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Authors: Cynthia Breeding
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all armed to the teeth with several sets of belts from which a variety of knives dangled. They even had muskets strapped to their thighs and huge swords slung across their backs, although she had not even seen a hint of danger on their trip. The guards were returning to Edinburgh, but burly sailors—also armed like pirates—were probably hired to protect them as well.
She had been disappointed that she’d had to share a room with Kyla, the lady’s maid Janet had found to accompany her, instead of Shane, but the small coaching inns along the way had been full. She had hoped—since Shane had stayed on his ship the two days they were in Edinburgh to allow her the one cot in his townhouse—that the situation would be rectified on this trip. Abigail fully intended to fix the problem when they returned by completely furnishing Shane’s bedchamber, including the most comfortable bed she could find.
Still, the trek across the central Highlands had allowed her to see the ancient castle at Stirling—she couldn’t decide which she liked better, Edinburgh or Stirling—as well as breathtaking mountains and the wonderment of Loch Ness.
“’Twas a small miracle the weather held out,” Shane said.
Kyla gave Shane a dour look. “’Tis risky this time of year. The passes could have been snowed in.”
Shane gave the maid a steely glance that would have frozen any of his men. “I cannot imagine that much snow,” Abigail said quickly before Shane could rebuke the woman. Abigail had learned in the week it had taken to get here that Kyla was not one to keep her opinions to herself. Although Kyla had been raised and educated in a convent, any semblance to deference or docility had not taken hold. Only a few years older than Abigail, Kyla already had a matronly air about her—probably because she had been married twice and both husbands had been killed fighting Napoleon. Abigail found her impertinence rather amusing, although she was careful not to show it.
“The pass through Glen Coe can be treacherous,” Kyla added, ignoring the warning look Shane was sending her way. She lifted her chin. “I was born just north of Ft. William so I should know.”
Abigail knew that was one of the reasons Kyla had so readily agreed to accompany them. She wanted to revisit the place where she’d spent her first years, although neither of her parents were still alive. Abigail admired the spunky independence of the maid.
“Tell me about the tragedy that happened at Glen Coe,” Abigail said to divert any further remarks that might be considered defiant. “I am afraid my knowledge of Scotland is more limited than it should be.”
“’Twas a long time ago,” Shane muttered as he gestured to the men to raise sails.
“Aye, 1692,” Kyla answered, “but that does nae make murder right.”
So much for keeping the defiance at bay. Shane had set his mouth in a grim line, a sure sign he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Slowly, Abigail was beginning to read his expressions. “So how did that come about?”
“’Tis complicated,” Shane said.
“Nae so much,” Kyla replied. “The damn English—beg pardon, my lady—King William demanded all Highlanders swear loyalty to him and deny the Young Pretender.” She scowled. “The Stuart was the rightful heir to the throne.”
Shane gave Kyla a steady look, as though he were studying a strange object under a microscope. It almost looked comical, but Abigail thought it better not to laugh. She turned back to Kyla. “Perhaps I do not need the whole history. Can you summarize?”
“Aye. The laird of the Maclain MacDonalds arrived in Inverary too late to sign his oath of allegiance, As revenge, the damn English—beg pardon—ordered the Earl of Argyll’s army—Scots Campbells—to destroy the MacDonalds. Filthy traitors, the Campbells were—”
“Enough,” Shane interrupted. “Argyll lands are Border lands. Sometimes the safety of the clan depended on siding with
She had been disappointed that she’d had to share a room with Kyla, the lady’s maid Janet had found to accompany her, instead of Shane, but the small coaching inns along the way had been full. She had hoped—since Shane had stayed on his ship the two days they were in Edinburgh to allow her the one cot in his townhouse—that the situation would be rectified on this trip. Abigail fully intended to fix the problem when they returned by completely furnishing Shane’s bedchamber, including the most comfortable bed she could find.
Still, the trek across the central Highlands had allowed her to see the ancient castle at Stirling—she couldn’t decide which she liked better, Edinburgh or Stirling—as well as breathtaking mountains and the wonderment of Loch Ness.
“’Twas a small miracle the weather held out,” Shane said.
Kyla gave Shane a dour look. “’Tis risky this time of year. The passes could have been snowed in.”
Shane gave the maid a steely glance that would have frozen any of his men. “I cannot imagine that much snow,” Abigail said quickly before Shane could rebuke the woman. Abigail had learned in the week it had taken to get here that Kyla was not one to keep her opinions to herself. Although Kyla had been raised and educated in a convent, any semblance to deference or docility had not taken hold. Only a few years older than Abigail, Kyla already had a matronly air about her—probably because she had been married twice and both husbands had been killed fighting Napoleon. Abigail found her impertinence rather amusing, although she was careful not to show it.
“The pass through Glen Coe can be treacherous,” Kyla added, ignoring the warning look Shane was sending her way. She lifted her chin. “I was born just north of Ft. William so I should know.”
Abigail knew that was one of the reasons Kyla had so readily agreed to accompany them. She wanted to revisit the place where she’d spent her first years, although neither of her parents were still alive. Abigail admired the spunky independence of the maid.
“Tell me about the tragedy that happened at Glen Coe,” Abigail said to divert any further remarks that might be considered defiant. “I am afraid my knowledge of Scotland is more limited than it should be.”
“’Twas a long time ago,” Shane muttered as he gestured to the men to raise sails.
“Aye, 1692,” Kyla answered, “but that does nae make murder right.”
So much for keeping the defiance at bay. Shane had set his mouth in a grim line, a sure sign he wanted to say something but thought better of it. Slowly, Abigail was beginning to read his expressions. “So how did that come about?”
“’Tis complicated,” Shane said.
“Nae so much,” Kyla replied. “The damn English—beg pardon, my lady—King William demanded all Highlanders swear loyalty to him and deny the Young Pretender.” She scowled. “The Stuart was the rightful heir to the throne.”
Shane gave Kyla a steady look, as though he were studying a strange object under a microscope. It almost looked comical, but Abigail thought it better not to laugh. She turned back to Kyla. “Perhaps I do not need the whole history. Can you summarize?”
“Aye. The laird of the Maclain MacDonalds arrived in Inverary too late to sign his oath of allegiance, As revenge, the damn English—beg pardon—ordered the Earl of Argyll’s army—Scots Campbells—to destroy the MacDonalds. Filthy traitors, the Campbells were—”
“Enough,” Shane interrupted. “Argyll lands are Border lands. Sometimes the safety of the clan depended on siding with
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