Chapter Two
His spirits lifting, Cameron urged his horse along the causeway, galloping into the rain.
A herd of sheep suddenly appeared, ghostly in the misty drizzle, bunched thick along the causeway, blocking the road. Cameron hauled his horse to a standstill. It snorted and moved restlessly, misliking the situation.
The sheep eyed Cameron suspiciously and backed away, but, "Get on there!" a voice shouted from behind the herd. "You on the horses, stand still and let the sheep through!"
Cameron squinted into the rain. Dimly he could see a boy in a too-big coat and hat, waving a crook. A dog barked and the sheep bunched and milled and baaaed uncertainly, crowding to the very edge of the causeway.
Behind him Jimmy and Donald's horses plunged to a halt. "Get those beasties out of the way," Jimmy shouted.
"Dinna shout at them, ye fool," the boy snapped. "They're foolish beasts and are like to panic. And if any get into the bog . . ."
Jimmy, being well into the contents of his flask, was inclined to argue—gentlemen on horseback took precedence over sheep—but Cameron held up his hand. "Stay still," he ordered.
The dog barked again and suddenly the first sheep darted past Cameron.
The milling herd followed, streaming around and past the men on horseback like a living river, baaing madly, their long sodden woolen skirts swinging as they fled along the causeway.
Two little black-faced lambs, however, plunged off the causeway and floundered in the muddy bog. Their mother followed.
"Och, ye fool beasties!" The boy followed them into the bog with a splash.
He grabbed the first lamb and set it back on its feet.
It stood, bleating plaintively. The boy then began to heave at the mother, both of them floundering in the mud.
Jimmy and Donald grinning, watched the show from horseback.
Cameron barely noticed. The rain had eased and he could see the bridge, a few dozen yards away. Or what remained of the bridge. It was impassable, smashed to pieces, looking more like the scattering of a giant's matchsticks than a bridge.
It must have happened during the great storm. Rage slowly filled him. His uncle must have known. And he'd done nothing. This was as bad, or worse than the roofs needing repairs. The bridge gave the estate direct access to the Inverness road.
Uncle Charles, however, only cared about access to France, and that was by boat, not road.
Cameron stared at the devastation. He'd have to return the way he'd come, and leave by the westerly border. It would take hours longer.
"Give it up, Cam." His cousin Donald touched his arm. "We've no choice but to turn back now. It'll be dark before we even get home."
"I'll no' go home wi' my tail between my legs," Cameron muttered, though in truth he could see no other alternative. "And I'll not leave the estate in my uncle's hands a day longer than I must."
"There's naught you can do wi' the bridge in that state, though, is there?" Donald said reasonably. "Ye canna cross it; ye must go back."
"Dammit, I can see that!" Thwarted and furious, Cameron glared at the bridge.
Hearing laughter behind him, he turned to see his cousin Jimmy swigging whisky and chuckling at the spectacle of the boy still trying to rescue the wretched ewe.
The large, ungainly animal was plunging deeper into the bog, struggling desperately, as if the lad were trying to drown it instead of saving it.
From where Cameron stood, the sheep was winning.
Both lad and beast were black mud to the eyebrows.
And on the far side of the struggle the remaining small lamb was sinking fast.
"Make yourself useful, will ye Jimmy? Give the lad a hand."
Jimmy snorted. "And get my new boots filled with black mud?"
Cameron glanced at Donald, who shrugged and made no move. The lad fell for the third time. The tiny lamb struggled to keep its head above the muddy water.
Cameron swore, swung off his horse and waded in. He scooped the lamb out first and set it on its feet beside its twin. Then he hauled the boy out, shoving him close to the bank. "Jimmy! Pull him out."
Jimmy dismounted, gingerly took the boy's dirty hands and dragged him onto the solid causeway. Cameron waded back in and tried to fetch the mother sheep. The stupid thing bucked and fought, and in seconds Cameron himself was black with bog mud.
His cousins watched from the bank, passing the flask back and forth, making bets and roaring with laughter.
But Cameron was strong and big and angry. He wrapped his arms around the sheep's middle and heaved the filthy beast onto the bank, causing his cousins to leap back like fine ladies to avoid the mud. The sheep shook itself, bleated and trotted indignantly away, followed by the lambs.
Cameron's cousins were laughing fit to burst. He'd fix them. "Help me out." He held out his hands, but they laughed and backed away.
"We're no so far gone we'd fall for that old trick," Jimmy chortled.
"Canny bastards," Cameron muttered as he climbed out of the bog, black mud dripping from him. "And if there's no whisky left in that flask, I swear I'll throw you in anyway."
Laughing, Jimmy tossed him the flask. Cameron was about to drain it when he saw how the shepherd lad was shivering in the cold. He thrust it toward the boy, saying, "Here, lad, you need this more than me."
The boy accepted it with a surprised expression and took a quick swig. He shuddered violently as the whisky went down, but managed to gasp out his thanks.
"So, boy," Cameron said. "What's your name?"
The shepherd boy gave a quick grin, a cheeky white slash in a muddy face.
"Jeannie McLeay, sir, and thank you for getting the sheep out o' the mud, even if you and your friends did panic the beasts in the first place.
My grandad would've kilt me if I'd lost her.
" She tried to wipe the mud off her face with her sleeve and only smeared it more.
"Jeannie?" Cameron stared. The coat she wore was a man's coat, too big for her, rolled up at the sleeves and hanging down almost to her ankles, but though it was hard to tell because of the mud, there was a skirt beneath it.
The boots she wore were a man's boots, too big, surely for her feet and the hat crammed on her head was a man's hat.
"Are ye married, Jeannie?" Jimmy asked, suddenly intent.
She frowned. "No," she said cautiously.
"And where were ye born?"
"Stop that!" Cameron snapped, realizing what his cousin was up to.
Jimmy gave him an innocent look. "No harm in asking."
"Drop it, Jimmy," Cameron told his cousin. He was not going to marry some ragamuffin he'd dragged out of a bog.
"She's the first one you've seen," Jimmy insisted.
"The first what?" the girl demanded.
"He couldna take her anyway," Donald argued. "She's just a wee thing, no' a grown woman."
"Take me where? Nobody's taking me anywhere."
"Stow it you two, the whole idea's ridiculous," Cameron said. His cousins took no notice. There was a bet on and the contents of the flask were obviously well absorbed.
"How old are you, Jeannie lass?" Jimmy asked.
"Nineteen," Jeannie McLeay said, eying each man suspiciously. "But as I said, nobody's taking me anywhere." She began to edge away.
Jimmy grabbed her by the arm, careless now of any mud, intent only on his wager. "And where were you born, Jeannie, me dear?"
"I'm no' your dear." She yanked her arm from his grip and hurried away, flinging over her shoulder, "And not that it's any of your business, but I was born on the isle of Lewis."
At her words, Jimmy let out a whoop of triumph and punched his brother in the shoulder. "Lewis! She's eligible! You owe me a monkey, Donald!"
"The bet's no’ won ‘til the deed is done," Donald insisted. "Cameron's yet to wed her."
"He will, he will," Jimmy crowed.
Donald snorted. "It's a crazy notion, and Cameron's no' the crazy one here."
Jimmy shook his head. "He gave his word, man, and Cameron never goes back on his word."
The girl followed her sheep, putting as much distance between herself and the men as she could, running swiftly despite the clumsy, man-sized boots. Cameron watched her thoughtfully.
When he'd made his rash statement he had no thought of wedding anyone except a lady born. This bog sprite shepherdess was totally unsuitable.
But he'd never broken his word before. Rashness gave way to serious thought; there might be wives to be had in Inverness—ladies—but how long would it take to get one to wed him? And how much would his uncle squander in the meantime?
Jimmy grabbed him by the shoulder. "Well, Cammie, will ye wed her or no? There's a bet on."
Cameron swore softly under his breath. The girl was young, unmarried and born outside the estate.
What difference would it make anyway who he wed?
Women were for running the house and birthing babes and any female could do that, surely.
Getting control of his inheritance was what counted.
Besides, the little he knew of ladies born was that they were a lot of trouble.
They expected a man to dance attendance on them, whereas a lass like this, country bred and down-to-earth .
. . He looked at her retreating form. Mud dripped off her with every step. Very down-to-earth.
"Aye, I'll wed her," he declared.
"Aha—" Jimmy began, then let out a yell. "She's getting away. Don't worry, Cam, I'll get her back for ye." And without warning he jumped on his horse and galloped after the girl.
"Och, the mad fool," Donald said. "Whatever will the lassie think—"
Cameron leapt on his horse and set off after Jimmy.
The girl, seeing Jimmy bearing down on her, screamed defiance at him and ran faster. Jimmy let out a whoop, as if he was running down a hind.
"Leave her be, Jimmy," Cameron roared.
But Jimmy was almost on the girl and oblivious. With a blood-curdling yell he scooped her up and tossed her over his saddle. She fought and struggled but Jimmy just laughed and smacked her on her muddy backside as he wheeled his horse around and cantered back to Cameron with a triumphant grin.
"I fetched her for ye—yeeeowww!" He broke off with a yell of pain. He stared down at the girl in shock. "She bit me! The wee vixen bit me!"
The wee vixen moved to bite his leg again and Jimmy hastily shoved her off his horse. She dropped lightly to the ground and glanced warily around, preparing to run again.
"There's no need to be a'feared," Cameron said hastily. He dismounted and took a few slow steps toward her, holding up his hands pacifically, saying in a soothing voice, "Nobody here will harm you. My cousin is a wee bit enthusiastic, that's all—"
"He's drunk," the girl said, backing away.
"Maybe, but he meant well," Cameron told her.
She snorted. "Meant well? To kidnap me in broad daylight?"
"Nobody's going to kidnap you," Cameron assured her softly and moved closer. She backed away and glanced at the bog, as if weighing her chances of escaping across it.
"Ye daft wee besom, he wants tae marry you," Jimmy said, still rubbing his leg.
She snorted. "He's drunker than I thought."
It was now or never, Cameron thought. He cleared his throat. "It's true," he said. It came out as a croak.
She made a gesture of disgust. "You're drunk, too.
"I'm not. It's true, I'm offering you marriage." There, it was out. He was officially crazy. But at least he'd get control of his inheritance.
Away on the moors a curlew called, a mournful, other-worldly cry. The wind blew across the bog, carrying the scent of heather and dank, rotting mud.