A noisy group of young men ambled out another doorway from the house and seated themselves on the other side of the ivy screen.
“An unsociable man,” one of them stated.
“It doesn’t matter one whit to me which club he coffees at,” another voice began. “He’s a damn fine shot.” The voice slurred a little. “We need another drink.”
“That’s hardly the way to judge an individual, Hugh,” the first voice went on, “and I think you’ve had enough.”
“Ha! That’s what you think, Julian—and don’t spoil my fun. Where’s the girl? Wine! We need wine over here!”
Jenna flinched with the sound of an iron chair toppling onto the flagstones.
“Charles, do something with him, will you?” The crisp voice sounded galled.
The maidservant sidled around the ivy lattice. Jenna heard her say, “Still up for more, lads? Haven’t had your fill yet?”
“I think he has, actually,” someone told the girl coolly.
“I know I could give you your fill,” the other garbled.
Jenna heard the girl squeal in false protest.
“Charles, don’t take her away. You’re both ruining my fun.”
“You leave me no choice. Someone has to look out for you, and you’re far too much a dolt to look after yourself.”
Jenna picked up her glass and walked to the edge of the conservatory doors leading to the garden, to where the breeze blew against her face and the light from the house was dim. She looked into the darkness and listened for familiar sounds. Autumn spoke with the quieting of summer insects and a cool foretelling wind.
How long would they be here? The gathering of coins was not a long process, but Gavin had said this was different. She knew they were to build the garrison, but what else? And what if this duke found them out? They would be prisoners of their own making. She looked back at the grand house, tried counting the number of palatial windows, and then spotted her father approaching.
“Looking for wee bitty ghosties, or cracks in the foundation?”
She smiled. “None spotted thus far. Of either.” Her gaze fell to her father’s clothing. His brown unlined waistcoat and best dress plaid may not have matched the quality of the other guests, but the men had found a pale yellow shirt to compliment his woolen stockings, and buckles for his shoes. He was a striking figure.
“Well, you’ll have a tad more time on your hands to survey them if ye dinna take great offense to it. Have ye got your dirk?”
Her mind flashed to the sgian dubh, the sharp knife she kept strapped to her leg at all times. “It’s where I always keep it, Da, but this is a party.”
His eyes brimmed with gravity. “Party or not, you’re on your own. I’ll need a bit more time than I thought. An important conversation was interrupted, as there was quite a commotion in the house a moment ago. The foreign girl fell to the ground having come over wi’ a spell. Most folk think it was just the excitement of it all, ye ken. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Are ye all right for a while longer?”
She nodded. “I’ll be right here appreciating angles and apparitions.”
He winked and left her wondering if it was not the excitement of it all that caused the girl to faint, but rather another corset drawn too tightly. Not a flattering way to see the bride-to-be, sprawled on the floor in a heap, but that’s the result of stuffing a dress to its limits. Most of these women would be much more comfortable by simply adding a yard of material to the upper parts of their gowns. Many of them looked as if they were on the verge of spilling out of them.
She walked off the stone pavers of the courtyard to the English boxwood gardens beyond, and admired the few late blooms, not yet giving in. She closed her eyes. “And summer’s lease hath all too short a date,” she quoted Shakespeare. Still holding the glass of wine in her hand, she took a tentative sip and continued on her tour.
She rounded the corner of one of the flower beds and felt her foot catch. She pitched forward with a cry of alarm and landed facedown, a splintering crack muffled beneath her.
I’m no better than the bride.
“Ow,” the girl said as Alex lifted her from the ground. She looked up through a haze of feverish red hair.
“Good God—Miss MacDuff? I didn’t see you coming. Are you all right?” he asked, alarm surging through him.
She pushed the hair from her face and looked at the remains of the goblet, a thick piece of glass wedged between thumb and forefinger.
“Damn!” he said, glancing back to the bench. “You have all of my apologies. Come quickly—sit down.”
“There’s no need,” she said, peering closer at the wound.
“Please, sit,” Alex protested. “The shard must come out, and I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself at the sight of blood.”
“Injure myself at the sight of it?” She pulled back as he tugged her toward the bench.
“I am not going to have two women faint on me in one evening!”
“I assure you, milord, I will not lose consciousness before I purposely put my head on my pillow tonight.”
He refused to let go. “All the same, I’d prefer if you didn’t look until I have it bandaged.” He pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket.
“Is it clean?” She jerked her hand back. “Duncan says if you bind a wound with a dirty linen, it will fester.”
“Yes, of course it is,” he said, looking at her curiously. “Now hold still.” He bent his head over her hand. She had a clean, sweet scent . . . marigolds?
After a moment he asked, “Who is Duncan? Your husband?”
“No.”
He felt her fidget, aiming to see her hidden hand. “Well, then, is Colin your husband?” He pressed her fingers down, opening her palm.
“No. They’re just the men I live with.” She hissed with an indrawn breath as the glass was pulled free.
“The men you live with?” He held the linen to the cut. “You live with two men?”
“Oh no,” she said through clenched teeth. “I live with six.”
He peered up at her. “Six?”
“Yes. Six. Well, one of them is my father.”
“Are the rest your brothers?”
“Not a one.” Her lips curled.
Clearly, she was enjoying a tease. He wrapped the handkerchief around her hand and pressed on the wound. She stiffened and Alex looked up to see Julian, Charles, and Hugh heading toward them.
“It’s not what you think,” she filled in quickly. “They all work for my father, building the garrison. We’ve lived and traveled together for as long as I can remember. They’re sort of my family.”
A simulated family, Alex reflected. Just like the motley trio that masquerade as mine. The young men reached the bench, one raising an eyebrow and another coughing politely at the interruption.
Hugh stumbled to a stop in front of them. “What have we here? Sowing the last of the wild oats before it’s forbidden, old son?”
“I most certainly am not. Miss MacDuff, may I introduce you to my friends from school. And in some cases I use the term friends loosely. This is Mr. Finch, Mr. Gainsford, and the insulting one is Mr. Fowler. Miss MacDuff’s father is the master stonemason who’s come to build the garrison. I’ve . . . eh . . . injured her hand.”
“I think it’ll be all right now,” she mumbled, pulling her hand out of Alex’s grasp. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s growing late. I should find the master mason. Good night, milord, and to you, gentlemen.” She rose, made an awkward curtsy, and began walking toward the house.
“Miss MacDuff! You’ll have to change the dressing soon. Don’t forget!” Alex called.
She held up the bandaged hand, giving a small wave.
Julian turned to Alex, his eyes calculating. “So, who is she?”
“What do you mean?” He stooped to retrieve the remaining pieces of glass.
“I mean, you’re out here in the garden with a girl other than your intended. Who is she?”
Alex r
eleased a harsh sigh. “First of all, dismiss your suspicions of my whereabouts. I simply needed fresh air. This was a result of my intended creating yet another scene to garner attention. I wanted to clear my head as she was resting hers. I came to the garden and this young lady happened across me—specifically, across my foot, and fell upon her wineglass. I did what any gentleman would have done by giving her aid. Now, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spread some scandalous rumor.” He stood, the broken goblet cradled in his hand. “Have I made myself clear, Hugh?”
“As glass.” Hugh leered. “Your secret is safe with us, old chap. And it’s a wise choice to pick someone like a migrant worker’s daughter. She won’t be around long enough to present you with a bundle of trouble,” he whispered, winking.
“Oh, shut up, Hugh,” Julian said, glaring at him. “No offense was meant, Alex, and we didn’t need the lengthy explanation. We only came looking for you after your mother inquired as to your whereabouts. Apparently, Lady Lucia is feeling well enough to rejoin the festivities and requires your escorting services.” He raised his eyebrows and added, “It appears the leash is tightening as we speak.”
TWELVE
DUNCAN HOVERED OVER JENNA’S DEEP GASH WITH equal parts worry and fascination. His concerns were infection and disability. His curiosity filled the pages of his medical notebooks. He changed the dressing every day until the wound could be covered with a simple bandage. Angus created a daily poultice, which Jenna applied after soaking her hand. Fortunately, Duncan told her, it was healing, and soon he would give her a series of exercises to do each day to strengthen her thumb.
Everyone had been anxious, for a deep gouge like Jenna’s could spell disaster for the recipient, but that worry had been replaced with another: Lord Pembroke. Uninvited attention was a great risk. They hoped he’d forgotten the entire incident.
A week later, after the evening meal, Malcolm announced, “Jenna, you’re looking a wee bit tired, so ye may leave your clearing chores to the rest of us. Take your books and turn in. Get a good night’s sleep and rest your hand. Duncan says the bandage may come off in the morning.”
“But, Da, I’m not tired and my hand isn’t hurting in the least bit. I don’t mind helping.”
“Jenna. Good night to ye.”
His message was implied and familiar. When something interesting needed discussing, she was sent to bed, or put on an errand. They treat me as a blithering child. As if there’s someone I could gossip to!
She rose from her seat wanting to pout, but said a polite good night to each of the men. As she dragged her feet on the stairs, she heard Ian grumble, “Dinna see why she can’t at least clean up. All she does is study round here.”
She paused at the top of the stairs and shrank back into the shadows, eager for her father’s response.
“And that’s how we’ll have it.” In a louder voice he announced, “Good night, Jenna. Now, in your room and close the door.”
She scooted inside and made a point of letting them hear the latch close. Then she slid to the floor and peered through a low crack in the door. She was determined to ferret out information however she could.
Although muffled, she recognized her father’s voice.
“Duncan, I think I’ve left a chisel out back. Would ye mind much putting it away?”
It was their code. Either someone left tools outside, another needed fresh air, or a trip to the privy was in order. It all meant the same thing. Patrol. One of the men stood guard when Stuart matters were discussed.
Her father continued. “I’ve gotten word the Hanoverian prince has arrived in London. His coronation will be in one month’s time. Opportunities have been wasted for us since the death of Queen Anne, but there’s nay to be done about it now.”
Jenna wondered what opportunities he was referring to and strained to hear more.
“We must continue wi’ the building until otherwise told. When I hear further, I’ll report it.”
Ian sat forward. “Surely now that the prince has arrived, it changes everything. I canna imagine why we would stay. I say we pack up and move on.”
Jenna saw the others murmur with surprise, but Malcolm cut them short. “It’s nay for you to decide. We’ll carry on.”
“Informers snatched two in our chain just last week. They’re headed for Newgate—as will we be if we’re caught,” Ian continued. “I say it’s too dangerous.”
“Fighting for what ye believe in has always been dangerous, Ian. We all ken that. If ye want to pull out yourself, then ye have my blessing, but if ye still stand for James, then find some courage. Dinna pull the rest of us down.” Malcolm looked him straight on, heavy brows lifted.
Jenna pressed her eye to the crack with such force, she felt a splinter of wood pierce her cheek. She held her breath in anticipation.
“Ye ken I’ve no choice in the matter. I’m forced to stay. But I still say things should change round here. That girl of yours is a liability, Malcolm, and she sticks out like a sore thumb wi’ all she kens and the little she does. She shouldna be tutored so. Pretty soon she’ll be putting her nose in this business.”
Gavin slapped the table in front of him. “Then at least she’ll be doing it wi’ an educated head.” The rest of the men agreed, apart from Malcolm, whose dark features were fixed on Ian.
“Ye’ve all spent countless hours teaching her things she’ll have absolutely no use for,” Ian growled.
Gavin leaned over the table with a blissful grin on his face and said, “And all for the sheer pleasure of seein’ her learn.”
“You leave Jenna to me, Ian. If ye dinna want to teach her the mathematics, I’ll find someone else to do it.”
Ian glared at him, steely-eyed. “Ye do that. I want nay part of it. Women should cook, clean, and keep quiet, in my opinion.”
“No one asked ye for it,” Malcolm whispered. He turned to the rest of the men. “The meeting’s over. Good night to ye all.” He pushed his chair back and headed for the front door, but stopped and turned back. “And, Ian, I’ll nay have ye giving her any trouble, understood?” He opened the door and walked out into the cool night.
Jenna pulled her head from the door and sunk back against the wall. She breathed a heavy sigh and looked across her room through the window at the moonless night. Newgate? That was where they kept criminals condemned of high treason awaiting hanging at Tyburn. She shuddered. There’d be no further study with Ian. Still, it left her with the feeling that life around him would become, if possible, even more unpleasant.
The following day baited Jenna with sunshine. She craved a short walk and a break from her studies, desperate to absorb the rays of warmth. She left the cottage and followed the path through the fields of thick grass to the creek below. Garrick Wicken, the fussy horse handler she’d seen when first bringing Henry to the stables, wrestled with a sleek chestnut mare beside the stream.
He straddled the horse, which bucked to rid herself of her passenger. The water was shallow but swift, and the horse splashed, snorting and whinnying. The sandy-haired man’s clutched arms about her neck lost their grip with one fierce twist from the animal. Catapulted, he flew, arms and feet splayed, panic in his wide eyes. He landed in the rushing water, sodden and furious.
Jenna ran to him. “Mr. Wicken! Are you all right?” She offered a hand as he slogged out of the stream. He refused her help and stomped to the horse. He raised a boot and kicked a mound of dirt close to where she stood. Again, she reared, and took off toward the open fields.
“Bloody stupid beasts!” He threw a rock into the stream and turned to glare at Jenna. “What are you doing out here? These are the duke’s lands, and one needs permission to enter.”
She stepped back and looked toward the cottage. “My father is building the garrison. We’ve been given license, sir.”
“Have you, then? And have you been apprised of the danger in this area? The purpose for the garrison? The evil that lurks?”
Her legs stiffened, ready to run. “No,
I’ve not heard of any such thing.”
He stood watching her, water dripping from the tip of his nose. “Consider yourselves warned then. These are dangerous times, miss.” He wagged a finger at her, turned on his heel toward the grazing mare, and strutted off.
She sank to the edge of the water with a shivering chill and watched the man make his way toward the barn. She would need to tell the others of his watchfulness and warnings.
For a moment she trailed a finger in the icy stream, following the trout that lived in the shadows. The sound of the trickling water saturated her ears, but her eye caught the high-spirited approach of her father moving toward her.
“Da! What are you doing down here?”
“I came to find ye, to look at your wee hand now that the bandage is off.” He held out his own and offered her a warm smile.
She rose to her feet and brushed her skirts free of moss and dirt. “Duncan says I should be ready in a day or two to start his exercises. I’m still clumsy-mannered.” She stretched her long, pale fingers wide. “But I suppose that’s from lack of use, yes?”
His thick, level brows lowered. “My understanding of medicine falls woefully short of a healer, Jenna. That’s why we have Duncan. So I’ll leave it for him to say. In the meantime, there’s something I s’pose we ought speak of.”
“Is it Ian?” She noticed his jaw twitch.
“It isna just Ian, although I guessed you’ve heard enough through that door of yours to put two and two together. It’s the least he’s taught you.” He smiled a little at this. “It’s just what we’re attempting to do here . . . it isna easy. There’s great risk for everyone involved. Including you.” He paused to rub his dark, stubbled chin. “Although the conversation with Ian last night wasna a pleasant one, and I didna take kindly to the things he said, he did have a valid point.”
“Which was?”
“Well, you’re my daughter and I dinna want to see ye getting hurt. Funneling money and gathering support for James Stuart is treason. While my decision to fight for the rightful king is a choice I make, it’s nay one I can make for anyone else.” His gaze was so solemn she felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck.
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