The Highland Commander

by Amy Jarecki

  “You have? But I haven’t received a one.”

  “That is because they’re all still in my sea chest.”

  “Why?”

  Aiden shook his head. Dear Lord, he was a damned fool. “After I found you hadn’t returned to Stonehaven, I feared you may have found another.”

  “Oh no.”

  “And I feared your father might have other plans for you.”

  “Truly, Da has had plans for me, but marriage hasn’t been in the offing.”

  “That is good news indeed, m’lady.”

  “Lord Aiden? Where have you absconded to with my lady?” Miss Agnes’s voice rang through the dank passageway.

  Aiden raised Maddie’s fingers to his lips and kissed them. “I want to see you again.”

  “Then you shall. The prince is planning to invite you and the officers to the keep at Southsea Castle for the evening meal. I do hope you can come.”

  “I will—”

  “There you are.” Miss Agnes stepped beside him. “Whatever has made you tarry? And with Prince George waiting. Lord Aiden, you ought to be dazzling him with your brilliance.”

  Ushering the lady ahead, Aiden took the matron’s arm. “Forgive me, Miss Agnes. Lady Magdalen and I have much catching up to do, and I’m afraid I led her astray.”

  Maddie glanced over her shoulder and winked. God bless her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Maddie’s visit to the Royal Mary could have come straight from a fairy tale. The lady’s heart had nearly leaped from her chest when Aiden pulled her into the alcove and clasped her hands between his. Oh, how she longed for him to kiss her in that moment. Though it would have been inordinately improper for him to do so, she’d licked her lips and inclined them to him, hoping he knew exactly what she wanted.

  Well, at least he’d kissed her fingers.

  And now she sat at the long dining table in Southsea Castle’s great hall. Built atop a promontory at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, the castle was a drafty medieval relic, every bit as archaic as the old keep at Dunnottar Castle. The walls were of a dank gray stone, and there were no windows aside from the arrow and musket slits. Built to defend the harbor, the fortress presented a glum and uninviting picture. Even with a roaring fire in the immense hearth, the great hall was cold, and the table was rough-hewn, as if the attendees had been thrown back in time two hundred years.

  Maddie didn’t care in the slightest. Lord Aiden Murray was present. She would endure a feast in a pigsty just to be near him. He’d been seated practically across the hall, but that was the way of things. He occupied a seat near the admiral, and Captain Polwarth had risen from his sickbed to join them. Though pale, the captain assured everyone that he was on the mend and that by the grace of God he’d received only a glancing stab to the thigh. The captain sat at Prince George’s left. The governor of Portsmouth sat to his right, and the governor’s wife was the only other woman at the table.

  Beside her was an annoying lieutenant everyone called MacPherson. He leaned too close when he spoke, and his breath smelled of rotten onions. However, something about him was familiar.

  “Were you at the masque with Lord Aiden on Hogmanay in 1708?” Maddie asked.

  The lieutenant smoothed his knuckles down his lapels. “Why yes, I was there.” He sucked in a sharp breath and held up his finger. “Oh, my word. Were you the sprightly lass in the blue gown and matching mask?”

  “Indeed, my gown was blue,” she admitted. “Were you wearing a mask with a beak?”

  He sat straighter as if proud. “Aye, m’lady. That was me.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh from her belly. That certainly explained why she found him so annoying.

  At the other end of the table, Aiden glowered. But his angry stare didn’t focus on Maddie. He looked as if he could ask Mr. Beak-Nose out to the courtyard for a friendly—or not-so-friendly—sparring session.

  “Whyever are you laughing?” Mr. MacPherson asked.

  She tapped her fingers to her lips and quickly regained her composure. “As I recall, your mask was a bit silly looking, is all.”

  “Silly looking?” He sniffed and reached for his glass of wine. “I thought it was rather dashing.”

  She stifled her snort by moving her fingers to her nose. “Then you mustn’t have been near a looking glass when you put it on.”

  The man looked absolutely aghast. “I indeed was not. It was the Earl Marischal who provided the masks. Perhaps he should have omitted that one from the selection.”

  “Not to worry.” She glanced up as a servant placed a slice of roast beef on her plate. “I’m certain the mask suited you.”

  “Hmm. So you think me silly?”

  Maddie fixated on her plate. “Not at all.”

  Mr. MacPherson turned his attention to the servant. “Two slices, please.”

  At least he said please.

  “I understand the prisoners of war at Carisbrooke Castle are growing numerous,” said a gentleman farther down the table. Thank goodness someone had changed the subject.

  “I reckon we should ship them to the Colonies,” said Captain Polwarth. “As prisoners of war, they aren’t criminals. They might do well for building trade in the New World.”

  “You must be jesting.” Prince George frowned and belched. “News of the war in the Colonies is worse than on the Continent.”

  “Wouldn’t it be nice if everyone could stop fighting?” Magdalen said with conviction. It wasn’t until she looked up and put the bite in her mouth that she realized everyone at the table was gaping at her. Well, at least Aiden smiled. Dimples, a sly grin, shiny green eyes. Nothing else mattered.

  Mr. MacPherson nudged her with his elbow. “That is exactly why I enjoy having womenfolk at the evening meal. They do say the most diverting things.”

  Maddie shot the buffoon a look, then sliced off another piece of meat. Goodness, she must pay attention to what she let slip through her lips. A crowd of naval officers surely didn’t need to be told it would be nice to have no wars, especially when their ship had nearly been sunk to the bottom of the sea by a band of vile pirates.

  “How was the journey from London, Lady Magdalen?” asked Aiden, watching her from behind his wineglass.

  She chewed delicately and swallowed before answering. “Not too dreary in the slightest. Only one squall, and it passed within an hour.”

  “’Tis good to hear.” Aiden placed his glass in front of his plate. “I do believe it is a two-day journey. Is that right?”

  “Two days if you ride hard,” said Prince George. “But it took us three with a wagon and two coaches.”

  Aiden continued to watch her. “I find it difficult to believe that Lady Magdalen would need a wagon for her portmanteaus. Did they not fit atop her coach?”

  “It wasn’t the lady’s luggage that required the wagon,” said a red-coated officer named Walther—Maddie had been introduced to him when they’d assembled for the journey outside Whitehall’s gates. “One needs pikes, bows, arrows, muskets, and powder when leading a royal entourage.”

  Aiden nodded. “Och aye, of course. Forgive me.”

  A sentry entered the hall, his footsteps slapping the flagstone loudly. “Pardon the interruption, Your Highness, but I have an urgent missive for Lord Aiden Murray.”

  He pushed his chair back and waved his hand. “Here, sir.”

  Maddie set her knife down and leaned forward.

  Aiden broke the seal and his face blanched. The words “Dear God,” slipped through his lips while his complexion grew even whiter.

  “What news?” asked Prince George, growing redder in the face as if he was upset the missive hadn’t come to him first.

  Captain Polwarth snatched the missive from Aiden’s fingers and handed it to the admiral. After reading, the prince stood, his face now somber. “I believe all present should hear this.”

  My Dearest Son,

  I am writing to inform you that I have received confirmation that John has succumbed to a musk
et ball wound to the chest in the Battle of Malplaquet. He fought bravely for Queen and Country, and is now with our Lord in Heaven.

  It is with a heavy heart that I inform you of your inheritance. You are now the Marquis of Tullibardine and the heir to the Dukedom of Atholl.

  As you may be aware, as I write this, I am in London for Parliament. I have sent for your mother. I require your presence at Whitehall forthwith.

  Your father,

  His Grace the Duke of Atholl.

  Aiden wiped a hand across his brow, looking shocked and out of sorts. “If you will excuse me, Your Highness, I must prepare my kit.”

  “Yes, of course.” The prince bowed in concert with Aiden. “This is grave news. I’m certain my lady the queen will wish us to return to London directly.”

  “And I am able to resume my post at the helm of the Royal Mary,” said Captain Polwarth.

  “Thank you, sir.” Aiden’s gaze shot to Maddie as he again bowed. “Forgive me. I had hopes this evening would be merry for us all.”

  The prince resumed his seat. “I will have a retinue ready to ride at dawn.”

  Aiden gave a nod. “I will be honored to ride with you, Your Highness.”

  “Indeed, Lord Tullibardine.”

  Aiden took a step back, his expression shocked. After one more bow, he swiftly took his leave.

  Prince George looked to Mr. Walther. “The carriages and wagon will only slow us down. I shall appoint a retinue to accompany Lady Magdalen to London.”

  Maddie gulped. Heaven’s stars, Aiden had just learned of his brother’s death and she was to follow, riding in a carriage for three dreary days? “But I am skilled with a mount. It would give our new marquis great solace to have me beside him. Our families are very close.”

  The prince’s eyes grew wide. “Is Tullibardine’s care the reason why you were so anxious to travel to Portsmouth, m’lady?”

  Her cheeks burned as she nodded. Now was no time to grow bashful. She squared her shoulders and tipped up her chin. “Indeed, I was aware of Lord Aiden—I mean Lord Tullibardine’s post on the Royal Mary. When there was no report, I needed to confirm for myself he survived the pirate attack.”

  “Och, Murray can fight with the might of five seamen, m’lady,” said Captain Polwarth. “He’s the last member of the crew you should be concerned about.”

  The prince stabbed a bit of roast beef with his fork. “It stands to reason that the Duke of Atholl and the Earl Marischal of Scotland would be allies—and I’ll say the queen will be heartened to hear it. I shall allow you to ride with us, my lady.”

  As he stuffed a shirt into his satchel, Aiden’s jaw clenched. His mind raced with all the memories of growing up in John’s shadow. His brother had always been the serious one, had always questioned everything, had always been cautious and practical.

  John’s sense of loyalty had sent him to the army and to the Continent.

  Taller and stronger, Aiden should have been the one marching in Marlborough’s army.

  Damn the bloody Act of Union. If England hadn’t forced Scotland to merge, John would have stayed at Blair Castle. Bless it, Scotland and France had been allies for centuries, and now Queen Anne was using Scotland’s sons to fight her wars—just as every English monarch had attempted to do since the beginning of time.

  And now Prince George wanted to accompany him to London? In court the man had proved himself a dull-witted bore. And he’d proved so again by ordering first-quality timber for the Royal Mary in one breath, and in the next telling the master carpenter that the Royal Essex came first. No one needed to tell Aiden where Scotland ranked with the royal family. Highlanders were placed on the front line because they were deemed expendable. John had been placed in harm’s way because the queen’s emissary, the Duke of Marlborough, saw only a Scot. He didn’t see an intelligent heir with a love of his clan and country. An honest man whose integrity would put to shame every noble in London—especially the backstabbing English.

  And now he was dead.

  And now Aiden, the adventurer in Clan Murray, the rebellious son, the opinionated, defensive, curious son, was left to take up the reins. Dear God, Aiden no more wanted to be a marquis than he wanted to pluck his nose hairs.

  He threw the satchel on his cot while a silent bellow ripped through his throat.

  Damn you, God. If you wanted to take a Murray, why did you not choose me?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It came as a surprise to see Lady Magdalen riding with the admiral’s retinue. Aiden had naturally assumed she would return with the coaches. Even odder, the prince had insisted that she ride beside Aiden. He’d said clan and kin should stay together at a time like this. Though it was easy to assume why Maddie had asked to travel with the men, they were no kin. Lord knew the Keiths and the Murrays rarely saw eye to eye on anything.

  Except that Magdalen Keith is the bonniest lass in all of Britain.

  Still, Aiden would have preferred it if Maddie hadn’t come. His entire world had just crashed down around his ears, and he was in no mood to talk to anyone—not even the woman he’d dreamed about every night for the past year and a half.

  Aye. His life had completely plummeted into the depths of the icy sea with that missive.

  If only he could grab Maddie’s bridle and ride north. If only they could ride endlessly until they reached home. He’d take her to his hunting cottage in the Blair wood, fish in the River Tilt, live off the land with her for the rest of their lives.

  If only.

  He pursed his lips and tightened his grip on his reins.

  Duty first.

  Aiden was no more able to make an offer for Lady Magdalen’s hand than he had been when he’d been a second son working for the damned queen aboard the Royal Mary. With war heating up in every corner of Christendom, he could be dead in sennights and meet his brother at the pearly gates. Now that he was a marquis, the queen would probably promote him, but such a promotion would only be a ploy to send him and his hapless crew into the thick of battle to be sunk by a French galleon with bigger cannons. Aye, the queen had proved quite intolerant of the Scotsmen who supported her to the north.

  She’d proved herself parochial and terrified of Catholics out of fear of a coup by His Holiness, the pope.

  That was exactly the reason more than half of Scotland looked to the exiled King James, recognized as Britain’s only true sovereign by King Louis of France.

  Indeed, Queen Anne would send the new Marquis of Tullibardine to a lowly sloop with a handful of guns and rotting timbers. What did she care if the timbers were rotting? Tullibardine and his crew would be served up as sacrificial lambs, just as the Royal Mary had been on dozens of occasions. It was only because of the superior skill of the crew that they’d come out alive. And now her repairs would be done with third-rate, worm-eaten timbers.

  I would take a Scottish crew any day.

  “You look deep in thought.” Maddie’s sultry voice snapped him from sinking deeper into his foul musings. Though Aiden was no fool. He and his crew had been treated as lesser men because he had been born in his beloved Scotland, and for that he’d harbor a chip on his shoulder the size of Blair Castle. “I have a great deal to think about.”

  He glanced her way. Why did she have to continually look at him with concern filling her eyes? And those goddamned eyes had to be so alluring. Did she not know he couldn’t pick up where they’d left off? No matter how much he wanted to kiss her. No matter how much he wanted to lean over and yank her off her mount and into his lap. No matter how much his body craved the thrill of pressing against hers or his mouth yearned to cover her lips and taste her deliciousness. No matter what he felt in his heart. From now on it didn’t make a difference what he wanted. His decisions must be for the good of the clan… and for the good of the goddamned alliance. His life was no longer his own.

  I belong to Clan Murray.

  And to Atholl.

  And to the bloody queen.

  “I’m ever so sorry
for your loss,” she said so softly, Aiden almost asked her to repeat herself. But he’d heard well enough.

  Pain stabbed his heart. “John was a good man. Better than I.”

  “In the brief time I met with him, I could tell he was a man of integrity.”

  Aiden snorted and forced himself not to smile. Dammit. He couldn’t smile. He didn’t dare smile. True, John had caught them in a compromising situation, but Aiden never should have been so bloody daft. He’d been young and stupid and selfish. Worst of all, he never should have entertained a liaison with Lady Magdalen Keith. He didn’t deserve her affections.

  He cleared his throat and addressed her with his most sober expression. “And you? Have you settled into life at court?”

  “Heavens no. If I were there for a hundred years I think I’d still abhor living at Whitehall.” Frowning, she glanced down and rubbed her reins between her fingertips.

  “You seem a wee bit distraught,” he said. Christ, he’d been wallowing in his own misery and hadn’t thought about hers.

  “Mm.” She sniffed. “I miss Stonehaven and the hospital.” Then she looked over each shoulder before she leaned closer to Aiden. “And the queen’s ladies seem to relish every opportunity to drive a knife into my back.”

  “Let me guess… Saxonhurst is at the center of it.”

  “Of course. And now she’s developed a friendship with Lord Blackiron and she’s even worse than before.” Pursing her lips, Maddie shook her head as if stopping herself from complaining further.

  “Where is the Earl Marischal?” he asked.

  “He’s still at Whitehall. Part of the agreement of his release from the Tower was that he remain and support the Treaty of Union.”

  Good God, the earl would sooner slit his wrists than support the union, and Aiden could wager the queen knew it, too. “I think it is good you have him.”

  “Agreed.” She smiled. “Else I would have gone completely mad by now.”

  Aiden wanted to dig deeper, but this was no time to discuss court grievances. Even the mention of backstabbing ladies-in-waiting could make its way back to the queen.