The Highland Commander

by Amy Jarecki

  “I suspect you ken most of it. As Earl Marischal it was my duty to ride to Edinburgh with my army. I have sworn my life to protect Scotland and will do so just as my forefathers did.”

  “So you rode to meet with Prince James Francis Edward Stuart?”

  Da cringed at her use of the title prince, but he nodded.

  “The walls have ears, do they not?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Aye.”

  “And then the navy prevented the prince’s armada from landing?”

  “King Louis sent warships across the Channel. Indeed, the queen’s navy did everything in its power to prevent a rising.”

  “How did they capture you?”

  “They laid siege to my town house in Edinburgh. As simple as that.” Da shook his head. “With the rising subverted, I assumed no foul.” He slammed his fist into his palm. “I should have headed directly for Dunnottar. We could have withstood any backlash behind her fortress walls. ’Twas naïve of me to think the queen would understand my motives in meeting her brother.”

  “Albeit with the Keith Highland Regiment in tow.” Maddie didn’t need to ask if he would have marched on London had James been prepared for a revolution. She stood, clasping her hands together. “I want to help you.”

  “’Tis rare for a man accused of treason to be acquitted.”

  “But you did not take up arms. Not one drop of blood spilled.”

  Da nodded.

  “Please, tell me what I should do. I know nothing of court. Lord Aiden tells me there are backstabbers lurking around every corner.”

  “Lord Aiden?”

  “Son of the Duke of Atholl, a naval officer. He was on the wharf when my coach lost a wheel.” Maddie bit her lip. “He’s stationed aboard the Royal Mary—one of the officers who was at your Hogmanay masquerade.”

  Da arched his eyebrows. “I remember.”

  “You do?”

  “Never mind that.” With a wave of his hand, his expression grew dark. “His father is a backstabbing Whig for certain—but what about the son? Is he sympathetic to the cause?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Believe?”

  “He’s a bit difficult to read—but he’s said things—subtle things that make me want to trust him.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. “One must be ever so careful about what one says.”

  “True. But Atholl’s son could be useful.” Da eyed her. “Does he fancy you?”

  “No—ah—I have no idea.” Afraid Da might see her blush, Maddie turned and paced.

  “A woman always kens.”

  “Possibly,” she said over her shoulder. “He seems willing to help me, though a bit reluctant. His ship is only in port for a fortnight.”

  “Then use him—just ensure you keep him at arm’s length.”

  Maddie stopped midstride. “I’m not certain I understand.”

  “You, my dear, are a bastard. Once the courtiers discover this, they will be disinclined to trust you—but Murray ought to be able to use his rank to introduce you to people who can help. If you can gain an audience with the queen, you could plead my innocence directly to Her Majesty.”

  Maddie nodded. “I’ve asked him to help. In fact, Lord Aiden suggested you but led a welcoming party to Edinburgh, not an army.”

  Da laughed, which brought on a fit of coughing. “Exactly the defense I have put forth. Let us never stray from it.”

  Chapter Seven

  Magdalen’s hands trembled while she stood outside the door of the Banqueting House at Whitehall. Everyone seemed to fit in except her. Worse, they were all dressed in finery the likes of which she’d never before seen. She wore a woolen gown of light green-and-black plaid; it was a gown she considered well tailored and fashionable, but it was nothing like the rustling silks and taffetas she’d glimpsed thus far. It was as if the gentry dressed to attend a royal ball, not a meal. Though all her life she’d been an outcast, she’d never felt so awkward before.

  The doorman had insisted they be introduced separately, and he’d already taken Lord Aiden inside. Not without a rebuff from His Lordship, however. The gallant commander had grown red in the face, demanding that Lady Magdalen should have a proper escort. He’d capitulated only when the doorman explained that the queen preferred to greet newcomers individually even if they were husband and wife.

  Maddie peeked inside the busy hall. Even the young officer looked bonnier than she. He wore a blond periwig and a navy blue doublet with long coattails, brass buttons, and gold trim atop. Lord Aiden looked ever so grand, with his dark blue-and-green kilt swishing across the backs of his knees. In the Scottish regiment fashion, the length of tartan belted around his waist was looped through the opening of his doublet, pulled around his back, and pinned at his left shoulder with an enormous brooch just like the one her father wore.

  Goodness, he looked every bit the decorated officer. He even was more dashing than he’d been at Dunnottar Castle wearing a bandit’s mask.

  “The Lord Aiden Murray, commander aboard the Royal Mary,” the doorman announced, his voice booming over the crowd.

  Few looked up from their conversations, though Prince George of Denmark, lord high admiral and the queen’s husband, stood and bowed. The prince was far stouter than in the paintings she’d seen of him.

  Maddie couldn’t make out the words, but by his gesture it was clear Prince George invited Lord Aiden to sit beside him.

  Clapping a hand to her chest, she straightened and caught her breath. Where on earth would she sit now that Lord Aiden had been bidden to the royal table? He’d convinced her to attend the meal and said it was her opportunity to meet the queen because newcomers were always introduced.

  Hot prickles sprang out across her skin.

  I cannot possibly go in there now, even if I have to starve.

  As she turned to flee, a guardsman blocked her path.

  “You shall be introduced now, Lady Magdalen,” said the doorman, coming up behind.

  She gulped. “I do believe I am about to swoon.”

  The man offered his elbow. “You’ll not be the first. I reckon half the ladies experience a bout of light-headedness the first time they are introduced to Her Majesty. Mark me, it shall pass.”

  Before Maddie could object further, the man marched into the hall. As they proceeded down the center aisle toward the dais, a few people glanced their way—but most ignored her.

  Thank heavens.

  The doorman will announce my name, I’ll curtsy, and then I’ll find a place to hide.

  Now inside the enormous Banqueting House, Maddie couldn’t help but look up. She’d heard about the ceiling, three stories high and painted in three scenes to depict the union of the crowns of Scotland and England and the peaceful reign of James I. On a gallery surrounding the entire hall, an ensemble of musicians played an assortment of dynamic modern music, barely audible above the hum of the crowd, though Maddie’s sharp ears enjoyed the quick notes and harmonies, which would be a challenge on the harp.

  While she was preoccupied with the sights above, her toe caught on her hem, sending her stumbling forward. The doorman tightened his grip on her elbow. “The ceiling is quite a sight, is it not?”

  Maddie patted her curls, praying the queen hadn’t seen her trip. “I’ve never set eyes on such a magnificent work of art.”

  They stopped in front of the dais and waited for the queen to glance their way. She was a large woman, which wasn’t surprising given the double chin of the profile on her coins. Queen Anne wore her black hair parted in the middle, with curls trailing down the back of her neck. When she finally looked up, dark-blue eyes assessed Maddie from head to toe. Saying nothing, she gave a nod.

  “May I introduce Lady Magdalen Keith,” boomed the doorman, far louder than necessary.

  Maddie dipped into a deep curtsy, bowing her head. “Your Majesty.”

  “I see by your gown you are Scottish?” the queen asked, her voice rich and full.

  “Ay
e, Your Majesty.”

  The queen leaned forward and consulted with a tall man wearing a blond periwig. “Mar, you’re a Scot. Tell me about Lady Magdalen.”

  “Illegitimate daughter of the Earl Marischal of Scotland, Majesty.”

  Maddie could have died.

  The murmur in the hall instantly transformed into a series of hissing whispers. The crowd had been boisterous and inattentive until the Earl of Mar blurted the word illegitimate, and suddenly everyone stopped to listen and gossip?

  Even Aiden gaped at her with a shocked, drop-mouthed stare.

  Her cheeks burned. How on earth had she thought she might avoid the humiliation of her station in life? She should have fled when she had the chance. The embarrassment from her stepmother’s disdain at the hospital paled compared to the mortification now making every inch of her skin perspire.

  She glanced back over her shoulder.

  I could run. But that would do nothing to help Da.

  “The Earl Marischal?” said the queen, her voice condescending. “I take it you’re here to plead for your father’s innocence.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty. I believe him to be innocent.”

  Aiden shook his head in warning.

  But Maddie stood her ground. When else would she have such an opportunity to voice her supplication to the queen?

  Her Majesty took on an expression that made the word haughty seem insignificant. “Why do you say that? Were you present when he marched his army to Edinburgh?”

  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but I believe you may have been misinformed. My father marched a welcoming party to Edinburgh.” Maddie took in a deep breath, already feeling a noose tightening around her throat. “Would you not want your brother to be met with a welcome?”

  The queen narrowed her eyes with a piercing stare. “You are outspoken for a bastard.”

  Aiden drew a hand to his forehead and cringed.

  “Forgive me.” Maddie again curtsied, bowing her head. “I wanted you to ken the truth afore my father’s trial.”

  The prince nudged the queen with his elbow. “She is rather endearing.”

  “Hm.” A slight smile turned up the corners of Her Majesty’s mouth. “Have you any talents, Lady Magdalen?”

  “I play the Celtic harp.”

  “Celtic?” The queen looked to her husband. “How quaint and provincial.”

  “I rather enjoy the Celtic harp,” said Prince George. “’Tis soothing.”

  The queen arched her eyebrows and dismissed Maddie with a flick of her fingers.

  “This way, my lady.” The doorman grasped her elbow and led her to the back of the Banqueting House—all the way to the lowest tables—which was no surprise given the announcement of her bastard status. He held out a chair across from a couple who nodded, then swiftly glanced away.

  As she pondered whether or not she should spirit out the door, a man slid into the chair beside her. “Lady Magdalen, might I introduce myself?” He offered his hand. “I am Reid MacKenzie.” He cleared his throat. “Um, the Earl of Seaforth. I dabble in legal matters and I’m a staunch ally of your father.”

  A flicker of hope made her sit a little taller. “Is that so, m’lord?” she asked in a whisper, not wanting to sound too interested, though practically jumping out of her skin to find a true ally. She assessed the man. Youngish, perhaps twenty, wearing his dark-blond locks trimmed to his shoulders rather than a periwig, he was dressed in silk breeches and waistcoat with a nicely tailored damask doublet atop.

  “Have you found someone to represent your father?”

  “Not as of yet.”

  The earl stroked his fingers down his chin as if thinking. “Have you been to London before?”

  Maddie shook her head. “Never.”

  “It must be disconcerting to be in a hall with the most powerful nobles in the land.”

  “A bit, though I do not care much for titles and rank.” She tried not to look bothered, though the past several days had to have been the most distressing of her life, starting with the visit from Lady Mary.

  “Understandable.” Seaforth reached for the ewer and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Though you do care what happens to your father.”

  She gave him a pointed nod. “That is why I am here, m’lord.”

  “Were you aware several other nobles were arrested and held in Edinburgh?”

  “No, I was not.”

  His eyes shifted from side to side. “Yet your father was the only one sent to the Tower.”

  “Do you ken why?” Maddie whispered. This was shocking news indeed.

  “Not exactly. My guess is it’s because the Earl Marischal, your father, has a duty to protect Britain’s northern shores from invasion. And everyone in London is well aware Prince James’s visit was a direct threat to the throne—and well aware of your father’s politics.”

  Since the earl hadn’t offered to pour for her, Maddie helped herself to the wine. “Perhaps, but I stand by my conviction that the prince should have been met with a welcoming party. And as a matter of fact, my father is ever cognizant of his duty to queen and country.”

  “Is he?”

  “Without question.” She then reached for a slice of bread.

  He passed her the butter. “Then you truly believe in his innocence?”

  “With my whole heart.” Maddie leaned closer to the earl and lowered her voice. “You say many nobles are being detained at Edinburgh Castle?”

  “Yes, including the Duke of Gordon.”

  “The duke?” Her stomach churned and she set the uneaten slice on her plate. “My oh my, what does the queen intend to do, execute half of Scotland’s gentry?”

  “All of London is awash with the same question, m’lady.”

  Maddie pushed away her plate. “What do you think it will take to free my father?”

  “Not certain. A public pledge of service to the queen. It is common knowledge that Scotland is unhappy with being forced into the Act of Union. I myself have been slighted, along with my entire clan. Her Majesty needs a bevy of northern nobles on her side… and with the Earl Marischal’s allegiances decidedly Catholic, no one doubts his loyalty to her brother.” Lord Seaforth glanced over each shoulder as if he’d just uttered blasphemy. “But if your father can prove himself a staunch supporter of Anne’s rule… he just might…”

  “Might?” she asked.

  “Keep his head attached to his neck.”

  Maddie gulped. The mere thought of her father meeting the headsman’s ax made a clammy chill spread across her skin. “Can you help him?”

  “I think I can.”

  “And what is in it for you, sir?” She stared pointedly. “Will your reputation not be sullied if you fail?”

  He shrugged. “As I said, I’m a good friend of the Earl Marischal. Our clans are allies—always have been.”

  “And you believe my father to be innocent?”

  He scowled and glanced away. “I believe your father will always act in the best interests of Scotland. The Tory Party needs him in London afore Parliament resumes. It is in Scotland’s interest to see him proved innocent.”

  “I see.” She glanced away. Everyone had their motives. She didn’t want to trust Seaforth just yet… but her father could tell her whom she could trust. “Would you be willing to meet with Da on the morrow?”

  “I could make time before the noon hour.”

  “Very well.” She gave him a sharp nod. “Tomorrow morning at the Tower at, say, ten?”

  “Agreed.” Seaforth held up his goblet.

  Maddie did the same, tapping her glass to his, but she nearly spewed the wine from her mouth when she saw Lord Aiden dancing with a woman. And not just any woman. This raven-haired temptress wore the latest French gown with her bodice cut so low, she might expose herself if the stays cinching her inordinately small waist gave her the slightest chance to breathe.

  The music from the gallery above had grown louder.

  “Are you all right, my lady?�
� asked the earl. “You look a bit pale.”

  Wiping her eyes, Maddie glanced away. “I’m well, thank you.” Why should it matter if Aiden performed a court dance with a pretty courtier?

  She bit her fingernail. “Do ye ken the lass dancing with Lord Aiden?”

  Seaforth chuckled. “Why, that is the Countess of Saxonhurst. Unfortunately, she was widowed but one year past.”

  “She looks awfully young to be a widow.” Awfully happy as well.

  “Aye, though believe me, the woman is making the best of her circumstances.”

  Heat continued to spread across Maddie’s skin while she watched the widow dance, laughing and throwing her head of black curls back as if she were a maid. How on earth could Maddie compete with a countess? Not that competing with anyone should be on her mind at the moment.

  She was in London for one thing, and that was to see to her father’s release. Now she’d met the Earl of Seaforth, perhaps it was best for Lord Aiden to kick up his heels and enjoy his holiday. Gracious, the man had done enough to help her already.

  Dancing an Allemande, Aiden chuckled when the countess caught his eye and touched her lips with her fan. Never before had he received such an open invitation for a kiss, and to think Prince George had introduced them. Raven haired, her ample bosom swelling over the top of her bodice, the widow was exactly the woman Aiden had hoped to find by coming to court.

  It should have made him happy to see a well-dressed lord sit beside Lady Magdalen. In fact, Aiden was thrilled—elated. Perhaps she had found someone who could champion her in her quest to see her father cleared of the charge of treason and released from the Tower.

  Aiden certainly couldn’t prove the man’s innocence in a fortnight.

  He had no choice but to join the Royal Mary and sail two weeks hence, and if Lady Magdalen didn’t find a champion by then, her father would in all likelihood lose his head. Aiden’s leave had already been cut short by a day, a day spent ferrying Lady Magdalen through London to see her father with Miss Agnes in tow, no less. Even if he wanted to steal a kiss from the flaxen-haired lovely, the lady’s maid would be certain to enter at the most inopportune time and clear her throat, just as she’d done last eve when Aiden had finally felt confident enough to slip his hand to the back of Magdalen’s slender neck and lower his lips to hers.