The Freemason's Daughter

by Shelley Sackier

  Her face must have revealed her guilt, for Daniel added, “I know it may be impossible for you to make allowance for the deception involved. But understand, in a situation such as this, each side believes they are right. And many will fight to the death to prove it.”

  She felt sick. “I can’t help but think of the innocent people who’ll be harmed.”

  He leaned forward, his gaze serious. “Jenna, you must not struggle with the hopelessness of how it seems. There will always be tragedy in our lives. People get hurt, and unfairly so. There is little we can do to stop it.”

  That might be true, Jenna thought forlornly, but in this case it appears we are doing everything in our power to start it.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  WHEN THE CHANCE TO GET AWAY FROM THE COTTAGE presented itself it seemed like an opportunity for a welcome adventure. The men needed supplies, and Malcolm couldn’t spare the loss of anyone’s labor. Since Daniel needed to depart for France in a few days to bring news of support to the waiting monarch, Jenna was given the opportunity to accompany him to Preston—a much larger town than Hawkshead, with a market superior to their own. There, she and Daniel would gather the crucial provisions for the men at the garrison, and for his journey. Furthermore, they would meet someone who would present them with a list of names to bring back to her father. The list contained the credentials of soldiers who were to man the garrison. It also identified which of those men were Jacobites—infiltrators working on behalf of James Stuart. Daniel would return with her halfway and leave for the coast at midday. One half day’s travel was more than her usual distance away on her own, but she hungered to be anywhere, far from the estate, if even just for a day.

  They left well before the sun rose, with both horses packed to their limits. Daniel always traveled with very little, but the men had sent them to Preston with the intent they trade for the goods needed at home. She would either come back with new tools and equipment, or return with a fair amount of money, hidden in various places. Jenna listened to everyone’s warnings and had been served more sage advice than breakfast that morning.

  Angus had reminded her, “Ye must be constantly aware of your surroundings—never turn your back on anyone for a moment.”

  Colin had pressed upon her the importance of appearing well mannered and knowledgeable. “So people won’t assume you’re a naïve adolescent who could easily be taken advantage of.”

  Of course, Duncan had spent a few minutes with her, assessing the worth of all their goods for trade. “Anything less than my appraisal and ye should walk away from the deal.”

  Her father simply checked to see she was armed. A finely tuned bow and arrow and a razor-edged sgian dubh were her tools of choice, should it come down to that. Daniel disagreed, saying her tongue was the sharpest weapon she possessed.

  She had no fear of her assignments for the Preston market. Daniel would be close at hand, even though she insisted she could do the bartering on her own. Ian thought her foolish. “’Tis rightly a man’s job, and I say it’s downright reckless to have her traveling wi’ the list of Jacobite soldiers on her person.”

  Duncan shook his head. “No one would suspect a young maid of having such a thing in the first place, but beyond that, Jenna is the most capable female I’ve ever known.”

  Gavin said, “Dinna worry, Jenna. Even if the record falls into hands other than those intended, it’ll make sense to none other than us, because it’ll be printed in the code I created.” Jenna grimaced and thought, The one I’ve shared with the enemy.

  They traveled through the dark February morning in silence as it was still too early for birdsong to accompany them. Even the horses plodded along dazed and sleepy, their hooves reluctantly liberated from the suctioning mud beneath them.

  After those first quiet hours, streaks of pink and peach began to mingle with the horizon’s hazy clouds, as if a painter had strewn a few bright colors from his palette about the sky without concern for where they landed. The dawn roused Jenna’s spirits, and she found herself smiling as she rode, watching the sun creep past the edge of land.

  “You are happy today?” Daniel said.

  Jenna glanced at him. “I’m always happy.” She turned back to the sunrise then heard him make a faint grunt. “You disagree?”

  “I would not dare,” he said with a smirk. “But it pleases me you are content.”

  “I am not content in order to please you.”

  “That is not what I meant,” he said in his heavy accent, meeting her gaze.

  “But it’s what you said.”

  “Then I phrased it poorly. I only commented because I saw you smiling now, and most mornings it is difficult to gauge your mood until well after sunup.”

  “Yes,” she began crisply. “You did phrase it poorly. And I can make it clear that each and every morning I wake as happy as a newborn lamb. I would remain that way as long as no one would have the gall to think I was doing it to please him.” Jenna bit her lip, determined not to let Daniel see she was enjoying the act of goading him.

  He rolled his eyes skyward, paused for a moment, and then said, “Jenna, mi querida, perhaps it would be best if I spoke my thoughts in Spanish so they would not be misinterpreted.”

  “You know I don’t speak Spanish.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jenna looked at him from beneath her brows. “In whichever language you choose, in your way of thinking, women should still try to please men with their placid attitudes. I’m not like that.”

  “That is for certain.”

  He’d taken up his verbal sword, but Jenna quickly returned. “So you agree—your thinking is old-fashioned.”

  He lowered his head and sighed. “I only asked if you were happy.”

  Jenna turned her head to face the opposite of his and pressed her lips inward to stifle a smile. She would miss their games when Daniel left again.

  “Daniel?” Jenna ventured, when the sun had gone as high as it would for the day. “Where are you going? Where do you always go?” She asked the question that until now, everyone had answered with responses she found vague and insufficient.

  “To check on things.”

  “What things?”

  “My business. I go to mind my affairs.” He stared at the horizon in front of them.

  “What is your business?” She watched his face.

  He rubbed roughly at his chin, nodded at a mass of rocks, and said, “We will stop now. There’s food in the pack.”

  She was confused at his reluctance to answer, but dismounted and led Henry to a cluster of leafless trees where Daniel hobbled his horse. She reached into one of the saddlebags and pulled out a cloth sack Angus had prepared for them. Daniel hunted for something in his own leather bags. He brought out a gleaming silver flagon, and came to sit where Jenna was arranging bread and cheese. He offered her the container.

  “How marvelous,” she said, taking it from him. The flask sparkled with Spanish engravings, and was partially enclosed in a leather covering. “What is it?”

  He only raised his eyebrows in response, so she unscrewed the bayonet-fit lid and put her nose to its spout. Taking a deep inhalation, she closed her eyes with approval.

  “What do you smell?”

  “I smell raisins and oranges.” She breathed in again. “And almonds.” She opened her eyes and smiled. “What is it?”

  “Drink.”

  She brought the flask to her lips. The liquid was round and perfumed, its taste blossoming in her mouth. She swallowed and mentally followed the warm path of the fluid. “Is it wine?” She licked her lips. She’d had wine before, but nothing as decadent as this.

  “It is sherry,” he said, chuckling at the delighted expression on her face.

  She studied the engravings and traced them with her finger. “Amor no es voluntad, sino destino,” she read. “Something about love. What does it mean?”

  “It means that love is not a will—not a choice—but a destiny. It suggests that love is a divine mista
ke. The flask is from my grandfather. He made it.”

  Jenna was silent, still fingering the soft curve of the urn. “What about the sherry? Where did you find it?”

  “It’s mine,” he said, tearing off a chunk of bread. “I made it.”

  “Where did you make this?” She looked at him with disbelief. “Here?”

  Daniel took a sip from the flask. He chortled and shook his head. “No, Jenna. You cannot make sherry here. The grapes would not grow.”

  “I don’t really know anything about grapes.” She shrugged. “Does it take many to make this?”

  He laughed again. “Sí. A whole field full.” He swept an arm in front of him.

  She reeled back and pointed to the slim container. “For that?”

  “For many of these, mi amor.”

  After their meal he got up and stretched. He walked to his mare and returned the elixir to the saddlebag.

  She stared after him. “Do you make a lot of this?”

  “Many, many barrels full. It is my business.” He unhobbled his horse and led her to the road. Jenna scurried to catch up.

  “So you’re a winemaker?”

  Daniel swung himself into the saddle and turned to face Jenna, still packing her horse. “Sí,” he nodded. “A winemaker . . . and a thief.” He clicked his tongue and trotted down the road.

  “A thief?” Jenna called after him. “Wait—as a profession? I don’t understand.”

  Daniel raised a brow. “Here you call it smuggling.”

  “For James Stuart?”

  He nodded.

  “Why? You’re not even English.”

  His face softened. “For many reasons, not least of all, I owe your father a great debt.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “My life,” he said bluntly. “He saved it long ago, and I’ve yet to repay him in full.” Daniel shook his head. “It’s a long story I will tell another time.”

  Jenna gaped at him. She’d never been told. No one had ever given her so much as a clue as to how the two families knew one another. “Do you smuggle the wine into England? I would assume it comes over in barrels on a ship, yes?”

  He nodded.

  “But I thought ships had to go through ports with custom houses—and that you’re taxed on the number of barrels you bring into the country.”

  “True, but there are numerous coastal towns that do not have custom houses or proper ports. They’re set up to allow smugglers to operate their business through them as long as they receive a share of the profits. It’s a risk to participate, but plenty of the locals feel they’re willing to wager a little security for the end result.”

  Jenna felt her forehead creasing.

  “When a boat lands with the contraband in the middle of the night, the goods must immediately be stored until they are picked up by the next in line for distribution. That means you need horses and wagons to carry the load to a hideaway—usually somebody’s barn or empty grain house. For these things you must receive the consent of willing allies.”

  She eyed him. “What if you come to a village where the people refuse to help you?”

  “Well, there are ways to make those who oppose become at least unwilling supporters, but I refuse to participate in such a fashion.”

  “Oh, so there’s a line you’ve drawn for yourself to distinguish your fraudulent behavior from the other man, who’s obviously an immoral miscreant.” Jenna looked at him smugly.

  Daniel’s eyes grew dark. “Yes, if you put it that way. I will not burn someone’s barn if they refuse to conceal my goods. I will not steal their sheep as retribution. I will not kill to send a message to others that they must participate or suffer . . . but others will.” His eyes remained unblinking and Jenna had to turn away, abashed at her criticism.

  “So are you saying your barrels never go through any of the ports or custom houses?”

  “I did not say that.” Daniel raised a finger and a tiny smirk appeared on his face.

  “Why do I feel there’s more you’re not saying?”

  He shrugged. “My cooper has created a special barrel in which I am taxed on that which the inspector believes to be in the barrel.”

  “Sherry?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you saying sherry is not in the barrel, Daniel?”

  “No. It is, but there is also gunpowder.” He quirked an eyebrow. “In a separate compartment.”

  “A trick barrel?”

  “Yes. The inspector inserts a pole through the middle of the barrel to test the contents. My new barrels have three angled compartments: two on either end for the gunpowder and one in the middle filled with sherry—allowing movement for a prodding stick.”

  Jenna shook her head. “That is a most impressive ruse you have going on.”

  “Jenna.” Daniel looked sternly at her. “Before you cast judgment, remember we are all fighting in some war or another, and I would rather give everything to a cause I support, even if it might cost me my business or my life, than contribute nothing because no one is after me. For if I do not stand up for those who need me now, there will be no one left to stand up for me when I need them later. They will come for us all in the end.”

  How was it that each time she demonstrated a sliver of disdain at some shocking statement of Daniel’s, it took him merely seconds to point out she was seeing it from only one side?

  The wrong one.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  EVENING FELL AND THE COLD SET IN. JENNA SCRUBBED at her arms to warm herself. At intervals, Daniel would take out his flask of sherry and have her drink—more for warmth than enjoyment. And when they had finished its contents, he brought out another, but in a plain leather flagon. Jenna did not refuse the gracious offers, for it made the journey’s cold tolerable, if not pleasant. It was like having a miniature campfire in her belly, kindling a feeling of quiet contentment.

  They came through the edge of town where humble farms grew closer together and the crofter’s cottages were found nearer to the road. Soon there were people crisscrossing in front of them, going home to their dinners as shops closed for the night. The streets were lit with oil lamps that cast black wisps into the frigid air, and the aroma of smoking peat fires crept from the hearths of each home. The cold snap had come on suddenly with the dark, and the tips of Jenna’s fingers grew numb and lifeless.

  Daniel stopped the horses in front of an inn. A green sign hung out into the street showing a great barrel outlined in gold. He dismounted, handed the reins to Jenna, and told her to stay put. She watched him enter through the arched brick doorway with a sign above it displaying the tavern’s name in curling black letters. The Hogshead.

  As she waited, she squinted through the hazy glass window, trying to follow Daniel’s movements. He spoke to another, shorter figure behind a long wooden bar with a mess of shelved bottles at the back. The windowpane was leaded and mottled the figures behind it, but she saw the man come around the bar and clap Daniel on the back a few times, his other hand pumping Daniel’s arm. Whatever caused the enthusiasm, Jenna was glad of the warm reception, as she was chilled to the bone and ravenous.

  Daniel came out and headed straight for the packs on the horses. “We’re all set, we shall sleep here, and they’ve got food too. Plus they’ll put the horses in their stable out back.”

  Jenna slid off Henry and began unpacking a few things from her saddle. “Apparently, you know someone here. That must have come in handy,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Yes, he’s the owner, and a man I’ve done a little business with over the years.”

  “He appeared awfully glad to see you.”

  “No, it wasn’t that. I told him there’d be two of us staying and he was actually apologetic at first because he had only one room left,” he said, his head bent low to his task.

  “Then why did he embrace you so?”

  “Because I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Her brow creased. “And why was that?”

  D
aniel raised his head and looked her in the eye. “Because I told him we’d just been wed.”

  The pack she held slid to the ground and landed on the paved stone with a dull thud. “You told him what?” she said, raising her voice.

  He rushed around the horses to face her and looked about. “Be quiet,” he hissed. “I had no choice.”

  She made a face clearly showing she didn’t believe him.

  “It is late and cold. This is a man I know who’ll not rob us in the middle of the night, and he reminded me that, tomorrow being market day, most of the other inns will be full.”

  Jenna huffed, but Daniel raised a hand to quell her anger. “Don’t worry—you’ll have the room to yourself. After everyone has gone to sleep, I shall find my way to the stable.”

  “Why can’t we both sleep in the stable—I’d be much more comfortable there than in the inn with strangers,” she countered.

  “No,” he stated firmly. “It is important we not draw unwanted attention. Sometimes, you must play a part to fit into the game. No one is going to look at us twice if we are newly wedded and just passing through, but a foreigner accompanying a single young woman would raise eyebrows and suspicions. And I want no ripples of doubt to follow us anywhere. Trust me, Jenna. I’ve done this many times.”

  “You make a habit of pretending to be newly married?” she asked pointedly. “How scandalous.”

  He looked at her with disbelief. “When a situation arises, I assess it and make the best calculation I can. You should apologize.”

  She looked at him indignantly. “For what deed? I’m not the one who has put the other in a compromising position.”

  “You are not compromised, Jenna,” he said, a look of warning in his eye. “But you will play along, understood?” He held her by the elbow too firmly for her comfort, but she nodded.

  They walked with their things to the door where a lad came out to grab the reins of the horses. Daniel flipped him a coin from his pocket and nodded at Jenna to enter before him.

  The first thing she noticed was the smell of roasting meat, and in her mind, all was forgiven. If this meal promised to deliver as much taste as it did scent, then she would gladly accept far worse a situation than pretending to be Daniel’s wife. Daniel’s traveling cook, or even laundress, would have been palatable enough to suffer through for a decent meal at this point.