Page 27 of Highland Sword
Dalmigavie Castle was untouched by time.
The fire in the huge open hearth, the tapestries and weapons adorning the walls, the smells of bread wafting in from the kitchens.
As Aidan descended to the gallery and looked down over the railing into the Great Hall, the thought occurred to him that if he’d come down here three centuries ago, the sensation would be the same. The change sweeping through the Highlands was called progress, but thankfully, not here.
As other landowners evicted tenants in order to raise sheep, Lachlan Mackintosh kept his people farming the land. Preserving the best of the past was important here. Lady Sutherland and others like her blithely turned families out, ordered their homes burned, gutting traditional clan relationships—all from their mansions in London—but the Mackintosh clan was determined to keep alive the old way of life. Scores of people elsewhere were being driven off to the cities to work in the factories or to thecolonies or to unsustainable crofting communities along the coast, but life here was unaffected.
Aidan had been here nine days, but he was already quite familiar with their ways.
The day started at sunrise and ended with a late supper in the Great Hall. In between, the domestic staff went about the business of cooking, serving, cleaning, and everything else required to sustain a large community of people, both inside the walls and extending into the village beyond. Clan folk worked the farms and pastures that spread out across brae and glen, adding to the clan coffers.
The Mackintosh laird also maintained a company of fighters that trained daily and were well prepared to protect the people of Dalmigavie. And then there was the occasional horse and cattle raiding from the English military to keep them active and maintain the herds.
Decades ago, the fortress had been spared from the carnage following the Battle of Culloden. Its peculiar geographical positioning and the ferocity of its people had made negotiation preferable, albeit unusual, to assault. But the English army was now more confident and entrenched, and their artillery modern and powerful.
No reasonably intelligent Highlander wanted another war that would ravage their lands and kill their people. And times were changing. Loyalties were now divided, families torn apart. So many Highlanders had been recruited into military regiments over the past few decades. They’d fought side by side with the English soldiers on the Peninsula, in France, and on the fields of Belgium. In spite of it all, however, people were rightfully unhappy.
Aidan had not yet met the son of Scotland, but from what he was told, the man was selfless and smart. He longed for no personal glory and no crown. According toHenry Brougham, Cinaed Mackintosh only wanted what was best for the people.
This was why Aidan had come to Dalmigavie. To meet him. And now that he was here, he realized why he and Sebastian felt so at home in the Mackintosh keep. The traditions of this clan brought back memories of their own upbringing.
They lost their father and brothers in battle the day before Waterloo swept away the threat of Napoleon Bonaparte forever. After that, Carrie House became his responsibility. Their mother had passed away when they were still children, but luckily, their first cousin was attached to the place. He ran the estate well, caring for the tenants as they’d always been cared for. The two brothers were grateful to have him, for they were never intended to inherit Carrie House. And now their law careers—and the affairs of politics—kept them far away. But in truth, Aidan knew that neither he nor Sebastian wanted the daily reminders of the family they’d lost.
This morning, Aidan was going to join Sebastian in the training yard, but he stopped in to see Wemys first. Since they moved the ill informant up from the village to this old tower room, he made a point of checking on him frequently.
“Rough night,” his clerk told him. “Better after Mrs. Mackintosh came to see him, though.” Kane Branson was worth his weight in gold. He’d arranged to have someone sit with the miserable cur continually, day and night.
Aidan looked at the sleeping figure across the room. His breathing was ragged and labored. “Did he say anything overnight? Mention any names?”
Branson shook his head. Wemys had made many promises to save his hide, but since then, he’d not revealed even an ounce of useful information.
Aidan went down the tower steps to the courtyard and found Sebastian waiting for him.
“Not much time left before we go to the trial, but I have no confidence that Wemys will still be alive,” Aidan said as they made their way toward the training yard.
“What does the doctor say? Does she have any hope?”
“She’s giving him some concoction to ease the cough. He spends much of the time sleeping. She doesn’t pretend to be a fortune teller. She can’t say how long he’ll last.”
“Too bad the trial isn’t sooner.”
Aidan agreed. But the government wasn’t going to proceed until Lord Ruthven arrived from Edinburgh. The man was firmly in line with what the Crown wanted, and the entire proceeding was designed to cut gaping holes in the sails of reform.
Sir Rupert Burney was behind it all, directing everything. He’d had them change the trial location, proclaiming that too many people knew the Chattan brothers in Elgin. That illegal protests and violence would occur if the trial went forward there. The truth was that the Home Office preferred Inverness where the outcome was a forgone conclusion.
“I know they’re intent on waiting to have their own man convene the court,” Sebastian said. “But do you think the authorities have gotten wind that we have Wemys?”
His brother knew everything that Aidan had learned from Morrigan about the informant.
“I don’t know. But it would be far better to keep that information hidden until the trial begins.” If the man lived that long.
“Not much chance of keeping him a secret if his health fails completely and we need to get a deposition from him in the presence of a magistrate.”
“I agree. But Searc tells me we can’t trust any of theother magistrates to come to Dalmigavie, never mind keep Wemys a secret. And if I were the chief magistrate, I’d find a dozen reasons to disqualify the testimony.”
Finding the old man had been an unexpected gift, but Aidan knew he was in danger of losing the defector before he showed his usefulness.
“In the letters Wemys sent you, he claimed to know the person who set up and entrapped the Chattans. Perhaps if we get the name, I can go after him.”
