The Highland Earl

by Amy Jarecki

  Her Ladyship released an overburdened sigh. “Of course. It was not my intention to imply that I did not appreciate the musicians.”

  “Can I dance, too?”

  Evelyn took Oliver’s hand. “What a splendid—”

  “You can have a go after I’ve taken a turn with Countess.” Fie, now John was using the silly moniker. He took the lady by the hand. “Come, the dancers are queuing for the next reel.”

  “But I don’t know the steps,” she complained as he pulled her toward the floor.

  “Just follow—’tis bound to be akin to an English country dance, just a bit livelier.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I’ll hear no more complaining.”

  She gave him a curious look as if she wasn’t quite sure what he was on about. He understood why. And though he’d had a change of heart, he was not ready to cast all of his doubts aside and start anew. No. The process of allowing Evelyn back into his good graces would take a great deal of time. He’d married the lass far too hastily. Her behavior had been sneaky and underhanded and had nearly sent them both to the Tower to await trial. And he mustn’t overlook the fact that neither his name nor his reputation had been redeemed as of yet.

  After escorting Evelyn to the ladies’ line, John closed his eyes and drew a hand down his face. He must put doubt behind him and trust in his ability to influence the crown—moreover, tonight was a time for merriment. Clan Erskine deserved to see him at his best. They deserved a ceilidh filled with laughter and song.

  Standing in the men’s line, he grinned at his wife and bowed as the music began.

  Evelyn curtsied, her smile guarded.

  Damnation, he was the cause of her misery.

  The music began, requiring clapping and skipping, which made talking difficult. Mar twirled Evelyn once and then was forced to serpentine with every woman in the line aside from his wife. When finally they joined hands and sashayed down the tunnel of dancers, he found his chance. “I’ve thought a great deal about your experiences with your father’s ah…unfairness and felt we should discuss clan and kin and what it means to a Highlander.”

  “I would like that very much.”

  When she turned away, her skirts swished across his legs. But when she reached to join elbows with the Highlander across, Mar edged in. “Pardon me, friend. Don’t mind if I change the steps a wee bit, do you?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he took Her Ladyship’s elbow firmly in his grasp to prevent her from twirling on to the next man in line. “First of all, Highlanders live by a code of ethics which has nothing to do with rank and everything to do with honor. Every man here would take up arms and defend Clan Erskine, and that is a privilege I must never take for granted. I pay a fair wage, I treat my kin with respect, and I never kick a man when he’s down.”

  She stopped dancing altogether and drew a hand over her heart. “I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear it. If only I would have fully understood when we’d met.”

  “How could you?” John brushed his knuckle over her cheek. “With your father’s example and my reputation as Bobbin’ John, it is natural for you to have assumed the worst.”

  “Lord Mar!” An Erskine sentinel rode into the light, holding a letter above his head. “We caught a messenger riding onto your lands. He said this missive is of grave importance.”

  John hastened to retrieve it:

  By the time you read this I’ll be shaking your hand—

  “Ha, ha!” John glanced through the darkness. “Tullibardine? Where the devil are you?”

  “Here.” The marquis rode in from the shadows, flanked by his men.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Aiden Murray, Marquis of Tullibardine, one of Mar’s greatest allies and confidants, followed John into the library. “I bring grave news.”

  John strode to the sideboard and poured two drams of whisky. “How can it grow worse?”

  “Ye ken how—and you have not been in London to defend yourself.” Tullibardine took a glass and sipped. “As usual, Argyll has been braying louder than a donkey in a castrating pen.”

  John gestured to a chair beside the hearth and, though the marquis sat, he remained standing. “Tell me the worst of it.”

  “For starters, Her Majesty has revoked your charter as the Secretary of State for Scotland.”

  “I was afraid of that—and after eleven years of faithful service. Damn it all! I’ll wager she’s bloody given my post to Argyll, the asp.”

  “Aye, she has. But there’s more. The bastard has taken it upon himself to declare you an outlaw suspected of treason.”

  “Fie!” John threw back his whisky and slammed the glass on the mantel. “My missives have not done a bloody thing.”

  “They might have at first, but to keep his neck from the noose Claude Dubois confessed that you and Lady Mar were his accomplices in King Louis’s plot to invade. And then he bloody escaped.”

  John marched back to the sideboard and removed the stopper from the decanter. “Holy damnation, I’m as good as hanged.” He poured, drank, and poured again. Aside from the brief interaction at the Copper Cauldron, John had never had anything to do with Claude Dubois. He’d stayed away from the conniving, guileful blackguard because, contrary to many of his friends, John had never trusted the Frenchman.

  “What more can you do to clear your name?” Tullibardine crossed the floor and topped up his own glass. “Word is the queen has her doubts about the confession, but, nonetheless, she gave the order to have you arrested and taken to the Tower.”

  John rubbed his hand over his head, his fingers brushing the damned daisy crown—the one he’d made for his wife, blast her. This very night he’d been on the verge of forgiving Evelyn. If not for her, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. He’d finally relieved his estate of his father’s debts only to be staring utter ruination in the face.

  “Once Anne gave her consent,” Tullibardine continued, “Argyll set sail at once for Scotland to assemble his regiment of dragoons. From there he plans to march on Alloa.”

  “I should have known the duke would be champing at the bit to see to my demise, the maggot. Is there time to set my affairs in order, or must I flee with my family this night?”

  “I came as fast as I could—set sail the same day as Argyll. By my calculations you have a few days at best, but I’d recommend you leave on the morrow.”

  “Blast it all, I blame Lady Mar for this.”

  “Her Ladyship? No!” Tullibardine threw out his hands. “You’re blaming her for Dubois’s treachery?”

  “I followed her to the Copper Cauldron—baited by Argyll, of course. Nonetheless, she’d been spying for Dubois for over a year.”

  “She’s not the only one. The man had us all thinking he was supporting James in the succession, not to annex Britain to France.”

  “But she’s my wife. If what you say is true, her actions led to my ruination.”

  “I understand your anger. I’d be angry as well if my wife did the same, but think on this: Lady Mar believed her actions to be in support of not only the succession, but in support of the oppressed—the same crofters and laborers for whom you have fought all these years. No, sir. I would not be so hasty to judge your wife.”

  “In light of my present predicament, I find it near impossible not to do so.”

  “Och, if it weren’t Lady Mar’s involvement with the cause, Argyll would have come up with some other ruse to bury you.” The marquis pulled a porcelain snuffbox from his pocket. “Did you ken your wife is the reason Hull was prevented from flooding the market with two shiploads of stolen wool from the Orient? Had the fleece been smuggled into England, prices would have dropped so low Scottish crofters wouldn’t have been able to sell a damned bushel, let alone woven goods. Half the country would have suffered from undue poverty.”

  “You kent this and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Forgive me. I didn’t realize you had blamed her until this very night.” Tullibardine inhaled a
pinch of snuff and sneezed. “Had you mentioned it in your missives, I would have provided a testimony in her defense. Good God, Mar, you must understand. I was deceived by Dubois. So were Seaforth and a host of Scottish lairds. He used us, but Lady Mar, and you as a result, caught the brunt of his deceit.”

  “God on the bloody cross.” John fell onto a chair and dropped his head against his palms. He’d behaved like a domineering boar. His wife had more of a backbone than most men he’d met. Evelyn, an Englishwoman, had fought for his countrymen—fought for their livelihoods—simply because it was the right thing to do. Several times she’d tried to explain her motives and he’d stopped her. Never once had she boasted about anything she’d done for the good—though he may not have listened if she had.

  “What will you do?” Tullibardine asked.

  “Jesu.” Running his fingers down his face, John glanced up at his friend. “First I must send my family to my cousin’s estate in Ayr. They will be safe there. Then I’ll set out to find Dubois.”

  “Force him to confess the truth?”

  “Aye, if I can find the bastard I’ll make him kneel before Her Majesty and attest my innocence.” But he’d need help—and he knew the perfect man. “Do ye ken where I can find Sir Kennan?”

  “Aye. But at long last I must ken where your loyalties lie. There is only one thing on which you and I disagree.”

  “The succession?”

  Tullibardine gave a nod.

  “To you and only to you will I reveal my hand.” John lowered his voice and scooted to the edge of his chair. “You ken, as Secretary of State for Scotland, I was never at liberty to have such an opinion.”

  “Thanks to Argyll, those shackles have been released.”

  “Och aye? I may be free of the queen’s whip, but I’m now a wanted man about to go into hiding whilst I run for my very life.”

  The marquis eyed him. “Ye ken you have my sword and that of my army. But tell me true—are you James’s man?”

  “Aye. Have been all along.” Standing, John grasped his friend’s hand. “’Tis why we are allies, brother—now tell me, where can I find Cameron and his ship?”

  “He’s on the Continent at the moment, though I expect him to moor in the Port of Dundee with a shipment within the fortnight.”

  John winced. A day or two would have been preferable. “He’s bringing communications from James, is he not?”

  “You didn’t hear such news from me, though I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t. But why are you looking for Sir Kennan?”

  “First of all, he has as much at risk as I.”

  “Truly?” Tullibardine asked. “Please tell me more.”

  “Let us just say, the man has the heart of a pirate and cause to hate Dubois as well.” John might be fast allies with Tullibardine, but now was not the time to reveal anything about the missing gold or Sir Kennan’s role in the affair. Either the captain was dallying on both sides of the fence, or he’d be as invested in finding Dubois as John. Either way, locating Cameron was the first step in clearing his name—and Evelyn’s as well.

  Pacing the floor of her chamber, Evelyn pressed a hand to her forehead. Every fiber of her being demanded she tiptoe through the corridors, stop outside the library, and listen at the door. Something of grave importance was afoot. And it most likely, unquestionably, concerned her.

  As soon as the marquis had arrived, the gathering ended. John had barked orders at everyone, including her. She’d been tasked with taking Oliver and Thomas to the nursery and tucking them in. It was right for her to assume charge of the lads, even though Tullibardine was among her Jacobite confidants. If only the marquis could have taken her aside for a moment to explain the nature of his visit.

  A knock came at the door. Evelyn jolted, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. Was it John? Did she dare hope her husband would see fit to bring her the news?

  “Enter,” she said, trying to sound composed.

  Thank heavens Mar stepped inside and not one of the servants. “Most likely you’ve guessed Tullibardine’s visit was not a social call.”

  “I gathered.” She started to step toward him but stopped herself. If she moved too close, she might do something too intimate, like grasp his hands while pleading for leniency.

  Mar’s expression grew dark, grave. “Dubois is at large. Worse, before he escaped the Tower, he named the pair of us as conspirators in the plot for France to invade.”

  She couldn’t breathe. “Holy Father. Then the charge of treason stands?”

  “Aye.”

  “No, no, no!” A tear dribbled from her eye. “This is all my fault.”

  “Nay, lass.” Warm fingers gripped her hands. Mar pulled her toward him, but Evelyn resisted. “The blame does not lie with you. I ken now—you tried to work for good but were taken advantage of just like the rest.”

  Evelyn froze. Had she heard right?

  Steeling her nerves, she ventured to look him in the eyes, to stare at those sky-blues, which had been ever so distant and filled with contempt of late. More tears spilled onto her cheeks. Through the blurriness, she saw compassion and something else she didn’t dare mistake as love. “Oh, John. What will we do?”

  She let him draw her into his embrace. His strong arms surrounded her like a warm cocoon, far away from the danger lurking beyond the walls of Alloa. His hand gently rubbed up and down her back. “We must flee. The only way to clear our names is to find Dubois.” He told her about his plans to meet Sir Kennan and his ship in Dundee, a day’s ride northeast of Alloa—perhaps more if they encountered roadblocks.

  “And the boys? How will we keep them safe?”

  “I’m sending you with them to my cousin’s estate in Ayr.”

  “Wait.” Evelyn pulled back. “You’re sending me?”

  “Aye. Seeking out that snake will lead to peril for certain—there will be hardship: nights without sleep, days without food—but I will not rest until I’m holding that man’s life in my hands.”

  “But don’t you see? If you send me to Ayr, the boys will not be safe. You said Dubois named me as well as you. If we are not together, the soldiers will find me—possibly use me, or your sons, to ferret you out.”

  He drew her to his chest, hugging her ever so tightly. “Bless it. I do not want you in harm’s way.”

  “And I do not want you to face this alone.” Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut, reveling in the relief of his embrace, yet knowing they were on the precipice of facing unknown hardship. “If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, even just a little, I vow to be steadfast. I vow to help you in any way I can. I am not afraid to take risks. I am not afraid to stand against evil.”

  “Wheesht. I cannot place your life in danger.”

  “My life is already in danger. Please—I can help you.”

  “But you are not equipped to fight.”

  “In Nottingham I am unsurpassed with a bow and arrow. I can cause a diversion. I’m not completely helpless.” Brutus rubbed against her leg as if he agreed. “Please. Let me stand beside you. I want to prove my worth.”

  “Och, mo leannan. It is I who has behaved badly. You are more a victim to Dubois’s treachery than any of us.”

  “Then you’ll let me go with you?”

  “I do not ken what I’d do if anything happened to you.”

  “John, I want to find Dubois as much as you do.”

  “Wheesht.” He kissed her lips. “Ring for Lucinda. Have her pack a satchel—something you can tie to the back of your saddle. We’ll take a packhorse with food. We’ll leave at dawn.”

  “But what about Thomas and Oliver? Are we not accompanying them to Ayr?”

  He cupped her cheek, his features tense. “There’s no time. In the morning, dress in something unpretentious. We’ll disguise ourselves as commoners once more.”

  “I hate this.” Throwing herself against him, she grasped his face between her hands. “I want you to stay with me tonight.”

  “Och, I can imagine nothi
ng I would enjoy more.” Crystal-blue eyes shifted to her lips while his chin slowly lowered.

  Evelyn rose up and met him halfway as John’s arms closed around her. This time their kiss was different than ever before. With it came a promise—an unspoken vow expressing the depth of his affection and the power of something ancient—of clan and kin and all the fellowship they’d shared at the ceilidh that night. As the kiss deepened, the force of their beating hearts could only be that of the joining of their souls. Evelyn held on for dear life.

  It had taken the deceit of Dubois and the shame of being betrayed to make her realize how much she loved this man.

  By God, I will never lose his trust again.

  As he straightened, his breath came in gasps, his eyes dark and filled with more desire than she’d ever seen them. “Remember where we left off, lass.”

  “Must you go?”

  “I need to meet with Callan and the guard and send runners to call the clans to arms. There’s much to do and only a few hours of night remain.” He strode to the door. “Sleep well, my dear, for I shall need you come the dawn.”

  Chapter Thirty

  M’lord!”

  John stirred while a fog expanded inside his skull. Surely he’d only been asleep for a few minutes. “A moment longer,” he mumbled, his voice sounding as if he’d swallowed a rasp.

  “Nay, nay. You must wake.” The sadist shook his shoulder. “Argyll and the queen’s dragoons are riding from Castle Campbell this very moment!”

  Before the mantel clock ticked another second, John leaped out of bed. “Why the bloody hell did you not say something sooner?”

  “I—”

  “Where were they spotted?”

  The valet grabbed a shirt. “Devonside.”

  “Holy hellfire.” John snatched the damned garment from MacVie’s hands and tugged it over his head. “I told you to wake me at dawn.”