Highlander Mine. Juliette Miller

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      Several of the other soldiers chuckled at this and I felt a ripple of shame that Hamish would respond with such impertinence. Lachlan, however, appeared more impressed by Hamish’s answer than angered. Strength and bravery were their currency, I supposed. Hamish understood this and had just bought himself a hint of this soldier’s respect. Clearly, despite his small size in the face of these enormous, armed men, my nephew was not intimidated. And there was a shiny-eyed eagerness to him that Lachlan could not help but respond to.

      “I’d offer to let you hold it,” Lachlan said, “but the sword outweighs you.”

      More laughter from the men.

      “Here,” Lachlan continued, retrieving a large knife from its holster at his belt. “You can hold this one.”

      Now that Hamish was well and truly engaged, the young woman in blue took the opportunity to make light conversation. She was clearly somewhat overcome with curiosity about my obvious predicament. Her blue eyes gleamed with bright interest, and her shiny brown hair waved prettily around a pale face that was highlighted by the subtle paint of pink on her cheeks.

      “I’m Christie Mackenzie,” she said. “This is my sister, Ailie.” She motioned to the woman on her right, whose beauty was equal to her sister’s but somehow more reserved. Christie’s beauty had a fresh, mischievous appeal while Ailie’s conveyed composure and sophistication. Ailie smiled politely. Her hair was darker than Christie’s and her eyes were a deep shade of indigo blue. “And this is our friend Katriona,” Christie continued.

      Katriona was perhaps as many as ten years older than the two sisters, and her manner was markedly less friendly. Her smile was so forced that if taken out of context, it might have been mistaken for a grimace, perhaps from a mild case of indigestion. She was not as beautiful as the sisters, but it could be said that she was exceptionally well presented. Any beauty she might have possessed was eclipsed by the pinched, rigid impatience that set her face, and by the youthful radiance of the two women she traveled with. The ill fit of my dress did not escape her notice, nor did she appear particularly pleased by Hamish’s precocious joy as he held Lachlan’s glinting knife.

      “I’m Amelia Taylor,” I said. “And this is Hamish.” I stopped myself from giving Hamish’s correct surname just in time. We were pretending to be siblings, I remembered. “My brother.”

      Christie asked the question she must have been dying to ask all along. “And you travel alone?”

      “We had an escort, of course,” Hamish answered, with such sincerity I suffered a pang of guilt that overshadowed any pride that might have accompanied it. The lad was gifted. I should, as his guardian, be grooming him for a career in stage acting and if he hadn’t been so staunchly adamant about his decision to become a soldier, I might have considered setting our sights for the theaters of London as a hideout, rather than the remote expanses of the Highlands. My guilt only compounded as I recalled telling him that it was likely that we would be reunited with his parents more quickly if we were particularly convincing in our storytelling. “But he met an untimely end at the hands of the dastardly bandits that stole our carriage and all our belongings.”

      This news was met with the collective dismay of his now-rapt audience. “Bandits?” said Lachlan, bristling, his eyes surveying the room as though they might be among us. “What bandits?”

      “Aye,” replied Hamish. “Five of them. They wore black masks and capes and they rode black horses. Ruthless, they were. Killed our escort right in front of our eyes. Speared him through the heart with a silver-hilted sword.”

      A twinge of pain brought me to the realization that I had bitten my own lip. I hoped Hamish’s imaginative yarn wasn’t too creative. I didn’t like the thought of what these war-hardened men might do to us if they suspected we were deceiving them. But there was no point correcting my nephew; it would only make them more inclined to doubt us. Strangely, I felt an uncharacteristic sense of regret that we were in fact deceiving them, these beautiful sisters with their kind eyes and their enviable lot in life. I would never have thought to wish for such a thing, but I couldn’t help feeling a sense of wonder at their fortune. Their manly band of escorts, all rugged good looks and masculine protectiveness against any and every potential threat these sisters might face; their dark beauty; their innate sense of style that was only enhanced tenfold by the wealth that so flatteringly showcased it.

      Ah, well. Overblown luck was not something I sought out, or even valued especially, having experienced so little of it. Which was why I had made a point of learning the tricks and mathematics that ensured something akin to luck. My kind of manufactured luck, however, was only useful at the gaming tables. It didn’t translate further afield than that. And even my skills at trickery in the gambling den hadn’t been enough to keep my brother-in-law’s broken, corrupt business afloat. Or my sister safe. It was best to carry on and appreciate the smaller fortunes in life, like this hearty meal we were almost finished with. And this fine brew of sweet tea.

      “We’ve been forced to make our way on foot,” I said, before Hamish could elaborate further. “We were fortunate to get a ride part of the way on a farmer’s wagon, which explains our somewhat ragged appearance. And then we saw this tavern.”

      “We’ve come from Edinburgh,” continued Hamish. “To search for some long-lost relatives whose names we don’t even know.”

      “You have relatives in the Highlands?” Christie asked, intrigued.

      Hamish answered before I could. “We do, but we know nothing about their identity. Our father’s final words to us, as he lay pale and choking for breath on his deathbed, his life seeping away from the disease that tragically stole him from us, were these—‘Go to the Highlands and seek out my cousin. He’s a good man and he will take you in. He’ll care for you as if you were his own.’ Of course, we were asking him, ‘Who, Father? Who is this cousin you speak of? Why have you never told us of him before? What’s his name?’ But it was too late. Father’s eyes had gone dull and lifeless. His final breath rasped from his body in a weak sigh. And then he was gone.” Hamish’s eyes, the little puck, were shiny with emotion. And he was still clutching the lethal-looking knife with both hands, which somehow only added to the performance. “We buried him next to our mother.”

      “Oh, you poor child,” exclaimed Christie.

      “I have Amelia to take care of me,” Hamish told her, with what I knew to be genuine relief tinting his words. “And I take care of her. We’re not alone.” I’d practically raised Hamish, since his parents had been so busy running the club, and I’d loved him madly from the moment he was born. In the nine years between then and now, my role in his life as aunt and guide had offered me as many moments of joy as any relationship I’d ever had. His complete trust in me—a trust that shone now from his seraphic face—strengthened my resolve to keep him safe and to give him every chance in life, despite our significant hardships. If I had to stoop to servitude or to spinning a few harmless lies to do it, then so be it. “And so,” Hamish continued solemnly, “with no living relatives left in Edinburgh, we’ve come to seek out this cousin. But then, out of nowhere, a band of renegades surrounded us, attacking as one! Ours was a fine enough carriage, filled with all our belongings. They took everything. James tried to protect our family heirlooms. We told him to let them have it, that it wasn’t worth his life, but he wouldn’t listen. He was loyal to his bones.”

      James. His father’s name. An odd choice for our fictional driver. But then, I knew Hamish’s bond with his father had never been a strong one.

      “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Katriona said, her mild empathy laced with more pronounced vestiges СКАЧАТЬ