The Freemason's Daughter

by Shelley Sackier

  “But he has a choice. His family has money. It shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “Not necessarily. There are those in this world who feel that choice is out of their hands, and you must admire the strength it takes on their part to fulfill the destiny chosen for them.”

  She shook her head with skepticism.

  “There is the chance that what this young man wants is worth the unhappy marriage and the pestering friends. Do you know what he is after?”

  Jenna felt her heart skip a beat. What is he after?

  The choice to study what moved him? A life unshackled from duty? Meaningful friendship? And as much as he denounced his attraction to politics, he spoke with a voice that demonstrated a passionate position.

  Perhaps he was a loyal supporter of the House of Hanover. She thought about the garrison plans. “I . . . I don’t know,” she answered, feeling a bloom of doubt seep through her veins. “I don’t know enough about him.”

  Daniel smiled. “Chiquita, you are yet understandably naïve about the world. As much as it goes against your ideals for integrity, people will do things not initiated by love or friendship if it means they’ll get what they want in the end. If it is as you say, it may be possible this young man is highly motivated by political gain. Power and money may not make good bedfellows for you, but for some . . . there is little else that will entertain them.”

  “He’s not like that,” Jenna said brusquely.

  He raised a brow, his eyes widening. “I thought you were unacquainted with him.”

  “Overall,” she said, stopping mid-dance, desperate to hide the measure of their friendship. “It’s just . . . he doesn’t come across that way.”

  The music stopped, and people, still well mannered, politely clapped and looked up to where Mr. Fowler whirled about for attention.

  “Now, simply to be fair before the women become wanton, the men will have their chance to choose. Ladies, put on your best faces, and do be gracious if old Mr. Gainsford here comes and asks for a twirl.” Mr. Fowler ducked as his friend had thrown an orange.

  Lady Lucia parted the other dancers around her and ignored the new instructions. She sailed toward Daniel. “Scusi,” she said thickly to Jenna and pointed at Daniel, “but I will dance with you now.”

  Jenna threw Daniel a look of I told you so and backed up graciously. He gave the impression of being thoroughly amused, but bowed to the forthright young woman. Turning her head, Jenna met the even, fixed stare of Mr. Finch from across the room. She hastily searched for the nearest exit from the hall, hoping for a break from the jostling crowd and penetrating eyes. She found a side entrance behind the fiddlers, wrapped her shawl about her shoulders, and opened the door to the crisp bite of night air.

  Mere moments passed before she heard the door behind her click and Lord Pembroke’s voice. “Too warm inside?”

  She turned to face him, his eyes washed silvery pale in the dim light of the moon, like those of a ghost. His voice was flat but resolute. “Who is he?”

  She raised a brow in question, scrambling for an answer she hadn’t prepared.

  “Your guest.”

  “An old family friend.”

  “Another member of your clan?”

  “Far from it.” She smirked without meaning to. She watched him stiffen, and his eyes grew dark, pupils widening.

  “How long have you known him?” He took a step closer in.

  “I have always known him,” Jenna answered truthfully, trying to remain calm.

  “From where does he come? Is he here to help with the garrison?”

  She felt her face tighten, and the butterflies in her stomach began their familiar flutter. “What does it matter?”

  “It does matter—a great deal. Withinghall is my home. It’s very important that I know everyone who visits or takes residence here, for the safety of all concerned.”

  “Really?”

  “You find my interest unfounded?”

  Jenna opened her mouth to respond, but he continued.

  “You of all people should realize the seriousness of the situation. You and your family . . . building the garrison?”

  Jenna was positive her face betrayed the angst that sat like a stone in her stomach. Did he know what was going on? She took a deep breath. “Of course, the garrison,” she began innocently. “Terrible times.” She had to move the conversation away from this dangerous topic. “His name is Daniel Delafuente. He’s Spanish by birth, but makes a point of not staking claim to any particular soil long enough to become a resident in it. He’s probably the most fascinating person I am acquainted with. And when I was twelve, I decided to leave all I knew and loved behind to become his wife and journey with him.”

  “At twelve.” Lord Pembroke’s response was a simple statement of clarification rather than a question, but his face showed something unreadable. “Are you betrothed to him, then?”

  “Promised? No! I was twelve.”

  “I meant perhaps by your family.”

  She grimaced. “My father would never arrange my marriage.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realized her blunder. She cast her glance downward and took in a slow breath. “What I meant was . . .” She pressed her lips inward to keep from saying anything further.

  “I see,” Lord Pembroke began. “Well, now that you’re . . . what—sixteen?”

  “Almost seventeen.”

  “Almost seventeen—and are far more experienced in such matters—are you still planning to run away with him?” It was as penetrating a gaze as Jenna had ever felt.

  She understood the men in her family by their guttural sounds, unfathomable to anyone who wasn’t Scottish. And Daniel controlled everything about himself. You knew only what he decided to reveal. But this person who stood before her, a hair too close for courtesy, baffled her, as she’d never had anyone pay her such curious attention that she could not define.

  “Well, he wouldn’t have me at twelve, and I haven’t restated the offer . . . ,” she joked. Had she not been paying close attention, the slight twitch of his jaw would have passed unseen. She wished she had simply answered yes or no, but it was too late to reel her flip reply back in.

  Lord Pembroke was silent, his gaze fixed upon the tiny ruby at her neck she nervously fingered. She let it rest at her throat and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders as the cold wind blew around her face. She shivered. He looked up and said, “Something has come to my attention—something awful and grave. I am saddened immeasurably to say this, but it forces me to end our friendship.”

  Jenna’s lungs crushed together within her rib cage, and her heart stopped dead in her chest. The plans. Had he decoded them? Was her family in danger? She panicked. Bursting into a flurry of movement, she turned to run, but he caught her by the elbow and wheeled her back to face him. Bewilderment spread across his face, his eyes searching for an explanation.

  “I have to go,” she tried to say solidly, but it came out as a whisper. She put her hand over his and tried to remove it, but his grip was firm. She wanted to run and she wanted to stay. The details around her were so precise: the moon haloing the back of his head, the music seeping through the cracks of the wooden carriage house, the people laughing inside it. She smelled pungent smoke from the nearby kitchens where the food had been prepared, and saw his breath meet the cold air, then turn misty and white. Growing close enough to mix with hers.

  “Yes, I think it’s time we leave.”

  At Daniel’s words, Lord Pembroke dropped his hand as if he’d touched fire and looked up. Daniel’s face was grave and tight-lipped. He walked the few remaining steps to where Jenna stood and took her by the elbow. Turning to Lord Pembroke, he made a curt bow and said, “Good evening, sir, and I was led to believe congratulations on your upcoming marriage are in order.”

  Jenna’s cheeks flushed with unwelcome heat, and she fought to steady her panicked breath as Daniel led her away.

  What have I done? Her thoughts screamed in her hea
d. Or, more important, what have I undone?

  TWENTY-TWO

  JENNA’S FATHER PACED THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF THE fire. The other men sat in their usual spots, apart from Ian, who stared out the window by the door. He rubbed a shoulder that stretched the fabric of his shirt across his back.

  “I ken she’d get us in trouble one day—and dinna say I havena warned ye.” Ian spoke out of the side of his mouth, his voice a low growl, but Jenna could hear from upstairs, the door to her room opened a crack. She rested her head on the frame and closed her eyes, mindlessly allowing the sharp edge of her sgian dubh to trace the pink-ridged scar along her palm.

  “Said she needed a tighter rein, and all I got was grief, aye?”

  “Be quiet, Ian,” Malcolm snapped. “We’ve precious little information as to what the duke’s son knows—if anything. And I willna have ye passing judgment on anyone unfairly.”

  Jenna’s stomach pretzeled and writhed from where she sat listening.

  Most of her discomfort stemmed from her secret—that she’d mistakenly revealed the method to decipher the garrison’s codes.

  How was I to know that my daily math assignment was not simply some pleasurable number riddle?!

  She peered down, watching her father walk to the table and take a swig from his glass. “Daniel only heard the words our friendship before steppin’ in to interrupt.”

  “Doesn’t it seem likely he was trying to canvass information from her?” Ian asked. “Perhaps he was tryin’ to sway her to see the plans again!”

  “Even if he did,” Angus spoke up, “what could he make of them? They’re nothing but a bunch of lines to anyone save us. They’re coded!”

  Angus rose from his chair, grabbed an iron poker, and jabbed at a few bits in the fire. Sparks exploded upward in bright bursts of orange. “Jenna said he wanted to ken who Daniel was, that’s all.”

  But that wasn’t all, she thought, curling tightly around her knees. What would the men do if they discovered Lord Pembroke could break the code? Would they immediately pack up and haul out—or would they head out to hunt him down? She couldn’t imagine the men doing anything drastic to silence the young man.

  And was Lord Pembroke telling her that he’d uncovered their schemes? His words hung in the air:

  Something has come to my attention—something awful and grave.

  Awful enough to end their friendship, but was it awful enough to end their lives?

  Malcolm sighed heavily from below. “I say we wait to see what Daniel comes up with. It’s about this time most of the free liquor’s been drunk and the men who’ve taken advantage of it will be more than keen to waggle their tongues wi’ a man who’ll spend his coin for their drink. He’s most canny, that Daniel. If there’s news out there that’s shining a light on our cottage—he’ll find it.”

  Jenna felt relief, however slight it was. She remembered how Daniel had grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her away, a bull barely controlling the urge to charge. She was certain Lord Pembroke had been watching.

  “What were you thinking?” Daniel had growled as he hauled her toward the cottage. “I mean, Jenna, of all the people . . . why him? You do realize who he is, don’t you?”

  She skittered on an icy patch, but Daniel held her arm firmly so she wouldn’t fall.

  “Of course I know who he is, but I also know I haven’t done anything.”

  “He was trying to elicit information from you!” Daniel hissed.

  She tried to remain calm, for she’d never seen Daniel angry, and certainly not with her, but she was resolute in her defense. “The only information he was trying to extract was whether I was betrothed to you. And I think the behavior you just displayed suggested exactly that.”

  “Good.”

  Jenna’s head snapped around to look at him. “Good?”

  “Let him think that’s the reason I interrupted your intimate conversation. I’m only grateful to the man Mr. Finch for coming to inform me my escort might be in need of assistance. Any number of things could have taken place had I not come when I did.” Daniel kept his eyes forward and didn’t meet her look of incredulity.

  “I wasn’t about to tell him anything,” she insisted.

  Daniel had stopped at the threshold to the cottage, his hand on the door. “There were many things you told him . . . without uttering a word.” It was the last thing Daniel said before they entered the house and her interrogation began.

  After telling and retelling the events, she was brusquely dismissed to her bedroom, where Tavish was already asleep. She undid the maddening hooks and fastenings that bound her into the borrowed dress, slipped into her cotton shift and wrapped a heavy shawl around herself for warmth. And she sat watching through the loft door crack ever since.

  Daniel had been sent out to gather information about any suspicions that might be forming regarding the men or the garrison, but had she ruined everything? Would they now conclude she was a liability they could no longer afford, and that discussions would—nay, must lead them to where she’d be sent? She recalled the talk she and her father had on the bank of the river. He was serious in her consideration of leaving them. At the time, she’d interpreted his offer as being with her comfort and safety in mind. She hadn’t given a thought to theirs.

  She heard the front door open and close, and the scuffling of chairs. Then Daniel’s voice. She held her breath and waited to hear if it was time to pack and depart. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it would be the first time because one of their own had made an error.

  “Nothing,” she heard Daniel tell the others. “Most think there are a few local rebels closer into town. They’re pretty closemouthed. Not so foolish to spread their opinions to just anyone, soused or not.”

  A collective sigh permeated the room. “I blame myself for the scare,” she heard her father say. “I should’ve taken the plans myself, and I didna talk to her about explaining Daniel’s presence.”

  “None of us did, Malcolm. Dinna fash yourself over it,” Colin said. She saw his long-limbed figure sit back down and stretch. “What’s done is done, and now we best get on wi’ how to prepare her come next time—should there be one.”

  Jenna’s breath caught, filled with the flicker of hope.

  “She needs to be sent away.” There was no doubt in her mind who said that. “Ye promised her mother ye’d protect her, Malcolm. She’s either going to get herself killed or all of us—but nonetheless, you’re ignoring the woman’s final plea!” She saw Ian stand. His jaw was set firm, his eyes hard as he challenged the leader of their group.

  Malcolm moved slowly toward Ian. His voice was as low as the growl from a dog. “I said . . . not a word more from you about it.” Malcolm’s eyes blazed hot and black, his bulk filling more space than seemed possible. There was a flash of rebellion in Ian’s glare, but it was quickly covered.

  Malcolm turned to face the rest of the men. “It’s time we all find our beds. In the morning we’ll speak to Jenna and set things straight, aye?”

  Everyone agreed and Jenna silently closed the door to the murmurs of good nights. She crawled her way back to bed and slid beneath the cold quilts. But her mind would not quiet. It wrestled with the uneasy realization that once again, Mr. Finch had her in his sights.

  She woke in the night, shivering, and all attempts to welcome sleep back proved impossible. She wrapped her warmest shawl around her and grabbed the quilt from the floor. She would stoke the fire downstairs and warm herself in front of it for a while. But the flames had already been revived. Daniel sat at the table, his head bent low. He read by the light of a candle and the quivering glow from the hearth. Upon spotting him, she thought better of interrupting his privacy and turned to reenter her room.

  “Jenna, don’t leave,” he said.

  She looked back at him, but his head was still over his papers.

  He spoke again. “Don’t turn away on my behalf. I’m inviting you to come down, if you wish.”

  The breath she hadn’t
realized she was holding escaped. She tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to trip on the quilt as it dragged along the floor. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you,” she said stiffly, and walked to the water jug. She glanced to the table where he sat. “Would you like tea? I’m making some.”

  He nodded and kept reading. Jenna busied herself for the next few minutes heating the water over the fire and preparing the cups. She placed a mug beside his papers and sat on the bench a few spaces away. “What are you reading?” she asked, sipping her tea.

  “The Mishnah,” Daniel said, without looking up.

  “Is it a novel?”

  “En absoluto. By no means.”

  “Well, what, then? It doesn’t sound Latin or Greek,” she said, peering over to see the writings.

  He raised his head. “It is the Oral Law. Discussions and decisions made to interpret what God said in the Torah.”

  “You mean the Hebrew Bible?”

  “Some would call it that. ‘Torah’ means teachings, or laws, and in this case, the Law of Moses. It is what the Jewish people must do, must follow, and sometimes without question.”

  Daniel took a sip from his cup and eyed Jenna speculatively. After a moment, he said, “Your father and Angus said you have studied well these last few years. They said your curiosity has propelled your education.”

  “I suppose it has,” she answered with a halfhearted shrug.

  “For many, knowledge is a great risk.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, to find a servant girl who can read is not unheard-of. One who can read in several languages—if only passably—figure mathematics, and discuss philosophy and logic—is a rare find. It marks you as unusual.”

  “So I’ve been told,” she said dryly.

  “The thing is,” he went on, “you may not understand that all of the knowledge you’ve been given carries responsibility with it. But to be truly responsible with it you must obtain something that no one can give you. It is an instinct one gains through experience. La confianza. Figuring out who to trust.” He swung his leg over the bench to face her. “I read the Mishnah away from other eyes because there are many who would do me harm upon seeing it. You cannot help the family you are born into, but I think you can help direct your fate thereafter, if you are wise.