* * *
Feargan awoke late the next morning, the warmth of the bed and the solitude of that peaceful room an antidote to all his troubles. As he rolled over, he forgot where he was for a moment, the sunlight streaming through a crack in the curtains as a knock came at the door.
The maid had brought fresh coal for the fire and as Feargan roused himself she set to work on the grate, soon kindling the merry flames which quickly took the chill from the room.
“Zi footman will bring zi hot water,” she said, curtseying to Feargan and leaving him to his ablutions.
A moment later, the footman arrived with a large pail of hot water which he tipped into the copper bath behind an ornate screen decorated with pretty painted birds.
“That will be all, thank ye,” Feargan said. Soon he was washing himself vigorously in the water.
It was the first proper wash he had had since leaving London for the Calais boat, and feeling immensely refreshed he dressed himself and made ready to descend to the public rooms below. The court in exile fascinated him and he had every intention of learning more about it.
Feargan had always been an inquisitive sort, interested in all that was going on around him. His schooling had been somewhat mundane, given in the charge of a man in Edinburgh, who charged his father a great deal of money to beat Feargan more than he taught him the rudiments of anything vaguely useful. But Feargan had taken responsibility for his own education and ensured that his reading was wide. So much so that he could converse on most any subject, and thanks to his mother, the language of this country held no issue for him.
In the grand hallways of the château, a flurry of activity was already taking place, and Feargan recognized many of the men and women from last night’s dance, going about their business. There was no sign of the Regent and he wondered whether the chance to speak with him again would arise, doubting his own ability to make his voice heard. It seemed as though all discussion of delaying a Highland uprising was forbidden, even if the good sense in it remained.
“Good morning, lad, and how was yer first night amidst these impressive surroundings?” Hamish McBride said, sidling up to Feargan as he stood watching the goings on around him.
“Very comfortable, indeed, I was asleep for hours,” Feargan replied.
“I have spoken with the Regent’s secretary, Lord Burleigh, and I am afraid to tell ye that Lord Torbay has rather soured the possibility of ye gaining an audience. I daenae have the influence to overturn the whisperings of Lord Torbay but if ye are determined to speak with him, I suggest ye take quill to paper and write yer thoughts down. Your time coming here has been wasted and the Regent leaves for Paris tomorrow,” Hamish said.
“But I must speak with him. I havenae travelled all this way only to fall at the last hurdle,” Feargan said, once again growing angry at the injustice of the situation he now faced.
“There is nothin’ ye can dae, unless ye wish to follow the Regent back to Paris and attempt to make yer case there,” Hamish said.
“But won’t anyone see the foolishness in this rebellion? The time is nae right,” Feargan cried, causing several people close by to be startled and look at him in a most perplexing matter.
“Hush, lad, yer ideas are nae popular, nae to me, but certainly nae to many here, Lord Torbay amongst them. For yer own safety, I suggest ye remain quiet, go back to Scotland, and let the Regent dae as he intends,” Hamish said, shaking his head as he walked off across the hallway.
Feargan was livid, and he strode out from the château, scuffing his feet in the snow as he went.
“Of all the imbeciles—foolish, arrogant man,” he cursed, looking back at the château and shaking his fist in anger.
He spent the rest of the morning in his chambers, the footman bringing a simple lunch of roasted fowl and vegetables to him as he worked. He was composing a letter, to be delivered to the Regent immediately and which he would seal so that only Charles Edward Stuart could read it.
His words were direct and to the point, no longer veiled in the polite terms which he had used in his earlier correspondence to the Regent. These letters had gone unanswered and now the Laird of Loch Beira laid out his grievances to the Regent, imploring him to delay any Scottish rebellion for the sake of people like Feargan who would feel the wrath of the Hanoverians if such an ill-fated expedition was to be mounted.
“I remain yours, loyally and truly, in the name of Our Lord, this day Anno Domini 1745,” he concluded, sealing the letter with his own wax seal and laying it on the desk before him.
If the Regent would not listen to his words, then perhaps he would read them. Whether they changed his mind, they might at least stir his heart, making him think again about shedding innocent blood on such a foolhardy expedition, one which could only end in disaster.
The afternoon was drawing on and he descended to the hallway just as Amelia and her sister appeared from the opposite staircase, clad in pretty matching shawls and ready for their walk.
“It is a pleasure to see you again, Galbreth of Beira,” Amelia said, curtseying to him as Catherine did the same.
“The pleasure is mine, ladies, it is an honor to accompany ye this afternoon,” Feargan replied, still clutching the letter to the Regent.
“What is that ye have there?” Catherine asked, pointing to the letter.
“Oh… it is a… it is a letter to the Regent, though I am told it is foolhardy to attempt to send it, as foolhardy as attempting to speak with him, no thanks to Lord Torbay,” Feargan replied.
At the mention of her fiancée Amelia blushed and the Laird apologized for causing her any offence.
“I know what kind of man he is,” she said, as they stepped out into the cold and frosty afternoon.
“Then why did you agree to marry him, Amelia?” Catherine said, taking Feargan’s arm quite unexpectedly.
“Let us not discuss such things in company, we are hardly on familiar terms,” Amelia said, chastising her sister.
“Then we must come to familiar terms with him, must we not, Galbreth of Beira? Surely Philip will not begrudge me striking up a friendship, even if his jealousy is aroused by a simple smile to you, Amelia,” Catherine replied, leading Feargan onto the long walk of snow-covered trees which she had promised to show him.
“You may be friends with whomsoever you wish, Catherine, and I hope that I too shall be friends with Galbreth of Beira, whatever Philip might say,” Amelia replied, smiling at Feargan as he turned and caught her eye.
“I daenae wish to be the cause of trouble, lasses, me business will shortly take me home to Scotland. If the Regent will not speak with me, then what is the point in staying?” Feargan said.
At these words, Catherine let out a little shriek and turning to Feargan and her sister she clapped her hands together as though the most delightful thought had just occurred to her.
“I’ve got just the idea. The Regent goes to Paris tomorrow and he always seems far happier in the city than stuck out here at court. We are accompanying him and will stay at our father’s mansion on the Rue di Rivoli, just a moment’s walk from the Regent’s residences. Galbreth of Beira should join us, it would be ever such a merry party, don’t you think, Amelia?
“Well, it is rather up to him if he wishes to join us, though I admit the proposal has its attractions,” she replied.
“Then it’s decided.” Catherine said, “tomorrow we shall depart for Paris together, and what fun that will be.”
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Also by Maddie MacKenna
Thank you for reading Highlander’s Sinful Desire!
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den Destiny
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Maddie MacKenna
About the Author
Maddie McKenna had always been passionate about Scotland. It all started with an old picture of her grandfather wearing a kilt and a sporran. She used to look at that picture and imagine stories taking place in the mysterious Highlands...
When she visited Scotland for the very first time, it was love at first sight. Both the country’s breathtaking landscape, and the warmth and livelihood of the locals made her realize why her distinctive red hair was not the only thing that made her blend with them. She took her motherland’s memories back home to Minnesota, holding them forever in her heart while using them as an inspiration for her novels.
Maddie McKenna has a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing. She started writing articles for travel magazines but soon the romance world won her over. When she isn’t writing, Maddie loves painting and taking long walks with her hubby.
Join Maddie in the unforgettable world of brave Highlanders and their bonnie lasses—a world full of passion, intrigues and steamy lovemaking, that will make you feel like you are part of the story yourself!
Highlander's Sinful Desire (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 30