Chapter 28

Leitis stood clutching Ian, filled with a quiet kind of terror, and not because a man had died in front of her. She was trembling because she knew these moments were the ones on which her happiness rested.

"I won't leave without you," she said fiercely. "I won't let you be brave or daring or noble. Not now."

"I could convince them that it was Sedgewick's jealousy of me that was the reason for his charges, that his suspicions were entirely unfounded," he said, stroking his hands over her back.

"And his death? They'll think you guilty of it."

"I am still the colonel of the 11th Regiment," he said, smiling wryly. "My word has some weight." He pulled back and traced his thumb over her features. Nose, lips, chin were all subject to that soft touch.

"There's another way," she said, desperate to convince him. "You could come with me. Remember the path around the cliff? We could both get the villagers to the ship."

"And who will occupy the general in the meantime?" he asked with a smile.

Patricia walked over to where they stood. "I admit to not knowing what you're discussing," she said. "But it's evident that you need a distraction. Someone who would keep General Wescott occupied in some way."

She glanced toward David, then back at both of them. "The boor seems to have taken an interest in me," she said, her cheeks flushing. "Perhaps I can have wine with the general. Or dine with him."

"I couldn't ask you to do that, Patricia," he said. "It would be too dangerous for you."

"Why, because you're my stepson?" She drew herself up haughtily and glared at him. "I shall simply tell them that you're an odious disappointment to me. That you were estranged from your father for the same reason and that my only purpose for visiting you was to inform you of your succession to the earldom." The arrogant air she assumed was ruined by her quick smile.

"Earldom?" Leitis said helplessly. "You're an earl now?"

"My father is dead," he said softly.

Her hands pressed against his arm. "I'm sorry," she said, wishing that she could spare him the pain of his grief. There were some journeys, however, that each person had to make alone.

He pulled off a ring, handed it to Patricia, then unfastened the badge he wore on his waistcoat. "This is inscribed with my name and was a present from Cumberland. Tell the solicitor I was killed in Scotland," he said. "He'll believe it easily enough with this as proof."

Patricia stared at him in disbelief. "I can't take this," she said, staring down at the two items on her palm. "I wanted to ask you to provide for David, but this is too much. You can't give up your birthright, Alec," she remonstrated. She glanced over at her son. "David cannot be earl," she said softly.

"With you at his side, Patricia, I've no doubt that he can be an apt one." He smiled. "You'll find that society will forgive a great deal if a man has power."

She looked bemused, turning the ring and the badge over and over in her hand.

"You can't do this, Ian…." Leitis halted, threw up her hands in frustration. "Who will you be now?" she asked. "What shall I call you? Ian or Alec?"

"Ian, I think," he said, considering it. "Ian MacRae."

"Then, Ian MacRae," she said firmly, "you cannot give up your future."

"Would you care to be an English countess, Leitis?" he asked.

"No," she answered, so quickly that he smiled.

"I didn't think so," he said. "I haven't given up my future, my love. I've simply changed one title for another."

She merely shook her head at him, confused.

"That of husband, Leitis. I prefer it to earl."

That he would give up his legacy to be with her stunned her. She tipped back her head and stared at him, suddenly realizing what he'd said.

"Are you asking me to marry you, Ian? You might be a bit more forthright."

He began to laugh, bending down to kiss her smartly right in front of his stepmother. She pushed at him, but he released her when he was done, and not a moment before.

She pulled away finally, dazed.

"Will you marry me, Leitis?" he asked, smiling. "Is that forthright enough?"

She nodded, smiling.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, turned to Patricia. "Two hours should be enough of a delay," he said.

"I shall play the flirty female," the older woman said. "A role that should be interesting to assume."

He bent and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you," he said simply.

She pressed her palm against his face. "Be well," she said tenderly. "Be happy. Something tells me you will be," she added, her glance including Leitis. "She's the match for your stubbornness."

He looked startled. "My stubbornness?"

"He always wanted his own way as a young man, my dear," Patricia said in an aside to Leitis. "His charm was the only reason he was not unbearable."

"I am not stubborn," he countered.

Patricia glanced at Leitis once again, as if to say, See, did I not tell you?

Ian only shook his head and turned to his brother. "I have to leave now, David," he said.

"Will I see you soon?" his brother asked.

"Perhaps," he said, a vague answer. David, however, looked content enough with it.

Leitis led him through the priory, to the small shelf of land on the side of Gilmuir. Here a collection of gorse bushes grew in a scraggly line.

At the fourth bush, she nodded, then turned and smiled at him. "This is it," she said, sitting beside the bush, her legs dangling over the edge.

A moment later, he stared in horror as she disappeared from sight. He threw himself flat on the ground, his heart in his throat, his arms grabbing for her, only to have her pop her head up a moment later, smiling at him.

"At the risk of offending you, Leitis," Ian said, his heart still pounding wildly, "were you part goat as a child?"

"It's not so terrible once you're used to it," she said in an attempt to reassure him. "Although," she admitted, "I wouldn't attempt it at night or in a storm."

His glance at her was accompanied by a faint smile. He had no doubt that if the provocation were enough, she'd dare that, too.

He dropped down beside her on the path, uttering a curse as he stared at the sheer drop below. "You weren't a goat," he said, frowning, "but an eagle."

War was tedium mixed with horror. Hours were spent waiting for a signal to advance, but those moments just before a battle began were filled with a stomach-clenching fear. He was disconcerted to experience that same feeling now.

Slowly, Leitis began to follow the path around the cliffs. He stayed close behind her, one hand, like hers, flattened on the side of the cliff for balance.

The face of the rock was striated, bands of brown and black interspersed occasionally with a layer of pure white glittering stone. The path itself was a shelf of beige granite littered with small pebbles. He made the mistake of watching one of them fall to the loch below, his stomach squeezing even tighter. It was not the opportune moment to recall Sedgewick's descent.

"I can't believe you used this path," he said incredulously.

"Did you never wonder how I escaped all of you so easily?" she asked, amused.

"I thought it was because you could outrun us," he confessed.

"I could," she said smugly.

"I'm not sure all of the villagers are going to be able to navigate it, Leitis," he said, concerned. "Does it get much narrower?"

"No," she answered, glancing over her shoulder at him. He wished, fervently, that she would pay more attention to the path. "It is bound to be frightening to some of them," she admitted. "But we are Scots and we can do anything."

He smiled, amused.

Halfway around the island the track abruptly rose higher for about five feet. Unless they bent over, they could be seen. Once the path dipped slightly again, Leitis stopped and motioned to Ian. Together, they peered over the edge of the cliff.

There was a sense of cacophony about Fort William now. The order and regimentation that had once marked the fortress wasn't in evidence. Men and horses milled about, camp had been made, and fires lit in preparation for night.

Ian glanced up at the sky, wondered if they had enough time to get the villagers back to the priory and to the ship before nightfall.

"Will your stepmother be all right?" Leitis whispered.

"Against Wescott?" he said, smiling. "I have no doubt."

"I never had a chance to visit with her," she said regretfully.

"The better to learn my secrets? Then I should be grateful the meeting never transpired," he said dryly.

"I know all your secrets," she said, smiling. "Don't I?"

"I don't feel at all comfortable discussing my frailties when I'm perched on a ledge like a bird."

"You're not comfortable with heights," she said, looking as if the discovery amazed her.

He braced his hand against the rock, the glittering stone abrasive against his palm. "Up until this moment," he said, "I've had few opportunities to test my affinity for cliff-walking."

She began to smile, obviously amused. He bent down and kissed her, captivated by the moment and the woman.

"Have you no other secrets?" she asked a moment later.

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't like the taste of mutton," he said, "although you'll need sheep for your wool. And I have no ability to sing."

She smiled at him before turning and following the path. It didn't get easier, he noted, but as long as he concentrated on the cliff face and not the sheer drop to his right, it was bearable enough.

They reached the land bridge, finally, the path rising steeply upward.

"We have to cross the glen," she said, gesturing to a narrow neck of land.

He glanced from it back to the fort, measuring the distance. The soldiers didn't appear particularly vigilant, but it was never good to underestimate an adversary. With a start of surprise, he realized that's exactly what the English were now.

Slowly, he slipped off his coat, folded it inside out, and tossed it over the side of the cliff.

"It would be seen too easily," he said at her questioning glance.

She stretched out her hand. "It's a race," she said, smiling. "I've always been better at running than you," she boasted.

"I caught you in the courtyard," he reminded her as he took her hand.

She grabbed her skirt in her fist and together they ran across the strip of grass, Leitis muting her laughter with effort.

"I won," she announced on the other side, a bit of sophistry he allowed her. Her laughing face was flushed, her hair lit by a fading sun until it was tinted red-gold. In her lovely eyes was joy, so pure and unalloyed that his heart seemed to swell in gratitude for it.

"Don't do this now, Ian," she said, glancing up at him, her lovely eyes clear and deep. "Not at this moment."

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

"Look at me in that way. It makes me want to kiss you."

She sighed as he caught her up in his arms and kissed her anyway.

"We should get to the village," he said moments later.

She nodded, clutching at his waistcoat with possessive fingers.

"It doesn't seem quite right," she said, gazing up at him. "We are fleeing for our lives, responsible for getting almost fifty people to safety, and any moment we might be pursued by hundreds of English troops. I shouldn't be so happy, should I?"

"Happiness is fleeting enough. Hold it tight when it comes and don't let it go." To mark that thought, he pulled her to him again, spiraling down into their kiss with a jubilant delight.

Slowly they parted, each looking at the other. A moment of discovery and acknowledgment, he thought, that what was between them was greater than nationality or country.

They turned, finally, walking toward the village hand in hand. But when she would have veered onto the well-worn path through the glen, he pulled her into the cover of the forest.

"It's shorter this way," she protested.

"But we don't know whether or not Wescott has posted troops there," he said. She looked startled by the possibility.

But when they emerged from the forest a few minutes later, there was no sign of the general's troops.

The village was unearthly quiet, as if the inhabitants had already left. There was no smoke from the chimneys, no sign of life.

Leitis knocked on the first door and an old man answered. "It's time," she said. "I'm sorry we couldn't give you any warning," she added.

"We're ready," he said.

Ian strode to a cottage banded with flowers. An older woman answered, her gnarled hands clutching the doorframe tightly. "It's time to leave," he said gently.

Her only response was a tight-lipped nod.

One by one the cottage doors opened and people emerged, gathering in the middle of the village.

"We have to leave Gilmuir quickly," he said, addressing them. He didn't wish to alarm them, but neither did he want them kept in ignorance. It was better if they understood the need for haste. "The English might well be searching for us soon." Their faces each wore varying degrees of fear.

"You'll not be able to take more than you can carry, and even that should be limited. We'll be taking the path around the cliffs."

"I know of no path around the cliffs," a voice said. Ian turned to see Hamish standing a short distance away, his feet braced apart. One hand gripped his pipes, while the other was bunched in a fist and braced on his hip. For all the world, Ian thought, like a banty rooster defending his barnyard.

They stared at each other, Ian knowing the exact moment when Hamish recognized him.

"So, it's the Butcher himself," Hamish said, "come to lead those foolish enough to go. Where does an English colonel hope to take the MacRaes? To hell? Or just to prison?"

Ian heard the collective gasp of the people surrounding him.

Leitis came to his side, placed her hand on his arm in wordless support. "The reason the English will be searching," she told the clan, "is because he's Ian MacRae."

Hamish looked startled, then his eyes narrowed as he stared at them both. "He's the Butcher of Inverness."

"He's also the man who's put his own life in jeopardy," she said. "Not for his pride, Uncle," she said, staring fixedly at the pipes. "But for others."

"O-ho," Hamish said, frowning at her. "It's like that, is it?"

She nodded. "It's like that," she said firmly.

"Your grandfather would be spinning in his grave to see you now, Ian MacRae," Hamish said, turning to him.

Ian took one step closer to the old man. "You dare to talk to me about what my grandfather would have thought?" he asked incredulously. "Your own actions have been nothing but selfish, Hamish. You allowed Leitis to be your hostage, never caring what might happen to her."

He was so close that he could reach out and pick up the old fool and fling him away like so much rubbish. The fact that he wanted to made Ian clench his hands into fists.

"I don't intend to allow anyone else to suffer for your pride, Hamish. Not Leitis, not any of these people."

He looked out over the crowd. "It's true I'm half English," he said, "but those at Fort William would punish me for being half Scot."

Leitis spoke beside him. "Some of you know him as the Raven," she said. "He helped you all."

"You gave me food," a man said, pushing his way to the front of the crowd.

"And me." An older woman spoke the words. People parted as she came forward.

"And brought us here in safety," another woman said. He recognized her as the mother of the boys he'd carried through the storm.

Ian heard a chorus of responses, all of them gratifying and obviously irritating to Hamish, who stood in the same place looking mulish.

"There's not much time," Ian said. "You can either trust me or you can stay here. Either way, there's uncertainty and peril. I'll not lie to you about that. All I can offer you is freedom."

"You're going, then, Leitis?" a young woman asked.

Leitis folded her hand into Ian's, then looked up at him. "I am," she said.

An old man stepped forward. His look was as sharp as Hamish's had been.

"You're the old laird's grandson?"

"Yes," Ian said.

"That's good enough for me," he said. "No English blood can dilute a true Scot." He turned to address the crowd. "We should be going, then," he said sharply.

One by one the villagers began to nod.

The procession out of the village was a muted one. There was no time spent in glancing over the structures, whole or burned. And other than a few softly spoken regrets, there was no grief expressed about those possessions that had to be left behind. A lesson in their cheerful acceptance, Ian thought. The people of Gilmuir recognized that memories could be held within and needed no tangible reminders.

The cloudless sky was a whitish blue as they retraced their steps through the forest. The late afternoon sun created long shadows over the landscape. A breeze from the north set the branches of the trees to dancing, as if nature bade them a farewell with a wave of leafy fingers.

Hamish MacRae stood watching them, his pipes on his shoulder. The MacRae Lament was perfect for this moment as he witnessed the loss of his clansmen. Yet he couldn't play it for fear of endangering them.

He had never before felt as old or as useless as he did now. Worse, he felt shamed. The Butcher's words had sliced deep. He had endangered Leitis and done so without thought. And he'd lost her for it. She'd walked out of the village without a look in his direction, without even a farewell. As if he'd ceased to exist in her mind.

There was promise in that stony look he'd received from the Butcher. Ian, he corrected. A born leader of men, he thought.

Turning, he looked around him. He had lived his life with each day passing, one into the other, never noticing how much had changed. Until this moment, when he felt the world was not quite the same, but something altogether unfamiliar.

He didn't feel as if he belonged here anymore. But neither was he glad to be quit of Gilmuir. It was not an easy thing, after all, to begin a new life when he was almost at the age to be passing from this one.

But he wasn't about to be left behind.

He walked through the village to Peter's cottage, rapped hard on the door.

"Who is it?" Peter asked peevishly.

"The English come to call," Hamish said sarcastically. "Who do you think it is?"

The door flew open; Peter frowned down at him. "Dora, with the meal she promised. Something other than turnips, for a change. Or Mary, come to give me a bit of smelly cream for my knee. Anyone but you."

"The rest of them are leaving," Hamish said, pushing back his irritation at Peter for another, more important task.

"Now?" Peter asked.

"We'll be the only ones here," Hamish said. "And I've no wish to spend the rest of my life with only you as a companion, you old fool."

"Why don't you go piping in Gilmuir's courtyard, idiot?" Peter said. "The span of your life is bound to be shortened then."

"I'm going with them," Hamish said.

"You're going with them?" Peter repeated, surprised.

"If you don't hurry, you'll be the only one here," Hamish warned, then gave him back one of his eternal sayings. "A wise man wavers, a fool is fixed."

"I don't think so, old man," Peter said suddenly, squinting at him. "I'll not be a hermit." He left the doorway and Hamish walked inside. Peter was busy spreading out a sheet and piling things inside it.

"You would make yourself daft," Hamish agreed. "Besides, you need someone to point out the errors of your ways."

Peter stood, tied the sheet into a neat bundle. "My errors?" he said incredulously. "I'm not a fool with the pipes. You've got the pride of a gaggle of clergy, Hamish MacRae."

Hamish grinned and preceded him out the door.