Page 1 of The Beast of the Highlands
1
Autumn Montgomery did not know when she had crossed the border into Scotland, for she had been too busy following the way markers that would lead her to MacLennan Castle, just outside Ettrick Forest. She had expected tofeelthe change between the countries, but everything looked much the same in the gloaming of the early morning hours.
Indeed, the only difference appeared to be the light snowfall that fluttered down from the swollen clouds overhead, like blossoms in the springtime. She wrapped her cloak tighter about herself, praying the cold weather would keep any miscreants away from the roads.
It cannot be too much further… I have been riding for hours.
She had guessed that it would take her until just after sunrise, perhaps ten o’clock at the latest, to reach her destination. But she could not yet see the first inky haze of dawn, though she hoped it was not far away. Either the snow clouds were prolonging the night, or she had not been riding for as long as she thought.
Lolling forward in the saddle of her fine palomino mare, Seashell, and feeling utterly exhausted, Autumn’s eyelids closed against the darkness that surrounded her. Every few seconds, she jolted awake again, knowing she could not afford to fall from the saddle and injure herself, but sleep pulled her back in, time and again.
Stay awake… You must stay awake!
“Now then, what do we have here?” A thin, reedy voice startled her out of her latest slumber.
Autumn’s eyes snapped open and she swung her lantern frantically ahead of her, trying to light up as much of the road as possible. Her insides lurched as she noticed what appeared to be a blockade, a short distance ahead. It was hard to discern how many men were standing there, but they were armed, cloaked, and staring right at her.
These must be the Scotsmen my brother warned me about!
Her body stiffened in panic, for she had thought her brother, Orwell, was being overly cautious when he had given the warning prior to her departure. Of course she had known it was unsafe to ride alone, in the dark, with no entourage or chaperone. But with the journey being relatively short, she had hoped for an uneventful ride.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she fumbled to free her dagger from its sheath. “You will let me pass!” she roared at the men, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “I have no quarrel with you.”
“Who said anything about a quarrel?” one of the men replied, leering at her from beneath the hood of his cloak. She could see the flash of browned teeth, pocked skin, and mean, thin lips in the glow of her lantern.
A second man nodded. “Aye, we’re wanting to be friends with you, Miss. No quarrel here.”
Wait a moment… They do not sound Scottish.
She knew little of Scottish brogue, but these men sounded distinctly English. Narrowing her eyes and shining her lantern further ahead, she spied the glint of brass buttons, and the fleeting flash of red and white beneath their cloaks. The colors of the English Army. She noticed a few in tricorn hats, which she had mistaken for hoods.
“Who are you?” she asked, freeing the dagger from the sheath.
A third man grinned. “Just a few lonely gentlemen, looking for some entertainment.”
Fear ricocheted between her ribs, setting her heart to a thundering drumbeat. She might not have been particularly world-wise, but she understood their meaning all too well.
“Tell me, why are so many soldiers from the English Army out here without a superior officer in sight?” Autumn questioned, struggling to stop the dagger hilt from slipping in her clammy palm.
Thanks to Orwell, she knew enough about the English Army to be able to wield that knowledge as a weapon against these men. She was not sure the dagger would do much good in her hands.
Orwell should have taught me how to use it! I may as well have a stick in my clutches.Especially as these men would surely be armed with far more than a meager blade.
The men looked at each other, whispering something she could not hear.
“Who says we’re English soldiers?” one of them shot back.
Autumn sniffed, feigning confidence. “If you did not wish to be recognized, you should have dispensed with your uniforms.” Looking closer at their knee length boots, the billow of their breeches, and the embroidered bolts of gold that lined the front of their long red coats, she knew she was not mistaken. “Is your battalion nearby? Are you supposed to be on guard duty?”
If I call out, will their superior officer hear me?
The men took a step closer, and she heard the sound of muskets being drawn out from beneath their cloaks. Surely, they would not shoot her… would they? Judging by their grimaces, she was not certain any longer. Perhaps they had no superior officer.
“We answer to no one,” snarled the first man who had spoken. Autumn could see his pocked skin and thin lips from where she sat.
Deserters…
Understanding dawned, for there was no other reason these men should be here and appear so menacing. There was continual fighting between the English and the Scottish, not to mention battles on the Continent, which provided plenty of motivation for soldiers to desert once they had tired of taking orders.
