Page 12 of Highland Sword
No one had any prior knowledge of Cinaed’s mother’s visit to Dalmigavie last month, except Maisie’s husband, Niall Campbell. And much of Queen Caroline’s time here was spent behind closed doors, visiting with her son and Highland clan leaders.
“Aidan Grant could be a strong contender to represent Inverness-shire in Parliament. That is, if my husband can get him interested in running in the next election and then gather enough support for him.”
In spite of the defamatory flyers, Cinaed definitely had the Highland’s attention and support. As far as a military expertise, he had Niall Campbell, a former lieutenant in the 42nd Royal Highlanders. Morrigan could see that political allies working inside the system, especially in Parliament, would be a necessity, as well.
She recalled the men who’d traveled to Dalmigavie with Queen Caroline last month. Fashionable, courtly attire. Refined manners. Most of them totally ill at ease in the rugged fortress and at close quarters with the tough, plain-speaking Highland folk. She glanced around, taking in the sights and smells of the rustic village. Farm animals wandered freely in the muddy lanes and between the cottages, where smoke from cooking fires hung thick and pungent over thatched roofs. This place was far different from London or the cities of the continent the outsiders were accustomed to.
Heads turned in the village center as they passed thekirk and the market cross. Isabella received the courtesy of doffed caps and curtsies, and she paused several times to speak with villagers before they continued on.
“I assume the brothers aren’t sharing the cottage with the sick man.”
Isabella shook her head. “They have a clerk traveling with them as well. He’s staying with the patient. Searc wants them at the castle until Cinaed returns.”
Morrigan considered this news. Everyone was expecting the son of Scotland, the laird, and Niall to return by the end of the month.
Everyday life at Dalmigavie was a communal affair. In the same way as it had been done for as long as anyone knew, most meals were shared in the Great Hall. Guests dined in a rustic style along with Mackintosh retainers. The fact that the Grants were staying at the castle meant Morrigan would be seeing quite a bit of them.
“Tell me more about them.”
“The Grants are a large and important family, I’m told. The chief is building a town on the Spey River with the idea of employing Highland folk who have been evicted from their homes. These two grew up on a family estate called Carrie House, which is two days’ ride to the west of us. Apparently, they refuse to clear their tenants, as many of the large landowners are doing. A cousin manages the properties while the brothers practice law in Edinburgh. For the next month or so, they have business in Inverness.”
“Why Inverness?”
“Aidan is representing the Chattan brothers in court.”
Many conversations as of late in the Great Hall had touched on Edmund and George Chattan. They were due to be tried for planning to murder the Lord Mayor of Elgin and the Military Governor of the Highlands, butthe trial was being moved to Inverness for fear of riots in Elgin.
“Have you met them?”
“Not as yet. They only arrived this morning.”
“You know a lot about them.”
“From Searc. You know the way he is.” They exchanged a look. “He’s known the family for years. He did some business with their late father, though he was characteristically vague about the specifics. While the trial is going on, the brothers will be staying at his house in Inverness.”
Morrigan thought about the rambling house in the Maggot with its many wings and mazelike corridors. On any given day, friends and enemies and business partners paid calls on Searc when he was in town. That house was a hub of both legal and illegal activity in the region.
As they crossed through the stubbled remains of harvested barley, a flock of wild geese took flight on the far side of the field. Morrigan eyed the cottage in the distance. She’d been here before. Isabella had more than once seen patients from neighboring villages in this same building.
A tall man stood by a wall that enclosed the cottage yard, talking in a vigorous manner with one of Blair’s fighters. He wore no hat and his face, though young, bore evidence of hastily stitched battle wounds. Morrigan’s eye was drawn to the empty sleeve tacked at the side of his coat. She stared, knowing she shouldn’t. The gnawing sadness she felt was the same that filled her every time she came face-to-face with someone who’d lost an arm, a leg, a part of themselves to war. Innocent men who’d been duped into fighting for an empire that cared nothing for them.
The stranger came closer as the women approached, and Blair made the introductions. Sebastian Grant, the younger brother. She felt as if she already knew so muchabout who he was, just from the information Isabella had given her, but there was more to it. His face, his build… there was a familiarity about him that made her think she’d seen him someplace. But where?
“Have we met before?’ she asked, interrupting whatever was being said.
“I don’t believe we have, Miss Drummond.” Black eyes, dark as coal, sparkled with amusement as they lingered on her bruised cheek. “Your face is one that I could never forget.”
She stared back. His flattery—or his teasing—was wasted on her. Still convinced that she’d seen him before, Morrigan thought of the busy streets of Edinburgh. Isabella said the Grants practiced law there. The house on Infirmary Street was not far from the courts in the old Parliament Hall. There was a strong possibility she could have encountered him on any number of occasions. He would have stood out in a crowd. Or maybe at one time or another, he’d been a patient of her father’s. Many retired military men, including amputees, came to the clinic.
A sound from the cottage made Morrigan shift her gaze to a shadow moving in the doorway. It materialized as a large man. Wide shoulders blocked the entrance. No hat, no coat. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing powerful arms. From the fashionable cut of his waistcoat, she guessed this had to be the other brother. The barrister.
Morrigan looked at his face, and she cursed under her breath.
A nightmare. Disaster had come to her door. Panic washed hot and cold down her back. She fought the urge to run; all she wanted was to be miles from here.
“Aidan Grant…”
He stepped out. She took an involuntary step back. Morrigan didn’t hear anything beyond the name. She paidno attention to the introductions. He’d be a guest here for the devil knows how long. A guest of Cinaed. A future ally. A blasted politician. She was finished. They’d lock her in and bolt the gate.
