The Freemason's Daughter

by Shelley Sackier

  He took her injured hand and held it between his, rough and warm. “Jenna . . . this life isna safe for you anymore. The one I lead could spell disaster for me and the men helping. I’ve been thinking maybe we need to reconsider where it is ye live and with whom.”

  “What?” Jenna’s eyes widened in shock. “We don’t know anyone else I could live with, and besides, I want to be with you.”

  “’Tis an easy thing speaking those words now, while no one’s pounding down our door.”

  She thought about Mr. Wicken. His declaration of sinister threats.

  Malcolm took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of approaching Mrs. Wigginton, to see about getting you a place in the house to work. Ye’d be safe there—”

  “No,” Jenna begged. “Please, Da, don’t send me away!”

  He grabbed her shoulders. “It isna safe wi’ us. Ye could get killed!” His grasp loosened and he held her in front of him, his eyes wide and determined.

  “He’s my king too,” she whispered.

  Malcolm looked away and pulled her to him, his grip fierce. “Lass, I promised your mother before she died nothing would hurt you. How can ye ask me to let her down? I couldna bear it if anything happened to you. I’d go straight to my own grave.”

  “Then we must die together,” she said into the muffling folds of his shirt, a determined curve in her lips.

  “Good God in heaven, if she could see ye now,” he murmured. “She’d not ken what to make of ye, all fierce and stubborn like.”

  “You mean just like you?” Jenna turned away from him and found a place to sit on the bank. The water gurgled as it passed in eddying swirls. Malcolm sighed and eased himself next to her, spreading his plaid beneath him.

  “Da, what does it mean to become a Freemason? I’ve heard your ceremonies,” Jenna said, watching him carefully. “But what is it really?”

  He held an edge of his kilt, fingering a hole in the wool. “Well . . . that’s a good question. I’ve spent the better part of my life finding that out, and still, I feel like I’m at the beginning of my search.

  “I’ve found a lot of people have their own ideas as to how the whole thing began. Some I believe and some I don’t. Some folk are certain it started back when the Tower of Babel was being built. And then mathematics and geometry were passed down by the Egyptians to help build Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. Likely it’s a myth as everyone has a part of them wanting to be caught up in something worthy and important—to be an extension of the past that’s surrounded by some such mystery.

  “Even though the history may be confusing, its ideals are the same wherever ye go. A Freemason has an obligation to his craft, to mankind, and to God. It’s a pledge one makes when joining, to improve the world in which ye live—to leave it better than when ye first came to be in it. We’re men who preach and practice tolerance wi’ one another.” Malcolm’s eyes strayed across the stream, into the yellowing fields beyond.

  “I first joined because I ken I had the skill to work with stone, make it answer me. I learned the craft from others before me and I’ll teach it to those who follow. But now, my skill has a . . . a higher calling, I guess, and I must allow for my hands to be the conduit.” He shook his head and turned to her. “I doubt I’ve made it much easier for you to understand me. I’ve always been honest with ye, Jenna, and I willna start lying now. There’s too much at stake.”

  “Gavin said this time was different. How come?”

  “Well, we’ve collected a bit more than coins this time.” He pressed his lips together while his eyes swept the area around them. At last he said, “Deliveries of that which will aid us winning the rebellion—should there be one. I ken it’s a bit confusing for ye to understand an all, but it’s a bloody bold move right beneath their noses.”

  She shivered, recalling the determined gleam in the duke’s eyes as he told her father how eager he was to “rid our region of its devilment.” She tilted her head. “Why are we here in England if the English are happy with the German as king? It doesn’t make sense. We should be back in Scotland to help the Scots.”

  “Nay, lass. There are plenty of English who would tell ye James has the right to the throne, especially here in the north—not to mention a good handful in Parliament. Ye see, it’s no just politics, but also religion that forces some to choose allegiance.”

  He paused, and the stream babbled at their feet, filling the silence.

  “I want ye to think about what I’ve said. You’re young, and you could have a good life. Babies and all.” He eyed her intensely. “Please say no more until you’ve had a chance to mull it over.”

  He stood and straightened his plaid. “I’m sure I’ve been missed, and there are aye things for you to do as well.” He started back toward the garrison, but stopped. “Jenna.” He stood still a moment, gazing at her over his shoulder. “Think carefully.”

  She watched him walk up the trail away from the stream, his broad shoulders straight and strong. Although her father’s path wasn’t well traveled, it was obvious he was sure-footed. Clearly, he was concerned for her next stumble.

  THIRTEEN

  THE LAST DAYS OF SEPTEMBER HURRIED PAST, AND October crept in on stealthy paws, carpeting the woods with frost and crisp leaves. Jenna woke on the cool mornings and scraped a fingernail across the hoary-rimed windows, peeking at the anxious, snatching squirrels and birds, busy with their autumnal gatherings.

  Her life took on a rhythm as well. Rising early, she helped Angus fix breakfast and tidy the cottage, settled into lessons with her tutors, and took an afternoon walk by the garrison to view the progress.

  As the village of Hawkshead was a quiet hour by foot through the woods, Jenna was often given the task to fetch something one of the men needed. And since she was also skilled with a bow, she was granted the liberty to hunt on her way to and from the hamlet. Veiling her hair beneath a brown hood, she camouflaged her body under russet leaves and waited. Usually, she’d bring back a prized catch for the stew pot. But she came to realize this was her father’s way of giving her time to think, to wrestle with their recent conversation, and to ponder the merit of his argument.

  The choices were plain. If I stay with them and fight for James, I’ll be hunted. If caught I’ll be tried for treason, killed along with my family.

  It was how they lived right now. Just beneath the surface. Always on guard.

  If I leave them, to live safely, I will never see them again. The results would be the same as if they were dead. The price of my security will be the loss of those I love.

  Which to choose: sanctuary and loneliness, or kinsmen and persecution?

  She stopped short. “Who’s to say victory would be impossible for the Jacobites? It could happen with enough support.” A twig snapped and she whirled around, her senses returning to full alert. If anyone had heard her speaking aloud, her reckless behavior could cost them dearly, but after scouting the woods and spotting only a frenzied squirrel, she felt safe to carry on with caution.

  She brooded over her choices. The declaration to her father at the stream, the need to stay with him, fight with him, came from exactly the place her father had guessed: one of worry, of being without them. She wanted to see herself as she saw the clan. Because they had a purpose, a desire so strong they’d risk anything to succeed. But did she share it?

  The thought needled her further as she approached the cottage on her latest errand from Hawkshead, a brace of rabbit hooked to her belt. She spotted Angus speaking to someone on horseback.

  Angus waved and peered hopefully at her. “Ah, Jenna, you’re back. Did ye get Duncan’s book? I hope they had it because he’s been a right gudgeon having lost his own copy in the move.”

  The mounted figure turned in his saddle. It was Lord Pembroke.

  “Yes—yes, I have it,” she said, raising the book and coming to him.

  She widened her eyes in question, but Angus just nodded upward. “You’ve got a visitor as well.” He backed into the cottage
and peered at her from under his bushy eyebrows. “I’ll just be inside, but it’s such a nice day, I’ll leave the door wide-open.”

  She turned to see the young man alight from what appeared to be the tallest horse she’d ever seen.

  “Good afternoon, Miss MacDuff,” he said with a swift bow of his head. “I hope it’s not inconvenient, but I came to view your hand and see how it’s healed, or rather, if it’s healed.” He brushed the sleeves of his spotless coat.

  Jenna smiled and held her hand up. She wiggled her fingers in demonstration. “More than sound.” She stuffed it into the pocket of her woolen skirt. “And it’s Jenna.”

  He tilted his head. “You don’t hold much with convention, do you?”

  She burned at her blunder. “I have not been schooled in unwarranted etiquette.”

  “Nor in holding your tongue.”

  She pressed her lips together and shrugged.

  He took a tentative step forward. “Might I take a closer look? I have an interest in medicine.”

  “I think you’ll not find anything to further it in my palm.”

  He smiled. “Please, I insist.” She reluctantly presented it. He turned it over and uncurled her fingers to reveal the laceration. With his head bent low over her palm he said, “Medicine is a curiosity of mine, but in your case, I was curious about the healing.”

  She stood still, the pale gold crown of his head visible, and felt him probe the flesh of her thumb and forefinger.

  “Can you feel this?”

  “Mm-hm,” she mumbled, biting on the urge to pull away.

  He traced the line of the scar and looked up. “Well, it doesn’t appear you’ve lost any sensitivity, does it?” He let go of her hand.

  “No, it does not.” She curled her fingers into a fist. In fact, I’ve gained some. Her mind raced in search of a distraction. “Your handkerchief,” she blurted out.

  “Did you need one?” He searched the inside of his coat.

  She raced into the cottage. “No,” she called from inside. “I just remembered Angus spent two days trying to return yours to its original color.” She came back with the folded square cloth, white and crisply clean.

  “It needn’t have been laundered. I wasn’t expecting it back.” He threw her a questioning glance. “Did you say Angus cleaned it?”

  Jenna was about to fumble a reply when Angus called her name. He popped his vast, hairy head out an open window, wide-eyed. “Do ye remember how much ye had to pay for the book, Jenna? Your da will want to ken for the record-keeping.” He held up the leather-bound object in question.

  “The shopkeeper wouldn’t take any money. She said she’d settle with him later.”

  “Send your gentle blood to the merchant, and see what it will buy, that’s what I always says.” Angus nodded and disappeared inside.

  “What did he mean by that?” Lord Pembroke said.

  “It means I probably looked like I couldn’t spare the cost and she was doing us a favor.”

  He turned to scratch the stallion’s head after getting nudged in the back for attention. “So Duncan is a healer and he reads as well?”

  “A little,” she mumbled, picking burrs off her skirt. She avoided looking at Lord Pembroke, whose eyes she felt heavily upon her.

  “And you?”

  She kept working at the burrs and shook her head.

  “What is the book you brought back for him?”

  “Something medical, I think,” she said, head bent low.

  “A medical book? Do you recall its name?”

  “No.” She moved over to a sad-looking apple tree whose low branches were stripped bare of its best fruit.

  “Then how do you know you were given the right one? The shopkeeper could have slipped you anything.”

  “I trusted her.”

  “You’ve done business with her before?”

  Jenna shook her head as she reached for an apple just beyond the stretch of her arm.

  “There are many shopkeepers who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of the innocent and ignorant,” he said, coming to the tree.

  She jumped and took a swipe at the apple, but missed. “Duncan will check to make sure.”

  “Ab uno disce omnes?”

  Her mind immediately translated the Latin, From one learn all. “Precisely,” she said, swatting at the fruit again. But then her mind caught up with her ears and she glanced over to find Lord Pembroke’s narrowed gaze focused on her.

  He grabbed her arm to stay it and closed his other hand around the apple, then plucked it effortlessly from its perch. He let go of her arm and held the apple out to her. “Precisely.”

  Her spine stiffened and she took possession of the fruit. “I was hoping to give your horse that apple.”

  Lord Pembroke paid no heed to her reply. “You can read quite well, can’t you?”

  “I can read the signs of a hungry horse and was trying to do something about it.” She knew his eyes followed her as she approached his horse with the treat. It disappeared behind his velvet-lipped muzzle.

  “You’re welcome.” She stroked the beast’s shoulder. Then, turning to Lord Pembroke, she said, “Thank you for your courtesy, milord.” She bobbed her head, stepped into the cottage, and closed the door.

  Angus opened his mouth to speak, but she put her fingers to her lips and ducked beneath the open window.

  She heard Lord Pembroke speak to his horse. “I cannot begin to understand how the female mind works, and if you could talk, I’d be grateful for a second opinion.” She heard the creak of leather as he swung into the saddle. “Now, there’s a book that needs to be written.” He clicked to the horse and they trotted away.

  Jenna sagged against the wall and looked to Angus, her heart hammering in her chest. “He knows we can read.”

  FOURTEEN

  IN EARLY OCTOBER, MUCH OF THE DUKE OF KESWICK’S house was emptied of visitors and its regular occupants. The Cliftons left for their London residence two weeks prior to the coronation of their new king. They brought with them all the necessary staff for the house and a few guests to entertain or be entertained by. Alex, who dreaded the journey, found himself accompanying his parents, Lady Lucia, and her mother on the excursion.

  “Use the traveling time,” his mother advised, “to gain an appreciation for who Lady Lucia is.”

  Halfway through the journey, Alex had a word with his mother. “What I have gained is an earful as to the substandard conditions of our coach’s interior. And apparently, she is suffering through the driver’s incompetence in maneuvering the coach around the poorly maintained roads. She says it will soon negatively affect her cheerful disposition.”

  Lady Lucia did surprise him, however, by commenting on the beauty of his pocket watch. When considering the frequency with which he brought it out to check the length of time left in the journey, it created ample opportunities to view it.

  On October twentieth, the Prince Elector of the Holy Roman Empire, the first Hanoverian monarch of Great Britain, was crowned king of England and Scotland. George of Hanover spoke his native German, which made it somewhat challenging to reign over a country wherein he had little knowledge or interest. Alex raised a brow when Lady Lucia expressed a kinship with the king.

  She put a hand to her heart and said, “My mother and I are experiencing the same agonizing tests of strength and composure. No one can know our struggles.”

  The new king’s coronation was extravagant. Every purchase for the new monarch was a colossal expense, and only utilized for the momentous occasion, most everything being immediately disposed of following the affair.

  “You can’t be serious,” Alex balked after Lady Lucia announced her desire to model their May wedding after the coronation.

  While in the city, Alex thought Lady Lucia might enjoy learning a bit more about the country in which she would soon become a citizen. He took her to view the Houses of Parliament, where his father worked during the months of November through April. An address that
will soon be mine if my father has his way. St. Paul’s Cathedral, recently completed, was another outing. And last, he attempted a stroll through some of the city’s more exquisite gardens.

  None of these expeditions produced the intended enthusiasm he hoped for. Instead, they evoked the young woman’s crisp politeness. She nodded absentmindedly at whatever Alex called attention to. Soured by her indifference, he grew rash. “Milady, I must point out that every year a slew of London’s Sicilian visitors are hung upside down by their feet for sport from the tree branches of the very park we’re strolling through. Coincidentally, the event for this marvelous festival is today. Would you care to participate?”

  She gave an inattentive nod. “And then we can go shopping?”

  While the duke and his entourage were away, Jenna watched her father and the men work solidly through the quiet days of mid-October. Progress at the building site was hurried due to the new political state. Riots broke out across the country in small pockets of protest against the new king’s coronation. Efforts to gather support increased, for the longer it took raising funds to allow James Stuart to challenge the competitor for his birthright, the less likely it would be that it would take place at all. Ian attempted to raise doubts in the men’s minds, but remained mostly distant and quiet.

  Angus crooked a finger at her one morning. “I suggest ye keep a wide berth from Ian at the moment. The man’s in a curmudgeonly state that’s itching for argument.”

  With fewer watchful eyes, she was allowed greater freedom to the duke’s lands, but the reminders of vigilance were unrelenting. She’d roam through the wooded areas in the cool mornings and search for mushrooms to add to Angus’s meals. Often after her studies, she’d escape to the open fields with her horse, and bow and arrow, scaring up pheasant and grouse as she hunted the hedges.

  On one crisp afternoon, the air thick with the smell of molding leaves, she brought Henry into a pasture for a nibble on whatever last green shoots the horse could find. She thought about dismounting and sitting on the ground to wait while the horse took his rest, but the field’s surface looked rutted and bristly. She simply swung both legs to the side of the horse and lay on her stomach across Henry’s wide unsaddled back. She found that hanging limply over each side stretched the kinks out of her spine, and was the perfect way to end a vigorous ride.