Once there, he would have proceeded to tumble a few slight, dark-haired wenches while imbibing half the place’s stock of whisky to help him pretend those wenches were Sorcha. But given the volatile political climate in his part of the world, it would not be wise. Cam was a Whig like his father, who’d been aligned with the Duke of Argyll and had been granted a viscountcy in the English peerage. Cam had spent most of his life in England, speaking English and involved in English politics. He was a lord, and ultimately, because of his ancestral and personal bonds, he was a tacit supporter of the government. The mood of the people in this region of Scotland leaned heavily in favor of the Pretender. Out of sympathy for their cause, Cam turned a blind eye to the Jacobite grumblings on his own lands. Scotland’s unpopular union with England eight years ago had done nothing to better their situation, and with the death of Queen Anne and the ascent of the Hanoverian King George to the throne of Great Britain, the time was ripe for rebellion.
