The Black Knave

by Patricia Potter

  Why in the hell did she invade his every thought?

  He moved quickly past their curious glances, through the door and down to the stable. Despite the late hour, Jamie was cleaning out stalls for the ducal visit on the morning. There was no sign of the lad’s father. He was probably asleep.

  Rory made a pledge to himself that he would speak to the father tomorrow.

  “Do ye need a saddle, sir?”

  “I will saddle my own horse,” he said.

  The boy’s lower lip trembled. “I am very good at saddling.”

  “I know that well, Jamie. It is not that I think you will not do it well. But it is late and you should be abed.”

  “Fa—”

  “Tell him I insisted.” He looked in one of his pockets and found a crown. He tossed the coin to the lad. “That is for you. Not your fa. You keep it someplace safe in case you ever need it.”

  The lad’s eyes grew large as he clutched the coin. “Aye, sir. Thank ye.”

  The Marquis of Braemoor probably never would have done that. But Rory was damned tired of being the selfish, arrogant boor. Which was a very dangerous feeling, indeed.

  “Get on with you, lad,” he said. As the boy scooted out the door, Rory quickly saddled his favorite mount, a flashy but steady gray. He never took him on the Knave’s errands; he was altogether too memorable. He stepped into the stirrup, then swung himself up into the saddle and cantered down the lane.

  The moon was high and bright. No fog or drizzle this night. ’Twas well past midnight, and he saw no other riders. He should be tired of riding, but now he needed to be away from Braemoor, away from the memories past and present.

  He thought about leaving here, leaving the estates to Neil, the true-blood heir to Braemoor. And now Rory knew he would be a good custodian of it. ’Twas a small legacy Rory could leave; he’d wasted so much of his life in wanton disregard of others.

  And Bethia?

  He had given her the necklace for a purpose. Just as he would give her most of the Forbes jewelry. It should be enough for her and her brother to start a life elsewhere. He would seek an annulment or divorce so she could find someone of her own choosing. If, indeed, he survived to escape Scotland. If he did, he would have nothing except his gambler’s skill and that was no’ too steady an occupation. He wanted none of the jewelry or anything else that came from Braemoor.

  He reached Alister’s rooms behind his smithy. His friend would no doubt be querulous about his late-night visit, but in the last few months he had become used to Rory’s nocturnal habits.

  He knocked loudly enough to wake the dead, since Alister was a far better sleeper than he.

  In a moment, a grumbling Alister opened the door. “Can you not ever do things the way ordinary men do?”

  Rory grinned. ’Twas good to be with a friend again. “I see you made it back from Buckie.”

  “Did you have any doubts?”

  “Nay, but I ran into a wee spot of trouble.”

  Alister raised an eyebrow.

  “You got the warning there, but I fear I did not heed it strongly enough. Apparently someone was watching the tavern. They followed us halfway to Drummond’s hiding place. Soldiers were all over the bloody place.”

  Alister gestured him over to a table, and he poured both of them some ale. “Donna keep me waiting. Since you are here, I sense you outwitted them again.”

  “Not I. Some lad posing as me.”

  “Who?”

  Rory spread his hands in denial. “I hoped you would know. I would like to thank him.”

  “I know of no lad involved.”

  Rory shrugged his shoulders. “There are a number of mysteries. I suppose you heard that my wife disappeared.”

  “Aye. She was gone when I arrived. I was going to look for her when she showed up bedraggled and tired and wet. Did she tell you what happened?”

  “A story I did not believe. It was a good tale, though. Almost as good as some of mine. She just is not as accomplished a liar.”

  “Damning praise.” Alister yawned. “I suppose this visit has a purpose.”

  “Aye. I think she is up to something. I am particularly afraid that she might be planning to abduct her brother herself.”

  “All the more reason to tell her who you are.”

  “Nay,” Rory said. “There are many reasons against it. The first being her lack of skill as a liar. And Cumberland is visiting on the morrow. He is far too shrewd not to detect changes in her.”

  “Cumberland? Here?”

  “Aye. We received a message today.”

  “Could he know anything?”

  “Nay, but they are becoming more determined to catch the Knave. We must be thinking about leaving Scotland. After we get Bethia’s brother, and the two of them to France.”

  One of Alister’s eyebrows arched again. “Bethia? Might you be going wi’ them?”

  “I have no love for France, either. They have been playing games with Scotland for centuries. I plan to go to America. I want you and Mary to go with me. I will have enough for passage for the three of us. A blacksmith is always wanted, and I will go where the cards go.”

  Alister peered at him. There was little light other than that from the fireplace which, like his own had been, was none too bright. “You will still be married.”

  “I will get an annulment or divorce.”

  “She is Catholic.”

  “We were not married by a priest.”

  “You have thought it all out, have you?”

  “Aye.”

  “What about the lady?”

  “She disappeared somewhere for four days. I suspect—”

  “A lover?”

  Not that. She had been virgin. Yet there could well be someone she trusted, someone she loved. He shrugged. “She never wanted this marriage.”

  Alister looked at him closely. “You care about her.”

  “Nay.”

  “Now who’s not a good liar?”

  “I would not expect her to honor something forced upon her. And I have nothing to offer her. When I leave, I will leave with nothing more than passage money.”

  Alister sighed. “Then what do you wish of me?”

  “I want you to take a letter to her brother tomorrow. Look around. See if you can find a weak spot for the Knave.”

  “My absences are being talked about.”

  “An errand commanded by me. All think me an unfeeling lackwit anyway.”

  “Your problem, my lord, is you feel far too much.”

  “That is nonsense. You know I enjoy the game. Matching wits with Cumberland is supremely satisfying. He is an arrogant ass.” He grinned as he took a last swallow of the brandy. “Almost as arrogant as the Marquis of Braemoor.”

  “You will miss the bright colors.”

  “Aye, like I miss a burr in my trews.”

  Alister grinned. “You thrive on discomfort, my lord. But Scotland will miss the Knave.”

  “I think he has done everything he can. It is becoming too dangerous for you and Mary. I would never forgive myself if you paid for my actions.”

  “You would be swinging with us,” Alister said dryly. “No’ so much time to regret. And we both made our own decisions.”

  But Rory knew he had influenced the decision. “Can you go tomorrow?”

  “Aye. If you promise to take no more trips for a week. You need some rest. You do not look like a fat, contented marquis.”

  “Are marquises ever contented?”

  “Half-witted ones,” Alister said. “At least I suppose so, never having been one.”

  “Half-witted or a marquis?”

  Alister laughed. “I will leave the former to you, my lord. And now I need my sleep if I am to make a journey in the morning.”

  “I will have her letters ready. I want you gone before Cumberland arrives.”

  Alister nodded.

  Rory went to the door. “Keep an ear out for a young lad masquerading as me. ’Tis a wee bit insulting, to tell
the truth.”

  “’Tis well known you are a master of disguises. I expect it is better to be a lad than an old woman.”

  “You can age yourself. You canna take it away.”

  “I did not know you were so vain, my lord.”

  Rory laughed. “Good night, my friend.”

  Bethia woke to a wet tongue swabbing her face.

  She yawned. The bed felt good, warm, safe.

  She giggled as Black Jack licked her ears.

  “Lucky dog.”

  The deep male voice startled her and she sat up suddenly, spilling the puppy in her lap. Jack howled in protest.

  He was sitting in one of her chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him. He was without wig this morning, and he looked devilishly handsome. But she would not be so easy to fool this time. “What are you doing here?”

  “Visiting my wife.”

  “Your mistress is not available?”

  “You do have a sharp tongue, lass.”

  “Not until I met you.”

  His lips twisted into a slight smile. “I doubt that. But I am here as a Good Samaritan. Alister will take your letters to your brother. He is down in the courtyard now.”

  “Oh.” Why could he always disarm her so easily? She noticed his gaze lower, and she saw that her nightdress had gaped open. Warmth started at the point his gaze fell, then flowed inward. Her shoulders ached with a tension they’d never felt before, and her heart pounded against its cage. Lightning leaped between them, jagged and blinding, cloaking them with its intensity. A fierce urgency consumed her.

  Why was her body betraying her?

  Why were her thoughts doing the same?

  He had stiffened also, as if the same urgency had seized him. His hazel eyes had a golden glow—a fire. Why did he not wear that infernal wig? Why did he look so sure and confident and masculine lounging in a plain shirt and leather breeches? Why couldn’t she breathe properly?

  But there was also just an edge of uncertainty in his eyes.

  It was that uncertainty that always wound its way into her heart.

  Remember that night. She repeated that warning to herself over and over again. Remember the night when he loved you, then left without so much as a kiss. Remember how you felt?

  Why did that memory fade when he was so close to her?

  “Do you have the letters, madam?”

  “Aye,” she said. Even she knew her voice sounded hoarse. “They are in the book on the table. The one with his full name is meant to be examined, the other is merely marked ‘Dougal.’” Neither, in fact, contained anything damaging. She did not trust the marquis that much. But the plain one did have some words that might have a special meaning to her brother.

  She watched as he picked up the book, studied the title, then put it down after taking the two letters and stuffing them in his coat. “You took up my offer on visiting the library.”

  “Aye,” she said warily.

  “I am surprised you had time, with all your adventures.”

  “I have nothing but time, since you have determined to imprison me again.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That was yesterday.”

  “It seems like forever.”

  “It is for your own good. I should not like to see you lose a horse again. You may not be so lucky next time.”

  “You care so much?”

  “Cumberland would not be pleased if you were to disappear. Which reminds me: he plans to honor us with a visit today.”

  She felt color draining from her face.

  “Is that why you came this morning? Not to fetch a letter, but to make sure I am well enough to meet your guests.”

  “His visit, in part, is responsible. I want the letters on the way before he forbids it. I think it would also be well that they arrive when he is not with Creighton.”

  Bethia did not expect that explanation. In fact, she could not remember when he had ever explained, much less apologized, for anything. “Why?”

  “Cumberland might intercept it.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I dislike disharmony.” He said it with such insincerity that she had to smile.

  “There is already disharmony.”

  His brows furrowed together. “I hadna noticed.”

  Bethia could not tell whether he was serious or not. His eyes twinkled but his tone was … unctuous. He was either being very charming or very obnoxious, and it was disconcerting not to know which it was.

  He rose gracefully. She had noticed that before. The grace with which he moved, whether he walked or rode. It was even in the way he lounged in a chair, or stretched. Even in the lazy, sensuous way he’d made love.

  She wished she had not thought of that. She wished that she could regard him with the same cool indifference with which he seemed to view her.

  Cumberland. Some of her rage had waned, but none of her determination to do whatever she could to save others from him.

  At least now she could look at him and know that she had done something, that she had acted to thwart him.

  And to thwart her husband.

  Unfortunately, she wanted to do something else with him, and that shamed her.

  “Are you going to read them?”

  “Madam?”

  “My letters.”

  His look of utter astonishment surprised her. It was as if he had never even considered such a thing. But then he’d surprised her from the very first night when he’d not taken his husbandly rights. She’d thought then that it was because she was undesirable, but now she no longer believed that to be true. She’d too often seen the interest in his eyes. Warmth. Desire. Need.

  “No, madam. I ha’ no intention of reading your personal mail.”

  “You serve Cumberland. I would have thought such a thing a rather minor sin compared to your much greater ones.”

  His eyes grew cold. “Greater ones?”

  “Treason to Scotland.” Some demon was spurring her on. It always did with him. Perhaps because he always threw her off balance.

  “Do you not know that the victor is always right, wife? It is the losers that are branded traitors.”

  He was opening the door, then turned back. “I expect you to wear your best gown. I wish the duke to see a felicitous couple.”

  If she’d had something other than the puppy in hand, she would have thrown it at him. She could not understand why she always reacted to him as she did. Why she allowed herself to be drawn to him. Why she challenged him. Why she cared at all what he thought. Every time he seemed to be kind, he followed it with some ulterior motive. Cumberland wanted a child. They were to look happy. He wanted a “harmonious household.”

  Yet she could not remove from her mind the image of him with that wry, attractive smile on his lips, and his unruly dark hair and enigmatic eyes that changed color so easily.

  “What do you think?” she asked Black Jack.

  He wagged his tail.

  “That doesna help.”

  She put him down and rose, going over to the window. It was just past dawn, and the servants were beginning to stir. She looked down and saw Alister. He was standing next to a bay horse.

  Bethia moved to the side of the window. The marquis stepped into view, said a few words to him, then handed him her sealed letters. She did not believe he’d had time to read them, and that pleased her. Then she studied the two men below. They appeared comfortable with each other, the marquis and the blacksmith. She had thought that odd before, but watching their ease together only deepened her interest. Several seconds later, the blacksmith mounted his horse and trotted down to the lane.

  The marquis looked after him, then turned to look up at her window. She quickly darted away. She did not want him to believe she had more interest in him than she did. It was just that he was such a mass of contradictions.

  She harnessed her curiosity and sat down in front of the mirror and started to brush her hair. She would play her part today. She would disarm both Cumberland and her hus
band. And then she would become the Black Knave again and rescue her brother. Perhaps then they could find the real Knave and get out of Scotland.

  And away from the marquis’s extraordinarily disturbing presence.

  Nineteen

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Your Grace?” asked Rory in an ingratiating voice. He was wearing his most elaborate clothes—a long, coral coat with numerous gold buttons and trim over gartered red-and-black trews of finest wool.

  He also wore his finest wig, the powdered curls falling over his shoulders.

  His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland, did not seem impressed. He frowned. “How is the marchioness?”

  “She is not feeling well at the moment.”

  The duke’s face brightened. “Might she be with child?”

  “’Tis possible,” Rory replied. Hopefully his wife would be long gone before such a boast could be disproven. Rory remained puzzled at the duke’s intense interest in that particular part of his life.

  Cumberland nodded with approval. “I want her to have the best of care. My own physician will attend her at birth.”

  “I am not sure that she is with child.”

  “We shall pray for God’s blessing,” Cumberland said piously. “You will receive ten thousand pounds when it is confirmed she is with child.”

  Rory could not conceal his surprise.

  “I thought you would be pleased.”

  “I am, but I need no additional reward to serve you or the crown.” He could be as obsequious as anyone.

  “Still, I have been authorized to tell you this.”

  “I am grateful, Your Grace.”

  “As well you should be. Which is my second reason for coming.”

  Rory remained silent, waiting. He did not like the sound of any of this.

  “This Knave fellow. I want him. I have doubled the reward. I am also asking every loyal family to patrol the roads and bring in any man—or woman—not known to them. I will not tolerate this man’s impudence any longer. I will do what has to be done to bring him to the gallows.”

  “Aye, Your Grace. I will have men blocking the roads around Braemoor. Do you have a better description?”

  “He is as slippery as an eel. The last report was of a lad. Dammit, a lad. Some of my men believe him a demon who can transform himself at will.”