Highland Sword Read online

“They want me dead. Everyone wants me dead.” Fear was written across Sparrow’s face. “Please. Help me.”

  “You’re afraid? Go to your masters.”

  “I can’t. The English are after me too. I can’t go to them.”

  “Why? What have you to fear from them?”

  Sparrow glanced at two red-coated soldiers passing by. “I told them I’d done so much already. I couldn’t help them anymore.”

  Aidan was certain the people working for Sir Rupert Burney, the director of Home Office activities in Scotland, had not taken the news too well. The decision to retire was not for an informer to make.

  “Their response?”

  “They told me to take the coach to Aberdeen. There’d be a packet sailing to Africa. To the new Cape colony. They were giving me land there. And money to make a go of it.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  “A friend sent word. Their plan was to punch a few holes in me and leave me under a dock.” He clutched the cane tightly in his fist. “So I bolted. Wrote to you.”

  It was true that if the English thought there was a chance Sparrow would expose their underhanded actions, an assassin would cut out the double crosser’s tongue and then put a dagger in his heart. The Home Office didn’t look favorably on those who changed sides.

  “Why did you write to me?”

  “You’re the best.”

  Aidan leaned forward, devouring the space between them. “Don’t you dare flatter me.”

  Sparrow pressed against the wall and raised his hand in defense. “Sir, everyone knows who you are and what you stand for. For a decade now, you’ve argued for abolition, for better wages, for reform. You’re the best lawyer Scotland has. You’re the only one brave enough to stand up to Sir Rupert Burney.”

  What Henry Brougham, the queen’s legal defender, was doing in Parliament, Aidan had been trying to do in Scotland. Both men wanted the same thing, a voice for their people.

  “I also know the weavers’ leadership committee and their people sent for you to come represent the Chattan brothers in their trial.”

  Edmund and George Chattan had been languishing in a cell, charged with planning an attack on the Lord Mayor’s offices in Elgin at the time of the Military Governor’s visit. The trial was not to take place in Elgin but in Inverness at the beginning of next month. Aidan had already met with the two this week. The brothers swore they’d been tricked by a fellow member of their reform committee … someone like Sparrow.

  “You still haven’t told me why I should help you.”

  “I told you in my letter. I have information. I can help you with names, places. I know the very one who was responsible for setting up the Chattans. He’s gone, moved on already. But I’m here, and I can testify for you.”

  Robert Sparrow was a thief. An art forger. A villain who for years had committed his petty crimes with impunity by playing his part as an informer and an agent provocateur. His actions in entrapping leaders of the reform movement in Edinburgh had led to executions. He’d been moved north for a reason. Aidan had no doubt he had firsthand knowledge of government spying operations in the Highlands. His testimony could help Aidan.

  It was impossible to ignore Sebastian’s imposing figure beside him. Aidan’s brother had been against coming here and listening to this viper.

  “If I had one whit of assurance that you would help us, I would throw a rope around your neck and drag you to some safe house until the trial. But as my brother would no doubt remind me, you can’t put a leash on a snake.”

  “I swear to you…” Another cough wracked Sparrow’s body, cutting off his words. “I swear that I’ll help you. No one knows what I know. No one has seen what I’ve seen. No one has done it as long as I have. I’ll tell you exactly who gave all of us orders and what those orders were. The Chattan fools were only one case. There are others being lured into traps right now.”

  Aidan fixed his stare on the man with the same intensity he’d used on a hundred witnesses in scores of court cases.

  “You still haven’t said one word that would help me convince a jury that you matter, or that you’re telling the truth, or that you were even working for the government as a provocateur.”

  “March twenty-first. I called together the committee in Glasgow. Everyone was arrested at that meeting. My partner was John King, a weaver working for the Home Office. April fourth. My plan incited three score men in Germiston to seize weapons from the Carron Ironworks in Falkirk. You had clients that were part of that committee. The dragoons were waiting for them. I was sent to Elgin right after.”

  Aidan exchanged another look with Sebastian. This was the kind of information that would influence a jury.

  “We’ll take you.”

  “I can’t stay in Inverness. I won’t be safe here.”

  “I said we’ll take you,” Aidan repeated more sharply.

  “I need to fetch my bag. I’m staying at an inn by the river. I’d feel safer if you came with me.”

  Aidan heard knuckles cracking. He didn’t need to look to know it was Sebastian, squeezing his hand into a tight fist.

  “Go ahead of us. And do it before we change our minds.”

  The informer opened his mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut, recognizing Aidan was done negotiating. He pulled up the collar of his coat and hurried along.

  “He’s playing you for a fool.” Sebastian scowled as Sparrow edged past a group of street urchins.

  “I need him.”

  “You think he’ll stand before a magistrate and testify against the Home Office? He won’t. This is a bloody mistake, and you know it.”

  “He’s already given me more for this case than I had.”

  “Too trusting, as always. The cur is using you to slip out of the grip of his English paymasters. Either that, or he’s setting you up.”

  His brother fell in step with Aidan as they started along the busy thoroughfare. The two of them were the only survivors of the father and four sons who’d gone off to fight against Napoleon, though Sebastian had lost an arm at Waterloo. After the war, Aidan quickly found that opposing the English government in politics and in the courts was a dangerous business, and his younger brother took it upon himself to become his protector. Aidan trusted Sebastian’s judgment, but right now, the Chattan brothers’ lives depended on Sparrow’s testimony.

  “We came. I spoke to him. And I have you beside me. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “You need to be smarter, or I’ll be beside you on an English gallows.”

  A woman carrying a basket filled with wet clothes nearly careened into Aidan, but his brother pulled him out of the way.

  “Come now. What did the bard say? Screw your courage to the sticking place—”

  “How about if I screw my boot in your ear?” Sebastian scoffed. “I fear nothing.”

  “Watch him there,” Aidan said as Sparrow turned down a side street. They quickened their steps.

  By the time they reached the corner, the villain was some distance ahead of them. He was moving with a determined step, turning his head neither left nor right, like a wounded soldier lurching back toward his own lines. He was clearly laboring for breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he moved.

  “He’s moving as if the Grim Reaper is on his tail.”

  “He’s thinking we’re his only chance,” Aidan replied. “He wants to get his things before we change our mind.”

  “If he turns into that alleyway halfway down, I still say it’s a trap.”

  “Don’t you think using this rogue to trap us in the middle of the day in an alley is a wee bit far-fetched?”

  “You’ve forgotten High Street in Edinburgh. Midday.”

  He was right. In plain daylight. A ship’s master who’d had his ship seized for transporting Africans to sugar plantations in the West Indies had attacked Aidan with a knife. Sebastian knocked him down with a single blow and disarmed him.

  “And how about the Crown & Anchor? London.”r />
  That was in broad daylight as well. And within shouting distance of the Temple Bar. Aidan was on his way to meet his brother when two footpads attempted to waylay him. Sebastian had seen them from the doorway of the tavern and came to his aid. They turned out to be servants of Lord Horsley, another Tory foe whose nose Aidan had figuratively tweaked.

  “The alley next to the Palace at Westminster. What time of the day was that?”

  Blast. “And in every case, the two of us fought off the blackguards. Except at Westminster, where I was holding my own fairly well until you showed up.”

  Sebastian’s answer was another grunt.

  The truth was, Aidan could have been beaten to death that day. He couldn’t prove it, but he was certain those assailants had been hired by the Home Office.

  Aidan definitely had his enemies. And he knew he was more than just a burr under their gilded saddles. He was part of a reform movement that could unhorse the power of those in charge entirely. Many people in London, powerful men like Lord Sidmouth and his cronies, thought nothing of using a club or a dagger to eliminate foes like him.

  “We’re at home. We’re in the heart of the Highlands. There are more sympathizers for the cause here than in the streets of…” He paused, motioning to a woman who was striding along in Sparrow’s wake. “If she’s unafraid of these back streets on her own, then I say the two of us have no reason to worry.”

  Now that he’d noticed her, Aidan paid closer attention. A grey dress was visible beneath her long coat. A single dark braid of hair hung like a rope from under an oversized knitted tam. She carried nothing in her hands, which he noted were fisted as they swung at her sides.

  She moved with the smooth, lithe ease of a young fencer, but she had a purposeful manner in her gait. Aidan glanced ahead at Sparrow and realized she was closing quickly on him.

  The informer’s words came to him, along with his own thoughts—there were many people who would readily take the sword of justice into their own hands.

  At that moment, Sparrow turned into the alley without a glance back at them. The woman slowed for the briefest of seconds, bent down, and reached into her boot. He saw the flash of the knife’s blade as she pressed it into the folds of her coat. In an instant she too had disappeared into the alley.

  “You go after him,” Aidan shouted, starting to run. “I’ll stop her.”

  She whirled as they stormed into alley. Intent as she was on Sparrow, they’d caught her by surprise. The alley was short and dark, and the brick walls on either side glistened with moisture and slick green patches. Aidan went after the knife he’d seen in her hand, knocking it from her grip as she raised it. His momentum drove him into her, and he grasped her arms to keep them both from falling.

  Sebastian raced past them, and she struggled fiercely to wrench her arms free. Her dark eyes flashed. Even in the dank dimness of the alley, her beauty was stunning.

  “Let go of me.”

  “I’m afraid I—” he started to say but got no further.

  Her knee came up sharply, knocking his bollocks halfway to Nairn. As he gasped for air, she nearly connected with another kick to the side of his knee, but he managed to deflect the blow, yanking her booted foot upwards and upending her.

  Bloody hell. He was fighting with a woman. She was on the ground for only an instant. Springing to her feet, she glanced once at the end of the alleyway and then darted toward her knife, which lay on a tangle of discarded netting along the base of the wall.

  Woman or she-devil, he thought, he wasn’t about to let her use him for a pin cushion.

  She reached out to snatch up the weapon, but Aidan caught hold of her coat, pulling her back. She spun away, yanking herself free of his grasp and falling on her face as she slid across the ground. Immediately, she was on her knees. She reached up to touch her rapidly swelling lip.

  He staggered toward her, wincing at the pain between his legs. He leaned down to take her hand and help her up. Another mistake.

  Without an inkling of warning, she reared back and butted him, planting her forehead squarely in his eye and knocking him onto his backside.

  He sat for a few moments, dazed. When the cobwebs began to clear, she was gone. He looked around, but one of his eyes was not functioning. He touched it, but it was already swollen shut.

  Aidan groaned and struggled to his feet. He scanned the alley with his one good eye, searching for any remnant of his manly self-respect. He spotted her knife and picked it up. Finding his hat where it had fallen, he sagged back against the wall.

  A moment later, Sebastian came down the alley with Sparrow alongside of him. He paused by where Aidan sat in a heap, not even trying to hide his smirk.

  “Perhaps next time, you should run after the sickly men, and I’ll fight the women.”

  CHAPTER 4

  MORRIGAN

  At Searc’s house between Maggot Green and the Citadel Quay docks, the Mackintosh men were tying down tarps on the loaded wagons. Morrigan nudged her horse a few yards down the lane toward the river. With her hat pulled low on her forehead and the collar of her coat turned up, she was doing her best to hide her face.

  In the alleyway, she’d held her own and delivered more than the rogue had expected. Still, the cobblestone had left its mark. She couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries, except it hurt to move her jaw. The bloody handkerchief tucked into her sleeve bore the evidence of the cut inside her lip. She ran her tongue along her teeth. She was lucky none of them had come loose.

  She’d been careless, but even now she felt the heat rise in her face. A sudden rage had possessed her, and, hot for revenge, she’d been paying no attention to what was behind her. She was unaware of the two men following “Robert Sparrow.” They had to be the same two who’d been speaking with him by the green.

  Morrigan took a few deep breaths to calm herself, forcing her mind clear of his face, his voice. The blackguard was in Inverness, but for how long, she didn’t know. Perhaps the next time she came into the city, she’d search him out and finish what she’d intended to do today.

  One way or another, she would finish it. She’d killed once. The day they were fleeing their house on Infirmary Street in Edinburgh, she’d driven a knife into a man’s heart to save the life of Maisie, Isabella’s sister. She could kill again. Vengeance called for it. Justice demanded it. She’d do it if only to stop her nightmares. But would she be free when she left him lying in his own blood?

  Her neck was already stiffening, and Morrigan rolled her head from side to side, stretching the muscles and thinking about the clash in the alley.

  Morrigan was a skilled fighter. Since arriving at Dalmigavie, she’d been going to the training yard an hour before the men showed up four or five times a week. Some days Blair worked with her himself. Other days he put one of the Mackintosh fighters in charge of training her. Knife, pistol, even hand-to-hand, she could hold her own. She had the blessing of Isabella and Maisie. Both of them—and their husbands—agreed it was important that Morrigan be able to defend herself. Their enemies were numerous and too close to ignore. And being inside the walls of Dalmigavie didn’t guarantee their safety either. Only two months ago, Maisie had been stabbed in a stairwell of the castle. She’d recovered fully, thank God, but all of them were far more cautious as a result.

  A screech behind her startled Morrigan, and she reached down to find the empty sheath in her boot. Blast, she’d need to have the blacksmith make her another sgian dubh. Two urchins raced up the lane in a running battle, using sticks for swords.

  Searc barreled out of his house with Blair on his heels. He stomped around the wagons, pulling at tarps and ropes. With a grunt of approval, he climbed onto his horse and scowled back at Morrigan.

  Black eyes peered from under his tall hat and bristling brows, and she fought the inclination to look away. Searc saw, heard, and knew everything and everyone. If he found out what she’d done—chasing a man into an alley and getting into a fight—he wouldn’t be happy. Not tha
t he was ever happy, but it would be detrimental to the trust she’d established with the Mackintosh clan leaders.

  They were ready to depart for Dalmigavie. A dozen Mackintosh men—their weapons handily concealed inside coats and saddlebags—lined up behind the wagons.

  “Ready, lass?” Blair called to her.

  Her jaw ached, and she didn’t trust her swollen lip to form any intelligible words. She nodded and nudged her horse, joining the line behind the carts.

  A steady rain began to fall as they left Inverness and started the winding climb into the mountains toward Dalmigavie. The riders around her pulled their collars up and filed along, mostly in silence. The relative solitude of the ride suited Morrigan perfectly. If the men around her noticed the bruising on her face, they said nothing. She welcomed the drops of rain that cooled her heated skin.

  Before they got back to Dalmigavie, however, Morrigan knew she’d need to come up with a believable story to explain her face. Telling the truth wasn’t an option.

  Night had fallen by the time they dismounted by the stables inside the curtained wall of the castle. Torches lit the courtyard, sizzling and hissing in the falling rain. A stable hand offered to take her horse. Morrigan handed the mare off reluctantly. She wasn’t looking forward to facing Isabella and Maisie.

  Six years ago, the three women had become a family, of sorts, when Isabella married Morrigan’s father and brought Maisie, her sister, with her. The relationship between them all had been a curious one. Sometimes strained, but for the most part defined by a cordial distance. Everything changed this past spring after they fled Edinburgh. Their bond now was one of true friendship and sisterhood. The three were closer than if they had shared the same birth mother.

  Searc marched stiff-legged toward her, barking, “Be sure to tell Isabella you’re back. The woman has been fretting since we left, I’d wager.”

  Searc was in charge while Cinaed and Lachlan, the Mackintosh laird, were traveling through the Highlands with Niall Campbell, Maisie’s husband. But walking into the Great Hall with a battered face wasn’t what she had in mind. Before word reached her sisters that the caravan had arrived, Morrigan needed to get up to her room and inspect the damage.