Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  Much as Elizbeth longed to be away from Robert, she didn’t obey. She had to learn what was happening. Why would Robert send her away, then follow her, then rescue her, then try join up with her kidnappers? Her head spun with questions.

  “If she returns to Kaerndal Hall you will never see her again,” Robert said.

  “I think it more likely if you had managed to kidnap her, I would not have seen her again,” Uncle Graham said. “What are you about, McFarlan?”

  “Is Faucon still at Kaerndal Hall?” Robert asked.

  Surprise flickered in her uncle’s eyes. “What have you to do with Faucon? Speak quickly, for I am in the mood to shoot someone.”

  Elizbeth gasped. Would he really shoot Robert?

  “Drop the pistol, Graham,” a voice barked.

  Elizbeth spun to face Mister Haywood. He stood just outside the trees, a gun aimed at her uncle.

  “Uncle Graham.” She grabbed his arm.

  “I would do as he says, McKinley,” Robert said.

  Her uncle’s attention remained locked on Robert. “He might shoot me, but not before I kill you.”

  “Robert, please,” Elizbeth pleaded.

  “Haywood was sent here by Saundra Logan the Duchess of York,” Robert declared.

  Elizbeth released her uncle’s arm, hands flying to her mouth.

  “What the devil?” Graham’s head whipped toward Mister Haywood. “Bhradain Haywood?”

  “Graham McKinley,” Mister Haywood lowered his gun to his side, dipping his head in greeting. “Faucon intends to take your nieces and Davi—rather, your sister, to France.”

  Elizbeth stared. Did everyone but her know this Mister Haywood? How did he know about Faucon and her father’s plans?

  “Shortly after Elizbeth left, I received word that a Frenchman had been sighted heading toward Kaerndal Hall,” Robert added. “I followed to stop her from returning home. Not to kidnap her.”

  “Elizbeth told you about James’s plans, and the Frenchman.” Uncle Graham looked back and forth between Robert and Mister Haywood, brow furrowed.

  Elizbeth swallowed a rush of guilt, though why she should feel any for confessing to Robert she didn’t know.

  Robert nodded, but still didn’t look at her. “Aye, she told me all.”

  “Still, that doesn’t explain how you know about the French pup.” Uncle Graham directed his words at Mister Haywood.

  “We already knew of Faucon,” Mister Haywood said. “Graham, your brother isn’t wrong. You are the Cardinal’s offspring.”

  “You are as mad as James,” Uncle Graham whispered, but the arm pointing the gun at Robert started to drop. “Who is ‘we’? What is really going on here?”

  Robert looked to Haywood, who nodded, then Robert said, “Saundra Logan is the Duke’s wife, the Duchess of York. What your brother does not know is that she sent Haywood here to take the women to safety.”

  “Indeed?” Uncle Graham’s eyes gleamed. “Just what part do you play in this, Mister McFarlan?”

  Elizbeth held her breath in anticipation of the answer.

  “He is a lieutenant of the Luchd-Dìon,” Haywood interjected.

  Elizbeth frowned.

  “Luchd-Dìon?” her uncle repeated. “What the devil is that?”

  “We protect the Stuart line,” Robert said.

  “Protect the—” Uncle Graham barked a laugh. “We are in Bedlam, and you are the perfect one to lead us there, Haywood.”

  “Show him your arm,” Mister Haywood said to Robert.

  Elizbeth watched, fascinated, as Robert shucked his coat, then fold it over one arm and rolled up the other shirtsleeve to reveal a well-muscled forearm. Elizbeth’s face heated, but her attention caught on dark lines marring his skin. He bore a strange mark on his inner arm. Runes, inked into his skin.

  “What the hell am I meant to make of that?” Uncle Graham demanded.

  “‘Tis the mark of Luchd-Dìon,” Mister Haywood said as Robert set his clothing back in order. “We each of us have one.”

  “What is that supposed to prove, Haywood?” Uncle Graham asked. “You could just as well brand a mule on your arse and tell me it means you’re the pope.”

  “This is serious, Graham,” Mister Haywood said.

  “The kidnapping and guns already told me that, Haywood.”

  Elizbeth didn’t comprehend half of what the men said, and simply couldn’t believe the other half. “None of this is possible,” she said.

  She would have known, would she not?

  Known what? That they were secretly royalty? That the man she loved, worshiped, wasn’t the man she thought he was at all? If Robert was part of this, whatever this was, then he’d lied to her. Possibly about everything...then labeled her a liar for speaking the truth.

  She took a step toward Robert. “Is your name even Robert McFarlan?”

  At last, his eyes shifted to her. “Lieutenant Robert Matland, at your service, Miss McKinley.”

  Her knees weakened. “Everything about you was a lie.”

  His expression remained neutral. “Not the important things.”

  Chapter Eight

  Graham looked between his niece and her beau, if, indeed, Robert McFarlan… Matland…whatever the devil the fellow’s name was, still qualified as a beau. From the rage reddening Elizbeth’s cheeks, Graham wasn’t sure he did.

  Haywood cleared his throat. “Might I suggest we all put our pistols away and take this farther from the roadway? Miss McKinley’s maid ran for help.” He nodded toward the dense pines from which he’d emerged. “Even if she doesn’t succeed in rousing a force, anyone could come along.”

  Graham shot a quick glance around. He’d forgotten Elizbeth traveled with a maid, and coachman. He’d been so incensed to come across Robert Mc—rather, Matland, manhandling his niece, he’d lost sight of all else.

  “Will Daniel find us in the trees?” Matland asked. Lines creased his brow. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

  Haywood shook his head and stowed his pistol. “I didn’t tell him to return. I heard Graham’s approach and doubled back.” He expression took on a censorious cast. “You ought to have heard him as well, Matland, were you not so…engaged.”

  Graham uncocked his pistol. “Elizbeth, come. Haywood is correct. We must get off the roadway.”

  His niece left off glaring at Matland and tromped toward the tree line. Graham took in the rigid set of her shoulders. He didn’t like Matland’s chances. Graham had angered enough women to judge when one was well and thoroughly incensed. Expression a mixture of dejection and pique, Matland turned and strode after her. Graham stuffed his pistol into his waistband and, he and Haywood followed. Graham hadn’t seen Haywood in what? Nearly a decade? But the man had the feel of an absent, but good friend.

  “Was Davina at the manor when Faucon arrived?” Haywood asked, voice low and intense as they entered the trees.

  Graham shook his head. “The last I saw, she and Margarette were galloping off across the east meadow as if Old Nick himself hounded them.”

  Haywood’s shoulders dropped back to their normal angle, a relieved sigh bursting from his lips. “Thank God. I don’t want to think what Faucon would have to do to Davina to force her into a carriage with him.”

  They reached Graham’s horse. He untied the animal and they continued to where Matland’s horse had been tied not far away. From there, the going was slow, though the grove of pines, though a bit scraggly, obscured them quickly enough. With Haywood leading the way, they soon reached what passed for a clearing, where a horse stood tied to a sapling.

  Graham stopped beside Elizbeth and leveled a hard look at Haywood. “Now, what the devil is going on?”

  “And who are you?” Elizbeth interjected.

  Haywood offered a strained smile and bowed. “Bhradain Haywood, Captain of Luchd-Dìon and personal attendant of Lady Saundra Stuart, Duchess of York.”

  A humorless bark of laughter burst from Graham. “I know the king elevated His Royal High
ness to The Prince of Wales, but I do not believe that means anyone can simply step in as Duchess of York.”

  “Aye, well, it could be argued that His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales never ought to have been awarded the title Duke of York,” Robert Matland cut in.

  Elizbeth stifled a gasp, hands raised to her mouth.

  “Say that a bit louder, Matland,” Graham growled. “They didn’t hear you on the roadway.”

  “The rights and wrongs of the Crown are not why we’re here,” Haywood said. “We are here because it was the greatest wish of Henry Stuart, Cardinal Duke of York, and is still the wish of his bride, that the Stuart line remain ignorant and hidden.”

  “So much for the ignorant part,” Graham muttered.

  “So, it is all true,” Elizbeth breathed. She blinked rapidly. Her finger trembled as she pointed at Matland. “It is all true, yet you called me mad and sent me away.”

  “As was his duty,” Haywood stated. He faced Matland. Haywood’s mien could have frozen ice. “However, it was not your duty to then follow Miss McKinley. We cannot protect the line if we become the line.”

  Haywood had said the words like some sort of mantra. A statute. A rule.

  “A suitable punishment will be sorted out later,” he continued.

  Matland swallowed and nodded, face devoid of expression and gaze locked on a point somewhere over Haywood’s shoulder.

  Haywood faced Graham and Elizbeth. “Aye, it is all true, and I am afraid it is even more complicated than you know.”

  Understanding dawned in Graham, chasing away a sore, decade-old hurt. He, Davina and Haywood had been close. Thick as thieves. He’d watched, and not minded, as affection grew between his closest friend and his beloved sister. Then, at the moment everyone thought Haywood would seek her hand, he’d left. Not only their acquaintance, but all of Scotland. He’d torn Davina’s heart wide open and rent a larger hole than Graham would ever admit in his chest, as well.

  In a way, that betrayal, that wanton-seeming disregard for true love, had set Graham on the path he trod. The death of James’s wife and his subsequent descent into his current state of madness only confirmed the lesson. Graham McKinley knew better than to court that precarious emotion called love.

  He shook his head and forced his concentration back to the talk about him.

  “…do not believe you,” Elizbeth was saying. “This is all some sort of elaborate ransom plot. Somehow, you heard this foolishness about Father thinking he’s a king and you plan to profit from it.” She jabbed a finger at Matland again. “You probably told him what I said,” she accused, voice thick with tears.

  “You know that is not true,” Matland said.

  “I do not. I have no idea what is true or isn’t.” Elizbeth let out a little sob.

  Graham slipped an arm about his niece and she buried her face against his shoulder. He sucked in a deep breath. “Let me see if I have this all. We are direct descendants of Henry Stuart. Great Aunt Saundra is really his wife, and my father’s mother. You two are members of a secret society created to safeguard us and keep us from ever discovering our heritage.”

  “Yes,” Haywood said.

  “Well, you aren’t doing a very fine job of it, are you?” Graham growled. “How is it, then, that the French know of our lineage?”

  Haywood hesitated.

  Understanding struck. “Good God, one of your own told them.” Graham blew out a breath. “What the bloody hell are you people doing playing in our lives?” A new fear hit him so hard Graham rocked back on his heels. “Are my father and mother safe?” His father could no longer walk. He wouldn’t be able to fend off abductors.

  “We have people guarding them,” Haywood said.

  “As competent as the two of you?” Graham allowed sarcasm into his voice.

  “So far, the French have not approached your father,” Haywood replied. “They do not want him, Graham. They want James. They need a warrior figurehead.”

  Graham scrubbed his free hand over his face. Behind him, the horses shifted. In the distance, a cart creaked on the roadway. “A figurehead? So, they don’t think James can win?” No, of course they didn’t. Nor did they care.

  “Napoleon wants the Isles divided and fighting amongst themselves when he comes for them,” Haywood said in a quiet voice.

  Graham scrubbed at his face again. “I must find Davina and Margarette…and go to my father. I must—”

  “No.” Haywood took a step toward Graham. “We need you with James.”

  Graham stared. “I will not spy on him for you.”

  Haywood shook his head. “I am not asking you to. Try to be the voice of reason. If your heritage is made public, he will hang, and likely you alongside him. Please, convince him the French are using him.”

  Elizbeth let out another sob, face muffled against Graham’s chest.

  A deep, hollow pit opened in Graham’s gut. “I think he knows. He understands France’s goals. He’s never been a fool.” Mad with grief since Maryanne’s death, but not a fool. “He simply deems the potential reward worth the risk.”

  “Then convince him otherwise,” Haywood urged.

  “But what of my parents? What of Davina and Margarette?” For the first time in his life, Graham was at a loss. “Who will take Elizbeth to safety?”

  Matland’s head snapped up.

  Haywood sent a quelling look Matland’s way. “Daniel and I shall escort Miss McKinley to Elden. It is—”

  “Nae.” Graham shook his head. “Do not tell me. I cannot make you any promises.”

  Expression grim, Haywood nodded. “Once Miss McKinley is safe, we will find your sister and Miss Margarette. Rest assured, Luchd-Dìon will do all in our power to keep them from Faucon’s hands.”

  “You damn well better,” Graham said.

  Elizbeth pulled free of him and lifted eyes still moist with tears. “You agree? You are going to send me away with these men? How can you?”

  Graham grasped her shoulders. A gust of wind whistled through the trees. Graham regarded his niece solemnly. Tear tracks stained her red-rimmed eyes.

  “I don’t claim to understand this, Elizbeth,” he said. “How far reaching, or convoluted…” He sighed. “I can promise you one thing, though, something even Davina would agree with. You can trust Bhradain Haywood.” Graham looked over her head at his one-time friend. “He is the most honorable man I know.” He hoped Haywood could read the understanding he wished to convey. Graham understood why he’d left.

  Elizbeth flung her arms about him. Graham hugged her tight.

  “If you say so, Uncle Graham,” she whispered.

  He smiled gently. “I do.” Her uncle released her, and she stepped from his embrace.

  “What about me?” Robert Matland said.

  “Did the maid see you, or the carriage driver, here on the roadway?” Haywood asked.

  Matland shook his head.

  “Then you will return to Inverness and carry on as if nothing has changed.”

  Matland looked at Elizbeth. “But—”

  “But nothing, Lieutenant,” Haywood snapped. “That was an order, not a suggestion, and consider yourself on very thin ice. At some point, I will want to know why you came after Miss McKinley and what your intentions were.”

  Matland paled, but he squared his shoulders. “Aye, sir.” His gaze darted to Elizbeth, again. “If I might, perhaps, have one moment with Miss McKinley?”

  Haywood’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “If the lady has aught to say to you.”

  Elizbeth’s expression hardened. “What?”

  Matland grimaced. “Would you…that is, perhaps we could step aside and speak?”

  Graham watched indecision war with anger in Elizbeth’s face. Silently, he urged her to speak with the man. If he read the situation aright, whether the world at large knew it or not, the McKinley family was at war and the Luchd-Dìon Clan right alongside them. People died in war. While he wouldn’t frighten his niece by voicing his concerns, Grah
am feared there was a distinct possibility she would never see Robert Matland again.

  Elizbeth gave a sharp nod. She marched across the little clearing and continued passed him, as far from Graham and Haywood as the small space allowed. Matland followed, expression resigned. Graham tried to force his thoughts forward, to plan. Elizbeth’s maid had reached Littleton Manor by now. She’d be babbling out her tale, which he could only hope was one of highway robbery and kidnapping.

  Graham turned to Haywood. “What will you do with Matthew?”

  Haywood replied with a blank look.

  “James’s coachman,” Graham clarified. “He’s a good man and not part of this.”

  “I will leave him on the side of the road.” Haywood offered a sardonic smile. “That way, you can tell James, in all honesty, that you rode up after we left and found him there.”

  Graham nodded. Haywood knew him well. “You aren’t worried the man you left with Matthew and the carriage has come looking for you, or has moved on?” Graham asked.

  Haywood shook his head. “Daniel is obedient, for all his youth.” He shot a grim look in Matland’s direction. “Unlike his brother. And, Graham,” Haywood lowered his voice, “James’s coachman is involved. We are all involved. If word gets out about what James is trying to do, every man, woman and child in Scotland will take sides, and we both know where the Highlands will fall.”

  Graham gave a slow nod. “Another Jacobite rebellion would be suicide.”

  Haywood’s smile became grim. “Aye, but we Highlanders are braver than what’s good for us, and you know ‘tis true.”

  Graham scrubbed at his face, again. If every Scot must choose a side, where would his loyalty fall? The hollow pit in his gut opened, again.

  “Graham,” Haywood continued, quieter than before. “If you see Davina before I do, tell her…” He shrugged. “That is, please tender my apologies.”

  Graham grunted. “She’d as soon spit on me as hear that.”

  For once, Haywood looked surprised. “But you just told the lass—”

  “I told Elizbeth to trust you, and that Davina would agree.” Graham shook his head, sorry for the other man. “I said not a word about Davina forgiving you.”