The Mackenzie, The Trilogy Box Set

by H. C. Brown

  Laughter bubbled out from the incredulity of the situation. “How utterly absurd. What a vivid imagination you have.” He waved the serving girl to the table and requested a cup of mulled cider then turned his attention back to Moreau. “However, you are correct on one point. I did purchase horses on Laird Mackenzie’s behalf, but the idea that Lady Adrianna would abscond with a young lad is outrageous. Indeed, to imagine Laird Mackenzie would involve himself in such a scandal is quite ridiculous. In fact, he is at home and sent word to me yesterday. I am quite sure he would have made mention of the Lady Adrianna arriving unannounced, as he is fully aware of my connection with her family.”

  Keeping the air of hilarity to cover his abhorrence of the man’s astute deductions, he took the drink from the girl, gave her his best salacious wink, and waved her away.

  “As to the slave you mentioned, I am sure the entire Clan Mackenzie would be crawling over The Black Turtle in a demonstration of violence never before seen on the high seas if such a thing were true. How do you know if the lad gave his correct name?” He sipped the mulled cider and regarded Lord Moreau over the rim of the tankard. “Laird Mackenzie is journeying to Inverness to sell his goods, but I can assure you, he would not allow an English lady within a mile of him or any member of his clan.” He chuckled. “Surely you understand the current politics? Laird Mackenzie would not compromise an English lady and risk being leg shackled to her.” He sipped again and the tart spiced liquid danced over his tongue clearing the taste of oysters from is palate. “To be sure, his clan would more likely kill her than rescue her.”

  Lord Moreau’s eyes flashed in anger and his mouth turned down. “If this is true then I will wait as long as it takes for her to arrive in Inverness.” He pushed to his feet and the next moment, his mood brightened with significance as if he had remembered something of a pleasing nature.

  Rupert considered Lord Moreau with interest. Perhaps the opium pipe had addled his brain after all. The hairs on the back of his neck raised at the thought of this brute anywhere near Lady Adrianna. A dangerous man indeed with such sudden changes of mood.

  “If she is traveling alone as you say, I will make enquiries to discover her direction. I find it difficult to believe the lady would accept the Baron du Court’s offer then elope with a sixteen-year-old boy and a slave to boot. If this is indeed true then she must be in dire straits and require my assistance. Lady Adrianna is no fool and may well be traveling back to London.” He sighed. “I dare say she would keep well away from the ports, in anticipation of your arrival.”

  “You may be correct, but I will find her eventually. You see it is of no consequence to her betrothed if her reputation is in tatters. My master seeks the alliance by the marriage nothing more.” Lord Moreau’s dark eyes flashed with menace. “Fortunately, I have experience in breaking strong willed, ungrateful women, and so does Baron du Court.”

  He bent toward him in a confidential manner and a sickly smile curled his lips.

  “I am prepared to wait. A lady of her standing will not be content in a village and will require more suitable accommodation. This suits me well because I will have plenty of time to attend Madame Josephine’s establishment. She has a batch of girls newly arrived from Spain.” He winked. “Mayhap you will have your chance later, although they will not be as fresh after my visit.” He straightened. “Good day to you, sir.” Taking the silver snake’s head cane in one hand he strolled purposely out the door, and headed in the direction of Madame Josephine’s brothel.

  Rupert ran a hand down his face. It would seem the opium had not dulled Moreau’s reasoning after all and obviously, the vile substance gave him the stamina of a bull. He breathed in the gust of fresh salty air pouring through the door and stared after the man. Discussing Drew had been a risk but he had at least convinced him Lady Adrianna was not in Drew’s company. He glanced enquiringly at the girl waiting patiently beside the table and sighed. The bastard had left without paying for his meal.

  * * * *

  The following morning, Adrianna paced the small room in an effort to come to terms with her situation. At least, she had risen free of the fever with not more than a twinge of pain in her leg. The treatment Drew had administered had worked in an astonishing rate. Drew. She lifted his plaid from the back of the chair and pressed it to her nose to inhale his scent. His bergamot smell made her heart ache for him and a moan escaped her lips. Embarrassed by her lack of control she glanced at Betty. Her maid sat beside the fire mending a pair of stockings. The girl cleared her throat in a slightly judgmental manner and returned to her work. Abashed, Adrianna folded the plaid neatly and placed it atop of Jamie’s.

  All thoughts of Drew vanished at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Fear of discovery clenched her stomach and she grabbed a blanket from the bed to toss over her head then turned toward the window to conceal her face. A soft knock came at the door and Madame Josephine’s French accent drifted to her ears.

  “Open the door.”

  Betty shot a worried gaze in her direction.

  “Shall I open the door, milady?”

  Adrianna turned and tossed the blanket onto the bed. She straightened the skirt of her plain woolen dress and lifted her chin. “Yes, you may.”

  Madame Josephine entered in a cloud of perfume and pint taffeta. She raised her penciled eyebrows and smiled.

  “Ah, you appear quite different without the rouge, younger, and innocent.” She gave her a long appraising look. “Are you sure you would not like to join my establishment? You would be very popular with my patrons.”

  Me, join this band of reprobates? Has the woman lost her wits? Trying to breathe through the miasma of rose scent, she smiled. “I think not, but I thank you for your most generous offer.”

  The sentiment seemed to appease Madame and she smiled showing rouge smudged teeth.

  “Ah well, perhaps after living here for a few days you will change your mind.” She patted her hair and frowning tapped her temple. “Ah, qui, now I remember why I came up here. Captain Jacques returned to his ship last night and Lord Moreau left this morning so your maid will be able to do for you. Send her to the kitchen for a tray and I will have one of my servants to show her where we keep the linens.”

  She cast a critical gaze over the plaids folded neatly on a chair.

  “I am surprised Drew gave you his plaid as he has taken such great pains to distance himself from you. Do you want me to have one of my footmen deliver them to the tavern where he is staying?”

  The Glen Albyn Inn, with Rupert? She smiled. “Ah, no I think politeness requires I return them to him in person. I do, after all have to thank him for his most generous assistance.” She met the woman’s intuitive gaze. Indeed, it would be difficult to hide her feelings from her but she would do her best. “I am sure Lord Rupert will call on me as soon as arrangements have been made for my departure then I will request a meeting with Laird Mackenzie at his convenience.”

  “As you please.” Madame Josephine turned to Betty. “Bring the chamber pot and follow me. You will have to complete your duties in haste. I have no idea when Lord Moreau will return. He prefers to dine elsewhere so he may well be back within the hour.” She ushered Betty from the room.

  At the sounding of his name, fear shivered down her spine in a trickle of doom. Indeed, Lord Moreau haunted her every waking minute. Hiding right under his nose might have been prudent but having him so close chilled her to the bone. How could she slip away unnoticed when he frequented the brothel so often? I wonder how many times he attends this establishment. She cleared her throat occasioning Madame Josephine to pause in the doorway and turn an inquiring eye on her.

  “Do you require anything else, cherie?”

  “Is it Lord Moreau’s usual practice to bed whores in daylight too?” Her face grew hot. “I assumed men acquired the urge to do such things at night.”

  Madame Josephine’s eyes danced with mirth.

  “Lord Moreau has an insatiable appetite and he is bruta
l. Men, in general, ma petite, always have, how did you say, ‘the urge’ that is why they have mistresses and visit brothels, to keep the myth that they are in control of their cocks.” She laughed raucously and left the room shutting the door behind her.

  Adrianna glared at the floor, her mind in turmoil. To be sure, she had not heard a whisper about such things occurring in daytime. How often did a man find it necessary to bed a woman? She chewed on her bottom lip. More than once a month, a week, a day? No, not a day, surely. She would have to ask Drew that particular question. After all, he had been very forthcoming during their recent conversation and he was indeed au fait in such matters. With a sigh, she turned back to the window of her prison.

  Condensation clouded the windowpane and she drew the outline of a heart placing Drew’s name within. She cared for him deeply and wrapped in his arms on the journey had given her a wonderful feeling of belonging. In truth, he made her restless for more of his erotic delights. She yearned for the security of his strong arms and fear gripped her at the notion of Lord Moreau finding her before Drew arrived.

  A creek on the stairs followed by heavy footsteps prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Heart pounding, she turned and stared at the slow turn of the doorknob. Frozen in fear, her attention fixed on the inward swing of the door. “Is that you, Betty?”

  A dark figure moved into the room and in horror, she stared into the black gaze of Lord Moreau. He gaped at her openmouthed for some moments before a smile curled his thin lips. He spoke to her in French in a cajoling manner, but his expression had turned intent and dangerous.

  “Lady Adrianna, if I had been made aware of your requirements, we may have spent a more enjoyable voyage.”

  He removed his hat with a flourish and placed it on the washstand then proceeded to remove his gloves.

  “You certainly had me fooled and my master will be most disappointed you are not a virgin.”

  She forced air through a throat closed in terror and used the only weapon in her arsenal—her station. Straightening, she took a threatening step toward him. “Damn your impudence, sir. How dare you address me in such a manner? Do I have to remind you, I am the goddaughter of King George? You overstep your place. Remove yourself from my presence this instant.”

  Instinct had her reaching for the window catch. Turning away from him, she flung the casement wide glancing down into the street below and judging the distance to the ground. The alley appeared surreal and distorted through the early morning mist.

  “You will not fit through that window and do you really think I would allow such a thing?” Lord Moreau inclined his head. “Remove your clothes, now if you please.” His thin lips curled into a demonic smile. “Or I will tear them from you, either way it makes no difference.”

  Gathering her wits, she lifted her chin and stared down her nose at him. “I fear you are gravely mistaken. I am not a prostitute and you are compromising me by being in such close proximity. I am sure Baron du Court will be most displeased if I inform him of your outrageous behavior.”

  Lord Moreau chuckled and his long pale fingers went to the buttons of his jacket.

  “Ah, you are in no position to threaten me. You see, I understand the ways of women, as does my master. I am sure you have retained your maidenhead to ensure a profitable marriage, after all there are many ways a man may seek his pleasure, are there not?” He raised a dark eyebrow and gave her a meaningful stare. “Although coming to this particular establishment was a mistake if you intended to forgo Baron du Court’s most generous proposal and become a whore. If you must know, I have had the pleasure of frequenting this establishment for many years. Indeed, Madame Josephine and I have an understanding. It was she who informed me she had two virgins for my pleasure and here I am.” He bowed low flourishing one hand in the manner of the French court.

  Before he had time to rise, Betty rushed into the room, and swinging a chamber pot high in the air brought it down smartly on the back of his head. A loud gonging sound echoed in the room and Lord Moreau let fly a stream of French expletives then pitched forward onto his knees moaning and clutching his temples. Betty gave a warrior battle cry and struck him again. Lord Moreau crumpled to the floor and his head hit the carpet with a dull thud.

  “Run!” Betty’s voice quivered, but she stood over Lord Moreau, her expression wild-eyed and determined. “Go now and do not worry, milady. I will hit him again if he attempts to rise.”

  Adrianna’s mind slowed and she examined her predicament with amazing clarity. “He is unconscious and will not recover for some time. Go and inform Madame Josephine then hide in the kitchen. I will find Lord Rupert and send someone for you.”

  She gazed without one jot of compassion at Lord Moreau’s corpselike form and slid her reticule over one hand. Taking hold of Drew’s plaid and tucking it firmly under one arm, she drew a deep steadying breath then stepped around Lord Moreau’s twitching feet. She squeezed Betty’s arm. “Go now before he regains consciousness.”

  “No, milady. He is only stunned and will recover soon enough then he will be hot on your heels. It would be better if I stay here and hit him again should he try to follow you.”

  Lord Moreau moaned and Betty raised the chamber pot high above her head again. Her lips trembled into a small smile.

  “You go and be quick about it, milady. Do not worry about me, Madame Josephine will help me, I am sure.”

  “I will kill you for this.” Lord Moreau made an unsuccessful grab for Adrianna’s ankle. “Both of you and I will enjoy every slow minute.”

  “You will not touch my mistress.” Betty swung her thin arm and dropped the chamber pot on his head then it slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor sending shards of white stained porcelain spinning across the polished wood. She turned, cheeks flaming and hair tumbling from her cap.

  “Run, milady.”

  Adrianna lifted her thick woolen skirts and fled toward the stairs. She grasped the handrail and sped toward the front door, her retreat catching the attention of a variety of patrons, and whores ascending to the boudoirs. The blue floral carpet wavered unnervingly before her and one of her ankle boots slipped on the pile. She regained her balance and chanced a glance behind her. Thank the stars Lord Moreau was not following, not yet. Ignoring the inquisitive gazes of a few men stepping from doorways, she rounded the landing to the final flight of stairs. Behind her, Lord Moreau’s distinct voice bellowed a tirade of vulgar expletives in French and Betty screamed.

  “Help! Murder!”

  Two burly men burst from a doorway and barged past her taking the stairs in great leaping bounds. Legs cramped with fear, she stumbled down the steps, jumping the last four in a most unladylike fashion, and stumbled into the foyer to the astonishment of a small group of wide-eyed housemaids. With Lord Moreau’s threats ringing in her ears, she reached the entry in two strides. She glared at the gorilla of a footman, who gaped at her open-mouthed before flinging the door wide open.

  Bounding outside and into the filthy alley, she ignored the icy wind cutting through her gown, lifted her skirts, and ran toward the main street. As she rounded the corner of Hog’s Lane, sleet stung her cheeks and dribbled down the neck of her gown. Gasping a great lungful of freezing air, she dashed down the main street frantically searching the shop fronts for a tavern or any open doorway.

  Her attention went to a young girl a few paces before her trying desperately to cover a basket of bread with her cloak. A bakery. Gasping for breath, she headed toward the girl and the aroma of fresh bread came to her like a sign from God. She examined the red brick buildings and spied a sign above a door, Macgregor’s Fine Fare Bakery. Slowing to a dignified swiftness, she cast a wary glance over one shoulder. To her relief, Lord Moreau had not yet turned the corner.

  She moved toward the shop and tugged at the bitterly cold brass handle on the door. The bell above the entrance tinkled and she staggered inside to blessed warmth. Disheveled and gasping like a charging bull, the customers turned to star
e at her as if a mad woman had entered their midst. To be sure, only a fool would venture out in this weather wearing nothing but a day gown.

  She pasted an affable expression on her face, inclined her head in a respectful manner and requiring time to gather her wits, strolled into the crowd to give the impression of examining the display of fresh bread, rolls, pies, and bannocks. Moving her attention from the bread to the people strolling along the pavement outside the shop, she took a few deep breaths, and composed her features. Lord Moreau would recognize her in an instant if he glanced through the window. Under one arm, Drew’s plaid pressed warmly against her freezing flesh reminding her of its presence. She opened the plaid and wrapped the thick woolen cloth around her like a cloak. Thank goodness, Betty had pinned up her hair and her mop cap was in the pocket of her skirt.

  Betty.

  Dear God, what had the brute done to her? Morbid thoughts assailed her until a woman’s voice in Gaelic jerked her attention. She forced her frozen lips into a smile. “I am sorry. I do not have the Gaelic.”

  “May I help ye, madam?” The rotund woman with rosy cheeks smiled at her from behind the counter.

  Lost in thought, she had not noticed the people in the line before her had made their purchases and left. Desperately trying to act in a calm fashion, she glanced at the display. “You have so many choices and I have yet to make up my mind.”

  “I have a nice tray of pasties straight from the oven.” The shopkeeper smiled. “Or some bannocks.”

  Avoiding the need to glance over one shoulder and into the street, she took a few coins from the purse in her reticule and handed them to her. “Yes, a few bannocks would be very nice. In a linen sack if you please, I seem to have mislaid my basket this morning.” She chanced a glance behind her and gasped. The shop was deserted and she stood in full view of anyone passing in the street. Lord Moreau might walk by at any moment. In sheer panic of being recognized, she reached into her pocket for her mop cap.