Chapter Twelve #3
The trail they were on topped on a rise, overlooking what could be the Moray Firth Inlet seen over the tops of trees, and could also be another view entirely, since she hadn’t any idea which direction they’d been going.
Then she saw the top of a pole that held the English Union Jack, a pole that a flag bearer for the Highland Regiment always held high enough that it was the first thing to come into sight just about anywhere they went.
Lisle’s lip curled, despite her telling it not to.
Monteith brought Torment to a stop, and once Blizzom reached the back of the other stallion, her horse stopped, too.
Lisle forced her mouth into a position of nonexpression that hopefully mirrored the one on Monteith’s as she watched the regiment approach in single file, marching to their drummer’s tempo, until they came to a stop right in the pathway in front of them.
Lisle hadn’t any estimation of size, but the number of troops Captain Barton had at his disposal was large enough.
It looked like the line of them snaked out of view with the quantity, and only then when the column had turned onto itself twice.
If she had to hazard a guess, she’d have to say four hundred…
at least. She hadn’t seen him out and about with so many before.
It gave her chills she’d never admit to, and started a pulse beat in the pit of her stomach that had fear at its core.
She gulped. Captain Barton put up his hand to stop the line of soldiers, although it was a moot gesture. The line had already stopped. They had to. Lisle and Langston were in the way.
“Monteith! Devilish weather to be out and about in, isn’t it?”
Lisle watched as Langston inclined his head. Then he was moving forward and clasping hands with the man, making Blizzom move.
“What but devilish weather would suit the devil’s spawn?” Langston called out the agreement with a jovial manner. If Lisle hadn’t been watching and listening, she wouldn’t have believed it.
“I see you’ve a Highland lass at your side. And—God bless you, Monteith! That’s Mistress MacHugh.”
“Aye,” Langston agreed easily, turning on the saddle and giving her an indecipherable look.
“What are you doing with a Highland lass…and worse, the MacHugh one?”
Langston lifted a shoulder that seemed to say more than his words possibly could have. Captain Barton must have intimated what he was supposed to, because he started grinning wider. The seamstress, Maggie, was wrong. The man wasn’t remotely attractive, even if he was available.
“But…her? A Highlander? Ugh. You can have any lass—willingly or no. I myself prefer them clean, even if they are unwilling. It makes the pleasure that much more…intense is a good word, eh, my friend?”
He nudged Langston, who smiled readily, and with an ease that looked more comfortable than any grin he’d ever given her. Lisle was the one sitting with the stone-faced expression.
“And just how is the MacHugh lass, if I may be so bold?”
“Filthy,” Langston replied. “Aren’t all the MacHughs?”
Captain Barton roared his approval of that comment. Lisle felt like she was turning into stone, although her heart wasn’t listening. It was filling her ears and her mind with a cadence of ache and pain and gut-choking sobs she repeatedly swallowed to shove back down to where they were coming from.
“You know…I had heard that. It’s part of the inbreeding and barbaric practices of the Highlanders.”
“Inbreeding?” Langston asked.
“You know. Brother to sister. Father to daughter, son to mother…and all the other barbaric customs that are, you know…too inhumane to speak of. We only hope some of our measures have made it safe for civilized folk to walk about up here without fear of being tainted.”
“I see…” Langston replied.
“So tell me, my friend. Is it true?”
“What?” Langston asked.
“That they’re all alike. Beneath the clothing, that is.”
Langston sucked in on his cheeks. Lisle didn’t find it made him look more handsome, more interesting, or anything other than detested. She didn’t know where her mind had been all day, she truly didn’t.
“I thought you had experience, Captain.”
“Not with one of her kind.”
“Her kind?” Langston asked.
“You know…a Highland wench, from the farthest reaches of this Celt wilderness. Is she…as they say…a passionate wench?”
“Passion?” Langston asked. The look he was giving her was nothing save uninterested and dispassionate to the point of boredom. “Oh…she is that, Captain. Very much so. Very.”
He was wounding her and he didn’t even have a weapon with which to do it.
He’d also lost even a hint of a Scot’s brogue.
Lisle was rocking in place, yet nothing was moving.
She didn’t think through the why of it. She only prayed for the blessed numbness back…
anything to dim the words that wouldn’t cease.
“Passionate, eh? I almost envy you. I do, although I’d have to post a guard at my back to make certain she hadn’t found a way to stick a dirk or two into me. She looks especially ready to do such a thing to you, Monteith. You’d best guard your back.”
“I’d rather leave it bare, actually.” Langston leaned toward the captain, and said the rest of it with a loud whisper that carried. “She rakes her fingernails down it.”
“Lucky man, Monteith. Very. I’m certain I envy you now.”
“Really?” Langston replied.
“Oh, yes. Except for one thing. I don’t like my enemies in my bed. Too many stings when there should be nothing but bliss.”
“I’ve always found it best to keep them close at hand, myself,” Langston replied.
“Good Lord, why?”
“Because the devil is easier to fight if you know where he is.”
“I never quite thought of that,” Captain Barton replied.
“In point of fact, my business partner, Solomon Hussmein, was once my fiercest enemy in Persia. He had all the contacts I wanted. I had all the guile he needed. It was bound to chafe.”
“You partnered with your enemy?”
“It’s a very lucrative partnership, Captain.”
“As I’ve proof of. Your ships are the envy of the royal fleet. You’d best hope King George doesn’t take a liking to them, my friend.”
“He only has to ask, and they will be put at his disposal, of course. As it goes without saying, for all of my holdings.”
The captain sighed, filling his chest with air, and making a tasty target if Lisle really did have a dirk and knew how to throw it.
“You have the luck of the devil, Monteith, and I already know you have his wealth. I envy you completely now. But satisfy my curiosity, if you will.”
“You have but to ask. You know I’ll comply, of course.”
“However did you manage to get this Hussmein fellow to agree to go into such a partnership?”
“Only after proving my worth, of course. And his.”
“How did you do that?” Captain Barton asked.
Lisle would have given anything not to have heard the answer. She didn’t even realize it until she heard it.
“I married his littlest sister, of course,” Monteith replied.