The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3)

by Julia Brannan

  His face relaxed and he smiled, his blue eyes suddenly warm.

  “Aye, I ken that, mo chridhe,” he said tenderly, taking her hand. “I’m sorry. I was just awfu’ worried, and tired, too. It’s been a long day. Let’s away tae bed. It’s verra late.”

  * * *

  “Oh, I can’t do this!” Beth said, throwing the cause of her frustration on the floor for the umpteenth time.

  “Aye, ye can,” said Duncan, picking the needles and wool up and expertly unravelling the mess she’d made. “It’s easy when ye get the hang of it.”

  She glared at the tangled puzzle suspended from the two needles in his hands.

  “Knitting is like making porridge,” she said with such venom that Duncan burst out laughing. After a moment she saw the funny side and joined him.

  “Why do ye no’ just give up, and make Anne some baby clothes from material instead? Ye’ve an awfu’ good hand wi’ a needle and thread,” he suggested. “Ye’ve made some lovely things for Maggie’s bairn.”

  “I know, but it’s annoying me that I can’t get the hang of knitting, when you all find it so easy.”

  “It isna possible to be good at everything. Ye canna get the hang of wielding a claymore either, and we all find that easy too,” he pointed out, placing the now untangled piece of work back on her knee.

  “How do you know I couldn’t wield a claymore?” she said mischievously. “I’ve never tried.”

  “Ye’d be sorry if ye did. They weigh a good fifteen pounds, and they’re awfu’ tiring if ye havena got the muscle for them,” he said, looking doubtfully at her slender arms. “Remember Alex’s scar.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I’ve not got the strength for a claymore, but I have for knitting. Do you mind if we have another go?”

  “Not at all,” said Duncan. “I’ve nothing else tae do.”

  The two of them were alone in the house. Iain and Maggie had gone shopping for food, and Angus was out in the shed at the bottom of the small garden, taking advantage of their absence to put in some more work on his present for the baby. He was making a crib, but wanted it to remain a secret until it was finished, which had resulted in much furtive behaviour on the part of the MacGregor brothers, and the rather interesting phenomenon of owls calling warningly across the garden in broad daylight if the mother or father in waiting showed any sign of visiting the shed. Maggie and Iain, whilst remaining ignorant of the reason for the conspiracy, were of course extremely suspicious, but were collaborating to the extent that they rarely went in the back garden any more, with the resultant diminishing of the diurnal owl population in the area.

  Alex was out at yet another meeting with the principal English and Welsh Jacobites. These meetings were testing him to the full, because whilst he understood some of the objections the others had to committing openly to the Stuarts, he mistrusted them and doubted their stated intention to participate in a rebellion at any level. He often returned home tired and crabby, smelling of tobacco smoke and brandy, with little or no progress to report.

  “I wonder how Alex is getting on,” pondered Beth now, dropping three stitches without noticing. “I wish I could be with him.”

  “He’d take you if he could, ye ken that,” said Duncan, taking the knitting gently off her and retrieving the stitches before they could unravel too far. Alex had said as much the previous day. It would be useful to have an ally quietly watching proceedings, picking up subtle reactions that he, fiercely negotiating, might miss. But he was neither attending these meetings as himself nor as Sir Anthony Peters. He did not trust the English Jacobites enough to reveal his true identity to them, and of course if he went as the foppish baronet, he would be revealing openly to people who were already under suspicion by the authorities that Sir Anthony was a spy. Instead he had taken on the role of Benjamin Johnson, a cloth merchant from Liverpool, complete with suitable accent, sombre clothing, a hideous light brown wig and brass-rimmed eyeglasses. No one would ever guess that the cloth merchant was Sir Anthony; and it would take some considerable scrutiny to recognise Alex MacGregor in the unprepossessing features of Mr Johnson.

  Beth was another matter entirely. With her glorious hair and striking facial beauty, she would be far harder to disguise. The men Alex was meeting were of the nobility. There was a good chance they might run into Sir Anthony and his wife. It was not worth the risk of them recognising her, much as he would have liked to have her with him.

  From the hall came the faint but unmistakable sound of someone knocking on the front door. Duncan and Beth looked at each other.

  “Are ye expecting a caller?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “But it could be Isabella, or Anne, I suppose. Or anyone who wants to find out how my affair with the Elector’s son is going.”

  Duncan stood, smoothed down his dark blue velvet breeches, slipped into his shoes and retrieved his coat from the back of the chair. He looked down his nose at her with the utmost arrogance.

  “How do I look?” he asked.

  “A perfect footman.” She smiled. “Except for the wig.” She stood up, abandoning the knitting and helped him to put it on, tucking his own hair up under it. He moved to the door as the caller knocked again.

  “Is my lady at home?” Duncan said formally.

  “Yes.” Beth sighed. “I might as well face the hordes. Unless it’s Cumberland himself, in which case I have a particularly infectious disease of some sort. Leprosy. Plague. You decide.”

  She picked up the knitting again. Now, what was it? Hold the wool loosely. That was the problem. She felt that if she didn’t keep a death grip on the yarn, all the stitches would fall off the needle, but of course that was ridiculous. All she had to do was relax. She draped the wool carefully over her fingers and knitted half a row. The library door opened and Duncan walked in.

  “Who is it?” she asked without looking up.

  “Lieutenant Cunningham to see you, my lady,” said Duncan politely.

  The needles jumped in her hand and half the stitches slid neatly off one of them.

  “Oh damn it to hell!” she said angrily, referring to both the baby garment and the identity of the visitor, who now appeared behind Duncan in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth,” he said hesitantly.

  “What do you want, Richard?” she replied without preamble.

  “Er…shall I tell cook to prepare tea, my lady?” asked Duncan.

  “No, Murdo,” said Beth. “Lieutenant Cunningham will not be staying long enough for tea.”

  Duncan nodded, bowed, and left the room. He would stay out of earshot but close enough to hear if she shouted him, she knew that. She looked belligerently at her brother. She had no need to be polite; they were not in company.

  “What do you want?” she repeated, enjoying his obvious discomfort at the lack of welcome. He stood in the doorway undecided for a moment, then took two steps into the room.

  “I am making a social call,” he said, attempting a smile. “It’s quite normal for brothers and sisters to visit each other.”

  She looked at him coldly.

  “It’s gratifying to know that you’ve remembered I’m your sister, Richard,” she said. “You have not always done so.”

  He flushed scarlet, destroying the flattering effect of his bottle-green outfit, which went well with his dark hair and colouring.

  “But in remembering our familial connection, you’ve forgotten something else,” she continued. “We have a bargain, you and I.”

  “A bargain?” he echoed.

  “Yes. I agreed to marry Sir Anthony and get you your commission, and you agreed to get out of my life and have no further communication with me. I appreciate that whilst you are staying at Edward’s we are bound to see each other from time to time. That is inevitable. But your presence here is not only unwelcome, it’s also breaking your promise. Get out.”

  He stiffened at her rudeness, his face darkening with anger rather than shame this time, but he made a visible effort to
keep his temper, and she knew then that he wanted something from her, badly.

  “Is Sir Anthony at home?” he asked, looking round as though he expected the baronet to materialise magically in the room.

  “No,” answered Beth, rethinking her attitude. She did not want Richard to call again. She wished to avoid him and Alex talking together, as far as she could. “You can tell me what you want,” she asked again, in a less belligerent tone.

  He responded to it immediately, moving into the room and sitting down. He looked around.

  “This is a beautiful house. You have done very well out of your marriage after all, Elizabeth,” he said, smiling properly at her this time.

  “So have you,” she responded, not returning the smile. “You got not one commission, but two.”

  “Are you happy?” he asked her unexpectedly.

  “Do you care?” she said.

  It was not the response he had expected; to say yes would be an outrageous lie, and he could hardly say no. She could see him searching round for another way of breaking the ice. She wondered whether to let him waste more time trying, then decided against it. She wanted him to leave, not to squirm.

  “Richard,” she said. “Small talk is not your forte, particularly when you don’t like the person you’re making it with. You’ve clearly come here to ask Sir Anthony something. He isn’t here and I don’t expect him back for some time, but if you tell me what you want I promise I’ll inform him as soon as he returns.”

  He looked at the floor for a moment, undecided, fiddling with the hat in his hands. He had lost a little weight, she noticed, and it suited him.

  “My colonel is to retire in January,” he said finally, putting the hat down on the chair beside him. “I don’t know if you know how the army commission system works, but…”

  “Everyone moves up,” she interrupted.

  “It’s not quite as simple as that, but basically, yes,” he said. “If I want to be considered for captain, I have to say so now. It’s like a chain; everyone depends on the one below or above, and it takes time to organise.”

  “So even though he doesn’t retire for two months, you have to commit yourself now,” Beth said.

  “Yes,” said Richard. His eyes were shining at the thought of another promotion. He looked almost handsome, in a saturnine sort of way.

  “Well I don’t know why you felt a need to tell me first, but congratulations,” she said, knowing now exactly why he had come to see her. His ambition has overcome his reason, she thought. He truly believes he can talk me, or more probably Alex, into paying for another commission for him. He had put what happened between them to the back of his mind and was arrogant enough to believe that because he could forget, she would, too.

  “This is a real chance for me to prove myself, Beth,” he said, forgetting himself and using the diminutive of her name in his excitement. “As a captain, I’ll command a troop of up to sixty men and officers. Once I’ve shown my competence in leading them, there’ll be no stopping me.”

  “As I said, congratulations,” she repeated. She was not going to anticipate his request for money, as he clearly hoped she would.

  He blushed again, but kept his eyes on her, his face earnest.

  “Beth, I swear to God that if Sir Anthony will loan me the money to get this promotion, I’ll pay him back within the year. He can easily afford it. The jewels you wore to the opera the other night alone would nearly pay for it. It would be nothing to him, but it’ll change my whole life.”

  She looked around at the sumptuous furnishings, thought about the expensive clothes in her wardrobe and the diamonds she’d worn to the opera, and wondered what Richard would say if he knew that not one scrap of it belonged to her husband. He didn’t even have legal ownership of his name, or the land his clan lived on. He was penniless. The only money they had of their own was her dowry, and even that would be forfeit if the true identity of her husband was ever discovered.

  “As I’m sure you can imagine, Richard, this lifestyle is very expensive to maintain. Appearances can be deceptive. Many society people are not rich, but actually heavily in debt,” she said.

  “Are you telling me that your husband is up to his eyes in debt?” Richard said, stunned.

  She had thought for a moment to tell him that, but then realised that she had no need to make excuses for what she was about to say. She was not afraid of him. He could hit her, although he would have to answer for it to the authorities this time if he did; but he had no hold on her any more.

  “No, I’m not telling you that,” she said. “I’m telling you that Sir Anthony will not pay for your captain’s commission.”

  He leaned forward as though to reach for her hand, and she recoiled from him. He dropped his hand.

  “Beth, please,” he said. “The man is in love with you, any fool can see that. You have him wrapped round your little finger. He will agree to anything you ask.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I am not going to ask him. I promised I would tell him why you called, and I will, but I will not ask him to pay for your captain’s commission.”

  “Can we not put the past behind us?” Richard asked, trying to put a pleading tone in his voice. “I know I pushed you into marrying Sir Anthony, but it was for your own good. You have done very well out of it; you’re mixing with the cream of society and you’re obviously happy. If it hadn’t been for me you would still be in rags, struggling to make ends meet in that dilapidated house in Manchester. Surely that’s worth something? If you do this for me, I will never ask for anything again, I swear it.”

  “You bastard,” she said coldly. “You have the cheek to try to tell me you had my welfare at heart when you forced me into marriage with Anthony? You’re forgetting something, Richard. I know you. Hatred is the only honest emotion between us. Nothing would have made you happier than if he’d kept me beaten and starved in a cupboard. It must really upset you to see me contented. I owe you nothing, and that’s exactly what you’ll get from me. Nothing.”

  He glared at her, the mask of civility slipping.

  “He signed your dowry over to you, didn’t he?” he said. “You can’t have spent all that. You’re careful with money. I only need a thousand pounds. I’ll pay you back, with interest if you want.”

  God, would he not give up?

  “No. No. Never,” she stated flatly. “Is that clear enough? Ask someone else. Goodbye.” She stood up as a signal that he should leave, and he rose as well.

  “You’ve paid for those lazy servants of yours to buy their own house and lord it about, and for that bloody slut to rent a shop,” he said, his voice rising, showing his true colours at last. “I’m the eldest, for God’s sake, and the heir! That money should have been mine. You had no right to it!”

  “Take it up with your lawyer, then,” she said. “But leave right now, or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  His hand moved automatically towards the hilt of his sword. It was the only thing he had in common with Alex, she thought. They both wore a sword as a practical item, not as decoration, as some men did.

  “You think you’re something special, don’t you, just because you’ve got a pretty face?” he spat. “You sweet-talked father into cheating me out of my inheritance, and you’ve managed to charm that pathetic molly into giving you anything you want.” His left hand formed into a fist. The muscle in his cheek pulsed and she backed away out of arm’s reach, fetching up against a small table. She didn’t want to shout for Duncan and let Richard think she was afraid of him, but if he made a move to hit her she would have to.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling pleasantly because she knew that would annoy him more, although her voice shook with the effort of controlling her temper. “Life is unfair sometimes, isn’t it? It gave me the looks and the charm of the family. Shame there wasn’t much left over for you. Still, you’re learning to plead quite well. You did a reasonable job today. If I didn’t know you so well I might have been fooled. I’m sure you’ll be able
to persuade someone else into funding you, if you practice a bit more. Murdo!” she shouted, as though calling the footman to see Richard out rather than stop him murdering her as he clearly wanted to do. The door opened almost immediately, as she had expected it to. Richard unclenched his fist, retrieved his hat from the chair and slammed it onto his head. Then he turned back to her.

  You mark my words, you bitch,” he snarled, eyes blazing. “You’ll be sorry you refused me this. I’ll make you regret it, you see if I don’t.”

  “I already do,” she said icily. “I regret letting you into the house to waste twenty minutes of my time. I won’t be doing it again.”

  He spun round and strode from the room. Duncan followed him out, returning a few moments later. Beth was still standing in the same spot.

  “I take it that was no’ exactly a congenial meeting, then,” Duncan commented.

  She stood for a moment more, breathing heavily. Her hands were trembling. Then she turned to the table behind her, picked up the vase of flowers standing on it and threw it at the wall. It shattered, water and flowers cascading everywhere.

  “The bastard!” she screamed. “I hate him! Why can’t he just leave me alone?”

  Duncan eyed the mess of petals and glass for a moment, then turned back to her.

  “Aye,” he said calmly. “Brothers can have that effect on ye sometimes.”

  She looked at him for a moment, her body stiff, her face twisted with rage, and then she started laughing. Her body relaxed as her anger was transformed to mirth.

  “Oh God,” she said between somewhat hysterical giggles, as he guided her gently back into the chair. “What would I do without you?”

  “Ye’d have to cope wi’ Alex and Angus on your own, which is a fate devoutly no’ to be wished for, believe me,” he said, laughing with her, although he was somewhat concerned about what had caused her explosion of temper.

  She was just starting to calm down and was outlining Richard’s purpose for visiting, when Alex returned from his meeting.