The Flame on the Moor

by Fiona Neal

  The three men scrambled up.

  Ian did not know the extent of their implication. They could be innocent for all he knew. Right now, though, he wanted to get Fergus. “I have a plan to catch this bounder, and you will help me if you wish to escape the tolbooth.”

  “Anything, my lord,” Drummond answered, desperation in his voice.

  “Aye,” the other man affirmed, nodding eagerly.

  Murdoch stood in the doorway. “My lord, the constable and his deputies have arrived.”

  “Send them right in,” Ian snapped, thinking that Fergus had a cell waiting for him.

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, Ian waited silently in the back room of the goldsmith’s shop. The constable and two deputies waited at his side.

  Standing close to the slightly ajar door, he listened as the bell above the entrance jingled. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Suddenly, he recognized Fergus’ voice, and his stomach roiled with anger.

  Playing his part, the goldsmith left to get the paste and slipped into the deepest corner of the back room.

  As planned, one of the deputies, dressed as a worker, walked to the front door, locking it. His pistol cocked, the huge barrel-chested constable marched into the shop showroom followed by the second deputy who equaled him in size.

  “Do not move.” The constable aimed at Fergus’s heart while Ian walked toward them.

  Fear reflected in the groom’s eyes, and his jaw dropped.

  “You have a bit of explaining to do, Fergus.” Ian walked toward him.

  “I’ve nothing to say, my lord.”

  Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out the original necklace. “Do you deny you stole this, Fergus?”

  Jaw clenched, he silently glared at Ian.

  “Perhaps a long stay in a cell in the tolbooth will loosen your tongue.”

  Mockery blatantly evident in his gesture Fergus, bowed.

  Ian ignored his arrogance. A few days in the gaol would convince the blackguard to cooperate.

  * * * *

  More than a fortnight had passed since Fergus had departed for Glasgow. Deirdre paced the terrace just off the drawing room, her nerves taut with anxiety. Fergus should have returned by now, even though she knew the goldsmith would take some time to fashion the paste. If she did not hear from him soon, she would descend into madness.

  “My dear,” Aunt Barbara called. Wearing a frock of purple satin, Lord Strathaven at her side, the woman waddled toward Deirdre.

  The man hardly let Deirdre or Lady Glenmuir out of his sight. Not that Deirdre disliked him. In fact, she enjoyed his company, just not in such large doses. Likely, though, he was following Ian’s instructions to guard her.

  “Would you like to take a turn in the garden with us?” Lord Strathaven smiled and kissed her hand.

  “Oh, do come with us,” Aunt Barbara gushed.

  “Thank you,” Deirdre answered, thinking the exercise might alleviate her fear.

  “I just love these long summer days,” the older woman continued.

  So did Deirdre, under normal circumstances. The prolonged hours of light gave her energy and the opportunity to linger out of doors. She had hoped to enjoy these evenings with her husband.

  Ian.

  Since he had been gone, Deirdre realized with certainty that she had fallen deeply in love with him. That fact made her more eager to put the business of The Flame behind her.

  Deirdre wanted to live an honest life with nothing but the truth between her and Ian. Sadly, she knew that could never be. Her secret would forever cast a long, dark shadow on their life together.

  She must settle for the next best thing: to have honesty between them in everything but that one matter.

  They strolled past the knot garden toward the large fountain of Apollo driving a horse-drawn chariot with its plume of sparkling water spraying high into the air. The gentle splashing usually relaxed Deirdre, but now her worries pressed on her heart like the weight of a granite block.

  “My Lord Strathaven,” Morag said as she walked toward them, holding a salver. “A messenger just delivered this letter.” The maid stopped and curtsied.

  Strathaven took the letter and Deirdre noticed the wax seal bore the imprint of Ian’s signet ring.

  A look of concern flickered over his face. “Please excuse me a moment, my ladies.”

  “Of course, my dear boy,” Aunt Barbara said and fluttered her blue lace fan. “I do hope it is not bad news.”

  “Do not fret, ladies.” He chuckled, walking off a few paces.

  But Deirdre could barely contain her curiosity. Why did Ian write to Strathaven and send her no message? She felt neglected and annoyed. Something was definitely afoot between her husband and his friend.

  Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she felt as if someone had walked over her grave.

  * * * *

  Braving the rain of the early morning, Ian descended the worn stone steps of the prison, the gaoler leading the way. The stench ascended like a miasma, turning his stomach, and he pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, holding it to his nose. No wonder folk died from prison fever.

  The gaoler pounded on the door of the cell then lifted a ring of keys and unlocked the thick oak barrier, pulling it open. A slit window high in the wall let in a meager shaft of light.

  The prisoner rubbed his eyes. Strange, he had been incarcerated for a few days with no means to shave, but Fergus had little visible stubble on his face. With such dark hair, Ian expected the man to have a scruffy black beard by now.

  Fergus lumbered to his feet from a bed of filthy stinking straw. “Welcome to my new home, my lord.” The prisoner touched his forelock. “Would you care to sit on that fine sofa?” He swept out his arm toward the foul straw.

  “Enough sarcasm, man,” Ian snapped.

  “Why?” Fergus’s gaze pierced him like a musket ball. “I am resigned to die since I know you mean to hang me.”

  Ian had to give the man credit. He had courage. “That decision is not up to me. I do not sit on the bench in this jurisdiction. The jury will seal your fate, but I have influence, Fergus. I could persuade the judge to show you leniency if you cooperate and give me the information I want.”

  “Easier? You mean transportation to the West Indies to work as a slave in the sugar plantations.”

  “At least you would be alive.”

  “There’s a certain kind of man who prefers death to bondage, my lord.”

  “Let me get to the point, Fergus. You gained my wife’s confidence and stole from a woman who trusted and valued you. Then you planned to escape to the continent to start a new life.”

  “Since you have all the answers, I cannot add anything more, my lord.”

  “Then you confess.”

  “Nay, I do not.”

  “But you insist you can add nothing more to my theory.”

  “It is more precise to say I will not. Perhaps it is my destiny to die at the end of a rope.”

  “Rubbish. We make our own destinies.” Ian moved closer. His eyes now accustomed to the dim light, he noticed the stubble on Fergus’ cheeks glowed golden. But his hair looked as black as Newcastle coal. Or was it? The roots appeared light as well.

  The rogue had blackened his hair! Why, unless he wanted to disguise himself?

  Suddenly, a memory flashed in Ian’s mind like sunlight on a mirror. He knew the man! Fergus was a Jacobite, and Ian had condemned him to death.

  And Deirdre had given refuge to a renegade! Had she known all along? Nay! She likely thought him a poor displaced crofter and gave him a home.

  Ian stroked his chin. “Tell me, Fergus, how did you escape the hangman’s noose the first time I sentenced you?”

  “I wondered when you’d finally recognize me, my lord.”

  The rogue must have thought him a fool not to see what lay right under his nose. “Answer my question.”

  Fergus shifted his weight and walked toward the slit of a wind
ow. “I got a reprieve to go to the colonies and work in the sugar fields of Barbados. We hit a storm. The sailors unchained us at the last minute, but almost everyone died anyway when lightning hit the mast and crashed down. I washed up on the shore of Skye.”

  “Where my wife undoubtedly found you and gave you a home.” Fists clenched, Ian took a step toward the man. “In return, you stole from her.”

  Fergus dropped his gaze and remained silent.

  “Did you give your Jacobite friends a map to Kilbraeton so they could kidnap her ladyship and hold her for ransom?”

  Fergus jerked up his head and shot Ian a lethal look. “I deny that accusation and go to my grave knowing I did not do any such thing. Her ladyship treated me kindly, and I’ll remain loyal to her with my dying breath.”

  Something in the man’s eyes and the tone of his voice convinced Ian that Fergus was telling the truth. “And yet you stole from her.”

  “My lord, with all due respect, I’ve nothing more to say on the subject.”

  “I surmise you’ve quite a bit more to say. Who are you protecting, Fergus?”

  The man crossed his arms, stubbornly glaring at Ian.

  “Is it Morag? Did she get access to the counting room and give you the necklace?”

  Fergus shook his head. “The lass would die for her ladyship, and she knows nothing about the necklace.”

  Again, for some reason, Ian believed him. He needed to ponder this situation for a while. “Very well, I have no more questions for now.”

  * * * *

  Breakfast eaten, Aunt Barbara left Deirdre and Strathaven alone and walked from the morning room, her red sack-back morning frock trailing behind her.

  “I think I shall follow her example.” Deirdre rose.

  Lord Strathaven stood as well. “Lady Kilbraeton, may I have a word with you?”

  “Of course, my lord,” she said.

  Strathaven walked toward her, his gray jacket matching the color of his eyes. “My lady, I apologize for keeping some news from you, but Lady Glenmuir did not afford us any privacy yesterday, and I feared that she would become overwrought.

  Deirdre gripped the edge of the table, bracing for the bad news. Dear God, let Ian be all right.

  “My lady, I have a confession to make. The missive I received last evening was really from his lordship.”

  “I know.”

  He stared at her, eyes wide.

  “I noticed the seal.”

  “You must have cursed me for a liar, my lady.”

  “I do not curse. Besides, you have given me your reasons and already apologized.”

  “I wish I could give you better news.”

  Panicked, she asked, “Is Ian ill?”

  “Nay, my lady, he fares well and sends his regards, but I have some news that will displease you. Perhaps you should sit.”

  She sank into her seat.

  “Your groom, Fergus, was caught in a foul deed.”

  Dizziness caused the room to spin. “What did his lordship say Fergus did?”

  Please God, do not let me faint, Deirdre prayed as Strathaven told her the details of Fergus’s capture and arrest.

  “The goldsmith will testify and so will his lordship, my lady. Certainly the blackguard will swing. It is ironic. Your husband would never have discovered the ruse had he not wanted buy you a present. The goldsmith showed him the piece.”

  Deirdre could not endure another word. Unwittingly, she had sent Fergus to his death. The realization caused her to want to scream. She must leave before she completely lost control. “Forgive me, my lord, but this news comes as a shock.” As she stood, her legs felt as if they would collapse beneath her.

  “I understand, my lady. You look pale. Allow me to accompany you to you rooms.”

  “Please say nothing to the servants about this unfortunate incidence. I wish to tell them myself, Lord Strathaven.” Deirdre knew Morag would be stricken with grief.

  “Of course, my lady, but he may have had accomplices.”

  “Please indulge me for one day. Fergus is my servant. I should be the one to inform the others.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Strathaven replied.

  * * * *

  Prostrate on her bed, Deirdre sobbed into her pillow. Her worst nightmare would come true if she did not act soon, but she was so upset she could not think rationally.

  Why did she ignore the cards and send a decent, faithful man on an impossible errand? Why hadn’t she sent him to Inverness or Edinburgh instead of Glasgow?

  Because you wanted the matter finished before Ian returned. A longer trip would have taken more time.

  She sat up, wiping her face on the sleeve of her chemise.

  In her haste to put the nasty business behind her and take advantage of Ian’s absence, she had planned carelessly. Now Fergus would pay for her stupidity with his life...unless she succeeded in freeing the man.

  Glasgow was just an eight-hour ride. If she left at midnight, she would reach the city by early morning. She could spring Fergus from jail and see him safely aboard a ship to France. She would return before anyone knew she had left Kilbraeton, especially if she instructed the servants not to disturb her because she felt ill.

  Of course the jewels were hers. She could go to the jail, and say Fergus acted in accordance with her instructions. The law was powerless if the charges against him were dropped.

  But Ian would be livid, and he would never stop asking questions. Likely, he would look for evidence until he concluded she was The Flame. She remembered he kept the hair he had plucked from her outfit. Then Fergus would hang anyway, and so would she after her child was born. After all, Ian had never confessed that he loved her.

  Deirdre shuddered. She would lose her husband, her child, her faithful servant, and her life. And her uncle would die of the shock, unless she succeeded in helping Fergus escape. Then Ian would never know because she would not have to give a statement to the authorities.

  She would use the tunnel to elude Strathaven and Ian’s men. Smuggling a horse beyond the walls presented a more difficult problem now that Fergus was gone.

  But a hard ride would endanger the new life growing within her. Still, she need not gallop at top speed. A moderate, steady pace often proved faster and safer, and she was not far advanced into her pregnancy. Besides, she would not be the first woman to undertake a long journey while with child.

  One of her ancestors met that challenge during Cromwell’s time, over a hundred years ago, when that brave soul raced to her husband’s rescue.

  * * * *

  Ian stared into his dram of whisky, watching candle flame reflected in the clear amber liquid as he tried to clear his mind. Something about this whole situation with Fergus confounded Ian. The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit.

  Most prisoners would cooperate when offered their lives, but Fergus remained adamant in his refusal, preferring death to answering a few questions. If he was not protecting Morag, whom was he shielding?

  Perhaps someone had threatened him with the murder of a family member if he revealed the truth. Of course! The man likely had family elsewhere, and whoever masterminded the scheme held them as hostages.

  But Fergus denied any association with the Jacobite plot. Who else would have a hold over him? Was it The Flame?

  If that was true, Ian had to know!

  * * * *

  Deirdre’s heart hammered when Connor stepped into the library, the book she had loaned him under his arm. She must implicate the lad in a yet another deception, but she had no choice. Fergus faced the gallows because of her.

  She walked to the boy. “Connor, I have a favor to ask of you.” She curled her fists into balls and bit her lip to keep her chin from trembling.

  “It will be my pleasure to help you, my lady.”

  “Tonight after the sun has gone down, I wish you to take Sunshine by the boulder near the loch.”

  “But it will be very late, my lady.” He shook his dark, curly head. “The sun doesn�
��t set until after eleven.”

  “I know, but you must be certain no one sees you,” she interrupted. “That is why you must wait until late.”

  He stared into her gaze. The question in his eyes tore at her heart. He deserved to know. Still, the more Connor knew, the more dangerous the situation became. One careless word on his part could seal her fate and that of the innocent man facing death.

  “I know what I ask sounds strange, Connor, but it is best you do not know.”

  “But, my lady, his lordship has placed guards. He doesn’t wish you to go beyond the walls.”

  She expelled a heavy breath. “Connor, I expect you to be at the boulder. Tether the horse on a branch of the big rowan tree there so the mount will be hidden from sight and then leave.”

  “Aye, my lady,” he said and nodded.

  “And remember, Connor, not a word to anyone.”

  “I would die first, my lady,” he answered, a resolute look in his dark eyes.

  Deirdre shuddered, knowing the depth of his loyalty. “Go now, Connor.”

  As she watched him leave, Morag entered.

  “My lady, Lady Mary MacNeill has just arrived. She awaits you in the drawing room. I took the liberty of ordering tea.”

  Oh, nay! Just when Deirdre needed time to prepare for her flight, a guest appears at her door. Meanwhile, the clock ticked away the seconds, bringing Fergus closer to his death.

  “Thank you, Morag. I shall be right there.”

  Deirdre hurried down the corridor. Pausing in the doorway, she saw Lady Mary ensconced like a queen on the gold satin sofa in front of the hearth. The woman’s lavender silk tea gown reminded Deirdre of lilacs.

  Lady Mary set her tea cup on the table and stood.

  “My lady, welcome to Kilbraeton.” Deirdre forced a smile. Under other circumstances, she would have been happy to have company, but time was the enemy. Frightened for Fergus, Deirdre was shaking inside. “Please sit down.”

  Lady Mary settled in her seat as easily as mist drifted to a mountaintop.

  “How goes the situation with my uncle?” Deirdre nervously clutched her hands in her lap.

  Lady Mary shook her elegant blonde head. “Poorly, so I am en route to Edinburgh. I hope my visit does not inconvenience you, my lady.”