Authors: Highland Treasure
She seemed to be in the southeast corner of the tower house. She could see two windows below, but beneath them she saw only ancient arrow loops of the sort designed with a central horizontal space to accommodate crossbows. Farther below, the ground fell sharply away toward the water in a steep escarpment.
To her left a deserted battlement stretched some twenty feet to a corner, and by leaning out she could see a small bit of the courtyard on the other side. It was a pity, she thought, that she could not just fly out of the window and back to Maclean House. Even so, if she could climb down without drawing attention from anyone in the courtyard, the curtain wall would hide her from viewers long enough to follow the escarpment around to the woods behind the castle. Alas, she thought with a self-mocking smile, no outside steps led down from the turret window.
She suddenly thought of a friend whose talents included climbing sheer cliffs and other walls with nothing to aid him but a pair of dirks. He had done so at least once that she knew about, to aid a tower-bound prisoner, but Bardie Gillonie did not even know that she was at Shian, let alone that she was there against her will.
The previous night’s mist had gone, and now she could see the far shore of the loch, about a mile and a half away. A lone sailboat tacked swiftly toward the northeast, its sails billowing before a stiff breeze. Beyond it, beyond the far shore, a light sprinkling of early snow dusted forested hills, and she could see two tall black towers rising amidst the trees. She wondered if they belonged to Dunraven.
A click of the latch and a light rap sent her heart thudding into her throat, but they heralded only Chuff’s return. With a last look at the water and the two black towers beyond, she returned to the bedchamber to greet him.
He said anxiously, “Ye dinna ought tae lean out o’ that window, mistress. ’Tis a fearsome far way doon tae the ground gin ye fall.”
“I won’t fall, Chuff, although I don’t deny that if I could find another way to get down there, I’d do it in an instant. I am here against my will, after all.”
“How could ye do it without killing yourself?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, but if I had some rope, I’d try. I daresay I shall find some other way, however, one that will be safer.”
He looked skeptical. “Master doesna mean tae let ye go, mistress. I’m tae tell ye he wants ye below, too, and he isna enjoyin’ a pleasant frame o’ mind, the day.”
Mary sighed. “I begin to think he rarely enjoys a pleasant frame of mind, Chuff. I was much mistaken in your master.”
“He is a hard man,” Chuff muttered, moving past her into the turret chamber to collect her bowl and mug. From within, he added, “I’ll just close this window, mistress. He’d have a fit and all gin he sees it like this.”
One of Ewan’s men appeared in the open bedchamber doorway, saying curtly, “Mistress, the laird wants you below at once.”
Chuff said indignantly, “I just got here m’self, and I tellt her that already.”
“You clear up in here and get back to the kitchen,” the man said harshly. “And hold your whisst if you don’t want to feel my hand.”
Chuff passed Mary, muttering darkly as he went to put her bowl and mug back on the tray.
She said hastily to Ewan’s man, “I’ll come straightaway. I just want to brush my hair and wash my face first.”
“He willna care if your hair is tidy or your face is clean, mistress. He said to bring you, and he’s that impatient. Come along now. The lad will tidy up here.”
He looked grim, and Mary did not doubt for a moment that he would drag her if she resisted, so to preserve her dignity, she swept past him to the stairway.
Holding her skirt up and moving with care, since she had not descended such a stairway since leaving Lochfuaran, she felt overly conscious of the man behind her and of what lay ahead. So concentrated was she on minding her steps that she nearly passed by the entrance to the hall.
Ewan’s voice startled her. “Come in here, lass. I hope you’ve come to your senses by now.”
Collecting herself, she stepped into the room, moving to the hearth, where a fire leapt cheerfully. Empty brackets on the chimneypiece suggested that a claymore or musket had once hung there, but the only thing decorating the chimneypiece now was a riding whip that someone had left on the narrow wooden mantel.
“Well, lass?”
Striving to stay calm, she turned to face him and said, “I have not changed my mind about leaving, sir, if that is what you mean.”
“That is no longer your decision to make,” he said. “You have spent the night in this castle. If you were to leave now, folks would be bound to think the worst.”
“I’ll take that chance,” she said, fearing he was right but determined not to let him know the point had shaken her. “People know me, and they know I do not tell falsehoods. If I say nothing happened, they will believe me.”
“Some will, some won’t,” he said, “but it makes no difference. You will stay until I say you can leave, and by then there will be no question about your having become my lawful wife, I promise you.”
His face had reddened, and she knew she would anger him more if she argued, so she said instead, “I still do not know exactly what you expect me to do for you. I would gladly help all I can if your cause is just, sir, without coercion.”
“That’s better,” he said, shifting his position to perch on the edge of the great table that sat in the middle of the hall. “You’ll soon learn just how to please me, lassie. I ken fine that you are no fool.”
Keeping her temper with the help of long practice, Mary said, “You told me last night that a seer once predicted that a seventh daughter could help you. What makes you think I am such a one?”
“You did not deny it.”
“I cannot, for it is true, but who told you about me?”
“Is it such a secret then?”
“No, but I would like to know who told you. I want to know, too, why you thought it sufficient reason to court and marry me. Just what you think I can find?”
“You’ve no need to know more than I choose to tell you.”
“Faith, sir, how will I recognize what you seek if I don’t know what it is?”
“You seek what has been lost to the MacCrichtons,” he growled.
She sighed. “Whatever happens, Ewan, I doubt that I shall have a vision of something with
MacCrichton
written across it in bold letters.”
He grimaced, but to her relief he did not lash out at her. After a moment, he said, “Very well, then, I’ll tell you, but only because you won’t be able to tell anyone else. Before we joined the prince in ’45, my father, my younger brother, and I buried our family treasure—a chest of gold coins, family jewelry, and such like stuff—so no one could steal it whilst we were away and leave us destitute.”
“Surely you must know where you buried it!”
“That’s the rub, lass. My brother, Geordie, was a mite daftish. Not crazed or mad, just not sensible like. We notched a tree near the treasure, but then we thought we heard someone coming and I saw that Geordie had made the notch on the tree so eye-catching that anyone would know at once that something lay buried there.”
“Who was coming?”
Ewan shrugged. “We never saw anyone, just heard sounds, but Shian stands right on the boundary of Appin county. Yonder, across the loch, lies Campbell land, including the Earl of Caddell’s estates and Dunraven, Balcardane’s ancient seat. The present earl removed long since to his castle on Loch Leven—the one his grandfather stole from the Stewarts and renamed to match the earldom the English gave him. Still, all the land south of here crawls with Campbells to this day.”
“So what did you do when you heard the noise?”
“I got a notion to notch more of the trees around us, and I set Geordie to helping me. Then my father said we had done enough and ought to go inside. Geordie was to do a few more trees and bring the shovels in, but the daft lad stayed out most of the night. I waited up a bit for him, but when he did not come, I thought he had gone off to visit his woman. We were leaving the next day, after all. Instead, I discovered that the fool had notched well nigh every tree in the forest.”
Mary felt a bubble of laughter forming, but she suppressed it, saying, “Did your brother not remember where the chest lay buried, either?”
“Geordie died at Culloden,” Ewan said shortly, “like my father.”
“You never told me that, only that they died fighting for the prince. Even so, did you not make an effort, the pair of you, to find it again before you left Appin?”
“I lost my temper and hit him,” Ewan said. “Anyone would have done the same, but he refused to discuss the treasure after that, saying only that he would show me when we got home again that he was not so daft as I thought him.”
“But he never came home,” she said quietly.
“No.”
“Why are you in such a rush now? It’s been six years since Culloden, and you waited a full year for me.”
“After Culloden I hid out in the hills with the prince,” he said harshly. “I was certain someone would betray us, too, because the damned English offered a bounty of thirty thousand pounds for him. A fortune, that was.”
“An astounding amount,” she agreed. “I warrant the English still cannot understand why no one betrayed him for such a vast amount.”
“Aye, well, I was tempted myself more than once. Might have done it had I not thought they’d chop my head off along with his. Still, we got safe to France, and by biding my time and playing it shrewd, I was able to arrange a full pardon. They even let me keep Shian and my title, though unlike Campbell titles, it don’t count for spit outside Scotland. I returned just in time to hear James Stewart sentenced.”
“Where you met me,” Mary said. “I don’t understand, though, what led you to believe that my powers include the ability to find things. I cannot do that, sir.”
“You will,” he said. “Part of the agreement I made to obtain my pardon included a substantial payment to the Crown. I’d expected to make it easily once I’d recovered the treasure, but I’ve dug up nearly every inch of that forest, and I can’t find it, so you must. What’s more, we’ll be man and wife before we dig it up.”
“Ewan, I will certainly tell you if at any time I have a vision revealing the whereabouts of your treasure, but I simply cannot marry you now.”
“You’ll do as you’re bid,” he snapped, hefting himself off the table and striding to catch her by the shoulders. He shook her. “Do you hear me, lass?”
“Aye, I hear you,” she said grimly, “but I won’t marry you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mary Maclaine. You need to learn a harsh lesson, my lass, but learn it you will, and right speedily. The sooner you know that you’ve got to do what I say, the better.” With that, holding her tightly by an arm, he dragged her to the hearth, and snatched the riding whip from the mantel.
Having risen before dawn to finish the few remaining tasks he had set for himself at Dunraven, Black Duncan ordered most of his men to ride north with his dogs and all the horses until they could ford the loch at the narrows. When they had a good start, he would take the three remaining men with him and sail across the loch. The breeze remained brisk, so his crossing would be swift. With only three companions, his party would not look threatening to MacCrichton.
He doubted that the ex-rebel kept many men with him. Though he was doing his best to behave like a law-abiding citizen now that he had made his peace with the authorities, he did not fool Duncan. MacCrichton was a leopard who would never change his spots, and his friend Allan Breck was just such another.
Duncan knew, for Breck had admitted as much to others, that he had murdered Ian. Of course, Breck, who had been in Appin illegally on one of his frequent forays to collect money, second rents, for the exiled rebel lairds, had insisted the death was accidental. Evidently, Ian had surprised him, and afraid the lad would betray him to searching authorities, Breck had struck him down.
The authorities had certainly been searching high and low for Breck at the time, because they suspected him of conspiring to murder Crown factor Colin Glenure. Indeed, many believed he had fired the shot that killed the man. Duncan had had no great love for Glenure, but from the day he learned of Breck’s part in Ian’s death, he had sworn to have his revenge.
The night Ian died, he had been going to visit the bewitching Mary Maclaine. Entranced by rumors of second sight and her knowledge of healing remedies, the lad imagined himself in love with her, and no one could convince him of his folly. That Duncan had ordered him to stay away from Maclean House, and had warned him never to walk or ride through Stewart country without an escort to protect him, only made him angry now whenever he thought about how right he had been.
Anyone could see that Ian simply had been infatuated with the sly but winsome lass. She was different from others he had known, with her fey ways and her silver eyes that looked like serene moonlit pools of water.
Ian had been particularly vulnerable to her spell. Doubtless the poor lad had felt isolated at Balcardane, which lay in the midst of Stewart country, far from his fellow Campbells. Eager to make friends, Ian had believed that because he cared nothing for politics or causes, the local folk would forgive him his antecedents.
They had certainly pretended to do so, tramping the hills or sailing with him, inviting him into their homes, and calling him Gentle Ian. But he had been foolish to think that Stewarts, Maclean, and others of their ilk, still bemoaning the failure of a rebellion doomed from the start, still grieving for their idiot Young Pretender, could forget that Ian was a Campbell. As a result, Allan Breck had murdered him in cold blood one dark night simply because they had met unexpectedly.
The fury Duncan felt toward Breck had threatened more than once to overwhelm him. Because he blamed himself as much as anyone for Ian’s having failed to accept his excellent advice, he had flung himself into a depression afterward that had come near to ending his sanity. He had drunk too much and gamed too much, fought too many demons, and generally had infuriated his father.
He had even fought with his cousin Rory Campbell, Lord Calder, because Rory had insisted on marrying Diana Maclean. Bad enough that he was marrying into the wretched Maclean clan, but Rory had announced he would do so without waiting the full year that Duncan thought appropriate for mourning Ian’s death.