Free The Fearless Highlander (Highland Defender Book 1) by Amy Jarecki

Come. Tell me more.”
    As they strode side by side, Hugh glanced over at his father. “Either you’re shrinking or I’m still growing.” At three and thirty, he doubted the latter.
    Da eyed him and grumbled under his breath. “I can still beat the likes of you any day.”
    Hugh doubted that too, but he no longer had a need to prove himself. Instead, he grinned. “’Tis why you’re still clan chief and I’m living in the hills.”
    The big man thwacked him on the back with a hearty laugh. “’Tis good to see you’ve retained your sense of humor, lad.”
    Walking across the threshold, Hugh gestured to the bench and headed for the hearth while Cuddy curled up on the rag rug. “I suppose it disappeared for a bit—but never for long.” He picked up the ladle and stirred the cider. “What news from France?” Hugh hoped to God King James had sent word of a full-blown attack with the French and Spaniards sailing their eighteen gun galleons across the channel to blow the Dutchman back to Holland.
    The old man removed his bonnet and ran his fingers through his mop of unruly white hair. “King James hasn’t been able to rally the French forces.”
    A lead ball sunk to the pit of Hugh’s stomach. “Unfortunate. Now I’ve regained my strength I’m more than ready to ride against the government bastards.”
    With a glowering purse to his lips, Da pulled the missive from inside his buckskin coat and slapped it on the table. “Says we’re to pledge the oath of fealty to King William, else risk annihilation.”
    “Bloody hell.” Hugh squinted. “You mean to tell me James wants us to kiss William’s lying arse? What about the money Breadalbane promised the Highland chiefs? Has anyone seen a farthing?”
    “Not a penny has come from London’s coffers.” Da shook his head. “I’m more worried about the multitude of redcoats infiltrating the entire western shore. A man cannot ride north or south without meeting a company of bloody dragoons.”
    “The redcoats will be infesting the hills of Glencoe soon. And now King James is asking us to perjure ourselves and sign our support to a cutthroat usurper?” Hugh slammed his fist on the table. “Jesus, Da. I spent nineteen months of my life in the bowels of Fort William owing to my support for the true king—the man with the God-given right of sovereignty over Scotland and England.”
    Da tapped the missive with his forefinger. “I ken, son—our king asks us to be patient, and bide our time. Worse, John Dalrymple, the Secretary of State and Master of Stair is looking for any excuse to make an example of a clan such as ours.” Da leaned forward with an intense blaze flashing in his blue eyes. “They’re looking for any reason to march into the Highlands with ten thousand men and put us to fire and sword. And Colonel Hill has amassed enough backbiting dragoons to do it. The Camerons and MacDonalds of Sleat have already made their pledge. If I do not make haste for Fort William, we could find ourselves defending the Glen without an ally at our backs.”
    Hugh’s gut twisted. “The news grows worse.” He picked up the missive and read. “For Christ’s sake, this is dated December tenth.”
    A tic twitched under Da’s eye. “The runner said we were among the last to be notified.”
    “If you don’t sign now, two days hence you’ll have missed the bloody deadline.” Hugh slapped the parchment on the table. “Devil’s fire, there are three-foot drifts of snow out there.”
    Da snatched the missive and shoved it back into his coat. “Aye, that doesn’t give me much time now, does it?”
    The thought of a jaunt up to Fort William wasn’t entirely unwelcome—though the reason for the journey made him want to slam his fist into the wall. Remembering the cider, Hugh placed a tankard in front of his father and sat beside him with a cup of his own. “When do we leave?”
    “Oh no, you’d best stay here. Someone up at the fort could recognize you.”
    Hugh