A Traitor's Touch

by Helen Dickson

  ‘Andrew Brody—who was a long and ardent and active supporter of the Jacobites.’ She shuddered as she remembered the brutality of her father’s death.

  ‘Why did you not tell me this before?’

  ‘I had no reason to tell you. Why should I?’

  Simon was stunned by Henrietta’s disclosure. The truth and the enormity of the dangers this posed to her finally dawned on him. ‘I remember Andrew Brody. I also remember Andrew Brody was executed for his involvement in a plot to help King James regain his throne. Was he your father?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘And you chose to keep this startling piece of information to yourself.’

  She shrugged. ‘It was my concern, not yours. I never talk about it—I choose not to, but, yes, my father was a Jacobite. He confessed it openly. In fact, he more than confessed it. He went to Rome where King James has his court. He was undoubtedly involved in plans to bring James back to the throne.’

  ‘Which was a foolhardy thing to do considering the failure of the rising back in fifteen.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘But whatever my father may have done, my mother suffered terribly. When he was executed, she never got over his death. It hit her hard. She...lost her mind afterwards. But this was nothing I did not expect—how could anyone keep one’s wits in her circumstances?’ She found she was unable to speak of her mother’s suicide. It was too painful. ‘I was a child when they came to arrest him. I knew something wasn’t right and I was devastated when I was told he wouldn’t be coming back—although I didn’t know the whole of it until later. The stigma of his execution will not go away, which was the reason I did not turn to my guardian’s friends for help. They are all of the same opinion—that I was not worthy of their care. The accusations of conspiracy against my father were based on a good deal of evidence. His captivity was short-lived. Which, following the suffering his torturers inflicted on him, I can only look on as a mercy. When I was still a child and feeling as though my father had been stolen from me, there were times when I swore that were I a man I would avenge his death.’

  ‘I knew you had courage, Henrietta, but I failed to notice your wits are addled.’

  Henrietta’s body became rigid and she glowered at him. ‘I’m sure if it came to it, I could fight as well as any man, but if I were to do so to avenge my father, then I would be inadvertently supporting the Jacobite cause. I would never do that.’

  She saw his blue eyes darken to indigo, but not even an eyelash flickered to betray his alarm. He raised his eyebrow with an amused admiration which exasperated Henrietta.

  ‘What a bloodthirsty wench you are!’ he said softly. ‘It has not escaped my mind that when we met you threatened me by drawing a knife on me.’

  ‘Don’t mock me—and don’t underestimate me either. And you are mistaken, Simon. When I drew my knife on you that was no threat. Just proof that I can take care of myself.’

  Simon’s eyes narrowed, studying her with unnerving intensity. ‘Don’t underestimate me either, Henrietta. I am well trained in the arts of combat. Surprise tactics and cunning are my strongest weapons. But are you aware of the danger to yourself at this time? If there is to be another rising and it fails, if you are apprehended, because of who you are you will suffer the same fate as your father. Let there be no doubt about that.’

  Henrietta blanched. ‘I—I did not think... When I ran away I was running for my life. I had no thoughts of plots and Jacobites until my encounter with you on the heath.’

  ‘Then you had better give it some thought, Henrietta Brody, because your life is in danger—from two sides apparently. But the danger Jeremy poses will be as nothing compared to the full might of the English. If you are to remain with me for the time being, I shall make rules for your behaviour. The first is that you will accompany me as my servant and continue to dress as a youth.’

  ‘Can I get away with it, do you think?’

  ‘I see no reason why not,’ he replied drily. ‘You fooled me well enough and if you can do that you can fool anybody.’

  ‘Annie wasn’t deceived.’

  ‘Annie’s different.’ He chuckled. ‘She’s been the housekeeper at Barradine since I was a lad. Never underestimate her. Always in command of herself is Annie. You must never think of her as anything less than a warship under full sail, gun ports raised and cannon at the ready.’

  ‘Oh, dear. As bad as that?’ Henrietta uttered with a smile.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then she is a woman after my own heart.’

  ‘The second condition that I ask of you is that you keep out of sight as much as possible—some of the scurvy lot who call themselves soldiers can’t be trusted with a lady—much less a comely lad who looks like one. ’Twill be lucky if any of them are fit to fight the way they would be wont to ogle you.’

  Henrietta’s eyes opened wide and she had to stifle a smile. ‘Why, Simon! I would take that as a compliment if I didn’t feel it wasn’t meant to be one.’

  ‘You’re right. It wasn’t. The next condition is even more important.’

  Henrietta waited.

  ‘You’ll speak of your past to no one,’ he said bluntly. ‘What you have told me just now concerning your father you will tell no one else. Do you understand?’

  She nodded. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, shoving himself out of the chair. ‘For God’s sake keep your hat on. That hair of yours is like a beacon on a dark night.’

  * * *

  They were to remain at Barradine for a few days before leaving for Perth. Not fully recovered from the gruelling ride to Scotland, Henrietta welcomed the respite. Simon had many things to occupy his time and was away for most of the time, so Henrietta took the opportunity to explore the house.

  It was a fine, square-set, stone-built house, its imposing front three storeys high. A broad terrace dropped down to a beautiful garden with carefully clipped hedges overlooking the River Tweed. It was also opulent, with beautiful artefacts reposing on gleaming tables, and on the walls were portraits of long-dead family members in gilded frames. The house exuded indefinable qualities—a sense of order, centuries of happiness and disappointments, memories of men and women who had lived and breathed within these walls.

  This was a time for her to idle the time away. She often found herself wandering along the banks of the Tweed and stopping to dangle her feet in the cool, swift flowing shallow water. It was as if the whole world existed at Barradine. Nothing outside it—not Jeremy or the Bonnie Prince—existed. She couldn’t think of anything else. There was nothing else.

  Only Simon.

  She was no more immune to Simon than he was to her, for the longer she was a guest in his house she could not prevent her eyes from searching him out or prevent her eyes from straying in disquieting directions. Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for such a man as Simon Tremain. If she had found him impressive before, to see him at Barradine, surrounded by the men and women who depended on him, made him grow, in her estimation, to an almost invincibility.

  The effect he produced was not merely the result of his incomparable handsome looks—it was more than that. The monumental energy he seemed to possess was volcanic, and the discipline and courtesy of his manner, and his occasional sardonic humour, made him distinct from any other man she had ever known.

  She would watch him from the window in her chamber talking with the men who worked on his estate, and even when he was absent she felt his dominating presence everywhere. She told herself that nothing he could do could tempt her, but she always looked for him, as if the sight of him was reassuring, quelling her fear and anxiety of the future.

  * * *

  It was Simon’s custom to be up at daybreak and about his business. On the fourth day of her stay at Barradine, as she descended the stairs later, she h
eard voices coming from the dining room. It was certainly not out of the ordinary for him to receive callers this early and Prince Charles was generally the topic. But somewhat wary of who visited, Henrietta made her way more cautiously.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Henrietta,’ the housekeeper greeted her cheerily, coming out of the room carrying a tray. ‘Another bright morning.’

  Henrietta glanced inside the room. Five men sat at the large rectangular table where Annie had dispensed steaming bowls of porridge and freshly baked bannocks spread with honey and they were all looking at her.

  ‘Henrietta—please, come in.’ A chair creaked and a moment later Simon filled the doorway as he came to greet her.

  He had hoped to keep her tucked away from prying eyes, but now she was here he could hardly ignore her. His heart began to hammer in deep, aching beats as his eyes glided over her from head to toe in a lingering appreciation of everything they touched. With her hair brushed in a glorious cap of short curls and attired in a deep rose-pink gown, she looked stunning. Despite the crushing chain of circumstances that had bedevilled her since her guardians had died, it was plain to him that she was undaunted and of no weak spirit.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I would not have come down had I known you had visitors.’

  ‘It’s too late now. Allow me to introduce you. I had hoped to avoid this happening, but there’s nothing for it but to brave it out.’

  Henrietta’s instinct was to protest and return to her chamber, but too many curious gazes were watching them.

  ‘Come.’ Taking her arm and squeezing it reassuringly, Simon led her towards the fresh airy room where the open windows allowed breezes to flow through.

  The gentlemen all rose simultaneously and nodded graciously. Henrietta could feel their curious glances. All of them were dressed in serviceable shades of grey and brown, and one in the soft blue-and-green tartan of a hunting kilt.

  ‘Miss Lucas, these gentlemen are neighbours of mine. They have come to discuss with me the matter that is on everyone’s lips at this time and, since I’ve been away for some time, I must consider their advice on some local matters. This is Miss Lucas, gentlemen, come to visit my mother, Lady Mary—who we all know is in Paris at this time staying with friends and visiting my young brothers. Unfortunately, Miss Lucas was not aware of the fact. If there is to be any kind of conflict due to Prince Charles’s arrival in Scotland, it will affect us all—Miss Lucas included, since she is to visit a relative in the north.’

  ‘Is that so?’ a sturdy-looking individual in leather trews remarked grimly. ‘And do you think it wise for a young lady to go visiting in this time of unrest?’

  ‘I will take my chance,’ Henrietta replied lightly, praying she was not about to be drawn into a discussion as to her destination.

  ‘Miss Lucas, I am indeed honoured to make your acquaintance,’ a tall, good-looking, auburn-haired gentleman by the name of Iain Frobisher said. He cast his host an amused glance. ‘Simon, did you intend to keep this ravishing creature to yourself?’

  Simon laughed good-heartedly. ‘That is for Miss Lucas to decide. She is welcome to stay at Barradine for as long as she wishes and I am not averse to feminine company, as you know, Iain. However, since the recent addition to your brood of offspring—Alice, I believe you have named her, who will no doubt turn out to be as wild as her brothers—I imagine you will have a good deal to occupy your time without concerning yourself with my—ravishing guest.’

  Henrietta smiled, happy to go along with Simon’s subterfuge. ‘Do not mistake my friendship with Lord Tremain,’ she was quick to point out. ‘He is a friend of my family and a man of impeccable honour. I will not deprive him of my company just yet.’

  Simon grinned. ‘Do I look deprived?’

  His casual remark caused much laughter. ‘Have a care, Miss Lucas,’ Iain warned. ‘Simon loves and leaves his ladies with frequent ease. But I would be your most devoted slave,’ he said, affecting a courtly bow.

  ‘Tell that to your wife,’ one of the others quipped, giving him a good-humoured slap on the back.

  ‘You will eat with us, Miss Lucas?’ Simon offered.

  ‘No—I thank you. I have already eaten.’

  ‘Then some tea, perhaps.’

  ‘Yes—yes, that would be nice. But I have no wish to intrude on your conversation. I am sure you and these gentlemen have much to discuss.’

  ‘Nothing that you cannot be privy to.’

  ‘Then I will sit over here,’ she said, moving towards a small table close to the window.’

  Annie set a cup of tea before her and went out, leaving her to listen to the conversation. While their voices drifted across to her, she sipped her tea, listening quietly as Simon expressed himself in bold opinion in response to his neighbours’ questions, quickly taking up a quill and making sketches of the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland when needed, acting as a valued peer. He discussed all matters concerning Charles Stuart’s arrival in Scotland and the support he was getting from the Highland clans. Henrietta was anything but bored as she listened. She realised he was as clever and keen minded as her father had been. In fact, as the conversation progressed, it became evident he could have taught her father much.

  He really was the most impressive man Henrietta had ever met. There was an indomitable pride chiselled into his handsome face, determination in the jut of his chin, arrogance in his jaw and intelligence in every feature of his face. There was an aloof strength and a powerful charisma about him that had nothing to do with his tall, broad-shouldered physique. He was also an experienced man of the world and all those experiences were locked away behind a lazy charm and piercing blue eyes.

  And therein lay his appeal. The challenge.

  Stealing another look at his profile her heart turned over. She gave herself a mental shake. What did all that matter? Simon Tremain was nothing to her and never could be. All that mattered was that she reached her uncle with her heart, her mind and body intact. She must not allow herself to succumb to Simon’s charm. He was a Jacobite, like her father, and only misery and suffering could result from knowing him. He would rend her heart in two—as her mother’s had been broken by her father, which had sent her to her grave.

  Henrietta would not ignore what her common sense was telling her. She would not allow that to happen to her. Not again. Not ever!

  * * *

  Having no notion of the paths along which Henrietta’s mind wandered, from where he sat Simon couldn’t help but admire the depth of her composure and the delicate, almost ethereal beauty in the young face. She had been gently reared in a well-to-do household. He could see it in the way she walked and carried herself. She had the confident, refined elegance of one who has been well tutored and instructed in the social graces. In repose she was the quintessence of the beautiful female animal, her face and body as perfectly formed as they could be. Her sensuality was so beguiling that the gentlemen’s eyes seemed to burn with unconcealed pleasure as they sought and lingered on her.

  He gritted his teeth in what might have been jealousy as he watched these men covet her. He watched the appreciation in their eyes as they regarded the creaminess of her skin and the simple elegance of her gown, the scooped neckline offering a tantalising view of smooth flesh. He wondered how they would have reacted had they come upon her as the unkempt youth.

  He was not sorry when his guests got up to leave. Excusing himself to Henrietta he went with them, but he was impatient for the time when he would return.

  * * *

  It was nightfall when Simon arrived back at the house. Having eaten, Henrietta was on the terrace, about to take a stroll before retiring to her chamber for the night. The air was chilly and she drew her shawl tighter around her.

  Simon emerged quietly from the house. Henrietta had one arm draped loosely round a stone urn brimming with flowers. He
paused to watch her for several moments, the moonlight playing over the planes of her face as she stared off into the distance with a melancholy look.

  ‘Here you are,’ Simon remarked at length, joining her.

  Henrietta lifted her face and smiled at him. For Simon it was as if a shutter had been flung open and the sunlight had rushed in. Her smile was compounded of a luminous gentleness in her eyes. Her fine-boned face, framed by a halo of red and gold stirring in the flower-scented breeze, was a dainty image of fragility as she stood before a man who dwarfed her. Tenderness washed over him and he wanted to pull her into his arms.

  Henrietta’s pulse rate quickened when she met his dark blue gaze. Her gaze shifted and took in the whole of him. The muscles of his body rippled beneath his coat as he moved, and the sense of his physical power struck her like a blow. She noted the swell of his powerful shoulders concealed by the cloth with a fascination that was disturbing, a little frightening. His body seemed so honed to be perfect—tough and hard as his mind. Standing close, he was looking at her intently. The effect of that look was physical. At that very moment it was as though her heart expanded.

  ‘I was about to walk to the river before retiring. Will you accompany me?’

  ‘I would like that.’

  He took her arm as they descended a flight of narrow stone steps to the garden below. His was such an easy, graceful strength, lazy as a big cat stretching in the sun, alert as a cat to spring and strike. His touch and the clean, masculine smell of him, all combined to form a warm, thoroughly intriguing essence that quickened Henrietta’s awareness of the man. She realised she was affected in ways she had never dreamt possible, for her womanly senses responded to his gentle touch.

  Preoccupied with his thoughts, Simon didn’t speak as they walked. On a sigh Henrietta gazed up at the clear expanse of sky.

  ‘It’s a full moon,’ she murmured, looking up at the huge yellow orb. When Simon didn’t reply, she cast about for something else to say. ‘I can’t quite believe I’m really back in Scotland.’