Tender Feud

Callum crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his cousin.

When Raith arrived, Callum’s dark, accusing stare pierced him clear across the yard. Ignoring it, Raith went into the stables, where he turned his mount over to a groom. When he came out again, Callum still hadn’t budged. With a muttered oath, Raith crossed the yard.

“No doubt you are pr

oud of yourself,” Callum said in a mocking drawl. “She came through here looking as if the soul had been torn out of her.”

Raith’s jaw clenched, but he kept silent as he pushed past Callum and went into the house.

Katrine was grateful for the deathlike numbness that wrapped around her and deadened the pain. She should have been surprised to learn that Callum was to accompany them, but after her heartrending farewell with Meggie, she couldn’t summon the interest. Even when the small party, led by Raith, rode into the fishing village of Corran and then boarded the two-masted brigantine that was to carry Katrine home, the merciful numbness protected her.

It was an hour later, as she dispassionately surveyed the passing shores of Loch Linnhe, a stiff breeze whipping up her traveling cloak and billowing the square sails above her head, that Katrine could even make herself wonder at the curiosity. Callum was captain of the vessel, that was obvious from his orders to the crew, yet the ship seemed far too large for the purpose of smuggling. No doubt with its speed, it could easily evade the King’s excise men, but such a vessel would be spotted and recognized with little trouble. And eventually captured. Katrine shivered at the thought of Callum and his band of brave Highlanders being taken by the British.

“Are you cold, Katie?” Callum’s lilting, masculine voice murmured in her ear.

Startled at his nearness, she turned to glance up at him. Callum had entrusted the wheel to the first mate and come up behind her, his footsteps unheard over the snapping sails and creaking timbers.

“No,” she replied truthfully. “I was merely thinking of what would happen to you if you were ever caught in your unlawful smuggling activities.”

A dark eyebrow shot up, an amused smile twisting his mouth as he moved to stand beside her at the gunwale. “I am honored by your concern, sweeting, but ease your mind. I’m not likely to be caught in any illegal endeavors. Not unless you choose to tell your uncle the identity of your abductors. And you wouldn’t do that, now would you, Katie? Not when you might implicate Raith as well.”

The dull ache that had merely gnawed at her all morning suddenly became sharp and jagged. Without meaning to, she glanced along the railing where Raith stood at the stern, as far away from her as possible. He seemed as remote and as intransigent as the Scottish Highlands. Beyond him a dramatic vista etched the horizon—majestic piles of mountains heaped mass upon mass, with the bulky, cloud-capped summit of Ben Nevis looming over Fort William like some benevolent giant.

Dragging her eyes away, Katrine returned her gaze to Callum. Like Raith he was dressed in Lowland attire, and though his clothing lacked the fine ruffles and rich trimmings that were impractical and unnecessary for the task of commanding a ship, his garb bespoke a similar genteel elegance.

“You aren’t really a smuggler, are you?” Katrine murmured, suddenly convinced that she had been wrong about Callum all along.

He shrugged almost apologetically, then shook his head. “Alas, no, Katie. You chose to think so, and I didn’t want to disappoint so charming and lovely a lass.”

“Well, if you aren’t a smuggler,” Katrine retorted, irritated that all this time he had been roasting her, “what are you?”

Callum regarded her with unshakable amiability, his dark eyes dancing. “A humble seaman, my dear. Merely a humble ship’s captain.”

Humble, hah! Katrine thought with a trace of her former spirit. Absolutely nothing about Callum MacLean was humble. He was bold and arrogant and lawless, just like his cousin. Her narrowed expression told him so.

But Callum seemed unperturbed. “I’m not above taking a cask or two in payment for my services, mind you, but as a general rule I don’t traffic in contraband.”

Did he intend to keep her guessing? “What services?” Katrine demanded, at the end of her patience.

“I transport indigent Highlanders to England—Blackpool or Liverpool, usually—where they can find passage to America.”

“Emigrants? You carry Highlanders to England so they may emigrate?” Katrine stared at him.

“There’s nothing dishonorable in it, I assure you.”

“I didn’t think there was.”

“And there’s a need for what I do. After the Forty-five, countless Highlanders fled Scotland in fear of their lives—and those who didn’t were charged with treason and forfeited their lands to the government. Others were evicted from their crofts by their new English landlords. Some simply grew weary of eking a living from harsh soil in a harsher climate. Most of them are poor. Even after selling all their worldly possessions, they can’t afford the price of a ferry ticket, let alone the cost of traveling to England.”

Katrine shook her head in wonder, thinking of the flood of Highland emigrants who had gone to America, giving up their freedom to become bondservants in hopes of finding a better way of life. And Callum MacLean, rogue that he pretended to be, was helping them. Her throat tightened with emotion. “I’ll wager the fee you charge is a mere pittance, if you even charge a fee.”

“Oh, we never demand payment from those who can’t afford it. Some years ago a number of our Highland lairds banded together to provide the funds.”

“Lairds? Then Raith is involved?”

“Oh, indeed. It was his idea.”

Of course. Highlanders taking care of their own. Her eyes misted with tears. “How noble of you all.”