Page 51 of Highland Crown
“What you say about soulless men being installed in positions of power is true in the Highlands, as well. And in the name of economic progress, they have been clearing the land and gutting the power of the clan chiefs. They say it is for the benefit of the people, but it is actually only for the benefit of the Crown and those absentee landlords who build their palaces in England from the profits of wool and the blood of the dispossessed.”
“So, it’s the same here as it is in the south,” she said quietly.
“About six years ago, on the northern coast, Lord Stafford ordered the clearing of his lands in Strathnaver. A man named Patrick Sellar was his factor. He used violence of the worst order to turn out the tenants whose families had farmed the land for generations. Over forty villages were burned and pulled down. Men and women were brutalized and even murdered. Eventually, Sellar was indicted for his crimes and tried here in Inverness. He told the court his actions were benevolent and intended to put what he called ‘these barbarous hordes’ into a position where they could become more industrious, educate their children, and advance in civilization. But the truth was that those who were unwilling to be starved on tiny plots were forced onto ships with only the clothes on their backs and sent across the sea to unknown lands.”
“What happened in his trial?” she asked.
“He was acquitted in a legal system that protects those with money and power.” Cinaed stood and went to the window. That wasn’t the end of it. Searc’s men caught up to Sellar about a year later and made him suffer.
The Highlanders were still out there. He was certain of it. He turned and looked back at her. “And that is why I bring arms to the Highlanders who refuse to give up the fight. I’d be a liar if I said I don’t do it for profit, but I have good reason for doing it.”
CHAPTER15
One hour of life, crowded to the full with glorious action, and filled with noble risks, is worth whole years of those mean observances of paltry decorum, in which men steal through existence, like sluggish waters through a marsh, without either honor or observation.
—Sir Walter Scott,Count Robert of Paris
Cinaed descended the stairs from the tower room. The chamber on the floor below had always been reserved and ready for special guests. He’d never known there to be any, but the room was made up as it always was, neat and tidy, as the master of the house demanded.
A curious fellow, his kinsman. And as tough and tight as sharkskin.
In his gruff and surly way, Searc enjoyed his reputation for frugality. In the eyes of his business associates, he operated his household on a skeleton staff. But aside from the few required workers, in truth he had more than a score of men who came and went at all hours of the day and night. They not only performed various functions in the household, they were his own private army. Searc’s men protected the place, watched over his business holdings, collected money owed to him, and applied muscle when needed. Indeed, this company of “manservants” and “kitchen help” had responsibilitiesthat extended far beyond mopping floors, polishing silver, and delivering meals.
It was one of those men who met Cinaed at the bottom of the stairs. Another member of Searc’s gang stood in a doorway across the great hall, a pistol in one hand and a cleaning cloth in the other. Searc, Cinaed was told, was waiting to see him in his study.
As always, the ground floor was dark due to the shuttered windows that were opened only on rare occasions. Crossing through the great hall past a staircase that led up to the dining and drawing rooms, he made his way down narrow corridors that snaked past the kitchens and storerooms. Doorways leading to wine and root cellars also led to other corridors and other doors that gave access to tunnel entrances. Searc had always used only the wine cellar entrance for guests who needed to avoid notice when they entered his home, but every entrance was well guarded. No one came in without an invitation.
Passing the kitchens, Cinaed climbed a set of stone steps into a second, rectangular-shaped tower at the back of the house. Outside the study door, he knocked twice and opened it.
In his life’s travels, Cinaed had seen great cities, cathedrals that pierced the skies, circles of standing stones, and castles built to last a thousand years. Nothing, however, matched Searc’s study for the rich and wondrous curiosity it engendered. As an awestruck nine-year-old boy, Cinaed remembered thinking the entire world had somehow been shrunk and fit into this room.
Shelves filled with books rose to a ceiling so high a special ladder on wheels had been installed just to reach them. Maps depicting the seas and coastlines and nationsof the world covered an entire wall, and more lay on and under a work table. Navigation and charting instruments, clocks, a barrel filled with walking sticks and swords were scattered around the room. In one corner in a tall locked cabinet, Cinaed knew shelves held dozens of muskets, pistols, powder, and shot. In another corner, some of the most beautiful paintings and portraits he’d ever seen stood lined up like chops on a butcher’s tray. Piled on top of an iron strongbox as tall as a man, stuffed animals and brightly colored tropical birds stared blankly out at dust motes floating in the morning light.
Searc’s desk was situated at the center of it all. It was piled high with stacks of ledgers and even taller mounds of paper. Letters, contracts, bills of lading, newspapers—all threatening to avalanche onto the floor at any moment. But for all the times Cinaed had been in this room, he’d never seen Searc sitting in the chair behind that desk. Like that killer fish whose name he’d taken, Searc was incapable of being still. Today was no exception.
A surly clerk who looked as if he could cut a man’s throat as easily as add a row of sums, stood over an open ledger at the desk, taking directions from his master. Searc motioned to Cinaed to help himself to the breakfast dishes that had been set out at a side table.
He filled a plate and sat. He didn’t know how hungry he was until he took the first bite.
Searc dismissed the clerk with the same abruptness that marked everything in his life. He looked even more like a bulldog than usual this morning, Cinaed thought. When the clerk left the room, Searc came and stood by the window.
“I know theHighland Crownis gone.”
He wasn’t surprised the news had reached Searc. The ship had been expected to arrive at Inverness the morning after it was sunk. Cinaed had showed up at his door badly wounded. That was enough to surmise the truth.
“My crew. Have any of them made it to Inverness?”
“Your first mate and two longboats landed near Nairn.” Searc began to pace. “They sent on news of the sinking. They didn’t know what happened to you. They’d seen nothing of your second mate and the rest of your crew.”
Cinaed wasn’t about to lose hope. The men in the last boat must have assumed he was dead after he was shot and went overboard. They knew Duff Head was no safe place for them. If they cleared the rocks, they could have come ashore at a less hostile point along the coast.
“And I should live, by the way. Thanks for asking.”
“The indestructible son of Scotland?” Searc scoffed. “What happened to the ship?”
“The storm pushed her up on the reef.” He shoved the food away. His stomach wasn’t ready for a large meal. “She was gone in a few hours.”
“Who shot you?”
