Chapter Twenty-Six
THE NEWS THAT the justice of the peace would arrive on the morrow was delivered to the Livingstones just before the supper hour.
That effectively dampened their collective appetites, and they remained in the gatehouse, huddled together, their hands clasped, speaking of what they would say to the justice of the peace.
Lottie was determined—this was her cross to bear. “I am the one who put Aalborg into our thoughts! I am the one who said we must take the ship,” she reminded them.
“Aye, but what choice did you have?” Duff asked.
“An obvious one, aye? I might have let the whisky go. I might have married MacColl.” She might yet, if she could prevail with the justice.
“No, Lottie. You listened to Bernt,” Gilroy said angrily. “Too many times, we all listened to Bernt!”
“What’s done is done,” Mr. MacLean said solemnly. “Let’s try and get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a very long day.”
They embraced, one by one, patting each other on the back, not actually speaking a goodbye out loud...but the word hung in the air between them.
Lottie remained behind with her brothers. She didn’t know how to prepare them for what would likely happen. “Heed me, lads. I must go away for a time.”
“No!” Drustan said instantly.
“Dru, mo chridhe,” Lottie said, and took his big hands in hers. “Mathais will take good care of you. So will Duff, and Gilroy, and Mr. MacLean, aye? We Livingstones, we stay together.”
“But why will you no’? You’ve always taken care of me, Lot.”
She would not cry. She refused to cry. “Aye, I have. But Dru, did you know, then, that you can care for yourself?” He began to shake his head, but she squeezed his hands. “Think of it—you’ve been minding yourself these last few days at Balhaire.”
“Have I?” Drustan asked, frowning with confusion.
“Aye,” Mathais said. “I’ve no’ shouted at you once, have I?”
Drustan thought about that. “No.”
Lottie kissed Drustan’s cheek as he mulled that over, and turned to her youngest brother. “Mats, you’re the man of the family now,” Lottie reminded him.
“I know, Lot. Fader told me the same.”
She smiled wistfully. “I would give anything were he here now, aye?”
“Me, too,” said Mathais.
“Me, too,” said Drustan.
When she finally left their room, she felt bone weary.
She had one last thing she desperately wanted to do—she wanted to see Aulay before she was taken before the justice of the peace.
She wanted to tell him again how he’d made her feel truly desired for the first time in her life—desired for who she was, and not her face.
She wanted him to know that he’d made her feel as if every bit of her mattered, that she was not a prize sheep won in the bargaining.
She was pacing, thinking of how she might see him—would the young guard fetch him? Should she make an excuse for returning to the castle?—when a knock sounded on her door.
“Come,” she said, assuming it was Mathais.
But it was not Mathais who walked through the door. It was Aulay.
He stepped inside and quietly shut the door. Lottie hesitated only a moment before she ran to him, leaping into his embrace.
He held her tightly, breathing her in, his big hand cupping her head and holding it against him. “Lottie...there is a boat waiting for you at the cove. Go now—the tide will go out at half past eleven.”
“What?”
Aulay let go of her head. He lifted her hand and pressed some coins into it. “Put them in your pocket—you’ll need them. You might have to bribe your way home, aye?”
“No!” she said, and tried to push the coins back into his hands. “I canna escape, I’ve told you. I’ll no’ make it worse, Aulay!”
“It canna be worse, leannan,” he said, and grabbing her shoulders, he dipped down so that he was eye level.
“The Campbells are searching the Highlands now, and if they’ve no’ already been to Lismore, they will be soon.
Gather your men and go, dismantle your stills, make some excuse for the ship.
There is a small door next to the gates.
You know the path around the high street.
You know how to reach the cove. Donna dawdle—if you miss the tide, you’ll be caught. ”
“Aulay!” she said, suddenly tearful and afraid.
He held her face in his hands, his eyes raking over her face. “I told you this afternoon that you have taken everything I held dear, Lottie. You owe me this. You owe it to me to do the one thing I ask of you.”
“I want to make it right,” she exclaimed, panicked now. She had her speech planned.
But Aulay sighed sadly. He bent his head and touched his lips to hers. He kissed her so tenderly that she could feel her heart fluttering with it, pieces breaking off and falling away. “You canna make it right,” he whispered. “Go,” he whispered. “And know always that I loved you.”
He let go of her and opened the door carefully. He looked out, then disappeared through it.
He was gone.
Lottie pressed her hands to her abdomen and bent over in wretched pain.
It felt as if someone had driven a stake through her and she lurched forward, caught herself on the single chair in the room, and slowly sat in it.
She couldn’t breathe. If she breathed, she would be sick.
She braced her hands on her knees and tried to drag air into her lungs.
How would she ever bear the agony of leaving him?
How could she bear the anxiety of escape?
There was no escape. No matter what she did, she would live the rest of her life tortured by thoughts of him.
But Aulay was wrong about one thing—she could make it right.
* * *
AULAY’S FATHER, his mother, Rabbie and Catriona were already at breakfast in the smaller family dining room when Aulay joined them the next morning.
His head was pounding with anxiety, his heart numb.
He’d never felt so odd in his own skin. How strange it was to think of all the times he’d feared he might be lost at sea, and yet, he’d never felt fear clutch his heart quite like this.
He guessed the justice of the peace’s boat would arrive with the tide, just before midday.
“Breakfast, Captain?” Frang asked.
Aulay looked around at his family. None of them appeared as if anything was amiss. His mother was reading a book. His father was eating his breakfast. It was another morning at Balhaire.
“Aye, thank you,” Aulay said. He took his seat at the table, poured ale from a pitcher and drank. He felt unusually parched.
He had just been served his meal when the young guard assigned to the gatehouse, Ewan Mackenzie, appeared at the door of the dining room.
He looked nervous, and Aulay’s pulse quickened.
A good lad, Ewan, always wanting to do the right thing.
If someone had told him to go and patrol the high street last night, he would have gone immediately.
He would have taken his mission of keeping watch for Campbells quite seriously.
“Beg your pardon, milord,” Ewan said, and began to nervously crush his hat in his hands.
Aulay’s father flicked his gaze over Ewan. “Aye?”
“The Livingstones...they’re gone, they are.”
“Gone where?” his father asked, confused.
“I donna know where, milord, but they’re gone from the gatehouse.”
Aulay’s mother looked shocked. She turned her gaze to her husband, who had leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in a frown. “Are you certain, then?”
“Aye, milord. They’re no’ in the gatehouse, and no one has seen them.”
“Where could they have gone?” his father asked rhetorically, and shifted his gaze to Aulay.
Aulay casually bit into his bread.
“All right, then, thank you,” his father said, and gestured for Ewan to take his leave.
He shifted around in his seat to glare at Aulay.
“How odd, is it no’, that the Livingstones, who have enjoyed our company and our food for nigh on a fortnight, who have waited patiently for the lawful judgment of the justice of the peace for their crime, should leave now?
” He leaned forward, his gaze piercing Aulay’s.
“Where do you suppose they went, Captain Mackenzie?”
That voice would have frightened Aulay as a lad. Not now. “I donna know. Far away, I hope.”
His father looked at Rabbie, who shook his head. And then at Catriona, who was buttering a piece of bread. Thoroughly.
He made a sound of disgust as he looked to Aulay once more. “Of all my children, you are the last I would suspect in this.”
“Arran, please,” his mother tried.
“We have lost everything!” his father roared, and brought his fist down on the table so hard that plates and cups rattled into each other.
“No, my lord, it is I who have lost everything!” Aulay roared back at him.
His mother gasped loudly. Catriona dropped her knife.
“It was my ship, my arrangement, my livelihood that is lost! The only place I ever felt myself was on the sea! The only floor that I have ever commanded has been a deck! All my life, I have sought your approval. All my life, I have wished that just once, you would bestow your smile of approval on me! And you think you have lost everything?”
His family stared at him in shock, but the floodgates had opened.
Aulay’s father suddenly surged forward. “I donna know what you are nattering on about, but I do know that for the want of a name, we could have had a ship restored to us! To you! You could have restored your pride!” he shouted, shaking his fist at Aulay.
“But as it stands, we will empty our coffers and borrow money to repay what we’ve lost for the mistakes you made!
Am I the only Mackenzie who feels wronged?
Am I the only one to stand among us and demand that justice be done? ”