“It wasna locked before,” the woman grumbled.
Brogan peered through the glass windows beside the door, catching movement. Determining it was not a redcoat within, he tapped on the glass, and the movement ceased. Whoever it was took stock of who he was from their own hiding place behind an archway wall.
Brogan tapped again, and the person popped out from behind the wall, then cautiously approached. Upon seeing the way they were dressed through the glass, the man opened the door and ushered them in.
The entire house was permeated with the scent of fresh-baked bread. Who the hell had been baking while a battle ensued not two miles away?
The man eyed him suspiciously. “How can I help ye, soldier?” He glanced from Brogan to the lass, then back again.
“What are ye doing here?” Brogan looked beyond the man. Had they interrupted him stealing something, or was he a defector? “Give us your name.”
“I’m Joseph, and I was ordered by the prince to return and gather the valuables.” There was a tremor to his voice, and a slight shake to his hands that he hid by grasping them behind him. Again, he glanced at the lass.
“Who is baking bread?”
“The servants.”
Brogan frowned, feeling more and more like he’d arrived to interrupt something nefarious. “Why would he ask ye to do that instead of fighting alongside him?”
The man shook his head. “The prince doesna expect to win. Cumberland will come to the house to try and steal whatever he can. The prince asked me to secure the items. He escaped the field with his guard and said they’d make a circle and come here, but he has no’ yet arrived.”
The men all looked at each other, each of them with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t altogether right about the soldier’s story. And yet the lass seemed completely unfazed.
“I can vouch for him,” she said with a shrug. “The prince did ask.”
Brogan narrowed his eyes. Was it she who’d delivered the order?
“We need horses,” Brogan said. “We’ll catch up to the prince and his guard in case they ran into trouble on the road.”
The soldier nodded, looking behind him nervously.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” Brogan asked.
“The servants.”
“And?”
“A handful of soldiers.” As he said it, several Jacobites faded from the shadows, their heads hung in shame.
“We were tired,” one of them said, before covering his face in shame.
“So the lot of ye cowered here while the rest of us fought?”
Silence was his answer.
“No’ everyone can kill so easily,” the lass said. “They are to be admired for protecting the prince’s belongings.”
Brogan did not agree in the slightest.
“We’re taking the horses,” he said. “The rest of ye cowards stay here in case the prince returns. ’Tis the least ye can do after deserting him on the field.” Brogan had to work to keep his fury inside when what he wanted to do was pummel these fools into the oiled wooden floors. “Cumberland is no’ going to let him live, should he find him, no’ if it will cause an uprising again. Cumberland is in line for the throne, and he’ll no’ let the prince stand in his way.”
The men all regarded one another grimly. If Brogan didn’t find the prince soon, there was no telling what would happen to him. The royal heir was certainly adept with a sword, but having been raised in France well away from any strife, his skill was more attuned to that of a chivalrous parlay with friends or a duel. The roughness of the Highlands and the butchering of Cumberland’s army had been a shock to the prince when he’d arrived the summer before. And while he’d gotten better at the guerilla tactics that had helped the Highlanders win countless battles, he’d not fared well on his own, or with the few men he had in his contingent.
Brogan would find him. He had to.
“Are the horses in the stable?”
“Aye.” The man looked sideways. “But we’ll need them to make our escape too.”
Brogan narrowed his eyes. “We’ll no’ leave the stable empty, but I’m certain as a man in the prince’s service, ye’d no’ deny us the use of the prince’s own horses in finding him and bringing him to safety. Especially after ye deserted him on the field.”
The man nodded and looked down at his worn boots in shame.
A twinge of guilt tugged at Brogan’s heart. “Dinna let fear make your mind a muddle, nor cause ye to forget who ye serve.”
The soldier’s throat bobbed in answer, and surprisingly Fiona gave a small gasp. He glanced down at her, her cheeks coloring. Why such a reaction?
Brogan frowned all the harder before nodding to his men. “Gather supplies and meet me in the stable.”
“I’ll help ye with the horses,” Sorley said, then spoke to the men left at the house. “There is a vault in the cellar. Ye can keep hidden there if the redcoats come.”
Brogan wanted to ask Sorley to explain how he knew that, but that would have to wait.
“Ye too,” Brogan said to the lass. He wasn’t leaving her inside where she might easily escape out the back.
While the rest of their seven gathered a few supplies from the kitchens, Brogan, Sorley, and Fiona cautiously made their way to the stable. The hair on the back of Brogan’s neck prickled the entire time. Was the lass about to put one of her hairpins through his neck? Or were the dragoons getting closer?
“I dinna like this,” Sorley said.
“We need to get the hell out of here.”
“I couldna agree more.” The lass shuddered, looking over her shoulder, and Brogan believed the clear alarm in her manner.
Inside the stables were at least a dozen horses, two still saddled. While they worked to saddle five more, Brogan asked, “How did ye know about the vault?”
“Had to hide in there myself a couple of years back.”
“Oh?” Could Brogan trust him? Why would he need to hide?
“Aye. Old Man Forbes was hosting some dragoons. I snuck in to steal a bride.”
“That was ye?” the lass asked, a slight chuckle.
Brogan spied a small grin on Sorley’s face, and a touch of nostalgia that was foreign to him in the man’s expression.
“Did ye win?”
“Aye.” Sorley grinned. “She’s waiting for me back home. Likely going to chew my head off when I finally make it back.”