by Amy Jarecki
The sound of clanging swords resounded from the gangway. With the pommel of his sword, a dragoon bashed Sir Kennan in the shoulder and sent him falling over the ropes and down to the pier.
“No!” Evelyn screamed above the mayhem with no time to spare.
Five dragoons attacked John—two in back and three in front. He swung his sword so fast it blurred, but no man could maintain such a pace. Evelyn took aim and shot one, then another.
“There’s the archer!” someone shouted.
God, no! Dragoons surrounded her from three sides. Heart pounding, she backed until her heels hung over the edge of the pier. “I’ll jump!”
She panned the bow across the scowling men as they crept toward her, their swords at the ready. Evelyn’s fingers perspired and slipped on the string.
Suddenly a deafening screech came from above.
In the blink of an eye, a firm arm wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.
“Aaaaah!” Her shrill scream resounded across the expanse of the pier. As she flew out over the sea, her arrow dropped while her arms flailed, grasping at nothing.
“Heeeelp!” she howled, kicking her feet.
“God blind me, ye’re a bloody lass,” growled a youthful voice behind her. “I kent ye were too light to be a lad.”
“Aaaaack!” she shrieked, unable to provide a coherent reply while her stomach flew to her throat.
“Brace yerself.”
Evelyn caught a glimpse of her savior right before he released the rope. Good heavens, it was Baltazar, Sir Kennan’s cabin boy.
“Ayeeee!” she yelled again as they crashed onto the deck and rolled into a heap. Any other time, she would have given the young man a firm talking to about handling women, but she was neither wearing a dress nor had she a spare minute. “Quickly! Mar and Sir Kennan!”
“My lady?” the adolescent squawked.
“No time,” she snapped, dashing across the deck and reaching for an arrow. As she arrived at the rail and lined up her sights, Sir Kennan and John leaped onto the ship’s deck.
“Cast off now!” bellowed the captain, sprinting for the helm.
Stopping, John searched from bow to stern. “Evelyn!”
“Here,” she shouted, waving a hand.
“Shove off the gangway!” hollered Mr. MacNeil.
With a thunderous and rumbling groan, the ship listed away while Evelyn watched the plank drop to the pier with a half-dozen dragoons still atop her timbers.
Crack, crack!
“Get down, m’lady,” shouted the cabin boy, coaxing her to the deck. “They’re shooting at us.”
John dove behind the wall, sliding beside them. “Are you hurt?”
“Never better.” She clasped his hands and squeezed, gasping at the blood on his sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”
He grinned with a saucy wink. “’Tisn’t my blood, lass.”
“Oh, thank the good Lord.”
Muskets blasted from the shore, the bullets stopped by the thick wooden hull. Her heart still hammering, Evelyn hardly believed they’d escaped unharmed. She turned and kissed the cabin boy on the cheek. “Baltazar, I owe you a world of thanks.”
The boy blushed. “Och, m’lady, no one calls me by my real name.”
“Well they ought to. It is a very stately name, indeed.”
John leaned around her and shook the lad’s hand. “Runner, there will be a reward for your heroism, this day.”
As the sails billowed with the wind, the musket fire faded into the sounds of the wind and the rushing sea. And Evelyn had never felt so alive. “Did you see him?” she asked. “If it weren’t for this young man, I would have had to jump off the pier and swim for my life.”
John slid his arm around her shoulders. “Aye, but not before you took care of a parcel of dragoons. Good shooting, wife—better yet, no one in Dundee has any idea it was the Countess of Mar who fired those arrows.”
“It seems we are destined to voyage on Sir Kennan’s ship,” said John, feeling refreshed after a quick wash with bowl and ewer. With Evelyn on his arm, together they proceeded aft to the captain’s cabin, where they’d been summoned.
Now clad in her arisaid and kirtle like a proper lady, she sighed. “I just thank the stars we managed to make it aboard alive.”
“I wish I could have stopped fighting just to watch Runner swing past and snatch you from the pier.” John chuckled. “If it is any consolation, Mr. MacNeil reported that Runner was mortified when he realized you were Lady Mar.”
“And so he should have been—he’s awfully brash for a boy of fourteen.”
“I’d expect no less from a youth who spends all his time with a crew of Scottish sailors. I’ll wager he kens words even I haven’t heard.”
She gave John’s arm a pat. “Though I’ll always thank the stars for that young man’s heroism.”
“Och aye.”
Once they were introduced, Sir Kennan welcomed them into his cabin. “Please, come share a meal—that is if you’ve found your sea legs.”
“The waters do not seem to be too rough this evening,” Evelyn said as a steward held a chair for her.
John moved to the table alongside Kennan. “What happened on the pier today? I’ve heard bits and pieces, though it would be nice to ken exactly what I was fighting for aside from a berth on your ship, sir.”
The captain gestured to a chair and sat as well. “The usual skullduggery Highlanders have come to expect from the queen’s soldiers. Dragoons are forever padding their purses by inflating import duties.”
“Inflating? Are present taxes not high enough?”
“They are abominable without the soldiers’ sticky fingers. And if I had paid them what they asked, I would have forgone my profits.”
John arched an eyebrow. “Not very lucrative.”
Evelyn sat back as the steward placed a napkin in her lap. “Perhaps that’s why my father does everything he can to avoid paying duties.”
“Aye,” Kennan agreed, “and I need not tell you the Scots are taxed higher than the swindlers south of the border.”
Evelyn looked on while the steward poured the wine. “That’s hardly fair.”
“It is not. The very thought makes my hackles stand on end. ’Tis something I’ve been fighting for years.” John picked up his butter knife and reached for the bread. “But things grew a tad out of hand in Dundee—there’ll be a formal complaint, mark me.”
Sir Kennan swirled his wine, then took a healthy swig. “’Tisn’t the first skirmish and will not be the last.”
John let it pass. If he ever cleared his name, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Sir Kennan received a pardon as well as a commendation. “Aside from taxes and what happened on the pier, Lady Mar and I were actually seeking you out.”
“Oh?”
After taking a bite of bread, John frowned. “It seems my plea to Queen Anne has been tainted by the Duke of Argyll.”
“The cur.” Sir Kennan scowled. “I’ve never met a more heinous snake.”
“Agreed,” John said, explaining about how Claude Dubois had perjured himself against Mar to save his own neck, after which Argyll attacked Alloa. And then he continued with the story of how they’d escaped with their lives and had been on the run ever since. “I need your help, Cameron. The only way to clear my name is to find Dubois and strangle a confession from his corrupt lips.”
Kennan raised his glass in toast. “And take back the bloody gold.”
Evelyn followed suit. “Amen to that.”
John drank thoughtfully as the stewards brought in a meal of haddock. “Have you heard anything of Dubois’s whereabouts?”
Knife and fork in hand, the captain’s face grew dark. “Word on the Continent is the fiend is under King Louis’s protection at Versailles.”
“Fie!” John cursed. “We’ll never be able to reach him there.”
Sir Kennan leaned forward and shifted his gaze between his two guests. “I wouldn’t be so certain.
I for one would relish a chance to slit his throat.”
“After he leads us to the gold and attests to our innocence.” Evelyn sliced into her fish. “But Versailles? It would take an army to lure him away from the palace.”
Chewing, Sir Kennan reached for the salt cellar. “Aye, but you forget one very important fact, m’lady.”
“What is that?” asked John.
“Prince James is well acquainted with Louis—and he oft is a welcome visitor to Versailles.”
For the first time since they’d left Loch Katrine, the heavy weight bearing down on John’s shoulders eased.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Upon their arrival at Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, the trio were welcomed by James Francis Edward Stuart. Though the prince had lived in exile since infancy, Evelyn hadn’t expected his French accent.
As it turned out, James and his wife, Maria, a Polish princess, had been invited to a feast at Versailles one week hence. The news that Louis had used Claude Dubois to plan an invasion of Great Britain and annex the country had reached James, but he had discarded it as another contrived report to create a rift between him and the king of France, who had harbored his family and treated them like royalty since their exile five and twenty years ago.
Dubois’s true motives came as a severe blow to James. In fact, Dubois had been received at Versailles as a hero, though James had heard nothing about the Spanish gold.
Fortunately for Evelyn and John, Louis’s underhandedness in the matter was the impetus needed to convince the prince to assist them with their plans to confront the French traitor.
During the week leading up to the feast, John, Evelyn, Kennan, and the prince passed many hours locked in James’s antechamber both planning their attack and discussing the future of Great Britain, with James claiming his rightful place as king.
Nights were passed in pure luxury at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where Evelyn and John enjoyed a suite and servants to rival their own at Alloa. If only Thomas and Oliver had been with them, their time at the château would have been like a grand holiday. Planning the future gave Evelyn a sense of excitement, of power, and importance.
But all too soon came their departure for Versailles, and tension filled the coach. John sat beside Evelyn throughout the twenty-mile carriage ride, his brow furrowed, his arms crossed.
“We went over our strategy time and time again,” she finally whispered while James and Maria smiled pleasantly across the coach. “I’m the only one who can do this. No one else.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” John groused out of the corner of his mouth.
On Evelyn’s other side, Sir Kennan leaned forward and looked around her. “If I had to place a wager, I’d bet on Lady Mar every time. She’s a natural-born spy.”
John glared but didn’t respond.
Five minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop.
“Ah,” said Prince James. “We have arrived.”
John helped Evelyn alight, then pulled her aside. “There’s still time to change your mind.”
At first she gave him a stern look, but once she read the torture in his eyes, she gently squeezed his hand. “I only have the strength to face that vile beast because I know you will be there.”
“But anything—”
“No.” She tightened her grip. They both knew the risks. Once they stepped inside the palace, anything could happen. Their plans might be thwarted. Their very lives might be forfeit. But they had faced grave danger before, and this was no time to back out. “I trust you, and I need you to believe in me.”
“Believe?” His mouth gaped as he blinked. “Believing in you is the one and only reason I am going along with this harebrained scheme.”
The prince beckoned her. “Come along, Lady Mar. Unless there has been a change of plan?”
“Absolutely not.” Evelyn gave her husband an intense stare, praying she imparted the powerful love in her heart before she fell in step beside James and Maria. She was to be introduced as herself, but John and Kennan were now posing as businessmen from America. Once they passed through the gates, the men would blend into the shadows and disappear.
The entire affair made being introduced at Kensington Palace pale in comparison. A grand walkway carpeted with red rose petals guided them through the vast courtyard while trumpets heralded their arrival. Roman architecture prevailed, eaves clad with gold trim, iridescent in the torchlight.
Men wearing lavishly embroidered silks and voluminous periwigs led stately women as if they were marionettes processing across a grand stage. Everywhere Evelyn looked, gowns with bows and jewels and furs, all crafted in splendorous style, surrounded her. She, herself, wore a gown of rose silk, the skirt embroidered with peacock tails and far more lavish than anything she’d ever owned before.
Inside they were shown to the Hall of Mirrors, a grand gallery of unsurpassed opulence. The walls were inlaid with burgundy marble and white Grecian statues. Above, the ceiling trimmed with gold foil displayed extravagantly ornate Baroque paintings that depicted angels and demons battling in the heavens. Mirrored crystal chandeliers, each lit with countless candles, hung overhead. And throughout the gallery stood six-foot golden pillars supported by cherubs who held high their own crystal candelabras. Though it was night, the room glowed like the interior of a golden carriage.
Still in the company of the prince and princess, Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief and fanned herself when she spotted Mr. Dubois across the hall.
“It appears as though stage one of your plan is a success,” whispered James.
“It has indeed, Your Highness. Finding the man is my cue.” Evelyn curtsied. “Please excuse me.”
Evelyn used the gilt cherub candelabras to conceal herself as she stealthily made her way toward the deceitful Frenchman. Having never visited Versailles before, she would have enjoyed the opportunity to stop and admire every marble statue and ornately carved sideboard, but such indulgence would surely thwart the plan.
Once she arrived at the gilt pillar nearest Dubois, Evelyn waited and turned her ear toward the man’s conversation. Speaking in French, he chatted with someone about the weather, of all things. And he seemed to be quite content to do so. For the love of God, who cared about whether it would rain on the morrow?
If only Dubois’s companion would move along. If she didn’t find a way to speak to the man alone, dinner would be called for soon and they’d have to take their seats. That simply would not do.
Just step out and confront him!
Evelyn tiptoed until she stopped right behind the Frenchman’s shoulder. She cleared her throat. “Well, well. If it is not Claude Dubois. Just the man I wanted to see,” she said with exalted happiness.
He turned, his movement calculated and slow, as if he’d expected her there. But the surprise reflected in his eyes was unmistakable. “Lady Mar!” he said with far too much exuberance as he took her hand.
When he bent down to apply a kiss, Evelyn gave his friend an evil eye and inclined her head away. The man understood her silent dismissal and moved along.
Stage two of the plan had just begun.
Mr. Dubois looked too merry—drunk on happiness, the swindler. “Ma chérie, I cannot tell you how surprised I am to see your lovely face. Whatever has brought you to France?”
Evelyn drew upon years of training as the daughter of a duke and, though a tempest of rage inflamed her breast, her face remained as unmoved as the surface of a glassy pond. “I sought you out, sir.”
Beads of sweat dappled the stout man’s brow as his gaze swept through the hall. “With Mar?”
“Of course not.” She inhaled, standing taller. “Due to certain circumstances occurring in London, of which I believe you are intimately aware, my husband and I have parted ways.”
The shameless fop didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Oh, how unfortunate.”
She played right along. “Truly, I do not believe so.”
“If you are blaming me—”
Dubois shook out a kerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Then how may I assist you, madam?”
“You have not guessed?” Evelyn pulled the kerchief from his fingers and playfully dashed it across his cheek, managing to smile and bat her eyelashes. Good Lord, she’d need a scalding bath when this charade came to an end. “You ought to.”
“My lady, I doubt I’ll be traveling back to England.”
“Of course you will not and nor will I.” She looped her arm through his, wondering if her flirting would ever manage to get through the Frenchman’s thick skull. “But surely you’re not retired from, from…you know.”
“Retired?”
“Does the king no longer require your services?”
“No…ah, oui. I am still His Majesty’s faithful servant.”
“That is as I suspected.” Forcing a smile, she gave his cheek a kiss, revolting and further souring her stomach. “Imagine the things we can do together.”
“Together? You and me?” he asked, with an air of disbelief.
She playfully smacked his shoulder with the kerchief. “After all the time we spent scheming in London, can you truly tell me you did not entertain a liaison of a more romantic nature?” There, she’d blurted it out. Now would he manage to take the bloody bait?
“Well I—”
“Of course you did.” She pulled him by the hand. “Come, there is ever so much to discuss.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “But what about the feast?”
“Surely we will not be missed…” Bless it, how much more convincing must she be?
Nonetheless, he followed and allowed her to tug him out to the corridor, where he promptly stopped. “My lady. Evelyn. Correct me if I am mistaken, but you never showed any interest in me before—and believe me, I was waiting with bated breath for you to do so.”
She faced him and stepped so near, she smelled soured wine on his breath. Giving the performance of her life, she smoothed her fingers along the lapels of his overstuffed doublet. “Before I was unable to act upon my attraction. But now…”