her flushed face, and pressed her ear to the bed while he dug his knee into her back. With his other hand, he pulled her skirts up to her waist.
Mari stared at the wall.
The rough wool of Kilgour’s plaid brushed against her bare skin as he pulled it out of his way. A clamor of footsteps broke through the ringing in her ears. Kilgour was suddenly gone. Mari barely heard the dull pounding of fists and the grunt as a body fell to the floor. She lay trembling. Gently, her skirt was pulled down to cover her. A hand touched her shoulder. “Mari?”
She looked up to find Charlie staring at her. She felt strangely detached until she saw the tender concern in his eyes, but she could not respond with words or emotion.
“Come here, Mari.” He helped her to sit up and put his arms about her. She caught a glimpse of Alex and Hughie dragging a well-pummeled Kilgour through doorway.
“Shh, dearie. It’s over. He’ll not hurt you again.”
She sat still, content to be numb. When she started to feel more herself, Mari said, “Charlie please take me out of this room.” She could still smell and taste Kilgour, and the sight of the room made it worse.
“Aye, we’ll go sit by the fire.”
Alex and Hughie had gone, and Kilgour with them.
“Now, Mari, I ken you’re a good Presbyterian lass, but right now you need one of Dr. Charlie’s medicinal draughts.” He rounded the corner from the kitchen with a well-poured glass of whisky, which he then pressed into her hands. Mari took it and sipped without question.
After stoking the fire, Charlie pulled a chair close beside Mari. The two of them stared at the flames.
It was Mari who first broke the silence. “Charlie, I cannae properly thank you.” Tears pooled in her eyes, and she could not continue.
“Whisht.” He gave her that same confident smile that left a trail of melted hearts in his wake, but it faded. He spoke in a quiet voice, thick with emotion: “I’m sorry we were not here sooner.”
“Whisht yourself, Charlie.” Her sad gaze settled on him. “How could you have known?”
“I promise you this, we’ll not leave you alone again.”
For a long while, the two quietly talked. Mari told him about Kilgour. Charlie took it all in without sharing his newly formed fear for her safety. Charlie soon distracted her with stories of Glengarry, and the home she would find there when they left for the Highlands.
Alex and Hughie returned some time later. Alex said proudly, “I had to pull Hugh off before he killed the haggis-brained sack o’ muck. Not that I wouldnae enjoy the sight of his sorry dead arse. But we had the cursed luck to have a constable happen along. We couldnae have our Hugh here in jail for killing a Royal Dragoon.” Alex clapped a firm hand on Hughie’s shoulder.
Hughie shook his head. “You should have left me alone. He deserves to die.”
“Aye,” said Alex. “But not in front of the law, ken?”
Hughie nodded in reluctant agreement. He clenched and released his jaw as he glared at the wall.
“We dragged him into a close before anyone saw us. We’ll finish the job on another day, won’t we, Hugh?”
Charlie watched, understanding. With a sudden shift of mood he said brightly, “Hugh, is it?”
“Aye,” said Alex. “This lad’s too braw a fighter to go by Hughie. He needs a man’s name. It’s Hugh now,” he said proudly.
With a bashful smile, Hugh shook off his lingering anger.
“You should have seen him bouncing that haggis head down four flights of stairs. By the time we reached the street, we had to heave him over Hugh’s horse, arse to the wind, so we could give him a proper disposal.”
“Which was…?” said Charlie.
Hugh said, “He’s having a wee lie down. Across town. In the street.”
“Aye,” said Alex. “I dinnae suppose he heard that woman calling out “Gardyloo!” Alex shook his head and shrugged.
Hugh stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I thought he looked quite good in brown.”
Alex considered for a moment. “Och, he was just showing off what he’s got for brains.”
They all laughed, except Mari.
“He said he’ll come back,” she said softly.
The room was silent as the men exchanged looks.
“If he dares, he’ll be taking a swim in the Nor’loch face down,” said Alex, lifting her chin as he searched her eyes. His fierce protectiveness brought Mari solace. “I can promise you that.”
Charlie gave Mari’s shoulder a comforting squeeze.
Hugh leaned on the wall, his arms folded. A brooding look clouded his usually bright eyes as he studied the street down below.
After cold days of gray skies, a morning came with warming sunshine. Mari leaned out of the window and shook a quilt in the chill morning air. A floor down and a few windows over, another quilt billowed over the sill and the landlady’s head soon appeared. Mari leaned down and said, “Happy Hogmanay, Mistress Durie.”
“Thank you, Mistress McEwan, and the same to you!”
Mari gathered the quilt back into her arms. “Em, I was wondering, Mistress Durie.” She glanced about, not wanting to be overheard. “About the rent… ”
“Aye?” Mrs. Durie pulled her own quilt back and held it in her arms as she turned to give Mari her full attention.
Mari said, “I’m fearing I dinnae ken what the arrangement was for the rent. What I mean to say is, do I owe you money?”
“Och, no. The gentleman paid it this morning.”
Puzzled, Mari tilted her head. “The gentleman?”
“Mr. MacDonell.”
Mari’s heart caught in her throat for a moment. Her first thought had been Callum, until she realized that, of course, there were four other Mr. MacDonells. “Which Mr. MacDonell?”
“The one who wears trews. The sailor.”
“Duncan?”
“Aye, I believe that’s what they call him.” Mrs. Durie’s face brightened. “Would you please ask him to stop by after midnight?”
“I’m sorry?” Mari could not help revealing her confusion.
Mrs. Durie laughed and said, “For good luck. At first footing.” Still seeing Mari’s confusion, she said, “If the first person to step foot in your house after midnight is a tall dark stranger, you’ll have good luck for the year.” She leaned closer. “A man braw as he is ought to be good for two years’ good luck, at least!” She winked at Mari.
At last understanding, Mari smiled and said, “I’ll tell him.”
They waved and closed their windows. As Mari started to spread the quilt over the bed, she thought of the landlady’s comment. Braw? Aye, she supposed Duncan was that.
*
“I’ll be back soon after dark,” Charlie said, as he stood at the threshold looking down the stairway. “Duncan’s on his way up, dearie.”