Page 3 of Highland Fire

The rain was unrelenting, and dripped through the sodden tent like great gobs of melting wax.

Outside, on both sides of the conflict, men were charging about, dragging hundreds of cannon into place for the morrow’s battle.

Cavalrymen were testing the mettle of their double-edged sabers or practicing the parry and slash which, God willing, would carry the day against Napoleon’s lancers.

In nearby cottages, up on the ridge, grim-faced surgeons were laying out their instruments in preparation for the grisly aftermath.

Inside the tent, the only light came from a sputtering candle.

The two occupants, young men both, had donned their cloaks and sat in watery state amid the trodden rye.

What could be seen of their red tunics and gold lace indicated that they were officers of a Scottish regiment—the Scots Greys.

They were seated on folding chairs at a folding table—all army issue—and each was engrossed in his private thoughts.

Colonel Lord Randal, “Rand” to his intimates, stretched out his long legs.

Idly observing the glutinous mud which adhered to the soles and sides of his boots, he frowned and wondered how he could introduce the subject on his mind without making himself sound like some green boy suffering from an incurable dose of calf love.

It was no such thing. It was simply that with David’s arrival, he had been given the perfect opportunity to clear up the mystery of the girl’s identity.

In the months since she had happened in his way, she continued to intrigue him.

She was an enigma, and Rand hated enigmas.

He coughed. “I was wondering, David…”

“Yes?” David Randal, in his mid-twenties, and the younger of the two by a good five years, looked up with interest. His hair was dark and fell in disordered tendrils around a rather sensitive face.

Doggedly, Rand continued, “I was wondering…eh…how our mounts will weather the mud out there during tomorrow’s battle?”

“Mmm.” David nodded absently and lapsed once more into a reflective silence. Some minutes were to pass before he observed, “It’s a matter of family pride and tradition.”

“What is?”

“Us…here…serving with the Scots Greys. According to my father, there have been Randals serving with the Scots Greys since the founding of the regiment.”

“True, but that was when the Randals really were Scottish. We are Englishmen, David, and I, for one, don’t mind admitting it.

” Rand laughed and shook his head. “If I had known, when I first joined Wellington in Spain, that Scotland Forever was the regimental battle cry, I would have moved heaven and earth to serve with the Guards.”

Smiling, David said, “You are more Scottish than you know, in spite of your cultured English accent.”

“Am I?” murmured Rand quizzically.

“You are a Scottish peer, are you not, and the chief of Clan Randal? You can’t get around that. You may not like it, Rand, but I’ll wager there’s a Highlander lurking somewhere inside that tough hide of yours. One day, you’ll find out.”

“I see what it is. You have been bewitched by that summer you spent at my place in the Highlands. Deeside will do that to you. Come to think of it, it did seem that you were in a bit of a daze a good deal of the time. I don’t remember you joining in any of the entertainments I had laid on for my guests.

” Rand’s smile deepened, and he went on easily, “Lazy days spent hunting and fishing with friends, and nights given over to the fair Cyrenes I had especially imported from Aberdeen.” He let out a long sigh and slanted his cousin a questioning look.

David regarded Rand for a long moment. Gradually a wicked glint kindled in his eyes. “You are not going to get the girl’s name out of me, Rand, so you can stow the charm.”

“Did I ask for a name?”

“I know you. And we’ve had this conversation before.” David was smiling.

So was Rand. “Did I really kick up a ruckus, later, when you refused to give me her name? I have no recollection of it.”

“You were like a man demented. It took three of us to restrain you. Madam Rosa and her girls were so alarmed they locked themselves in one of the upstairs chambers. You certainly know how to put a dampener on a party, cousin.”

A dryness had crept into Rand’s tone. “Yes, well, if you remember it was my party, paid for out of my own pocket, even supposing my friends had kindly arranged the thing without my knowledge.”

David’s eyes were bright with laughter. “What else are friends for?”

Rand returned a mellow smile. “There never was a ‘sodger’ who was courting her, was there?”

Silence.

“And there were other things I should have questioned at the time. A country girl wouldn’t have taken such pains to conceal her identity. This girl must be someone with a reputation to protect.”

“You have a strange idea of country girls.”

“And her accent—there was something odd there.”

“Was there?” murmured David. “I didn’t notice.”

“Oh yes. If I had not been slightly inebriated, I would have spotted it at once.”

“You were three sheets to the wind,” retorted David, not mincing words.

Ignoring the taunt, Rand continued, “When she forgot to play her part, her English was as pure as yours or mine, allowing for the more melodious Highland inflection, of course.”

“If you say so, Rand.” David was enjoying himself enormously and didn’t mind showing it.

“Were you her lover?”

“What?” David came abruptly upright.

“I said—”

“I know what you said. Good God, she’s not that kind of girl. We were friends, nothing more.”

“Every girl is that kind of girl.”

“You don’t know…” He stopped himself just in time.

Pressing his lips together, he shook his head.

At length, he laughed. “You devil! Look, I promised her on pain of death that I wouldn’t reveal her name.

Why do you care? You haven’t conducted yourself like a monk in the last several months.

I’m perfectly aware that, at this very moment, the divine Lady Margaret is ensconced, at your expense, in a snug little house in Brussels awaiting your return.

And when you were in Deeside, you showed not the slightest interest in cultivating the acquaintance of any of your neighbors. ”

Rand snorted. “If I didn’t, I had good reason. I could not keep track of all the feuds that bedevil these Highlanders. Even our own clan is divided against itself.”

“I never understood the genesis of that quarrel,” said David carefully. “The Randals of Glenshiel hate our branch of the family. Why?”

“As far as I know, it all got started during the rebellion of forty-five. They fought for Prince Charlie. We came out in support of King George. The aftermath was inevitable. They were punished by the crown and we were rewarded.”

“Is it true that the old boy—Glenshiel, is it?—would be the present chief of the clan if his father had not supported the Stuart cause?”

“Perfectly true. But that’s not all. They were dispossessed of the title and estates which were thereupon handed over to our branch of the family.”

David let out a long whistle. “Good God! No wonder Glenshiel hates the lot of us. I can almost feel sorry for him.”

“I wouldn’t waste any sympathy on that stiff-necked irascible old goat. He has done all right for himself, or he would not be a baronet today and the laird of a sizable piece of Deeside.”

“Mmm. I think I get the picture.”

“What?”

“Oh, merely that it sounds as though you and Glenshiel have had a few run-ins over the years.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” retorted Rand and laughed. Almost as an afterthought, he murmured, “And those are the neighbors you accuse me of neglecting?”

Trying to stifle a smile and failing, David said, “I wondered when you would turn the conversation back to the girl. I’m beginning to think she has become an obsession with you.”

Something flared in Rand’s eyes and was quickly gone. His smile was faintly ironic. “You always were a romantic, David. It’s the mystery that intrigues me, not the girl. Frankly, I’m becoming bored with the subject.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“May I be permitted one last question before we send the girl to oblivion?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Where, exactly, did you first meet her?”

An unholy smile spread across David’s face. “If you must know, I met her on the steps of Crathie church after Sunday services. You should have attended church more often, Rand.”

After this, there was a lull in the conversation.

The din outside the tent increased. Some shots were fired, but neither man gave any evidence of alarm.

It had been going on intermittently for hours—men drying their carbines and firing practice shots.

At dawn, on waking, they would go through the same motions before the battle was joined.

A trooper entered and set down an elaborately inlaid, wooden lap desk. He opened it carefully and removed a silver flask and two horn drinking cups. When he had withdrawn, Rand did the honors.

“Whiskey?” David looked from Rand to the cup in his hand. “Last I remembered, brandy was your tipple.”

“Oh, this is a taste I acquired last summer when I spent my furlough in Scotland. It’s the best that can be had, so I’m told.

” He put his nose to the drinking cup and sniffed.

“It’s good, but not on a par with the stuff I have in my cellars in Strathcairn.

I never thought to ask what brand I was drinking. ”

“That,” said David gravely, “was Deeside uisge-beatha .”

“ Uisge —what?”

“Homebrew and indisputably contraband.”

Rand’s brows rose. “Was it indeed? Well, there’s not much I can do about that here.” And, smiling, he gave the Gaelic toast. “ Slainte mhaith! ”

“Hypocrite! I’ll drink to that, whatever it means.”