by Fiona Neal
While he had spent the night worrying about her safety, Deirdre was amusing herself with another man—and from the look of him, a servant no less!
Gulled by her beauty and charmed by her humor, Ian had played the fool. Well, no more! While they had declared themselves, the marriage was not yet consummated. The way out of his problems beckoned to him.
Chapter Five
Deirdre crept down the corridor past Lady Glenmuir’s room. Even though the thick door, the sound of raucous snoring escaped the confines of the old woman’s chamber. Continuing on, she stole silently past her uncle’s apartments.
As she tiptoed by Lady Mary MacNeill’s room, she paused. Did she hear weeping? Aye, the sound was unmistakable. Perhaps Lady Mary was having a nightmare.
Deirdre wanted to go to her. Still, what excuse would she give for roaming the halls at this time of the morning dressed in her riding habit? She resolved to come back to Lady Mary in a moment.
Deirdre hurried to her room and shed everything but her shift. Then, donning a robe, she returned a few minutes later. The weeping continued; in fact, it sounded louder now.
Deirdre debated about entering without permission. She tried the door. Unlocked, it swung open without a sound. Lady Mary sat by the hearth, apparently so immersed in her misery she did not hear Deirdre enter.
Deirdre cleared her throat. “Lady Mary, are you ill?”
The woman stood, dabbing her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “My lady, please come in.”
Deirdre entered and closed the door. The dawning light beamed through the window, splashing the white walls of the chamber with its pink-gold rays.
“Is there something I can do?” Deirdre walked across the lemon and cream Aubusson carpet to the widow.
“Not unless you can pound some sense into your uncle’s head.”
Poor Lady Mary! She had been besotted with him for years. Deirdre had heard the woman married her wealthy late husband only when it became painfully clear that Uncle Robert had no intention of taking her as his wife.
“What did he do this time?” Sighing, Deirdre sat in the chair next to Lady Mary’s.
“It is what he did not do, has not done, and will never do.” The unhappy woman sat again as the fire cast a rosy glow over her tear-stained face. In a voice rife with despondence, she continued, “I may as well give up and go back to my lovely home in Charlotte Square.” She shook her head. “Your uncle will never love me.”
Deirdre’s heart went out to the woman. She rose and walked to her, putting her hand on Lady Mary’s shoulder. “But he cares about you. He asked you to come here so you would be safe from The Flame.”
Lady Mary lifted her dark gaze to Deirdre, dabbing away the fresh fall of tears. “He would have done as much for one of his horses or dogs. “I do not want him merely to care for me,” she managed to utter between sobs. “I want him to love me and to show some passion. I c-cannot settle for less, my lady.”
Sympathy flooded Deirdre’s heart, and she wondered why her uncle failed to return the woman’s feelings. Robert MacLeod was still a young, very handsome man.
Lady Mary had celebrated her thirtieth birthday. She could still marry and have the family she so dearly wanted. “Perhaps going back to Edinburgh would be best, Lady Mary.” Deirdre leaned forward. “You have a great deal to offer any man, and absence makes the heart grow fond.”
“But your uncle never recognized what I have to offer him.” Lady Mary’s eyes narrowed, and her delicate nostrils flared. “Someone else stole his heart; someone who had no right to it!” She gripped her handkerchief so tightly her knuckles turned white. “And the strumpet broke his heart and left it incapable of feeling affection for any other woman.”
Lady Mary’s intensity almost frightened her, and Deirdre retreated, resuming her seat. “Lady Mary, who was it?”
The older woman’s expression changed from naked hatred to embarrassment. “Forgive me, my lady. Your uncle would be angry with me if he knew I told you should a thing. You know how proper he is.”
“He is as stuffy as an old pillow.”
Lady Mary nodded. “He can be at times.”
“He is so stiff I sometimes think his nanny starched his nappies,” Deirdre replied.
The woman smiled, but Deirdre noticed the merriment did not reach her eyes.
“Perhaps I should leave and allow you to go back to sleep,” Deirdre remarked.
“I am tired,” Lady Mary informed her.
Deirdre felt exhausted as well. She decided to claim indisposition, as she had last night at dinner, and stay abed for the rest of the morning, hoping for some sorely needed sleep.
* * * *
Ian strode into the dining room, and the fragrance of fried gammon, eggs, and porridge wafted to him from the carved sideboard, causing his stomach to growl.
“Strathaven, I must speak with you immediately.”
Seated at the table, Strathaven looked up from the spoonful of porridge, which was poised midway between his big china bowl and his smiling lips. He took the spoonful of oatmeal then returned the implement back into the fine china bowl. “And a good morrow to you, too, Kilbraeton,” he said.
“Sorry. I did not mean to be so brusque.” Ian sat on the chair of carved walnut.
“You should have some porridge.” Strathaven pointed to his bowl. “A full stomach will improve your humor.”
“I suppose that idea has some merit.”
Ian turned to the sideboard, filling a bowl with rich, creamy porridge. He would return for the gammon and eggs later. He poured a cup of tea and carried the victuals to the table.
“That is more like it.” Strathaven nodded. “Now, what is so urgent?”
“I have grave misgivings about my marriage.”
Eyes wide, Strathaven took an audible gulp of tea then set his cup down. “Well, it is a bit late. You signed the marriage contract. Even if you had not, you declared yourself in front of witnesses last night. I need not to tell you the law. For all intents and purposes, you are married.”
“There is one aspect of the law that we did not fulfill for the marriage to be truly valid.”
“Consummation, as the beautiful Lady Mary was wont to point out.” Strathaven smiled impishly.
“Correct.” Lifting his cup, Ian took a sip of tea.
“What about the king’s request? You told me that he sent you a letter, urging you to proceed quickly with the marriage.”
“That he did. He desperately wants alliances among the noble families loyal to him to ensure peace in the Highlands.”
“But why is he worried? The power of the clans has been smashed.”
“His majesty cannot forget that Charles Stewart led his army to within one hundred twenty miles of London.” Annoyed by the whole marriage business, Ian unenthusiastically began to eat his porridge.
“Then you have no choice. You must marry her.”
“Not even King George can force me to bed Deirdre.” Ian looked up from his bowl.
Strathaven’s gaze nailed his. “May I ask what caused this sudden change of heart?” Merely thinking about the scene he had witnessed set Ian’s teeth on edge. “I saw the countess walking out of the stable at dawn with a manservant. I guarantee they were not making polite conversation all night.”
Strathaven raised his eyebrows and grinned widely. “But they need not have been fornicating either.”
“Really, I wish you would take this situation seriously.” Ian set his spoon in the bowl.
Strathaven pulled a wry face. “What did you really see except two people who left the barn at dawn? If a witness presented that fact in court, you would demand further verification to substantiate the allegation, and you know it.”
“We are not in court.” Ian exhaled an audible breath in frustration. “Why was she there?”
“A favorite mare was in foal? Perhaps a stable boy became ill. She is mistress here. They would summon her. The list of probable reasons is endless.”
�
�Why would she wear her riding habit? Nay, it is likely they rode to a hunting lodge for a tryst.” Ian shoved his empty bowl away.
“Perhaps she could not sleep and went for a ride.”
“With The Flame lurking about?”
“I must say this is a side of you I have never seen before. If I did not know you better, I might conclude you were jealous.” Strathaven chuckled.
“The matter goes beyond that. Something does not tally here. The man’s manner seemed too familiar for a servant. Furthermore, Deirdre seemed ambivalent about our match. She suggested I wait to sign the contract. Now, I wish I had, especially if she loves someone else.”
“She will forget her girlish dreams of love when she settles in, especially if she becomes a mother,” Strathaven replied.
But Ian hated the thought that Deirdre could have even the slightest affection for another man. “I do not think she entertains the fantasies of a schoolgirl. Lady Ballanross is not some sixteen-year-old ingénue. She is twenty year old.”
“Ian, you are over-reacting. The woman did not impress me as being a wanton and there is likely a perfectly plausible explanation.”
“I hope so, but another factor has reared its ugly head, a matter of danger.”
“Do you mean the lady is in danger?” Strathaven stared at him.
“I do.” Ian leaned forward on the table. “Do you remember when Sir Robert asked to see me alone?”
“I certainly do.”
“Well, his information shocked me.”
“Can you share it?” Strathaven pushed away his empty porridge bowl.
“There is a plot afoot to kidnap the countess.”
Strathaven’s eyes widened. “Does she know about it?”
“Nay, she does not.” Ian shook his head. “Robert asked me not to tell her.”
“Why would he ask that?”
“Robert believes she will be safe at Kilbraeton Castle because it is a true fortress, unlike Ballanross Manor.” He lifted his cup.
“Ian, it would be wise to tell her. Secrets are a form of deception.” Strathaven nodded as an uncharacteristically grave look stole into his gray eyes.
“I intend to.”
“Who wants to kidnap her?”
“The Jacobites do.” Draining his teacup, Ian stood and walked to the window. Full of nervous energy, he could no longer sit still. “They will use the money to further their cause, I imagine.”
“How do you know?”
“Robert received news from Colonel Crawford at Fort William. His men apprehended one of their agents with incriminating letters hidden in his boot.”
“Fools,” Strathaven exclaimed. “Their cause is as dead as yesterday’s herring. They tried twice and lost.”
“But they continue to try. Before I heard about this kidnapping plot, I discovered that the Pretender, Charles Stewart, secretly visited Lady Primrose in London last September.” Ian turned from the view of the garden and returned to his seat. “I suppose he hopes to rally more support from the English Jacobites and try to seize the throne again.”
“How did you discover that Charles Stewart visited the Lady Primrose?” Strathaven asked.
“I heard it from a very reliable source when I was in London.”
“In that case they must plan to ask for quite a substantial ransom for Lady Ballanross so they can buy mercenaries.” Strathaven lifted his cup, draining it.
“Thirty thousand pounds,” Ian replied quietly.
Strathaven whistled as he set down his cup. “Who has that amount?”
“The Countess of Ballanross has that much and more, although her uncle manages her assets. She has shares in several banks in Edinburgh and a huge, profitable still on Islay in addition to her lands here in Skye and another estate on Mull. Besides that, her uncle has amassed an enormous fortune of his own through his shipping enterprises, which she will inherit.”
“I suppose the conspirators arrived at that sum in retaliation for the price the government placed on Charles Stewart’s head.”
“No doubt they did.” Ian nodded. “To make matters worse, Colonel Crawford fears The Flame may be a Jacobite agent.”
“It is plausible,” Strathaven agreed. “He never robs the poor.”
“That is true, and he does that for a reason.” Ian tapped the top of the table with his finger. “Likely, he buys the poor folks’ loyalty. The man has never been caught because they hide him.”
“You are right.” Strathaven leaned back against his carved chair. “The rogue attacks only the wealthy and those who are loyal to King George.”
Ian frowned as an ugly suspicion crossed his mind.
“What are you thinking?” Strathaven asked.
“Lady Ballanross made some dangerous remarks last night at supper. Although she declared she cares nothing for politics, she emphatically stated that she has great regard for the people.”
“Surely, you do not think she is involved with The Flame?”
“I don’t know. If not, the rogue could lure her into a trap and kidnap her. It would not prove difficult for him since she rides abroad at night.”
“We need to discover why.” Strathaven asserted.
“Aye,” Ian said. “Let us find Sir Robert.”
“What about your marriage?”
“I have no choice but to go through with it at the moment, Strathaven. The king does not care about my personal feelings. He demands peace in the Highlands.”
“So when this crisis is over you intend to petition for an annulment.”
“I shall if I remain unconvinced of her innocence.”
“That will prove embarrassing for everyone concerned.” Strathaven squirmed in his seat. “I mean...that means admitting that you are incapable of performing your manly duties.”
“Not if I convince her to say we were not fond of each other and made a mutual decision,” Ian interrupted. “That should not prove difficult because she wanted to wait to wed anyway. Then we’ll convince Sir Robert to find her another husband.”
A skeptical look on his face, Strathaven shook his head. “You have examined all the aspects except one.”
“Which is?”
“You want the woman. I can see it in your eyes when you look at her. You are neither a monk nor a eunuch. How long can you live with her without succumbing to her charms?”
* * * *
A long clay pipe in his mouth and a large ledger open before him, Sir Robert sat behind his cherry-wood desk when Ian and Strathaven entered the library. The odor of tobacco and a blue-gray haze of smoke greeted them.
Sir Robert stood and smiled. The sun streaming from the side windows struck the silver buttons on the man’s red wool jacket, causing Ian to blink.
“My lords, do please sit.” Sir Robert gestured toward the chairs in front of the hearth. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“Sir Robert,” Ian answered, anxiety churning in his gut, “I saw Lady Ballanross leaving the stables at dawn, and she was wearing a riding habit.”
Sir Robert’s face registered shock. “Is she safe now?”
“Aye,” Ian nodded. “The man with her saw her safely inside.”
“You could not be mistaken? Perhaps you saw Lady Mary.”
Ian shook his head. “I watched her approach through my spyglass. I saw her face clearly and the dawn was shining on her red hair.
“By all that is holy, that woman will be the death of me!” Sir Robert exclaimed. Sinking into his seat, he pounded his fist down on the desk. “I told her not to traipse about like a hoyden. Do you see what I mean, Lord Kilbraeton? The girl is in danger!” Suddenly, he clutched his chest and gasped.
Ian and Strathaven jumped from their chairs, rushing to him.
“Sir Robert, are you all right?” Ian asked.
Sweat beading his brow and upper lip, he held up his hand, signaling them to halt. He then took a small vial from inside his waistcoat. He popped the cork and gulped.
“I-I shall be fine, my
lords,” he gasped out. “Just give me a moment.” He sat back and withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket in his jacket, mopping his face.
Ian met Strathaven’s surprised gaze then looked back at the stricken man who was inhaling deep breaths. “Shall we summon a physician?”
“Let us discuss this at another time,” Strathaven suggested.
“Nay, I wish this matter settled now,” Sir Robert answered on short breath.
“But, Sir Robert,” Strathaven countered, “you seem unwell. Perhaps you should rest first.”
“Please, my lords! I shall not rest until I get to the bottom of this matter.”
“Very well, Robert,” Ian agreed reluctantly.
Strathaven and Ian waited a few moments, watching as the older man’s breathing returned to normal.
“Robert, do you now see the importance of informing her?” Ian asked.
“Please, my lord, if you marry and shelter her in Kilbraeton Castle, she need never know,” Sir Robert begged. “The soldiers may catch the knaves soon. Why terrify her for no reason?”
“Aye, but she is unwittingly placing herself in peril,” Strathaven added.
“She promised she would not stray,” Robert gasped out.
“Please, Sir Robert, do not get upset again,” Ian urged. “We can think our way out of this problem.” His concern for the man cooled his anger about Deirdre’s indiscretion.
Ian decided that now was not the time to confront Sir Robert with his suspicion that Deirdre was trysting with a lover…or that the lover may be The Flame. The beleaguered man did not need another worry piled on his shoulders. Such knowledge could cause him to have a serious spell—or worse.
“I will learn the reason for her recklessness if it kills me,” Sir Robert vowed.
From the look of Sir Robert, Ian prayed the poor man’s statement would not prove prophetic.
“I shall summon her.” Sir Robert slowly rose. Plodding to the bell-lever, he tugged it.
* * * *
Deirdre heard the roar of the crowd. Her hands bound by a length of rough rope, her body in filthy rags, she rode in the oxcart to the gallows with the rest of the felons who would soon be hanged. The conveyance hit a rut in the cobblestone-paved street, jarring her against Fergus.