Page 4 of Keeping Kate
Chapter 1
Scotland, The Great Glen
October 1728
“Preposterous,” Alec muttered as he regarded the broadsheet in his hand, just handed to him by the young officer who stood beside Alec’s makeshift desk in the field tent. “‘Highland menace,’ it says here. Do you agree, Lieutenant Heron?”
“Perhaps, Captain.” Heron turned his black tricorne hat nervously in his hands. “General Wade suggested that I tell you about my encounter with this, ah, menace.”
Alec sifted through some of the papers on the table surface. “I have read some accounts in the few days that I have been here, but I have not yet heard from someone who has encountered her. And this is the first I have seen of this broadsheet. She is rather fetching,” Alec drawled, studying the illustration.
“Perhaps not so much in the drawing, but I thought she was bonny.”
“Interesting.” Alec tilted the page toward the lantern’s glow to read the text. Outside, rain and wind battered the canvas shelter, and the door flaps billowed. The tent held the narrow folding table, a wooden chest piled with papers and books, a cot, and one rickety chair that Alec occupied. The tent, just high enough for a tall man to stand under its peak, was tight quarters indeed.
“‘Katie Hell,’” Alec read aloud. “‘Notorious Highland wench. A thief and a spy, a threat to the crown...possessing a most peculiar magic.’ What the devil does that mean?” He looked up.
“She is rather notorious among General Wade’s troops, sir. They say she lures a man like a siren and steals government documents, maps and such, under his very nose. I can attest that there is...a peculiar power about her. I cannot quite explain it. Captain Fraser, have you been sent here to capture her? Many have tried, I assure you.”
“Not especially. I am a lawyer, not a constable. But since I needed to come here to review some legal documents, General Wade asked me to look into this matter as well. I will take a written testimony of your encounter with this Katie Hell, if you do not mind, Lieutenant.” He pulled a sheet of paper from a stack, picked up a quill, and dipped the point in a small inkpot.
“Of course, sir. She must be caught.”
“Indeed. She is making a mockery of all of us with these antics. It is absurd that she has not yet been caught out at it.” He glanced again at the engraving printed on the page: a woman with a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other, dressed in tartan knee-breeches and a snug jacket, with a plaid sash across her ample bosom, and jaunty buckled shoes on her feet over stockings that clung to shapely calves. A Highland bonnet with a feather perched on her hair and fat curls spilled over one shoulder. A beauty mark graced her cheek above a pouting mouth. “She looks like a damned pirate.”
“In that picture, aye. She appears in different guises. When I met her, she looked to be an innocent young woman who was referred to me with an inquiry—she was searching for a particular soldier. I took her to be the fellow’s bride or betrothed. She looked too refined to be a doxy, certainly.”
“Curious.” Alec began to read aloud. “‘atie Hell, Notorious Highland Wench. Acts as anintriguantefor the Jacobite Cause. Using feminine wiles, this Highland wanton lures governmental soldiers with her charms, often in disguise, then renders her victims senseless and purloins the property of crown and king. Of a wild and unpredictable temperament, she is rumored to possess the magic of the Scottish fairies, according to superstitious Highlanders...’ Absurd,” he added, glancing at Heron. “What that your experience? Rendered senseless, and so on?”
“She, er, hit me in the head with my pistol.”
“Did she! Go on.”
“She has a quality to her, sir, that is hard to explain. It seems...almost magical, I admit. When I saw her, she wore a pretty gown and had fine manners. I was enchanted. It never occurred to me that she might be engaged in espionage, though looking back, of course, she was. And now, thinking on it, I could even believe she has...well, fairy magic, as they say. Though she took up my flintlock and knocked me in the head with it.”
“Pirate, fairy, well-born lady. Could you identify her if you saw her again?”
“I am not sure. It was evening, and there was only lantern light in my tent. She was lovely and seemed well-bred and educated. Nothing like that painted harlot.” He gestured toward the broadsheet. “She left a token behind. A white ribbon sewed into the shape of a rose. The white cockade of the Jacobites.”
“Aye, she has left them before. I have seen other accounts. Anything else to add, sir?” Alec scrawled notes as he spoke, then looked up expectantly.
“A siren. I could not resist her charm. There is something—indefinably alluring about her. Delectable, and yet innocent. I wanted to show her every courtesy.”
“Siren. Delectable. Air of innocence.” Alec made notes. “Did you—I must ask if you were you seduced by her.”
“I, ah, I do not know.” The black hat went round in circles in the officer’s hands. “I cannot remember all of what happened with her.”
Alec frowned. “Your account is similar to other testimonies, sir—other officers are not certain what transpired after they met this wench. Some recall flirting or even kissing, but then either they fell asleep or passed out from drink. Perhaps the girl uses a potion of some kind to achieve that. Upon waking, each officer found a white cockade and discovered documents missing from their quarters.”
Heron nodded. “When I woke, things were missing, and the girl was gone.”
Alec scratched the pen over the paper. “She is clever, Lieutenant. Can you describe her?”
“Lovely. Delicately made. I believe she had blonde or reddish hair—but it was in lantern light, and the hood of her cloak was drawn up. She had a bit of lace pinned over her hair, as ladies do. Small hands, fragile, as if she might do only the tasks of a gentle lady.”
“Yet she used your weapon against you with no difficulty.”
“Quite efficiently.” Heron rubbed his head as if, weeks later, it still pained him.
