Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  For she could no longer pretend that the soldiers were renegades working against the law. The Lieutenant and his men had been ordered to terrorize the Highlands. Their cruel treatment of Maggie had been deliberate, without provocation. And James MacLonan had not married Theadora Tilton for love. He hadn’t married Thea, the person, at all. He’d married the daughter of Sir Frederick Tilton, English general, hereditary Whig. He’d married so that he would be able to return to his Highland home and to ensure that incidents like this one wouldn’t happen.

  “No,” she groaned aloud, shutting her eyes tightly as she took the thought one step further. Why would James want to comfort her now that Williams had proven how useless her family’s power really was? All she was to him was the physical proof of a bargain he’d been forced to make; one that had not served him well. One that had left him with an obligation that could prove disastrous.

  Above all, James was a Highland Scot, a proud, passionate, determined man who would fight for what he believed was right, or for the honor of those who were his responsibility. She’d heard stories about the kind of revenge Highlanders wreaked on their enemies—raids and murder and violent bloodletting. If James tried something like that against the might of the English army, he would surely be crushed in the attempt.

  What could she do to keep him from taking a risk that would destroy him? How could she convince him that what had happened on this desolate moor could be handled through proper legal channels? Why should he believe that the system was not flawed, when all of his experience proved otherwise? The questions tumbled through her thoughts and as each went unanswered her despair grew.

  When a sound broke the stillness, she lifted her head, not sure what it was. The mist had rolled down from the mountain crags, and she could not see more than a few feet beyond where she crouched. The sound strengthened, becoming clearer. Terror plucked at her, for it was hoofbeats that she heard, still in the distance, but getting stronger. Hoofbeats heading toward her.

  What if it was the odious lieutenant returning?

  Chapter 14

  For a shameful moment she contemplated flight. Then she squared her shoulders and tossed her head defiantly. She would not leave Maggie alone to face the marauders again.

  As the hoofbeats drew closer, her heartbeat pounded unnaturally loud. But the horse that materialized out of the deepening mist was her husband’s powerful chestnut, not Williams’s black stallion. Relief poured through her.

  James swung down from the horse. Striding over to her, he demanded curtly, “Thea! What happened? Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said shakily, “but Maggie’s been hurt.” She looked down at the woman’s face as she spoke, and was surprised to see that her expression had lost the bitter pain of moments before. Now she appeared at peace with herself and the world around her.

  James glanced down at Maggie and frowned. He touched her throat, searching for a pulse. Gently, he detached Maggie’s hand from his wife’s grasp. Thea stared at him in puzzlement. He drew a sharp breath as he saw the bruise marring her cheek, but he said gently, “Maggie’s dead, Thea. Come away.”

  “But we were just talking,” she said blankly. When James stood up and tugged her to her feet, she followed him blindly.

  “Your horse came back to the village, riderless and in a lather. What happened, Thea?”

  Thea blinked. Desperately, she said, “It was an accident, James. They didn’t mean to hurt Maggie!”

  “They?”

  Thea began to shiver. Automatically, James draped his cloak around her shoulders. “Soldiers. They wanted information about illegal activities in the area. Maggie wouldn’t tell them. She couldn’t tell them what she didn’t know!”

  James’s mouth hardened and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “How did Maggie die?”

  “The lieutenant stabbed her.” The shock of Maggie’s death was beginning to wear off. Thea glanced up at her husband’s face for a brief moment. “His horse bolted and the sword… just… sank into her body.”

  James touched her bruised cheek. “And this? How did this happen?”

  “It’s nothing…” She faltered, terribly afraid that if James knew the lieutenant had struck her deliberately, he would head down that path of bloody vengeance Maggie had spoken of.

  “Indeed?” he said gently. “Permit me to decide that, madam wife. Who struck you?”

  “Williams, the officer in charge of the troop. I said he was beneath contempt.” Her voice cracked in a sob. “His answer, as he rode away, was… was this!” She shoved her palms against her eyes in a futile effort to stem her tears.

  “Thea, dear heart, don’t cry.” James reached out, capturing her hands and drawing her against him. His arms wrapped around her, holding her shaking body tightly against him.

  Thea sobbed helplessly while he crooned soft, soothing words and stroked her hair. Finally, she said shakily, “James, they knew I was English. I told them so. I thought it would make them would go away and leave Maggie alone. Williams laughed and called me a traitor. A traitor because I’d married a Scot. I was angry, but I was so helpless! I jeered at him, but that did nothing but make the situation worse. He made me dismount and they took Firefly away and threatened poor Maggie if she didn’t tell them what they wanted to know…”

  James pressed her gently. “Finish the story, Thea. You must, for your sake and mine.”

  She glanced warily up at him, but the strength of his arms holding her protectively offered her safety while the concern in his eyes urged her to continue. “Everything happened so quickly. Williams’s horse bolted and the sword he was holding on Maggie… it stabbed into her. She screamed and…” Thea buried her face in James’s chest. His clothes muffled her last words. “She fell.”

  *

  On that afternoon, with the nip of fall in the air and the promise of rain adding to the cold James MacLonan made a vow to himself.

  He was filled with a burning rage more powerful than anything he had ever felt before. As he stared grimly over Thea’s head, he could far too easily envision the scene she’d described. The terrified women, the bragging, boastful officer, the subtle menace of the obedient soldiers. Violence simmering below the surface, brought to life by circumstances pushed beyond control.

  His wife had been subjected to the casual exhibition of brute power through crude violence. An exhibition that had forced his proud, innocent English wife to look deeply into the ugly underside of a system that was flawed in ways she had never been forced to acknowledge before.

  For him, it was the final insult, coming after years of injury. James vowed to himself that Williams, the English lieutenant, would pay for the crimes he had committed this day.

  One way or another.

  *

  On their way back to the village, the rain that had been threatening all morning began to fall, so only those who had seen Firefly trot back to her stable were about when their master cantered up to the cottage, his wife held securely before him on his big chestnut stallion. James dismounted swiftly and lifted Thea down, refusing offers of help with a silent shake of his head. Trembling, Thea buried her face in his shoulder as he carried her into the house.

  Inside, he called for Morag, asking her to prepare a bath, before he set Thea on her feet. She stood, huddled and shivering, her eyes downcast. Gently, James took her chin and tilted it upwards. He winced at the sight of the discoloration on her cheek. Thea’s lips trembled.

  “Damn the man,” James whispered under his breath.

  Thea swallowed hard and bit her lip. She looked up, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. James swallowed a curse and drew her into his arms. Over Thea’s head he saw Morag standing frozen on the stairs, a startled expression on her face.

  “Is the mistress all right, sir?”

  “My wife has had a bad shock and an accident, Morag. Is the bath ready yet?”

  “The water is heating now, sir.” Morag came slowly down the stairs as Thea sniffed and turned. Morag gasped.<
br />
  Trembling, Thea buried her face in James’s shoulder once again.

  “Mistress Thea! What has happened to you?”

  “Nothing. I’m all right, Morag,” Thea mumbled into the depths of James’s coat.

  Morag frowned. James shot her a grim look, then said quietly, “You might as well know, Morag. It will be all over the village by nightfall. There has been a death.”

  “A death! But who?” As James stared grimly at her, realization dawned on Morag. “Maggie? Maggie MacLonan? How?”

  Thea drew a great shuddering breath and pulled herself out of her husband’s arms. “At the hands of an Englishman. An English dragoon, in fact. One of my father’s men.”

  “Thea, your father no longer commands in Edinburgh. You know that,” James said carefully.

  “Does that matter?” Thea demanded in clipped tones, refusing to look at either James or Morag. “When my father was reassigned to London, Colonel Harris was left in charge, so he was the one who sent out this patrol. He issued the orders to harass the Highlands. It’s true that the Lieutenant and his men were under the Colonel’s command, not my father’s, but Colonel Harris served my father for three years! He is my father’s man.”

  Morag looked from one to the other. “I don’t understand…”

  There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Then James said slowly, “I believe my wife is saying that she holds herself responsible for what happened to Maggie. Is that right, Thea?”

  Thea’s head snapped around. Her hands were clenched beneath the wet cloak. “Yes! Yes, it’s true! Maggie is dead because of me!”

  “Ach, Mistress Thea, don’t be daft,” Morag said prosaically, after a moment. “No one blames you for what the soldiers do. ‘Tweren’t your fault.”

  “You don’t understand Morag.” Thea’s shoulders slumped, “You don’t understand why James married me.”

  Morag threw back her head and laughed. “I’ve served the two of you for these six months past lady, so I have a fair idea what makes your marriage.”

  To Thea’s complete astonishment, Morag winked at James. He laughed.

  “Come upstairs, wife. I’ll be your lady’s maid while Morag prepares your bath. I think you need quiet and a chance to relax before anything more is said.”

  Listlessly, Thea allowed him to lead her up the stairs. Morag’s reaction confused her, but she knew without a doubt that with the lieutenant’s assault and Maggie’s death she had failed her husband utterly. Morag might not understand, but Thea did—and so did James.

  *

  The next day she did not want to go out for she was sure that the people of Glenmuir would blame her for Maggie’s death. After all, she was English and it was the English who had murdered Maggie. She slept late, reluctant to even leave the safety of her bedchamber, but Morag was there, chattering to her in a normal way about the household routine, asking what she had planned that day, and making sure that Thea’s maid, Jenny, kept her questions to what Thea wanted to wear. Thea found herself responding, tensely at first, then in a more normal way. Before long, she was dressed and heading down the stairs to partake of breakfast with James, who had waited his meal for her. With James she could not pretend that everything was normal, as she had with Morag. They talked of Maggie’s death, searching for the reason that an English patrol would be on Glenmuir lands, but could find no sensible answer.

  As she finished the meal, Morag’s mother, Eileen MacLonan, presented herself with a request that Thea visit one of the villagers who was with child and close to her term. A visit from the mistress would do her good, Eileen said, and James agreed.

  Thea suspected that this was nothing more than a trumped-up pretense to force her to leave the security of the cottage, but she could find no way to refuse, short of admitting that she was afraid of facing the hostility of the villagers. As Thea had never been one to give in to fear, reluctantly, and with considerable trepidation, she allowed a cloak to be thrown over her shoulders before Eileen shepherded her out of the house.

  It was not until she felt a shaft of sunlight on her skin that she stopped. Putting her hand up to cover the bruise on her cheek, she turned to Eileen. “I’ve come out without my hat. I must go back inside.” She needed the broad brim of the small crowned hat she usually wore to hide her face from the eyes of the villagers.

  Gently, Eileen took her hand and pulled it down. “Nonsense, lady. Let your people see your pretty face.”

  Thea stood tensely, her muscles trembling slightly, as if she was about to flee. “I need my hat, Eileen.”

  Eileen smiled at her. “You can go back for your hat if you must, lady, of course you can, but this babe of Maureen’s is kicking something fierce. I think he is ready to be born any time. Maureen is set upon a visit from you before that happens. I’d not wait too long before going to see her.”

  Thea frowned. “You think the baby could be born today?”

  “Today, tomorrow, in the middle of the night.” Eileen shrugged, a twinkle in her eyes. “Babies come in their own time, lady. They don’t wait on our convenience.”

  “No, no, of course not.” Thea stood irresolute. The fine trembling was gone, though, and the tension in her body had eased. “I… I suppose we should go to her cottage.”

  Eileen nodded approvingly. “Aye, lady, the sooner the better.”

  Thea moistened her lips. “I…” She put her hand over her livid cheek again, and again Eileen gently pulled it away.

  She patted the back of Thea’s hand comfortingly. “Walk with your head high, lady. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Sighing, Thea said, “But I do, Eileen. I do.”

  “Why? Because you could do nothing against the might of armed and mounted men?”

  “I should have been able to do something, Eileen! They were my own people! My father’s men. They should have respected my demand that they leave.”

  “Aye, should have, but didn’t.” Sadly, Eileen shook her head. “What could you have done? You were a woman, alone and unarmed. Mistress MacLonan, yesterday you faced what we have all faced. No one in Glenmuir faults you for what you could not change.”

  You faced what we have all faced. The words were an indirect allusion to the reprisals that occurred after the Pretender’s defeat. “Is that what it was like, Eileen? Feeling fury while you watch the soldiers destroy, knowing you are powerless to stop them, then hating yourself for what you could not do?”

  “It was a sad time, lady,” Eileen said heavily.

  “How did you survive? How did you cope?”

  Slowly, Eileen smiled. “We helped each other lady. We’d all been victims of the same outrage. When the troops left, we banded together and gave each other comfort. We shared the pain and it was easier to bear that way. Come, lady, come and see Maureen. Feel her baby kick within her. Talk to people, lady. You’ll be cheered, I know you will.”

  Still somewhat reluctant, Thea went with Eileen. The short walk took an hour as people stopped her to ask what had happened and to voice their disgust and outrage. Though there were no maudlin expressions of sentiment, she realized with considerable amazement that the people of Glenmuir didn’t connect her in any way with the English officer who had murdered Maggie. In fact, for them Thea was as much an innocent victim as Maggie had been. Amazingly, the incident had made Thea one of them, in a way she could never have expected.

  *

  That evening, with their supper over, Thea and James had retired to the small parlor. Thea was on one settee, holding an embroidery hoop that she was supposed to be working on, but her fingers were still and her eyes stared into the distance, not at the silk fabric in her hands. A touch on her shoulder and the sound of James’s voice made her jump. “James! Did you say something to me? I must have been daydreaming!”

  “You were far away,” he agreed grimly. He hesitated briefly, then sat down beside her. “I leave for Edinburgh tomorrow.”

  She stared at him, suddenly panicked because he’d put into words wh
at she’d desperately hoped would never happen. “Must you go, James?”

  He touched her cheek. “Williams has to be punished, Thea.”

  She flinched, and he withdrew his hand immediately.

  “James, is it really necessary?” She knew it was, of course, but she was haunted by fears of her husband being forced back into exile if he returned to Edinburgh and there demanded more than Colonel Harris, now in charge of the garrison, would be willing to concede. Once she would have scoffed at fears like hers, but now she had a different, frightened, perspective. She no longer trusted the government she had so long believed in. But here at Glenmuir James would be safe. She wanted him to stay. “Couldn’t you send someone else to inform the authorities of Maggie’s death?”

  James stared at her incredulously. “You expect me to send someone else to protest the insult done my wife?”

  “You are going to report Maggie’s death.” She faltered, her hand coming to cover her cheek fearfully.

  James stood up and began to pace restlessly. “Yes. But I go mainly to seek redress for the wrongs done to my wife! Thea I thought you knew that!”

  She reached out for him. “James, don’t go because of me!”

  Standing stock still, he demanded, “‘Why?”

  “Because I am alive and unharmed!”

  “Unharmed?” James repeated softly. “Thea, that infernal cur struck you. He taunted you and called you insulting names. He bullied you and forced you to see what you should not have seen. He—”

  “But I deserved it! James, I am not blameless in Maggie’s death! I jeered at Williams, I insulted him! If I had done as I ought and minded my tongue…” Her voice caught on a sob.

  Striding over to her, he grasped her hands and pulled her urgently to her feet. “Thea, listen to me. If Lieutenant Williams was a decent man, he would not have been threatening Maggie with his sword and using the proximity of his men to make her afraid.”