The captain stiffened. “Indeed? My congratulations, sir.” He returned the girl’s papers, swung around and said with a sudden dark frown, “It all sounds a touch havey-cavey to me. What do you make of it, Mathieson?”
Over Lake’s shoulder, Mathieson could see Fiona Bradford’s pale solemn little face. Her green eyes met his own with unwavering confidence. Lake was suspicious, obviously, which was extreme dangerous. But again, fate offered him a chance to save himself. A few words only and he would be protected from the possible wrath of military justice. They, of course, would all be hauled off to the Tower … The Tiny Mite, my lady, young Japhet. To say nothing of Thaddeus Heywood for whom, against all logic and reason, he had formed a grudging affection. It was irritatingly nonvillainous, but he had no wish to save his neck at the cost of destroying these people. Besides, he hadn’t toiled all these months only to now lose every chance at the treasure. He answered, “I do believe ’tis all above board, sir. I knew Mr. Heywood’s affianced was to join us.”
The captain grunted. “Very well.” He looked sternly around the silent group. “Keep your eyes open, Mathieson. There are rebels about. Dammit, I can smell ’em!” He saluted in the general direction of Fiona Bradford and stamped from the hall, his men following.
By common consent there was silence until the hoofbeats faded into the distance. Then, my lady turned to Mathieson. “You’ve a quick wit, lad. Again, we have to thank you.”
“I—motht of all—am eternally indebted to you,” said Heywood, his eyes upon Miss Clandon with such obvious worship that there could be no doubting this was his love.
Amused, Bradford said, “My dear, allow me to present the gentleman who announced your betrothal—Captain Roland Mathieson.”
Bowing, Mathieson said laughingly, “I trust you will not feel bound as a result of my impudence, ma’am.”
“Irretrievably,” murmured Heywood, his eyes wistful. “She cannot ethcape now that it hath been formally announthed.”
Miss Clandon offered her hand and said with a twinkling little smile, “Now see the pickle you have got me in, Captain Mathieson.”
Heywood had long since abandoned all hope of winning the lady, but her reply held an encouragement that he scarcely dare acknowledge. He turned so white that his freckles stood out darkly and he stared at her, dazed and tongue-tied.
Taking pity on him, Fiona said, “Again, you have risked your life for us, Captain Mathieson. Though why you should do so after the treatment we mete out to you,” her eyes rested scornfully on Torrey, “escapes me.”
“It escapes me also,” said Mathieson thoughtfully. “I had quite meant to denounce you all and thus save my own neck!”
There was much laughter at this. Then, hugging her newly arrived granddaughter, Lady Clorinda asked in eager impatience, “Where is MacTavish? He did come with you, no?”
Mathieson stood perfectly still, breath held in check.
Cuthbert, who had come into the hall in time to hear the end of this, said quietly, “Rob’s away again, my lady. Should never’ve come. The young jabbernoll’s properly sick. When we spotted the dragoons he knew he’d be unable to bluff ’em, as poorly as he was feeling, so he’s gone back.”
Mathieson drew a quivering breath of relief and his taut muscles relaxed.
Bradford asked anxiously, “What ails him?”
“He says ’tis a cold, Uncle Mervyn,” said Miss Clandon, shaking her head dubiously.
“More like an inflammation of the lungs, was you to ask me,” grunted Cuthbert.
Clearly worried, my lady said, “Lord protect the lad. We cannot have him ill! How ever should we go on without him? Did he send any word for me?”
Cuthbert nodded and lowered his voice. “We have messages, ma’am.”
It was decided the messages must wait until they were packed up and had returned to their camp, and a rather subdued troupe set to work.
Mathieson, assisting in taking down the curtains, became aware of a sudden silence, and swung around, ready as always, for violent action.
Freemon Torrey stood behind him, pale but defiant, fists clenched and shoulders pulled back. “A word with you, sir,” he said haughtily.
Mathieson turned to face him. The silence deepened, the others pausing in their labours to watch this exchange. “Well?”
“I—” Torrey bit his lip. “No, sir. Is not ‘well.’ What I did—” His auburn hair glowed in the candlelight, the costume accentuated his muscular figure, and he looked magnificent, but his head drooped. Staring at his boots, his face suddenly scarlet, he went on, “’Twas—despicable. Dishonourable. Disgusting. I—was—”
“Very jealous.”
Torrey’s head came up angrily.
“But—quite without cause,” soothed Mathieson. “The lady is très beau, a delight, a pearl beyond price.” And quite aware that Fiona watched and listened, he finished, “But I, you know, am a wanderer—an impoverished, unemployed soldier. With no fortune, no estate, no prospects. Sorry competition for such as you … eh?”
Torrey eyed him with suspicion. “But—you admire her. Don’t deny it!”
“Hein! I said I am without fortune—I did not imply I am dead, sir!”
Hearing smothered chuckles, Torrey bristled again. “Now see here!”
“Oui. Forgive. I interrupted your so humble apology. Pray continue.”
Infuriatingly, Torrey could not think what to say, and stammered, “Yes. Er—well, I do not expect you to—to forgive the offense. It was unpardonable.”
“Quite. And deplorable. My poor fellow—whoever taught you to fence?”
Heywood, standing nearby, was overcome and shouted with laughter, the others joining in.
“Dammitall,” raged Torrey, but Mathieson’s eyes were gleaming with mischief, and, won to a shamefaced grin, he went on, “I’d no suspicion I fought the world’s best swordsman, curse you!”
“Second best,” said Roland Fairleigh Mathieson modestly.
10
Picayune, who had enjoyed left-over sausage for breakfast, half woke as the caravan jolted over a pothole. She yawned, stretched, and proceeded to drag herself into a more comfortable position on Elizabeth Clandon’s lap.
“Never in my life,” admitted the girl, stroking the little cat absently. “I suppose that is why I so mistrust your Captain Mathieson. No man should look like that. ’Tis most unfair. Only think how ’twould be to love such a one!” She shuddered. “Heaven forfend!” Fiona remaining silent, Elizabeth glanced at her curiously, then steadied Picayune as the caravan rocked again. “Were you offended by what he said to Torrey last evening?”
“I’ve no objection to being named très beau—even if it is not true. Or—a pearl beyond price …” Fiona gave a soft little chuckle. “The sly wretch.”
“A ‘sly wretch’ is it? Yet you think he is a good man, dear coz?”
“I know he is. Grandmama likes him. And Papa.”
“And Torrey.” Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled. “Oh yes, I could see the liking between them!”
Fiona said with a shrug, “Torrey is jealous.”
“With reason?” And noting the hesitation, the heightened colour in her cousin’s cheeks, Elizabeth, who was fond of Freemon Torrey, thought, ‘My heavens!’ and asked anxiously, “Never say you have formed a tendre for Captain Mathieson? He is an adventurer if ever I saw one. Surely Grandmama does not approve your—”
Fiona’s chin tilted upward. “He saved my life, Beth. And I told you about the poor creature he rescued from the ducking stool.”
“Aye, but you say he claimed he merely tumbled into the river, and—”
“Oh, that is just his way. He is so modest he never will take praise for what he does. We are to believe Rumpelstiltskin only chanced to run away with him. ’Twas accidental, one gathers, that he threw the poor woman and me onto his horse and stayed behind to face that horrid mob alone. Stuff!”
‘Lud! What vehemence!’ thought Elizabeth. “But why would he say such things an they are not so?
Surely every gentleman wishes to appear brave and dauntless rather than proclaim himself a rascally creature.”
“Yet how many gentlemen who appear to be brave and dauntless are all talk, and when called upon to do something that might hold an element of risk or of inconvenience to themselves, contrive to be elsewhere, or claim some pressing obligation which will not allow them to help? Roland Mathieson is exactly the reverse. He says he is a villain, yet acts bravely and without an instant’s hesitation where many a lesser man would do nothing—or run away! You saw him fight last night, Beth. He was splendid, was he not?”
Deeply dismayed by the depth of enthusiasm, by the revealing glow in her cousin’s sweet face, Elizabeth said carefully, “He is a magnificent swordsman, I allow. But—rather frightening. No, did you not mark the way his eyes shone? How he laughed while he faced Torrey’s steel? He enjoys to fight! The last time I visited you, dearest, I heard my uncle say that Torrey was very good with the foils—yet Captain Mathieson made him appear a rank amateur.”
“Must I like him less because he is a first-rate swordsman? We may stand in dire need of such skills. And soon!”
“Yet, if my grandmama really trusted him, he would have been admitted to the meeting last night after we came home. He wasnae, Fiona.”
“Was not,” said Fiona, with a smile that took the sting out of the correction. “Besides, Lord Thaddeus was not admitted to the meeting either. Yet you both like and trust him. No?”
It was Miss Clandon’s turn to blush. “I have very good reason to trust Thaddeus Briley—”
“I said ‘like,’ also. “And ’tis Heywood, coz! Be careful!”
“Och awie! I must try to remember! And of course I—I like him. He is a close friend of Ligun Doone, and although a full-blooded Sassenach—”
“Not a half-breed, like Papa and Francis and—”
With an irked exclamation Elizabeth leaned across to tug at one of her cousin’s glossy ringlets. “Ye ken well what I mean, you wretch! Thaddeus almost lost his life while helping our fugitives escape Inverness. He’s as brave as he can stare. The very finest kind of gentleman.”
“Yes.” Fiona took her hand and said firmly, “And you are in love with him! Oh, never deny it, Beth, ’tis writ all over you. Why did you not accept the poor creature, for heaven’s sake? Was it because of dear Jamie? He’s been gone over a year, now.”
Elizabeth shook her golden head sadly. “’Twas not for that reason, though I do mourn Jamie and always shall, God rest his brave soul. When first I met Thaddeus I thought him a silly, dandified creature. But I soon found out differently and I began to like him—more than like him, but … We are worlds apart, Fiona.” Agitated, her accent became pure Scots again. “I’d nae wish then tae become a baroness, y’ken. Nor tae leave my dear Scotland.”
“But Thaddeus seems so kind and considerate a gentleman. Surely he would understand your feelings and allow you to spend part of the year at least with your family?”
“Aye. He did offer that. But …” Elizabeth drew a hand across her eyes wearily. “Och, but I could only think of how awful it would be to become the wife of an English nobleman … All the pomp … The haughty English ladies looking down their noses at the wee Scots lassie who caught the gentleman they’d hoped to snare. Tae—tae be presented tae—royalty!” She shuddered again.
“Is that all? La, Beth, but what a simpleton you are! Only look at yourself. How many ladies can claim a tenth of your loveliness? Why, within a month you would be the Toast of London! And if Lord Thaddeus has a country estate, as I fancy he has, he would doubtless rather spend most of the year there than subject you to unhappiness—if to be in Town would be distasteful to you!” She shook her head at her blushing cousin and added, “When I think of all the Toasts who would give their ears for such as Lord Thaddeus Briley to glance in their direction—and here you refuse the poor soul, and send him off, eating his faithful heart out for you! I knew something of the sort ailed him, for when he thought himself unobserved his eyes were so sad. Beth, Beth—are you not ashamed to have teased him so?”
Remorseful but eager, Elizabeth asked, “Was he really grieved, then? How dreadful! I’d not have caused him a moment’s sorrow—not for the world! I thought he soon would forget me, even if I—” She broke off in confusion, then continued hurriedly, “I never dreamed he would run himself into danger again—and only for my sake.” Her lips curved to a fond smile and she murmured tenderly, “Such a bonnie wee lad. …”
Watching her, Fiona smiled also and thought that by the grace of God, Thaddeus Heywood would take a bride back to London with him.
“Utter folly!” muttered Heywood, jerking the collar of his cloak higher about his ears, and chirruping to the team he guided along the narrow lane. “Beth ought never to have come! Damme, but thometimeth I wonder what Lady Clorinda ith thinking of!”
Reining Rumpelstiltskin around a large puddle, Mathieson asked, “Why did Miss Clandon come? I’d think Cuthbert able to be trusted with any message from MacTavish.”
“No doubt of that. The thing ith—” Heywood paused, glancing at his companion from the corner of his eye.
“Have a care, milord,” warned Mathieson with a grin. “You know I mean to abscond with the caravans and all the treasure!”
“Clod.” Heywood paused again, then added rather diffidently, “I think I know men, Roly, and I’ll admit I’m glad to have a fellow of your calibre to help uth. I fanthy you’re aware we mean to load the treathure very thoon. Mith Clandon hath been arranging the matter of how it ith to be carried on from here.”
Mathieson was touched by the shy compliment, but that reaction was drowned in the ramifications of Heywood’s following sentence. His mind fairly buzzing with conjecture, he managed to ask coolly, “And she came down from Scotland to do so?”
“Clever, ain’t you? How’d you know where the lady come from?”
“Because I am astute as well as talented. And just occasionally Miss Clandon has the very faintest trace of an accent. When are we to collect the treasure?”
“I don’t know ekthackly, but I imagine ’twill be within a day or two, and that it will take a little time.”
It would take a great deal of time, thought Mathieson, if the treasure was as large as rumour said. Yet it could not be of vast size, else how could they transport it in six caravans, most of which were already crowded? There was milady’s ridiculous coach of course, wherein Cuthbert slept at night, but even that outsized and outlandish vehicle could not carry a great deal—certainly not without being detected. Besides, the flamboyant coach, certain to draw all eyes, went on ahead when they approached the town or village in which they were to present the play. On these occasions large banners heralding their arrival were hung from each side of the coach, and Cuthbert and whoever went with him posted notices announcing the time and place of the performance. No—of all their vehicles, the coach was the most public—it could not logically be used to transport the treasure.
He had lost the thread of Heywood’s remarks and was brought back to the present by the mention of Fiona’s name.
“… for her to be traipthing about the countrythide like any gypthy girl! A lady of Quality! Appalling! Enough to ruin her forever!”
“Oh, I cannot allow that, old lad. The girl is well chaperoned—her papa and grandmother are both here to guard her.”
“Aye, and to allow her to perform! In a play! Come now, imagine what the ton would have to thay!”
“Gad! I dare not! I bow to your superior wisdom. She would be ruined fairly. Lucky we are so far from London.”
“And luckier ith the lady not identified before we’re done with thith mad venture! And no need for it in my opinion. We could have had an all male troupe.”
Mathieson jeered, “I wish I may see it! At a time when there’s a widespread hunt for a hoard of treasure, here comes a group of men jauntering about in caravans, claiming to be a theatrical troupe! No, my lady is not such a fool! Everyone knows ’tis the
pretty girls bring in the custom for such ventures. She knew the military would have pounced on such an unlikely lot.”
“I may be a fool,” argued Heywood grimly, “but how will you like it an we are hauled off to the Tower? Have you pictured Mith Fiona in ironth? Or put to the quethtion? Curl your mocking lip over that pretty prothpect, friend!”
“Now—damn your eyes!” exclaimed Mathieson, whitening at this reinforcing of his own fears. “You blasted well know we’d all die sooner than allow such a thing to happen!”
“I know we’d all be willing, but a man don’t alwayth have the opportunity to act ath he intended. We’ve already four ladieth to protect. And now—to have Beth Clandon at tho dreadful a rithk!” His comely face darkened. “God! It don’t bear thinking about!”
Considerably shaken, Mathieson muttered, “It doesn’t. But I imagine each of them was fully aware of the danger and chose to share it rather than allowing some other woman to take such a chance. One can only admire them for their courage and devotion.” And again, he was reminded of Fiona looking so small, so intrepid, on Rump’s back, and holding that mindless mob at bay with his pistol …
“You’re abtholutely thertain you have no objection to Torrey courting Mith Bradford?” Heywood, his eyes crinkling at the corners with sly laughter, watched him.
“When did I ever make such a remark? Poor fellow,” Mathieson shook his head sympathetically. “I collect you were so besotted over your lady at that moment, you did not hear what I said.”
Heywood reddened, but persisted determinedly, “I heard you tell Freemon he need not be jealouth on your account, but—”
“As to that of course, he must make his own determination.”
Heywood stared at him. “But—you dithtinctly—”
“I told him he had nothing to be jealous about, which is perfectly true since the lady in question is not interested in him—in that particular way.”
“Why—you deviouth charlatan! You gave him to believe—”
“Not so,” protested Mathieson, injured. “I was the soul of honour and honesty and gave him a clear accounting of myself. I even asked if he supposed me to be poor competition. Now,” his eyes sparkled irrepressibly, “if the silly fribble really believes that to be so …”
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