“And let’s not forget James,” Tom said. “To James, whose military prowess and superlative leadership dogged the Covenanters hither and yon throughout bonny Scotland.”
“Are you quite done, man?” Ewen glowered, holding his brandy impatiently.
“And may he finally reap the fruits of his battle cunning,” Rollo chimed in, over James’s amused protests.
“And journey safely south,” Tom added, “to hear the first of accolades that will be sung of him for generations to come.”
Even Ewen laughed then, the men suddenly giddy with drink and triumph.
Then James looked to Magda. She’d been sitting silently, turning the glass around and around on the table in front of her. She returned his gaze, anxiety chilling her green eyes, and the smile bled from his face.
Chapter 33
“If your troops cannot win this war—”
“’Tis your leadership we enjoyed at Inverlochy,” Alexander Leslie snapped, straining for indifference in his voice. “Ourtroops would have fared much better had you not stubbornly rushed them through the snow in cloaks and cavalry boots.”
Perspiration beaded above Campbell’s lip, which trembled in anger. He’d summoned the general to Campbell’s primary seat at Inveraray Castle and was anxious to get the man from his sight as quickly as possible. Leslie had been much aggrieved that so many of his soldiers had been killed, and had since tried Campbell to no end.
“Silence,” Campbell hissed. “Or your treasonous words will cause that overproud head of yours to be severed from its body.”
Steeling himself, he retrieved a handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his brow. “If the troops you trained are unable to best the Marquis of Montrose, then I’ll simply put a price on his head. Surely those”—distaste puckered Campbell’s features— “Highlanders are as capable of treachery as they are of savagery.”
Forcing the general to wait in attentive silence, Campbell meticulously folded the square of cloth and tucked it away. “Every man can be bought, Leslie. Find one who will deliver me James Graham.”
Chapter 34
“As I recall,” James said with a tease in his voice, “you claimed you dreamt of going on holiday to a warm isle and no horse riding. ” He kicked his mount into a trot. Loch Eil was already at their backs and it wasn’t a long ride now to Loch Ailort, where they’d hire a boat, and propelled by the spring tides, head into the Sound of Arisaig to their destination.
“Yeah,” Magda said, quickly catching up. “But this pony counts as a horse, James. You know what I meant.”
“Oh, aye.” He leaned far over the saddle and gave a squeeze to her thigh. “But some riding is necessary, aye? I’ll not have you walking.”
“But on a pony?”
“I’d not entrust my horse to some ferryman,” James laughed. “’Tis but a short ride. And Iamproducing your requested isle.”
“Yeah, but I had something more like Hawaii in mind.”
"Ha—where?” James stood in his stirrups, eyeing the horizon. The spectacular edge of Scotland was visible in the distance, a glare of white on water with crags beyond, as Loch Ailort snaked its way out to the open sea. “As for the warmth,” he added, “well, we’ve waited till spring and cannot wait any longer. The men are fully rested and we must be on our way. I’d not try Cameron hospitality any longer.”
Magda was greatly relieved to feel the sand at her feet when they finally landed on the Isle of Eigg. James and the captain had gotten out, dragging the boat some ways through the shallows to shore. It hadn’t been much more than a dinghy, and the trip would’ve been an anxious affair even if she hadn’t had the nagging fear of water to contend with. James had made the mistake of telling her whales could often be seen this time of year, and Magda spent much of their crossing envisioning scenarios whereby they were flipped into the sea by a gargantuan, breeching marine mammal.
Once her heart returned to its normal rate, though, Magda looked around and was delighted. It was as if a comb had been dragged through a painter’s palette, swirling together but not quite mixing basic shades of blue and beige and brown and red and green, the colors of ocean giving way to sand, beach grasses to mud, then onto the turf that stretched into an impossible shade of emerald in the distance.
“Charming, eh?” James came up from behind to wrap his arms tightly around her. The sound of gentle waves slapping at the retreating boat already faded in the distance. “Less than one hundred souls live here. We can go about unhampered.”
His breath tickled her ear. “So shall we?” He nuzzled past her wind-tangled hair to kiss at her neck. “Go be . . .” He bit lightly at her shoulder. “Unhampered?”
"That sounds perfect,” she purred. "No gunfire? ”
“Nary a sword in sight, hen.”
James knew of an abandoned farmhouse and gave her the option of a roof overhead, but Magda actually wanted to sleep outdoors. All of the camping they’d done, and she hadn’t yet truly felt the joy of what it was to lie next to him, naked under a bowl of stars, without the fear of soldiers coming for them in the night.
They headed for the highest point on the island, setting up camp on a carpet of lush grass on the lee side of what James told her was the Sgurr pitchstone, an enormous black rock formation that jutted violently from the isle’s soft green flesh like a broken bone.
Winter was well past, and the sun was setting much later now. By the time James settled them with a tent and small fire, it was late afternoon. A shelf of clouds hung low in the sky, breaking clear just along the horizon so that a thin band of white glowed luminous, gilding the sea in the distance.
