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Dunchleach Castle, Isle of Skye, Scotland
Late June 1746
“Behold, my prodigal son returns.”
They’d hardly managed to tie the boats to the dock behind his father’s birlinn before the crunch of gravel announced Tormond MacLeod’s presence on the path beyond. Inwardly Coll flinched at the wealth of derision in the words. Outwardly, he managed to display an air of composure he did not feel.
“I dinnae ken ye read from the Bible, Father.” He straightened and looked his sire in the eye measuring the changes the last year had wrought. A bit more gray threaded his dark hair, no more. Tormond was still the embodiment of power. “If I recall the parable well enough, the prodigal son isnae scorned on his return, but welcomed wi’ celebration.”
“Are ye admitting ye were lost and are now found?”
Coll’s gaze flicked to the pair of guards who lingered farther along the path and back to his sire. “Is such an admission required for me to step foot in my home?”
His father grunted and left it at that. Nothing more. No acceptance or denial, greeting or rebuttal. Nothing like any of the welcomes he’d imagined over the past year. Aye, it could have been far worse, he knew. Alas, it could have been much better as well. It was a splinter to his heart that his sire’s affections as well as the state of his welcome remained uncertain.
Tormond turned to the rest of Coll’s party. “Who have ye wi’ ye?”
Turning, Coll winced at the sight of Prince Charlie climbing from the boat displaying an inelegant amount of leg for the woman he was supposed to portray. He directed his father’s attention to Flora first as the highest-ranking member of their party. “Ye may recall Miss Flora MacDonald, Father. She’s the stepdaughter of the MacDonald of Amandale.”
Tormond accepted her outstretched hand and kissed it, thankfully taking no notice of her pallid complexion. “Aye, we met a number of years ago in Edinburgh, I believe. A pleasure to see ye again, Miss MacDonald.”
“Thank you, my lord. I hope you will forgive our unexpected intrusion.” She batted her lashes and squeezed his hand with enough strained flirtation to keep his attention focused on her while the prince arranged his skirts to his satisfaction. “May I also present my friend, Miss Ginny Hughes.”
Ginny made a good show of mimicking Flora’s tone and posture as she greeted him. She’d bravely managed to put her worries aside and for the first time, her brogue was convincing enough to waylay any criticism. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“And ye as well.”
Tormond looked past her to the other men who attempted to casually shield the prince from view. Before Coll could distract him, Ginny tucked her arm through his father’s and after a pointed look, Flora took his other arm. Ginny steered him toward the castle and smiled up at him brightly. “Would you mind greatly if we take the opportunity to refresh ourselves? I fear we were caught in the rain on our journey and are all rather worse for the wear.”
“Naturally.” Not one to directly contradict a lady’s request, Tormond snapped his fingers at his guards. “I’ll have yer servants and oarsmen shown to the servants hall.”
The two women traded wide-eyed glances before Flora spoke up. “Perhaps Betty, my maid, could attend me for a moment first before I meet Lady MacLeod?” When he didn’t immediately respond, she added. “I should hate to look affright when I first meet Coll’s mother.”
Tormond glanced back at Coll over his shoulder with clear speculation in his dark eyes.
And something bordering on approval.
The implication of Flora seeking his mother’s approval was as obvious to Coll as it was to his father. On one hand, it was a move well played. It provided both reason and justification for his unannounced return. Should his parents believe that he’d spent the last two months courting the daughter of a well-respected government supporter like her stepfather rather than skulking about avoiding the royalist militia, all the better for him and the success of their mission.
On the other hand, the same was a repugnant farce. True, he’d considered returning with a bride in hand to pave the path to acceptance. A brief lapse in judgment born of his grief over Ginny’s disappearance and a desperate need to find some solace among those he loved. Upon reflection, he had no wish to gain Tormond’s approval through such disingenuous means and live out the remainder of his days feigning regret he did not feel.
He needed his father to accept what he’d done and face either his forgiveness or continued contempt hereafter. The sooner he explained those terms, the better off he would be.
It would be a delicate balance to disabuse him of the notion with the stepdaughter of an outwardly avowed Hanoverian on hand and no other rational justification of her presence or reason to explain why they traveled together. If Tormond suspected that he continued to support the Jacobite cause, he may think to reconsider the impetus behind Coll’s return.
Or look too closely.
Och, he wouldn’t have to look too closely. The prince’s impersonation of womanhood left much to be desired. Not only was he taller than most ladies, his long, manly stride would easily draw comment.
And he did.
“’Tis an odd muckle lass, that maid of yers,” Tormond said to Flora.
“She’s Irish,” she answered as if it were explanation enough.
Apparently it was. His father grunted his acceptance and continued toward the gate with a lady on each arm. Coll was glad to have Tormond’s sharp eyes directed as far from Prince Charlie as possible. He fell back until he was closer to the prince who walked between Burke and MacEachine, each taking their jabs to remind him of his role.
“For God’s sake, sir,” MacEachine grumbled. “Please take of what ye’re doing or ye will see us all dangle from the end of a rope.”
They climbed the steep, walled path that hugged the rock face and led to the single iron gate in the easterly curtain wall. As narrow as it was, they were forced into a single file. With his father’s guards behind them, there was no turning back. Once they passed through the gate, the stone walls rose at least twenty feet on either side of them, lessening in height along the incline, then steps that led to the ramparts above.
Despite the manner in which Ginny sighed and exclaimed over the magnificence of it all, Coll had always found the tight entrance daunting. Unwelcoming.
Never more than it was now.
“Och, we would have been better off facing a government armada,” he muttered under his breath.
His companions were led away by the guards toward the service entrance, leaving only himself to stand between the prince and the dozens of royalist militiamen who were dispersed around the courtyard.
“Relax. Dinnae call attention to yerself. ”
“Allow me the leeway for a prayer for deliverance,” Prince Charlie said as they passed by the soldiers between them and the main entrance of the castle. Appropriately daunted, he hunched his shoulders and minced his steps.
His prayer was answered. Few paid them any mind, and those who did followed the tidy figures of Flora and Ginny with their eyes rather than inspecting the remainder of the group. A few of them recognized Coll, lifting a hand or calling his name. He returned the greetings as naturally as he could.
This had been a terrible idea.
And like most terrible ideas, they always went from bad to worse.
* * *
This was a bad idea bordering on a suicide mission. Ginny could see that now as they walked through the gauntlet to the castle doors. With a pair of guards behind them and too many before them to retain any level of optimism, the only chance they had was to keep their heads down and create as few ripples as possible.
She played the part of awed visitor, gushing over the beauty of the castle.
It wasn’t difficult. If the view of the loch from the ramparts hadn’t taken her breath away, her first step inside the castle would have done the trick. The entrance was a wider, more welcoming version of the walled passageway from the sea gate. Here the space was far less claustrophobic. Wide spaced stone walls covered in tapestries and framed portraits and landscapes soared three stories high. At the center, a wide staircase of polished wood with carved bannisters stretched up to a landing where an imposing set of double doors awaited them.
Climbing the stairs gave her chills. The castle was no climate-controlled museum with a library-like hush. Living history seeped into her, thrilling and daunting at the same time. The aura oozed with ghostly emotion of the centuries. Ginny imagined she could feel it all. All the tragedy and fury of the clan wars. The joy and heartache of generations of MacLeods. It enveloped her. Embraced her.
She inhaled slowly, willing the demonstrative rush of tears to fade. Then a giggle caught in her throat as one particular portrait at the landing above caught her eye. Three wee lads in adorable miniature kilts and tams on their golden curls stood around a pretty little girl at the center. One of the boys had a glint in his eyes she knew all too well. Peeking over her shoulder, she caught Coll’s eye and cocked her head toward the portrait with a grin.
“You are so adorable,” she mouthed. He rolled his eyes heavenward and allowed a small smile in return.
“I see ye’ve noticed the portrait of my children,” Coll’s father spoke having also noticed her smile. He gestured around the hall. “There are others. My eldest son Cormac there and my daughter Margaret there. Those two blank spaces used to house portraits of my other two sons.” His inflection soured. “I have yet to decide if they will be reinstated along with the others.”
Her heart sank. The manner in which Tormond greeted Coll on the beach had left a lot to be desired. This was a purposeful twist of the knife. Coll deserved better than to be disowned.
“Have they ceased being your sons, my lord?” she couldn’t help but ask.
They reached the head of the staircase. He drew away until her arm fell from his. For the first time she saw Coll reflected in his features. In his scowl and the way he fairly exuded irritation. It reminded her of the day she and Coll had met and his irascible need to hear only what he wanted to hear. Like father, like son.
“Ye’re a pert one. Ye will gain nae favors by challenging me when ye ken nothing of what was said wi’in these walls.”
“I know enough.”
“Ginny,” Coll groaned. “Dinnae.”
Tormond’s teeth ground together audibly and color rose to his cheeks. “Then ye ken my sons disobeyed me and acted against my wishes.”
“From another perspective, one could say they held true to the ideals of fidelity and integrity you instilled in them.” Although the words rang with staunch conviction, she managed to keep her tone pleasant.
“They betrayed me.”
Even if Coll had proven himself a disappointment in this man’s eyes, she couldn’t stand by and watch a parent disappoint his child in turn. Not again. The thought sent her temper raging. She’d taken so much lying down. It was time to stand up.
“And so you betray them in turn? As a father, you should be proud of them for acting on their beliefs against all odds.” It was a struggle to express the words reasonably when she longed to scream at the top of her lungs against his obstinacy. She shook off Coll’s arm when he reached out to stop her. “In their defiance, your sons have proven themselves to be men of stalwart moral fortitude willing to sacrifice all that they are in the name of honor.”
Veins bulged on Tormond’s temples as he glowered at her. Refusing to be cowed, she stared right back.
“Ye will no’ speak to me in such a manner in my own home,” he thundered.
“I think someone needs to. Politics has no place in family.”
“Ginny,” Coll took her arm again. “Enough, lass. It disnae matter.”
Her brows shot up. “Of course it matters. You have survived a horrible, bloody battle and returned home in one piece. He should be welcoming you with open arms, not giving you this stoic prodigal son bullsh—”
He cocked a brow at her and she bit her lip. He didn’t have to say it. She’d gone too far. She spun away, fists clenching and unclenching to calm herself. Ugh, the past year had been worse by leaps and bounds for him than it had for her. He’d suffered through things she could only imagine. Yet, there was common ground between them. Enough that she’d projected some of her own issues onto his.
She jumped as the doors were thrown open. A majestic blonde in crimson, flocked silk stood there frowning down upon her. “What is causing such a commotion out... he—” Her hand flew to her throat when she saw Coll. “Cailin, you’re home.”
“He’s nae home,” Tormond protested. “He’s come only to share some news wi’ us ’ere he’s on his way.”
The woman glared at him. “Will you drive him away as you did Hamish? Will you again deny me—”
Tormond cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Enough. I willnae air our troubles to all who care to listen. Coll, inside.” He swept an arm toward the open door, then grimaced at the remainder of them. “Miss MacDonald? And...” The invitation descended into a grumble of discontent.
“Mother.” Coll took a step forward then an immediate step back.
Even in her riled state, Ginny could feel the sudden tension radiate from him. His body was taut. Coiled and ready to spring. His eyes were narrowed, fixed on a point beyond them. She turned to look and froze as well.
A small army awaited them inside.