by Jane Godman
“Good morrow, Iona. Ye are about mighty early.” Fraser squinted at the weak light peeping through the window.
“So I am,” she agreed in a mild tone that belied her rising temper. “Which is as well, do ye not think, since the castle will be filling in a few hours with guests, and someone will need to be in a fit state to stand beside Martha and greet them? I’m not hopeful of your chances.”
“Whisht now…”
“Din’nae hush me, Fraser Lachlan!” Iona whirled to face him. Her anger had not originated with him, but with his red-gold hair standing on end and his hazel eyes blinking sleepily at her, he was as worthy a recipient of it as any. “Yon bairn of yours represents a new generation for this clan. ’Tis a clan the English have done all they can to destroy. The people who arrive here later today have given up the best part of their lives in the last year. They have seen their friends and loved ones killed either on the field at Culloden or by the executioner. They have been forced to swear fealty to a king they hate or lose their homes. They will come here with renewed hope in their hearts. I’ll not have you greet them wearing yesterday’s clothes and reeking of last night’s whisky.”
The card table flew several feet across the room as, with a leonine roar, Fraser leapt to his feet. “D’ye think I’ll stay here to be told my duty by a slip of a lass?”
Edwin made a move to get between them, but Iona swung past him, facing her brother with her hands on her hips. “If ye din’nae like it ye know what to do.” She tossed her head in the direction of the door.
They glared at each other for long, angry moments then, with a laugh, Fraser drew her up into a rib-crushing bear hug. When, after having endured enough of this treatment, she murmured a protest, he set her back on her feet. “’Twas a good night, friend Edwin, and ’tis long since I’ve met a man with whom I’m matched so even.” A shadow crossed his features, and Iona knew he was thinking of Jack. “But, much as it pains me to admit it, the lass is right. My duty calls me. As for you—” he turned back to Iona, “—if ye had to choose an Englishman, ye could have done worse than this one.”
Chapter Nine
Edwin opened his eyes carefully, wincing as the light drove hundreds of tiny daggers into his brain. He groaned and closed them again. Vague memories of a night fuelled by alcohol and punctuated with games of billiards, dice and cards came back to him. Surely he had not been foolish enough to attempt to keep pace with a Scotsman? His head ached as if Cora had taken her meat tenderiser to it, and his throat felt like he had gargled with broken glass. Neither of these were indications that moderation had been a feature of his nocturnal activities. Another memory forced its way through the pain. It refused to become fully formed but it involved Iona. And she had not been happy.
As if answering some hidden cue, her voice close to his ear brought him fully awake. “How are you feeling now, husband dear?”
Edwin turned his head, an action he instantly regretted. Wearing her nightgown and wrapped in a woollen shawl, Iona was seated in a chair at the side of the bed. “Not good.” Try as he would, he could not lift his voice above a pathetic croak.
“My poor Edwin.” The concern in Iona’s words poured over him like warm, cloying honey. It was an indication of his enfeebled state that he did not find this circumstance strange. “Would some water help?”
He nodded, struggling into a sitting position as Iona went to fetch the jug that sat upon the dresser. Her solicitous expression didn’t falter. Not until she reached the bed. Then the fury he remembered from the previous night returned with a vengeance, and before he had time to assimilate her intentions, Iona had emptied the entire contents of the jug over his head.
He sat bolt upright, fully awake as he shook the icy water from his hair and rubbed his eyes. As he was doing so, Iona began to haul the blankets from the bed and deposit them on the floor. “What the devil has got into you, you half-wild vixen?”
“Wild, is it?” Iona dodged his hands as he tried to grab hold of her. In his drunken state, he had clearly given up at some point halfway through undressing, and he was clad in only his breeches. He finally succeeded in catching hold of Iona, and she squirmed against him. “I will show ye wild like ye’ve never seen it before. Is it any wonder I’ve the devil in me when you behave the way you do?”
“Me?” Edwin stared down at her outraged expression in amazement. “What have I done to cause this display of temper?”
She stopped struggling abruptly, subsiding against him as though her anger had been released like the air from a bagpipe. A telltale blush stole into her cheeks, and she bit her lip. “’Tis naught. I was talking foolishly. Let me go, if you please.” She made a movement to draw away from him.
“Not so fast, Iona.” He slid a hand under her chin, constraining her to look up at him. “Can it be that you are angry with me because I stayed away from you last night? But that would imply you desired my company. And we both know that is not true…don’t we?” His headache and lethargy were gone now, both replaced by something new and urgent. He was kneeling on the bed, while Iona was standing with her knees pressed up against its edge. Her body warmed his where they touched. Edwin was achingly aware of the softness of her breasts brushing his chest. Experimentally he drew her closer. Iona didn’t resist, and he allowed himself a moment of triumph. He was tired of this damnable situation. Of wanting her so much it was a physical pain. Of doing nothing about it because his pride—or was it vanity? and was there a difference?—insisted she must want him in return. At last, he sensed a glimmer of hope. His heart thudded expectantly, and there was a correspondingly eager response from his cock. Iona felt it too and her eyes widened.
“I waited all night for you.” Her voice was low and husky, her parted lips temptingly close to his.
“I’m here now.”
“So you are…”
Iona’s expression changed from melting desire to raging fury in a flash. She brought her knee up sharply. Luckily for Edwin, his position on the bed was not secure, and he toppled backward before her knee could fully connect. Even so, she caught his balls a glancing blow that made him grunt with pain. Leaning over him as he clutched his groin, she added, “That is for keeping me waiting.”
Snaking out a hand, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down on top of him. Her face registered shock that he was not as incapacitated as she had believed him to be. With a hand on each of her hips, he held her so that her lower body was pressed tightly to his. “Give me a moment to recover and I will undertake not to do so again.”
Iona’s hair was a silken curtain about their faces as she looked down at him contemplatively. Then she lowered her lips to his and kissed him. At first Edwin lay still at the shock of encountering her lips on his after dreaming of them for so long. Iona drew back slightly, a question in her eyes, and he reached up a hand, sliding it through her hair to the back of her neck. They stared at each other, and those glorious, golden eyes burned into his before Iona allowed him to pull her closer again. She closed her eyes at the touch of his lips, at the firmness of his mouth just grazing the softness of hers. Edwin took his time, tasting her, exploring her, his lips moving gently over hers. As Iona’s mouth slowly parted, the kiss changed. With a masculine purr of pleasure, Edwin claimed her with his mouth, taking everything she had to offer. Iona gave a little moan of her own in response, and her tongue danced in time with his. Edwin moved his hand over her back, following her spine, all the way down to the cleft of her buttocks. The kiss changed again, becoming hot and heavy, as he held her tighter against him.
Then, with another of her swift mood changes, Iona broke the kiss. Her eyes were bright and her skin becomingly flushed. “You are very sure of your prowess, Edwin.”
“I am happy to prove myself to you. You know my terms.” He released her and hoped he did not imagine a slight hesitation before she moved away from him. “Believe me, had I thought you might be ready to meet them last night, I would not have lingered so long over the cards.”
&n
bsp; Iona smiled over her shoulder at him as she moved toward the dressing screen. “But you know I am willing to do my duty at any time. Your mysterious terms still elude me, Edwin. I had hoped you might explain them to me last night. You were not here and now is not the time. As young Jack’s godmother, I must prepare to welcome the guests.”
He held her gaze. “This conversation—and its conclusion—is not over between us, Iona.” Her lips parted in answer, but before she could speak, the horn that signalled the approach of visitors sounded from the battlements. “The first guests must be arriving.”
Iona, who had run to the window, shook her head. Her face was grave as she turned to look at him. “It is two redcoat officers and their servants.”
The family gathered in the great hall to meet the soldiers. Iona recognised Captain Fleetwood from that unforgettable night in the stables at Cameron House, and her cheeks flamed in shame. The captain did not glance her way, however, as he stepped forward to bow to Fraser.
“I hope you will forgive the intrusion, my laird. I have been escorting the major here on a tour of the Great Glen. Although we were not scheduled to halt at Lachlan, one of our horses appears lame, and we wondered if we might remain here for a day or two to rest it?”
When Fraser did not respond, Iona cast a worried glance at her brother’s face. His expression was as marble still and bleak as the snowy peak of Ben Nevis. He wasn’t looking at Captain Fleetwood. Instead his eyes were fixed on the face of the man at the captain’s side. When he spoke at last it was a single word.
“Hendry.”
Iona felt Martha stiffen next to her. The emotion in the room in that instant was both tangible and terrible. With that name, a portal to the past had just been opened.
The man who had captured Fraser’s attention clicked his heels together as he bowed. “At your service, my laird.”
It was Edwin who broke the mood. He moved forward to shake the major by the hand. “Well met, Sir Garwen. What brings you so far north? I thought you in London still.” It seemed to Iona that he cast a warning glance in Fraser’s direction as he spoke.
As Edwin chatted to the soldiers, Martha drew Iona slightly to one side. Fraser continued to stand stock still, like a statue. His expression was fixed, his colour truly ghastly. “I don’t understand,” Martha whispered. “Hendry is the name of the man Fraser blames for the death of his first wife and his son. But that man is dead.”
“Aye, and his name was Augustus Hendry. Edwin has just called this man Sir Garwen. It is’nae possible for this to be the same man.”
“Yet the look on Fraser’s face suggests otherwise.” Martha cast a worried look in her husband’s direction.
“Talk to Fraser. Calm him as only you can. I will see what more I can discover.” Iona made her way over to stand at her husband’s side.
“Gentlemen, let me make you known to my lady wife. Iona, this is Captain Fleetwood.” The young officer bowed low over her hand. “And this is Sir Garwen Hendry, an officer who has recently joined my former regiment.”
Sir Garwen was of medium height and average build, but his was a powerful, hawklike presence. His features were harshly attractive, with heavy lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His curious light-grey eyes lingered on Iona’s face, and an appreciative smile dawned. When he took her hand, Iona had to stifle the impulse to immediately pull it away.
“No wonder you decided to sell out and yet are in no hurry to return to London, Roxburgh.” There was something very deliberate about the way his lips trailed across her flesh. When he finally released her hand, Iona wanted to wipe the feeling of his mouth away on the folds of her gown. “I confess, I was not aware that so much beauty dwelt here in the highlands, my lady.”
“You have not visited Scotland before, Sir Garwen?” She hoped her words might penetrate the stupor that seemed to be holding her brother in its grip.
“No, indeed. I must admit I had no great desire to visit your country until the Duke of Cumberland made a special request for me to do so. A family tragedy associated with this region leads me to view the place with little love.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It was difficult to conduct a conversation with half her concentration elsewhere in the room. She noticed with relief that Martha had persuaded Fraser to move with her so that they were closer to the fire. He was leaning his forearm along the mantle, looking down at his wife as she talked earnestly to him. Iona noted that the look of stupefaction on his face was fading. To a casual observer, they might have been discussing mundane domestic matters.
“Sir Garwen’s brother, who was an officer serving at Fort William, was killed here some years ago.” Edwin fixed his eyes on hers, and she gave a slight nod to signal her understanding.
“To say he was killed implies the possibility of accident or death in battle. Augustus was murdered. His throat was cut.” Sir Garwen’s words were sharp, yet his expression was almost bored.
“As you say.” Edwin inclined his head.
“Is it true that no-one has yet been brought to justice for a crime so foul?” Captain Fleetwood joined the conversation.
“No suspects were ever identified,” Edwin said.
“That is not quite true.” As he spoke, Sir Garwen’s gaze flickered across to Fraser, and Iona swallowed down the panicky sound that rose to her throat. “There was no trial, and for some reason I have not yet fathomed, a public pardon has been issued to my brother’s killer. Even though the identity of that person remains—to all intents and purposes, at least—unknown.”
“But that is astounding,” Captain Fleetwood exclaimed. “I cannot believe our superiors would offer clemency to the perpetrator of such a horrendous act against one of the king’s own. On what grounds was this pardon offered?”
Sir Garwen’s thin lips narrowed further. “The circumstances remain shrouded in mystery, but it seems ’twas part of an attempt to reduce tension in this region during the days prior to Culloden.”
“Since there is no longer any such need mayhap this laughable pardon can be withdrawn?” Captain Fleetwood was clearly incensed.
“Mayhap.” Sir Garwen turned as Martha and Fraser joined them.
“You will excuse us neglecting you to engage in a private conversation, I know.” Martha spoke with her usual quiet composure. “We have guests arriving today for the baptism of our son, and there were some last-minute arrangements to discuss.”
“It is even more generous of you, in such circumstances, to allow us to intrude on your hospitality, my lady.” Sir Garwen bowed.
“You are very welcome to stay here until your horse is rested, are they not, my love?”
Iona wondered if she was the only person holding her breath as every eye turned to Fraser. If he battled internally before answering, it was not obvious. His smile was charming, his voice level. “But of course.” He looked directly at Sir Garwen. “How could it be otherwise?”
As the whole group moved together to the table where Martha had called for refreshments to be set out, Edwin halted Iona by placing an arm about her waist and drawing her against him. His lips just brushed her ear. “Fear not. I am beside you in this.”
When he released her, she found, to her surprise, that the trembling in her limbs had ceased.
By evening, the great hall was filled with a throng of richly dressed guests. Auld Rab had managed to warn each of them upon their arrival of the presence of two redcoat officers in their midst. This foresight meant that no shock or hostility was shown toward Sir Garwen or Captain Fleetwood. Since the Gaelic language was outlawed as part of the Duke of Cumberland’s highland-clearance plans, no curses in that language were uttered. Not openly, anyway.
Throughout the day there had been a constant flurry of activity during which horses were stabled, guests shown to their rooms and servants given a variety of contradictory orders. By some miracle, due more to Martha’s unhurried approach than Cora’s red-faced blunderings, a vast meal of three elegant courses was served at dinne
r. These included mushroom broth, beetroot salad, a variety of savoury puddings, barley broth, chicken fricassee, stewed brisket of beef, bean casserole, stuffed trout and boiled rabbit. For those who were able to find room for dessert, this feast was followed by apple pie, cheese, queen’s cake and scones.
Iona found it difficult to eat anything due to the fact that Sir Garwen Hendry was seated next to her. Fraser had explained this deliberate tactic before they sat down to their meal.
“I would’nae do this to ye under normal circumstances. But ’tis no coincidence that he has come here at this time. I need him watched close, and that can be done best by one I trust most.”
Fraser’s words were in her mind as she turned to Sir Garwen. He was lounging back in his chair, those light eyes fixed on her face. She wondered how long he had been watching her, and the thought disturbed her. He disturbed her.
“You said that the Duke of Cumberland had ordered you to come to Scotland, Sir Garwen. Why is that? Or would you be revealing military secrets if you told me?” She attempted a flirtatious smile and knew by the flash of interest in his eyes that it had worked.
“Not at all. The reason for my presence here is no secret. My mission is to capture this damnable blackguard they call the Falcon.”
Iona’s hand shook slightly, spilling some of the red wine from her goblet onto the white cloth that covered the table. She stared guiltily at the stain then made a swift movement as though to cover it with her hand. Sir Garwen was faster and their fingers clashed. Iona pulled away as though scalded.
“Allow me.” He used his handkerchief to dab at the dark-red splash marks. “No, it cannot be removed. ’Tis a stain that tells its own tale of your guilt, Lady Roxburgh.”