by Fiona Neal
“You would do that for them and me?” he asked, surprise on his face.
“Of course, I should do that.” She nodded.
“Thank you, Deirdre.” He kissed her hand. “Fortunately, it is not necessary. Years ago my grandfather established a fund for just such emergencies.”
She frowned. “Then send your grieve to distribute the money.”
He let her go and shook his head. “It is not that easy.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Only I can withdraw the funds. In the past, our administrator had access to it. One rogue stole a huge amount and absconded. We believe he went to the continent since we never caught him. Meanwhile, my family had to absorb the loss, for we had to replace the stolen money.”
“Then you must go, Ian. You are the only hope for the workers.”
“I do not wish to leave you here alone, Deirdre.”
Her heart leapt. Perhaps he would take her to Glasgow. Surely, she could find a goldsmith who would buy some of her jewels and make pastes.
She caught his arm. “Then take me with you.”
“I shall think about it.”
* * * *
Ian thought his brain would explode with worry. Now, when his wife was at her most vulnerable, other duties called him elsewhere! He recalled how he had failed his sister, and the girl lay dead. The thought of leaving Deirdre and some tragedy befalling her filled him with fear, dispelling all other emotions.
Nay! That was an untruth. He still loved her—in the way that Lord Strathaven had described—recklessly, hopelessly, and completely. Ian could not imagine life without her. He did not wish to consider such an existence, although he had never told her how he felt.
By the same token, Deirdre never revealed her feelings despite the fact she shared his home, his bed, and totally possessed his heart.
But his concern about her emotions must be relegated to the back of his mind. He had to concentrate on Deirdre’s physical safety and that of their unborn child. He could not bear to leave her, but he must also think of the widows and orphans of the men killed in the fire. They now lived in dire need.
He quietly left the room and headed toward the old tower, making his way into the chapel. Before the Reformation, the parish priest said a daily mass here. Now, the family attended Sunday services in the village kirk. On rare occasions, such as baptisms, private weddings and severely inclement weather, they held services here.
Ian loved the quiet tranquility that existed in the small place of worship. Pictures of the Evangelists lined the walls. Their eyes looked full of sympathy in the dim light filtering through the ancient stained glass. He sat in the pew, offering a silent prayer for the wisdom to deal with his current dilemma until he smelled his wife’s perfume and felt her hand on his shoulder. He looked up into her beautiful face.
“Ian, I have a pleasant surprise for you.” She smiled. “Lord Strathaven has returned.”
Hope filled his heart as his old friend loomed behind Deirdre. Ian stood, smiling. “Welcome back, Rory.”
* * * *
Deirdre had retired, leaving Ian and Lord Strathaven to share a wee dram as they sat in front of the fire in the study.
“So you see the problem.” Ian sighed.
Lord Strathaven stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles as he lounged in his chair. “I shall be glad to stay with Deirdre while you go to Glasgow.”
Ian relaxed for the first time in hours. “You have my undying gratitude. You cannot know what a relief that news is to me. Frankly, I didn’t know what to do.”
“Well, I could bide here until you return. I’m in no rush to get to Edinburgh.”
“I have been so consumed with my problems I haven’t asked why you’re going to Auld Reekie, as Deirdre calls it.”
“Gram has recovered and made me promise to start looking for a wife again. Frankly, my heart is not in it, but I shall go through the motions to ease her mind. In September, I plan to return to Strathaven and tell her I found no one who suited me.”
“I know you loved Isobel, but you have a duty to perform, Rory.” Ian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his whisky glass between his palms.
“Now you sound like Gram.” Lord Strathaven pulled a wry face. “I cannot marry a woman just because she is eligible and use her as a brood mare. I have to feel something, and frankly, Ian, do not tell me you have no feelings for your countess because your desire for her was obvious from the moment you saw her.”
Ian spoke truly. “I am not advocating that you marry solely to produce an heir. There are many attractive, suitable women who would make you happy, but you refuse to let a lass get within ten feet of you.”
“Not quite true. In fact, I am rather polite to them.”
“You turn on the Rose charm up to a point then you cleverly extricate yourself. Besides, if you marry, you will not have to contend with those horrible match-making mothers.”
“You offer a good incentive.” Lord Strathaven rolled his eyes. “But I’m not ready yet, Ian.” He slugged back his whisky, draining the glass. “Now what is our game plan concerning your countess?”
“I shall leave tomorrow if that suits you.”
“It does. As I said, I’m in no hurry to leave.”
“And, Rory, Deirdre is expecting our child.”
“Congratulations, old man.” Rory grinned broadly. “That’s wonderful news! Don’t worry. I’ll hover over your wife like an archangel ready to battle the devil himself.”
“I pray it will not come to that,” Ian said.
“It probably won’t. The authorities will likely catch the rogues.”
“I hope so...and one more thing, Rory.”
“What?”
“Thank you,” Ian said.
* * * *
Lord Strathaven and Deirdre stood by the coach, seeing Ian off. Part of her felt a reluctance to let her husband go; yet, another part rejoiced. His departure afforded her the opportunity to smuggle the jewels to Glasgow and sell them. Now she could wipe the slate clean and start again. Maybe after the whole rotten business was over the two of them could find true intimacy and real happiness.
Perhaps her pregnancy had made her see Ian in a different light because Deirdre now realized he could not be held responsible for her father’s death. Her husband had not made the fatal sword thrust into her parent’s heart. It was another. No, Ian could not be condemned for an act he did not commit. She would judge him by his own merits and foibles—not by the sins of his father.
“I shall leave the two of you to your private moment.” Strathaven smiled and walked into the castle.
Ian drew her into his arms, holding her in a tight embrace. “Please be careful, Deirdre.” The urgency in his whisper touched her heart.
“I will not endanger our child.”
“It is not just the child who concerns me. I worry about you, too.”
Her heart flooded with emotion, and she suppressed her tears, unwilling to let him remember her crying. Instead, she drew back and smiled. “Then I promise to be the very model of caution and propriety.”
He returned her smile. “Good.”
“Now the sooner you leave, the sooner you will come back.”
He kissed her heartily then broke away. “I look forward to my homecoming.”
“I am counting the hours, Ian.”
He entered the coach and the footman slammed the door. The coachman cracked his whip, and the conveyance rolled forward. Deirdre watched until it disappeared through the stone arch of the gatehouse. Then she turned and hurried inside.
She had a serious mission to accomplish, and she decided to get on with it—right now—but Connor walked toward her just in time for his lessons.
“Connor, before we begin, I must speak with Fergus. Will you ask him to come to the library immediately?”
“Aye, my lady,” the boy said and hurried away.
* * * *
Deirdre had waited until close to mid
night, ensuring everyone in the castle retired to bed before she ventured from her chamber. With the summer sky not darkening until well after eleven, the servants sometimes postponed sleeping until quite late. She wanted no messages about peculiar events happening to reach Ian. Key in hand, she crept up the stairs of the old tower keep, guided by the flickering of her candle’s light.
The cold from the stone steps seeped through the soles of her slippers, chilling the bottoms of her feet. Up and around she traveled until she arrived at the old counting room.
Once inside, Deirdre set down the taper and worked quickly, opening the chest. She took one box and lifted its lid. Even in the pale candlelight, the diamonds and rubies of the necklace’s gems flashed their fire. She examined the contents of a second receptacle, discovering the exquisite golden topaz ring again.
Nay, that one must stay. Ian had liked it and may ask her to wear it for him. She chose the next box. A necklace of huge oval sapphires linked together with garlands of leaves wrought of gold and diamonds winked back at her. With that immensely valuable piece sold, she could pay back her debts, send Fergus to safety with capital to start a new life, and still have money to help the poor.
Still, she felt like a thief in her own house! The jewels were hers. She owed no explanations to servants. And yet...she was a thief, a robber, and a liar. With all her heart, she longed to tell Ian the truth. She wanted to confess every last aspect of her adventures, but she could not take the chance. She regretted ever getting involved in these robberies, but she just could not let people starve.
Deirdre shoved her loot into the pocket beneath her robe and lowered the lid of the chest. She made a quick exit, locking the door behind her. Fleeing the scene, she re-entered her chambers a few moments later, her heart thudding mercilessly.
Still, with the success of the first step of her adventure, Deirdre felt more confident. She still needed to get the stones to Glasgow, sell them, order pastes, and return the fakes to the tower, hopefully before Ian returned. No small feat! But Fergus was waiting to do just that.
With no time to waste, she entered Ian’s chambers and removed an outfit. He and Fergus were about the same size. If a servant went into a shop with the jewels, the poor man might be suspected as a thief. He must appear to be a gentleman. His accent posed another problem, but he could say he hailed from the Highlands. That, at least, was true.
Returning to her room, Deirdre prayed the jeweler had no scruples and asked no questions.
She put the full suit of clothes and shoes into a sack and then locked her chamber door. She pressed the lever, opening the panel to the secret tunnel. She touched another taper to the one guttering in the holder and hurried down the great wheeled steps. She moved through the blackness of the tunnel, emerging into the cool night air.
Grateful for the cloak of mist concealing her, she hurried toward the loch where Fergus had planned to meet her.
Like a ghost, he emerged from a stand of Scotch pines.
“Fergus,” she whispered, “take these and go to Glasgow.” She handed him the jewels and clothes. “Inside, you will also find some coin to pay for your lodgings and the pastes.”
“My lady, I do not want to leave you. Something in here,” he pointed to his stomach, “doesn’t feel right. It is nay my own hide I am worrying about, but yours.”
Deirdre’s stomach lurched with fear. “Mine? Why?” She searched his eyes. He seemed to be debating with himself about something. “Out with it, Fergus,” she ordered.
He broke eye contact and pushed his tricorn back on his head, looking ill at ease. “My lady, I went to the tavern the other day. I saw two redcoats there. I recognized them as the two that visited with his lordship. I heard them so they were from Fort William. They took a private dining room, and I listened outside the door. They conversed about a plot to kidnap you, and that they uncovered a letter saying the Jacobites were planning to make their move soon.”
Deirdre’s mouth went dry. So that was another reason why Ian had not wanted to leave!
“I know his lordship has men planted to guard you, but I’d feel better if I stayed close by as well.”
So would she, but they had to get the felonies cleared. “But this is our chance to vindicate ourselves. We may not get another for many months with the Jacobites at large. You must go. If you ride hard you can get into Glasgow and finish our business before his lordship gets back.”
“Very well, my lady, but please keep up your guard.”
“I shall and God’s speed Fergus.”
With the sound of the horse’s hooves pounding in her ears, Deirdre hurried back to her room, knowing she would not rest until the loyal man returned safely.
* * * *
Ian stood behind his desk. Stretching his legs, he walked to the window and gazed into the cobblestone-paved street below, watching the widow who just received funds make her way along the quiet residential thoroughfare. Most of the pensions now dispensed, he planned to go home soon.
A knock sounded, and his secretary entered. “Excuse me, my lord. Drummond, the goldsmith has arrived.”
“Send him in, Murdoch.”
A goldsmith, accompanied by two guards, entered.
Although Deirdre had a treasure trove of jewelry, Ian wanted to give her a special gift, a bauble no other woman had ever worn before. He intended to present it to her when their child was born.
“Good morrow, my lord.” The thin man dressed in a brown coat and breeches doffed his matching tricorn and bowed, revealing the crown of his white wig. Trailing him, a huge barrel of a man, similarly garbed, carried a square box with a leather book on top of it.
“Good morrow to you, Mr. Drummond.” Ian walked toward him. “I trust you have the designs.”
“I do, my lord.”
“Excellent,” Ian said.
Drummond turned, signaling the guard to come forth. The rotund man placed a leather-bound folder on the desk and quickly retreated.
“Please be seated.” Ian sat, opening the volume. Page after page of exquisitely precise designs lay before him. After a time, he looked up. “These are all very fine. How long will it take to make this piece?”
He pointed to a necklace comprised of thirteen large, perfect teardrop pearls. Each was suspended from a rose fashioned of diamonds and gold strung from a festoon of emerald leaves.
“About one month,” Drummond answered.
“That long?” He had hoped to be back a Kilbraeton by the end of the week.
“Aye, my lord,” Drummond answered. “As you can see, it is an intricate piece and requires care and patience. I must also order the pearls.”
“No matter,” Ian remarked. “I shall return for it later. Now, have you the one with sapphires your note said was already fashioned?” He would give that piece to her for her birthday.
The goldsmith nodded, and the guard came forward with a rectangular wooden box. A smile on his face, Drummond opened the lid.
As Ian cast his gaze on it, he tensed, recognizing it. The necklace was one of Deirdre’s!
Chapter Sixteen
Rage surged through Ian. Someone penetrated his home and stole the jewels! Someone he had unwittingly trusted. Ian lost control.
Dropping the piece in the box, he jerked Drummond up by his shirtfront. “How dare you try to sell my wife’s property to me? How did you come by this piece? Speak or you will find yourself dangling from the end of a rope.”
The thunderstruck man’s dark eyes bulged, and Ian felt him trembling.
“My lord, I bought the jewels honestly. A gentleman came to my shop two weeks ago. He also commissioned pastes to be made. I assumed he had fallen upon hard times and needed the funds. I had no idea the jewels were stolen.”
“He is telling the truth, my lord,” the other man added, a terrified expression on his face.
Ian abruptly released Drummond, and the goldsmith stumbled back, regaining his balance.
“When was he to return for the pastes?” Ian did not
bother to ask the rogue’s identity. Doubtless, the blackguard would have given an assumed name.
“I expect him tomorrow, my lord.”
“Why will the piece be finished so soon?” Ian snarled. “You said you needed a month to do mine?”
“He came last week and gave me some inducement, my lord.” The man continued to shake visibly. “He promised me a good commission if I finished quickly. I did not need to order the gems as they were replaced by glass, and I had the metal for the mountings on hand.”
“What did this man look like?”
“He was a big man, my lord, about as tall as you. He had uncommonly black hair and whisky colored eyes. He also spoke with a Highland accent.”
Fergus! He had been right about that knave all along. The scoundrel had probably wheedled the location of the key from Deirdre and carried out his foul deed without her ever suspecting. The rogue planned to replace the piece with a fake and then leave. Years would go by before anyone would discover the theft—if ever.
Well, Fergus had a surprise coming!
But was Deirdre safe? Likely, she fared well since Strathaven promised to keep a close watch on her. Besides, Ian had not received any ransom notes. Nevertheless, he would send a message to Strathaven immediately, warning him of this latest development. Perhaps there were other traitors in the castle—Morag for instance.
A sickening thought hit Ian like a blow to the head. Fergus could be working with the Jacobites! Maybe he was just feathering his own nest before he allowed the kidnappers into the castle. Then he would leave Scotland for France or Italy.
Never! He would have the knave apprehended and discover where his Jacobite friends were hiding. Ian strode to the door. “Murdoch, go for the constable immediately.”
Drummond and his assistants dropped to their knees.
“Please, my lord, I am innocent,” Drummond pleaded. “I have a wife and ten children. Please have mercy on me.”
“It is true, my lord,” his assistant added. “We had no idea.”
“Rise at once,” Ian growled.