The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

She thought he must be the most desirable man. He exuded strength and confidence. He made her body react in any number of traitorous ways. Most of all, he made her feel as if she were something of worth. And it had been a long time since anyone had made her feel that way.

  She reached out and touched his face, her fingers exploring its angles and even the tiny cleft in his chin. They were the only two people in the world, cut off momentarily by the curtain from the rest of the room, deaf to the noise of loud voices, oblivious to the food remaining on the plates.

  She took a deep breath. It was only because she was so tired, so uncertain, even frightened, although she hated to admit it. She dropped her hand and straightened.

  He gave her a wry smile.

  “I am tired, my lord.”

  He nodded, his eyes shadowed by the darting light of the candle. He rose, and he helped her up. The inn was only a street away, but she was only too aware of him as they walked together, his large protective figure next to hers. She still felt the taste of his lips on hers. She knew she would always feel it.

  The rooms were ready. Neil did not know if the innkeeper had asked others to leave, or whether he had the rooms in reserve for some important person. He did not care.

  The innkeeper gave him a message with Cumberland’s seal. The duke would see them in the morning. Neil saw the apprehension in Janet’s face and he started to reach out, then remembered the innkeeper. He turned away. “Give the countess the largest room,” he said.

  He waited until she was shown to the room and the innkeeper returned and showed him his own. It was across the hall. Neil asked that water be taken to Janet’s room for a bath, then he went down to the taproom. It was filled with British soldiers.

  He took a moment with the innkeeper, placating him with coins, thanking him profusely and promising to continue his custom.

  “I am trying to reach some of the … late marquis’s friends,” he said. “He left gaming debts and I have received claims. I thought they could tell me which are legitimate and which are fraudulent. I do not want the name of Braemoor tainted.” It was a damn fool explanation, but the only one he’d been able to construct.

  The innkeeper shrugged. “There was Captain Lehgrens.”

  “Is he here?”

  The innkeeper shook his head. “He left for England months ago. You might find a few men in the taproom who might have known the late lord.”

  “I also heard he had an … alliance with an actress. Elizabeth …”

  “Elizabeth Lewis,” the innkeeper said, his eyes on the purse that Neil held loosely in his fingers. “She used to be at the Edinburgh Theater.”

  Neil tossed him another crown. “My thanks.”

  He went into the taproom, where a game of hazard was being played. He introduced himself as Braemoor. A murmur went around the room. Everyone was curious about the new marquis. “You dress more soberly,” one officer said.

  “Aye,” Neil replied with a wry grin.

  “Our condolences on Rory’s death,” one man said. “Heard the Black Knave killed him.”

  “Aye,” Neil said. “That is what they say.”

  “He must have gotten the Knave before he died. The bastard has disappeared.”

  “Mayhap the Knave escaped with the Pretender,” Neil suggested. Prince Charles had escaped Scotland some eight months earlier, despite the huge reward on his head.

  One of the officers shook his head. “We would have heard.”

  “Poor Elizabeth. She was distraught at your cousin’s death,” an officer said meanly. “Swore to take vengeance on the Knave. But I would say you did well by his death.”

  Silence settled around the table as all eyes went to the speakers’ face. It was poor manners to make such a statement, even if it were true.

  Neil shrugged. “’Twas unfortunate for my cousin, but at least this Knave fellow has not reappeared. Kept everything in an uproar. I keep expecting the bandit to dart out onto the road.”

  “It has been eight months since anyone heard of him,” one of the officers scoffed.

  Neil dealt the cards. “Mayhap he was wounded. Or just waiting until His Grace stopped looking for him.”

  A wail of protest ensued.

  He dealt himself a card face up. A black knave. “You see, gentlemen, you never know when he will appear.”

  Hours later, his purse lighter by twenty crowns, he returned to his room. He had learned that Elizabeth Lewis had left Edinburgh. No one knew where she had gone. She’d been his best hope. But he did have an idea. One that might help both Alexander and his sister. It would depend on what happened in the morning.

  Once in his room, he undressed. He took out the deck of cards he had taken from the taproom. No one objected, since he had lost. He said it would be a reminder not to game with the British again. They had all laughed.

  He laid the cards on the table and gazed at them for a moment. Mayhap he and Rory had shared more than the same name.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  They waited for Cumberland for more than two hours. Neil tried to contain his impatience. Janet was totally still, sitting neatly and formally, in a chair in the morning drawing room outside the king’s antechamber.

  He tried small talk but he was not very good at it, and he knew it. His own mind was occupied with possibilities.

  An idea kept nagging at him, and he needed to work it out in his mind. The risk was great, but it had the possibility of solving two very big problems at once.

  Could he pull it off?

  Finally, a lieutenant entered. “His Grace will see you now,” he said.

  Janet started to stand, but the lieutenant shook his head. “Just the marquis,” he said.

  Neil gave her a small smile to encourage her, then followed the lieutenant into the king’s antechamber. He exaggerated a limp as he entered.

  Cumberland sat at a desk and continued to scribble on a page below him.

  “Your Grace,” Neil said after a moment.

  “Aye, Braemoor. It appears we have more evidence against Countess Lochaene. The dowager countess is demanding her arrest. She also wishes custody of her grandson and granddaughters. Since you seem to have taken a … special interest in the lady, I wanted your reaction.”

  Cumberland was ready to act. Neil knew that from the look in his eyes, like a cat playing with a mouse. Well, this mouse could bite back.

  “The physician has changed his original opinion?” Neil asked dryly. “I wonder how a magistrate would view that.”

  “There is the countess’s threat.”

  “If threats were evidence of crimes, most of Scotland would be convicted,” he said. “And England also. Even then, the witnesses to such threats have something to gain.”

  “Are you accusing the dowager countess of false witness?”

  “I accuse no one, Your Grace. I am merely stating a fact.”

  Cumberland stood. “Do you have a personal interest in this lady?”

  “As I told you a month ago, our families were friends.”

  “And you believe her innocent?”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  “You have never married.”

  “Nay, Your Grace. I have been in no position to do so.”

  “But you are now.”

  Neil was silent as Cumberland looked at him speculatively. After a moment, he spoke, “I do not like turmoil between families loyal to England.”

  “Are you sure that Reginald Campbell is …” Neil left the sentence unfinished.

  Cumberland’s eyes sharpened. “What do you mean?”

  “None of his branch of the family marched with you, my lord, and I have heard …” He stopped again. Then shrugged. “Unlike some, I do not toss around unfounded accusations.”

  “I command you to tell me what you mean.”

  “I was attacked, Your Grace, on my way from Lochaene back to Braemoor. I was left to bleed to death. It was a well-planned ambush. I heard one of the villains say that word had come from the master at L
ochaene, that they had been informed that an English gentleman would be traveling that way.”

  Cumberland frowned. “Why did you not inform me?”

  “I was very ill, Your Grace. The countess nursed me back to health and accompanied me to Braemoor because I had urgent business. She feared I might exhaust myself and that the fever might return. I had planned to inform you as soon as my wound healed well enough to travel to Edinburgh.” Neil was fabricating as quickly as he could. He wished like hell he had his cousin’s wit. “And then you were in England. I thought it news for your ears alone. I came as soon as you sent a message and I knew you had returned.”

  Cumberland’s brows furrowed together. “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “The man who shot me left a card with me. A jack of spades.” Neil pulled out the card he’d been carrying for months. It had dried blood on it.

  “The devil you say!” Cumberland exploded. “Are you saying the Black Knave is still alive and here in Scotland? And that Reginald Campbell knows about it?”

  “I know only what I heard,” Neil said. “I did observe that one of the villains had a stiff arm. He must have been badly wounded at some time. I wished to tell you before anyone else.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “They left me for dead. A traveler found me more that way than not and took me to Lochaene. I would have died had it not been for the countess, Your Grace. All at Lochaene … can attest to that.”

  Cumberland’s face had turned crimson. “And you believe Campbell is in league with this … bandit?”

  “We all know the Black Knave must have had some support, and protection,” Neil reminded him gently. “And neither of the Lochaene Campbells fought with you.” As I did. Neil left the words unsaid, but they hovered in the air. “I also know that Reginald Campbell was in dire need of funds. Was not the Knave a thief as well as a traitor?”

  He allowed Cumberland to ponder the words.

  “Where did … this attack happen?”

  “Ten miles from Lochaene.”

  “What did the fellow look like?”

  “I cannot say exactly, Your Grace. I got only a glimpse of him. Stiff arm. Mid height. Dark hair. Short beard. The other man was tall. Red hair. In truth, I do not know that either is the Black Knave. Nor if Reginald has anything to do with them. Or whether …?” He shrugged, leaving Cumberland to finish the thought.

  Cumberland looked thoughtful.

  “Mayhap there is a reason they do not wish the countess to be around,” Neil said after a silence. He had absolutely no regret for what he was doing. Reginald was trying to get Janet hanged. He might have killed Alasdair, his own brother.

  It would take a great deal of effort to make anyone believe Reginald could have enough brains to be the Black Knave, but … with Alexander’s help, Neil thought he could do it.

  Neil liked the idea more and more. He thought his cousin might approve.

  “Would you be willing to wed the lady?” Cumberland said. “You have apparently taken her under your protection. You must feel that the charges are groundless.”

  “I do, but she is a new widow, Your Grace. It would not be seemly.”

  “Anything is seemly if it has my approval,” Cumberland replied.

  “But a rush to marriage would indeed make it look as if she had not been happy in her marriage,” Neil said. “It might give validity to Reginald Campbell’s calumnies. It might well be wise to wait until you can determine his true loyalties.”

  Cumberland’s gaze bored into him. “You are sliding away from my question, my dear Braemoor. Would you consider a match with the countess? A woman cannot run that large a property.”

  “I have placed a manager there who will report to me. I believe that is why Reginald is pressing these charges. He cannot take from the estate as he had been doing. If he can get rid of the countess and myself, then he would be only a step away from the title and freedom to act whichever way he wishes. In the meantime, if he can pay his gambling debts by splitting purses with the Knave, then …”

  “Are you ready to press those charges yourself?” Cumberland asked.

  “Unlike his family, nay. But I would like to know the truth of it. For my poor cousin’s sake as much as for the sake of myself and the countess. It would not be politic, or wise, to accuse a Campbell without proof. Mayhap we can set some kind of trap. In the meantime, though, I think the countess should stay at Braemoor for her protection.”

  Cumberland hesitated. Neil knew he had used every tool he had. His own service, dubious as it was, at Culloden. Rory’s supposed death at the hands of the Black Knave. The lack of service by the Lochaene Campbells. And, most of all, the possible capture of the Black Knave. Cumberland had been beside himself with rage when Prince Charles had escaped after six months of hiding.

  He also knew the dangerous game he was playing. He could lose everything, including his head. And then the people at Braemoor and Lochaene would lose everything, too.

  Cumberland walked over to a map. “Where exactly were you ambushed?”

  Neil pointed to a spot ten miles in the opposite direction of the true location.

  Cumberland nodded. “I will discover why Campbell did not report the incident.”

  “It would be better if you did not, Your Grace. If we are to set a trap, he must not believe he’s under suspicion.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “Wait a few weeks,” Neil said. “My men can watch him.”

  “I’ll send out patrols to comb those hills,” Cumberland said.

  “And the blockade?” Neil asked.

  “It continues,” Cumberland said.

  Neil was only too aware of that. Despite the fact that Culloden had taken place more than eighteen months ago, and that most Jacobites had been killed or were waiting in jail somewhere, the English were further strangling Scotland by starving it. He had heard, though, that several ships from Ireland were being allowed to carry oats into Scotland.

  He had planted his seed. It was time to leave before he made a mistake. He thought he had countered Reginald’s charges against Janet. Cumberland would not move now and risk talk of treason against a branch of one of his most powerful allies.

  Cumberland was through, too. “I would like to meet the lady,” he said, “and judge for myself.”

  Neil bowed. “I will fetch her.”

  Janet was standing when he reentered the drawing room. She was staring fixedly at a portrait of some past Scottish personage. It had been slashed by a sword or bayonet and left in that mangled condition.

  Aware that a British lieutenant remained in the room, Neil walked over to her. “His Grace would like to see you,” he said.

  Momentary panic played in her eyes, then she stiffened. Like so many Jacobite Highlanders, she hated Cumberland. For her children’s sake, she had to hide that hatred.

  Neil leaned over. “Agree with everything he says.”

  Her eyes questioned him, but then she nodded. Her silent agreement went straight to his heart. She had not trusted him before. She did now. He knew at that moment he could do no less than trust her.

  He put his arm beneath hers and led her in. She curtsied gracefully. “Your Grace,” she acknowledged.

  A gleam came into his eyes. “I understand now why Braemoor has taken you under his protection.”

  “I thank you, Your Grace.”

  Neil thought she looked poised and altogether lovely. But, then, she always had to him. No resentment showed in her eyes, no fear, though he had felt her tremble earlier.

  “Is Braemoor taking good care of you?”

  “’Tis she who is taking good care of me,” Neil interrupted. He turned to her. “I told His Grace how you saved my life after I was ambushed in the hills. And that you were kind enough to accompany me back to Braemoor since I had a lingering fever.”

  She turned to Cumberland. “He insisted in getting back to his estate. I feared the fever might return.”

  “Very kind of you,�
� Cumberland said. “And now, regretfully, I must turn to other matters.”

  It was a dismissal. Janet curtsied once more.

  “Oh, and Braemoor?” Cumberland said as they turned to leave.

  “Aye?”

  “I miss the brandy your cousin often gifted me with. ’Twas unusually fine.”

  “I will see whether we have some at Braemoor, my lord.”

  Cumberland nodded and turned away.

  Neither said anything until they left Holyroodhouse. The carriage they had engaged earlier was waiting outside. He told the driver to return them to the inn, then handed her into the coach. He stepped in next to her, meeting her curious gaze. As the coach lurched forward, he took her hand.

  “You didn’t have a fever when we left Lochaene,” she said.

  “I may have exaggerated a wee bit,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  “You are very quick, Countess. You did not even blink when I said that.”

  “You warned me. You have not told me why.”

  “Scorpions, my lady. Turn them on one other.”

  A smile started at the edge of her mouth. “Cumberland and my brother-in-law?”

  “Aye. It is a mismatch, and we know who will win, but one at a time.”

  “You have a plan,” she said.

  “Aye, it is not much of one but it is better than none at all. I have learned to recognize the signs. His Grace had been ready to press charges of murder. A favor to the Campbells.”

  “Then how …”

  “The Black Knave,” he said.

  She started at him. “You?”

  “Nay, it would take a far better man than I.”

  “Those things in the cottage …”

  He was silent for a moment. It was still hard for him to trust, hard for him to tell anyone his thoughts, or explain himself. It was, in truth, nearly impossible. He had made an art of being alone. He had withdrawn into himself as a lad when his mother stared at him as if he was not there, when he had been taken away and left with a family that wanted only his labor. That wariness increased when he was made companion and bodyguard for a bully. The only time he had lowered the walls around himself was with Janet eight years ago, and then came that devastating pronouncement from the old marquis. He built those walls twice as high, then. He had nearly suffocated himself with walls.