Chapter 9

Alec stood in Fort William's courtyard, oblivious to the cacophony around him. He'd given orders that they would begin patrols this morning and the troops were scrambling in preparation. An irritant, since they should have been ready at a moment's notice.

But his attention was not directed at the horses being led from their stalls, or the furtive looks sent his way. Instead, he stared at Gilmuir as if he could see through the walls. He wanted to go to her, to tell her who he was and what he had done. But he doubted she would listen to him, especially after his actions of last night.

He'd bunked with Harrison, his adjutant's surprise at being awakened abruptly quickly hidden. Instead of sleeping, however, Alec had spent the hours staring up at the ceiling engaged in thought.

He had believed, for most of his life, in the barbarity of the Scots, only to witness more cruelty by the English in the past year. He'd been trained to obey, yet he'd spent the last few months actively disobeying his commander's orders. He'd always thought of himself as a man of honor, but a dream had almost lured him to force himself on Leitis.

Alec felt as if he were being split in two. The man he had been vying with the man he was becoming. Only he was not certain of this new identity. It was more Scot than English, more rebellious than obedient.

Turning, he walked through the courtyard and into the regimental hall. The men he'd requested for this meeting had all assembled. He sat at the head of one of the dining hall tables, the room emptied but for himself and the six other officers.

The large room was similar to the clan hall, a meeting place with flags hanging from the walls in a display of nationalism. In the case of Gilmuir, the walls had been festooned with banners and weapons.

Present were Captains Wilmot and Monroe, along with Lieutenant Castleton, all of whom had accompanied him from Inverness. In addition, Sedgewick was in attendance, as well as his adjutant, an officious lieutenant by the name of William Armstrong who was now in the process of staring down Harrison.

"It is my place you've assumed, sir," Lieutenant Armstrong said.

Harrison merely smiled, his face unchanged by such an expression. In fact, Alec thought, it might be that the other man appeared more genial when he did not smile at all. As if his face, ill favored as it was, was not suited for amiability.

"My adjutant always occupies the position to my right, Armstrong," Alec said, impatient with the maneuvers that occurred at such functions. The arrival of a new commander was always a cause for celebration for some and panic for others.

Armstrong sat, his face twisted in an expression of annoyance the mirror of Sedgewick's expression. Alec had little tolerance for either of them.

"This meeting is for one purpose, to outline the changes that are in effect immediately." He nodded across the table, acknowledging his officers. "Captains Wilmot and Monroe will each be responsible for approximately fifty men." They would browbeat them, lecture them, coddle them if necessary, but in a few weeks each soldier would understand what was required in Alec's command.

"Lieutenant Castleton will oversee ancillary functions such as the bakery and the stores. And the barnyard," he added dryly. "Do something with that, Castleton, before we're all dead of the stench."

"And my duties, Colonel?" Sedgewick asked stiffly.

"You are going to be on patrol," he said bluntly. He nodded to Harrison, who passed Sedgewick a map. Sedgewick wasted no time unrolling it. A moment later, he passed the map to Armstrong.

"My patrol area is almost to the Irish Sea," he said resentfully, making no effort to disguise his disgust at the assignment.

"I'm aware of the area, Sedgewick," Alec said crisply. "Just as I am of the fact that you are challenging my orders."

Sedgewick's mouth tightened, the look he gave Alec without even a pretense of respect or compliance. It was obvious he was furious, so much so that the control over his temper and his words was hard-won.

The moment lengthened as the two men stared at each other.

"May I take any of my men with me?" Sedgewick asked finally, "or shall I patrol half of Scotland by myself, Colonel?"

If Alec had used that sarcastic tone with any of his commanders, he would have been whisked away in chains. But if he put Sedgewick in gaol, it would not rid him of the major's presence. Sending him on patrol was the best recourse.

Alec wanted Sedgewick gone from Fort William. The reason was simple. It wasn't because of his posturing, nor for his barely veiled insubordination, but for his character. And his ability to accept any act no matter how vile under the aegis of duty.

There were limits that men created in the secrecy of their own minds, lines they drew between obedience and their conscience. He had reached his in Inverness, discovered it was a barrier as firm and solid as a wall of brick. He wondered, however, if Sedgewick would ever know that his own line existed.

"You'll have twenty men," Alec said, determined that any man who'd been labeled a laggard or troublemaker would accompany Sedgewick.

Sedgewick stood, the bench scraping against the wood. "Then if you will excuse me, sir," he said, standing at attention stiffly, "I'll be preparing for my departure in the morning."

"I will not, Major," Alec said, also standing. "You'll have plenty of time to ready for your patrol when we return. Right now, you'll accompany me on a tour of the vicinity." He wasn't about to leave Sedgewick at the fort with only Donald to guard Leitis.

"Then I'll give the orders to move out," Sedgewick said.

"Have the men pack provisions for one day," Alec ordered, watching as Sedgewick left the room.

When the door closed behind the major, he felt only relief.

Armstrong spoke up as Alec dismissed the men. "The supply wagons need repairing, sir," he said. "And the smithy's anvil cracked."

"Tell the man in charge," Alec said, glancing down at the lieutenant. "Lieutenant Castleton, in this case."

"But you're the colonel, sir," Armstrong said, looking confused.

It would be unwise to judge Armstrong because of his association with Sedgewick. But it was obvious that the major's style of leadership differed greatly from his own.

"Every man at this table, Armstrong," he said patiently, "is capable of having his own command. The reason for that is that they have learned to govern. The officer who refuses to give his men practice in responsibility only thinks of himself and not his regiment. My duty is to see that the Crown's mission is accomplished in the Highlands, and that will not be done with my attention being directed toward anvils and wagons."

"Yes, sir," Armstrong said, chagrined. With any luck there was promise to the lieutenant. Alec would keep him at the fort and ascertain whether his loyalty was reserved for Sedgewick or the regiment.

The meeting completed, his next priority was finding Hamish. The old fool couldn't be allowed to flaunt his disdain for English authority so publicly. If he continued with his nightly serenades within hearing distance of Fort William, the men in his command would wonder why Alec did not punish his hostage.

Alec walked into the courtyard and mounted his horse, the soldiers behind him doing the same. Other than a small troop left behind to guard Fort William, all of the men in his command were arrayed here, waiting patiently in their regimentals for the signal to advance. Nearly half of them were cavalry, the others infantrymen.

This day's ride served another purpose in addition to finding Hamish. It would be his initial inspection of the territory surrounding Fort William and must, therefore, be done with a show of force. Showing the Highlanders the full complement of soldiers would not only prove that the English were here to stay, but it might deter thoughts of rebellion.

"I heard you released the piper," Sedgewick said, mounting and moving to his side. "It came as a great surprise when you exchanged him for a hostage."

"Should I have sought your permission, Major?" Alec asked sharply.

"No, sir. I just congratulate you on your good fortune to select one of the few women within miles with some promise. After you find the piper and release her, I'll have to try her myself." He smiled, an expression of challenge rather than mirth.

Alec faced forward. Damn Hamish and his stiff-necked pride.

Leitis smoothed her hands over her wrinkled skirt, pulled on her shoes, looked around for her hair ribbon, and, finding it on the pillow, tied her hair back. The mundane duties kept her hands busy as her mind whirled with plans to escape.

There was one spot in the window where the glass was shattered, forming a cobweb pattern. Grabbing a length of sheeting and winding it around her hand, she tapped on the glass until a hole appeared.

On the horizon the sky was lighter, as if the earth were an overturned bowl and the rim of it pale blue. The dawn sun was sending streaks of orange and pink light across the sky. It was a perfect summer morning in Scotland. All her life she had loved this season most. The scent of lush flowers and grass, the screech of an eagle on its morning hunt, brought back the magic of her childhood. She could almost hear her brothers' laughter as she raced with them across the glen or hid in the forest and caves she knew so well. It felt as if something warm bloomed in her chest and she was suddenly aware of a feeling of gratitude for those enchanted days of freedom and joy.

How strange to recall her childhood now. Was it being at Gilmuir after so many years?

A soft knock on the door made her turn. She called out a greeting and Donald peered inside.

"Good morning, miss," he said, grinning broadly.

She could not forestall her own soft smile.

"I've breakfast, miss. Will you eat?"

She nodded. It would be foolish to turn down a meal.

He stepped inside the room, bearing a heavily laden tray. He sat it on the table and began to make a place for her.

Donald was so young and eager to please that she couldn't be cold around him. He reminded her too much of Fergus.

"Doesn't the Butcher eat breakfast?" she asked, staring at the dispatch case.

He frowned at her, but answered all the same. "The colonel was in a lather to be on patrol this morning, miss. I expect he'll eat in the saddle. There have been too many times when we've done that."

She knew, suddenly, that he was going to find Hamish. She hoped her uncle had the good sense to stay hidden. But if he'd had any sense at all, he'd never have played the pipes in the first place.

The place set, the ale poured, Donald moved to straighten the bedcovers, making no comment as to their disarray, as if his colonel slept with a woman every night. Perhaps he did.

Leitis looked away, concentrated on the light streaming in through the window.

"Have you been with him long?"

"Long enough," he said cautiously. "Ever since Flanders."

She glanced at him curiously.

"The War of Austrian Succession," he said. "A strange place, Flanders, miss," he said, bending and tucking in the sheet until it was taut. "I'd much rather have my feet here on English soil." He straightened, smoothed the blanket, and folded it neatly, never realizing what he'd said. Scotland wasn't England, but would there come a day when people could not distinguish one from the other? If the Empire had its way, yes.

"Is he an easy man to serve?"

He glanced over at her, grinning. "He wants what he wants when he wants it. In that, he's no different from any commanding officer, I expect."

Donald retrieved the case and the colonel's other possessions, but it didn't strip the room of his commanding officer's presence. "I'll be back in a while, miss, with warm water for your wash."

She smiled her agreement, waiting until the moment the door closed before she stacked the biscuits, cheese, and ham into a napkin. Cautiously, she opened the door, peered from side to side, and when there was no sign of a guard, raced through the archway to the other side of Gilmuir. There, a series of stunted gorse bushes clung tenaciously to the edge of the cliff. Leitis moved from one to the other, peering over the side.

A moment later she found the entrance to the path. Dropping to her knees, she tucked the parcel of food in her bodice, then lay flat on her stomach. She inched backward toward the sheer drop, her legs flailing in the air before her feet found a foothold. Praying that her memory hadn't failed her, and more importantly that the path hadn't crumbled since she'd used it last, she lowered herself down carefully.

It was nothing more than a shelf of stone encircling Gilmuir, a natural outcropping of the rock that formed the island. It had looked wider as a child, she suddenly realized, staring down at the glittering cream-colored slab of rock.

Slowly, she edged along the path, only once glancing to her right. Far beneath her was the loch, its deep blue water still and ominous. It didn't matter that she had learned to swim as a girl; she doubted if she would survive the fall.

Where once she would have found the journey around Gilmuir daring and even exciting, now it was only harrowing. The path undulated like a stone serpent, sometimes rising high enough that she had to bend over so that the top of her head wasn't seen. Once the track cut so sharply into the face of the cliff that she had to crawl beneath a rocky overhang. When she came to a straighter section, she knew that the land bridge was above her. A few more feet and she could begin the upward climb to the glen.

The idea of solid earth beneath her feet was almost heady. So, too, was the fact that she had escaped the English. And more importantly, the Butcher.

"I beg your pardon, my lady, but a messenger just delivered this."

The Countess of Sherbourne looked up from her needlework curiously.

Hendricks crossed the sitting room floor, handed the message to her with white gloves and an impeccable manner. His livery was dark blue, his wig a glaring white. She suspected that he refurbished it every morning, because wherever he walked the air was laden with a cloud of powder.

She took the message and stared at it curiously. Her late husband's name stared back at her in a black, perfectly executed penmanship.

Brandidge Hall was a serene place, so much so that she could hear the individual footsteps of each person as they walked through the fifty rooms. She rarely heard laughter or conversation, the earl having disliked discourse between his servants. Patricia wondered, sometimes, if they ever smiled at each other or winked in passing.

Her husband had a taste for the French, and even this room, her private retreat, bore signs of his influence. The lady's writing table was a delicate piece, with its curved legs and intricately carved top. She put aside her needlework, walked to it now, and placed the envelope down on its inlaid surface.

"A letter, Mama?" David asked, turning from his position on the settee. The gray cat sitting on his lap glanced up at him in remonstrance, her pale yellow eyes narrowed in annoyance. David smiled down at her and resumed his affectionate petting. Sometimes Patricia thought that animals loved David in a special way. That particular cat, named Ralph in honor of David's first and only tutor, would never have sat on her lap for so long.

"Yes, dearest," she said. "From your brother." If only it had arrived when Gerald had been alive. It would have pleased him so much. Opening the flap, she began to read Alec's words, telling herself that it was necessary to do so, if only to obtain his address. He must be informed of his father's passing and his own ascension to the earldom.

I have been posted to Gilmuir, Father, a command I truly wished to reject. But the army and the Duke of Cumberland do not take into account a man's past or his reluctance. Therefore, I am here, in the very place I wished never to be.

Scotland, itself, has suffered greatly from her rebellion. I cannot say that the Scots have learned from it. One of their own proverbs states that twelve men and a set of pipes will spur a rebellion.

My command consists of a hundred twelve men, mostly unseasoned. But Scotland ages a man quickly.

He went on for several pages, the words to his father those of a fond son, not one who had not communicated in so many years. She wondered, now, if she had contributed to the separation between them. She had not fought against his decision to join the regiment when he was eighteen.

Perhaps because it had been increasingly difficult to compare the two brothers. Alec had been a charming boy with a ready smile. He showed a determination to do as he wished, however, despite what his father wanted for him.

Patricia glanced at her son and smiled fondly. She had known ever since he was a small boy that David was different. At first his difficulties were not noticeable to most people, even to her closest friends. But as time passed and David remained immured in a world other boys left behind, it became obvious that he would never advance to adulthood in his mind.

It would have been easier, perhaps, if she had treated him as most of her friends did their children, leaving their intimate needs to be catered to by a variety of paid servants. But from the very beginning he had been dear to her heart.

In those years when her friends had reported glowingly of their own progeny's triumphs, Patricia had smiled politely and ached inside.

David was a kind young man with not a word of dislike for anyone. Instead, he viewed the world with a wide-eyed wonder as if expecting all the best from it. He saw nothing but friends in even the most suspect of places, and would willingly give his last penny to anyone who asked. Because of his innate goodness and innocence, he needed protection and almost constant guidance.

Nature had provided him with good looks in compensation for other deficiencies. Her son was almost perfectly handsome with his dark brown hair and large brown eyes.

"Can I read the letter?" he asked now.

"Certainly," she said, holding it out for him.

He carefully placed the cat on the adjacent cushion and rose, taking the letter. "I remember Alec," he said, smiling.

Although he read the letter carefully, Patricia knew that he would not understand the meaning behind all the words. She repeated to him what Alec had written.

"I wish I could see him," he said, passing the letter back to her. "He was very tall."

"You are his equal now," she said.

"I'm tall," he said proudly.

She nodded and smiled, hiding the spurt of pain at the sweetness and vacancy of his expression. Over the years she'd become accustomed to that ache just as she was her breath and the beat of her blood.

"Perhaps he'll come to see us soon," she said, hoping that it was, indeed, the case. The meeting with the solicitor had frightened her.

"I'm afraid, my lady," he'd said, "that the earl made no provisions for David. Could it be that he wished his son to provide for him?" he added, his voice filled with kindness.

"Yes," she said, folding her gloved hands together on her lap. "He did. I was just hoping that he might have made other arrangements as well."

The solicitor shook his head, his expression one of compassionate gravity.

Every penny was entailed to Alec and could not be touched until he returned to Brandidge Hall. There was some hint he was in Scotland, but the records were so poor that there was no way to determine exactly where. But she'd learned that the Duke of Cumberland himself had been his sponsor, so she had had her solicitor write to him in hopes that the duke would tell her what she needed to know.

Now Patricia knew where Alec was, but the knowledge did not aid her. Even when Alec returned, whenever that might be, there was no guarantee that he would provide for David. Or even for her.

She and her son shared an uncertain future.

"It's important that we see him quickly," she said, speaking the words aloud before she thought them. She didn't like to worry David and withheld most concerns from him.

"Do you love him more?" David asked, frowning.

"No, of course not," she said, folding the letter again. "You are my son," she said. "Alec had a different mother."

At his look, she sighed. She would have to explain it now.

"Alec's mother died," she said, "and his father and I married. You are our son."

"Are you going to die, Mama?"

"No," she said, in order to soothe him. Another worry—what would happen to him when she died?

"Why can't we go to see him?" he said, smiling at her angelically.

She stared at David, the thought so simple that she should have thought of it herself. The rebellion was over; there would be little danger in traveling through Scotland. There she could speak to Alec about the one concern she had over all: David's future.

"Indeed, David," she said, smiling at her son. "Why can't we?"

It was a pleasant thing to have a woman around, Donald Tanner thought as he crossed the distance between the fort and the ruined castle. He held a ewer filled with steaming water with both hands and a pile of clean washing cloths tucked under his arm.

He wished that Fort William was not too new to have attracted wives. In a year or two they'd arrive, perhaps. Flowers would be planted along the perimeter of the fort and soft laughter would be heard as commonly as the rough oaths that rang through the courtyard now.

Women brought something with them that was lacking in the presence of men. Or maybe, he thought, it was simply that with women around men could forget about war for a while. He'd learned to read through the kindness of a barracks wife, a vicar's daughter who'd married an infantryman and now followed the drum.

He stepped through the courtyard, carefully balancing the ewer, knocked on the door, and waited patiently for Leitis to open it. When she didn't answer, he pushed it open, walked inside, and set the ewer down on the table. He frowned when he realized the room was empty, but then he glanced toward the privy door. To give her more privacy, he left the room again.

After a few more moments in which he tapped his foot and occupied himself by counting the rows of bricks in the opposite wall, he knocked on the door again. When there wasn't a response, he entered and crossed the floor, hoping that the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was only his breakfast and not a dawning suspicion.

But when he knocked on the privy door and she did not answer, he realized that it was as bad as he had feared. He pulled open the door and walked down the short hallway.

"Miss?" The echo of his voice was the only response.

Leaving the colonel's chamber, he hurried through the archway and around the piles of bricks to gain a clear view of the land bridge and the glen. There was no sign of her.

The colonel wasn't going to be pleased. His commanding officer wasn't angry often, but when he was, every man knew that it was better to avoid him. He had that way about him, of speaking in a low, tight voice with his eyes singeing holes through you. Donald hadn't been reprimanded all that many times, but the experience had left him wishing not to repeat it.

A feeling of presentiment struck him then, not unlike the Sight some of the Scots claimed to have. From the way he'd looked at the woman last night, Donald was certain that her disappearance was going to greatly displease the colonel.