Highland Rebel

by Judith James

  “What do you mean? Why do you say that?”

  “Never mind, it’s not important.” He reached for a handsomely plumed wide-brimmed hat and handed another to her. “Come along, little cous, the night has yet to begin, and London and adventure await. Remember to speak as little as possible, and keep your voice pitched low. Don’t worry if you squeak a bit. It will only add to the effect.”

  He took her first to The Puritan coffee house on Aldergate Street, a respectable establishment known for political discourse. Coffee was looked upon as a great stimulant for the mind, and The Puritan had become a popular social gathering place for intellectuals and literati, a place where men could relax in good company, exchange opinions, and hear the latest news.

  “You’re about to enter the most sacred bastion of the London male, Cat,” he told her as they stood outside. “Any man can enter, provided he’s reasonably dressed and can pay his penny, but no females are allowed. By bringing you I mark myself a traitor to my sex.” He favored her with a wink. “This is a Londoner’s true home, where every man is equal, and every man a king. If you ever need to find a fellow, don’t ask what street he lives on, ask where he drinks his coffee.”

  Catherine peeked over his shoulder, anxious and eager to look inside. She was grateful for the tight waistcoat and coat that bound and hid her full breasts. It was a tight squeeze, but not nearly as bad as wearing a corset. She resisted the urge to clutch Jamie’s arm and remembered his words from earlier in the afternoon. “What does a young lad want? What does he fear?” Will Sinclair was an inexperienced youth who feared making a fool of himself, she decided. He wanted to impress his cousin and wanted to be a seen as a man. It seems we share a lot in common, she thought with a grin. Young Will would be awestruck and cocksure by turns. In fact… he’d be feeling the same anxiety and excitement as she was right now. She took a deep breath, tilted her hat at a rakish angle much as she’d seen Jamie do, threw back her shoulders, and with a hint of a swagger, paid her penny and followed him inside.

  She blinked and coughed and Jamie patted her back solicitously. The place reeked of tobacco and the rich, dark smell of coffee. Conversation swirled around them, roaring and receding like waves on a beach. Men sat in corners or at long tables, scribbling and reading, drinking coffee and smoking, engaged in heated discussions and quiet discourse. Newspapers and pamphlets were strewn about, free with the price of admission, and bulletins and announcements of auctions, sales, and shipping news covered the walls.

  A handsome gentleman came over to greet Jamie, nodding politely her way in passing. She recognized him—Churchill, the Earl of Marlborough—and was relieved he didn’t recognize her. He and Jamie were soon deep in conversation, and she wandered over to the back wall, wondering in passing what it was that made them both so intent. A sheet was posted on the wall, entitled “Rules and Orders of the Coffee House.” She perused it, fascinated. It stated that all men were equal in a coffee house, and none need give up his seat to a finer man. Anyone who swore must pay a fine of twelve pence, and the man who started a fight must buy every man a meal to atone. Maudlin lovers were not to mope in corners, sacred things must be excluded from conversation and—

  “William!”

  It took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

  “William! I’ve secured us a table, come and sit, you chuckle-headed dolt. You’ve been staring off into space like a moonstruck calf.”

  She lifted her chin and strolled over to join him, giving him a frosty look on behalf of an indignant Will, before sitting down.

  “Here, have some coffee, lad. Maybe that will wake you up.”

  Several other men had joined them at the table, none of whom she knew, but they all seemed well acquainted with Jamie. No one gave her more than a cursory glance, and though she was accustomed to discussing and arguing politics at council and at table, she hung back, choosing to listen rather than speak, melting into the background, a watcher like Jamie had said.

  There were men from all walks of life, carpenters and bankers, soldiers, sea captains, apprentices, and statesmen, and not a few of London’s elite, but they sat shoulder to shoulder, and any man’s view was as good as the next if he could explain and defend it. She delighted in the conversation, surprised at its breadth and depth and the liberty of ideas, and impressed with Jamie’s encyclopedic grasp of the issues of the day.

  Here was the London she’d heard so much about, a vibrant crucible of thought and innovation years ahead of anywhere else in Europe. This was where it had been hiding. It wasn’t born and nurtured in the halls of power by a glittering elite, but in the streets and theatres and coffee houses of the city, where doers and thinkers from all walks of life could meet and share their views. What a pity no women are allowed! What might we contribute, what might we accomplish, if not excluded from this feast?

  A sudden commotion drew everyone’s attention as a breathless youth burst through the door and went to the counter to collect a cup of coffee and speak to the proprietor. “The boy is a messenger,” Jamie explained, turning to her. “They send them around the coffeehouses whenever there’s some news.”

  A moment later, it was announced that a clipper ship en route to Jamaica had been lost in a storm, provoking white faces and gasps from some—investors, she assumed. The news that followed provoked an angry grumbling and heated conversation. It seemed His Majesty had chosen an ardent Catholic supporter, Richard Talbot, as Lord Deputy and his chief governor in Ireland.

  “Good Christ, that’s all we need! There’s no helping the witless fool,” Jamie muttered under his breath. “Come along, Will, there’s more to see and do. Time we be off.”

  They stepped out into a grey and dreary late winter afternoon.

  “We’re not done yet, are we? There’s so much more I’d like to see.”

  “Perhaps another time, love. Something’s come up that I must attend to.”

  “Can’t I come with you?” she pleaded. “You promised me a night to remember and it’s only been two hours. I can be discreet.” She touched his arm and gave him an imploring look. She knew it was shameless, but she wasn’t ready for the adventure to end. Ever since the swoon in her council chamber had brought men who’d opposed her running to assist, she’d been convinced that in a world that gave every advantage to men, a woman must use whatever tools she had.

  He looked at her uncomfortably, his whole body aware of her hand on his arm. An erection stirred, straining against his breeches, and he was vaguely aware that this wasn’t the way to be looking at his cousin Will. Blast the wench! Whenever he was with her, he couldn’t seem to think straight. She’d always been fetching in breeches, though. There were few women who had such long and shapely legs, or such a pleasing derr—

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” He blinked and focused. He had no use for innocent misses in general, but this one was his wife. They’d come to an agreement. He’d promised not to bed her and let her go within a year, but he still owed her his protection and he considered her a friend. He needed to stop imagining her naked. He needed to find a whore and relieve himself of whatever it was that plagued him as soon as he was able.

  “Can I come?”

  “I’m sorry, Catherine. I’ve several stops to make, some in places a lady, or even cousin Will, should never go. It could be dangerous, and I’ll be gone most of the night.”

  “I’m not a lady tonight, and I’m not your cousin Will. I’m not delicate, Jamie. I wasn’t in a parlor doing my stitching when you found me. I’ve been on cattle raids. I’ve proven myself in battle. I know how to fight.”

  There was something in her eyes, an earnest plea for recognition. Something moved deep inside him, and he couldn’t tell her no. He sighed and removed his hat, running one hand through his hair. “There won’t be any fighting. You’ll stay close beside me at all times, unless I tell you otherwise. No wandering off to explore like you did in there,” he nodded in the direction of The Puritan. “You won’t s
peak to anyone unless spoken to, and if you have to speak, you’ll keep it short. You’ll do exactly as I tell you at all times, and if we become separated, you’ll wave down the nearest carriage and go directly home. Is that clear?”

  “Absolutely!” she said, beaming.

  “If you fail to do as I tell you, I’ll never take you adventuring this way again,” he warned, but her excitement was contagious and he put away his doubts, returning her grin with a smile and a wink, motioning for her to follow. “You never told me how you came to be on a battlefield,” he remarked as they walked along.

  “Didn’t I? I’d come to rescue my little brother. He got himself mixed up with some Covenanters in Edinburgh and I didn’t want you to kill him.”

  “Ah, black sheep of the family, was he?”

  “No, apparently that was me.”

  “Something else we share in common.”

  “Why did you call the king a witless fool?”

  “Because he’s hanging to his throne by his fingers, and every day he makes matters worse. He’s autocratic, stubborn, and vindictive, and he’s rapidly losing friends. Charles was wise enough to recognize the English have a deep distrust of Catholic rule. They fear it would mean far less power for Parliament, and far more for the church and king. It’s a feud that’s been responsible for years of trouble and grief. I believe he was Catholic in his heart, and I’m told he returned to the fold on his deathbed, but he never let it interfere with governing the country.

  “James insists on f launting his faith, and despite all warnings, on forcing it on the country. One by one, he replaces his advisors. He’s taken a Catholic wife who any day now may become pregnant with a Catholic heir to supplant his Protestant one, Mary. He keeps a standing army at the ready, and now he’s taken steps to bind the Irish to his cause.

  “Dick Talbot’s first task will be to create an Irish Catholic army that James can use to coerce his English subjects. Sullivan may be happy, as my Irish properties used to be his. He’ll be hoping for his ancestral lands back, as will most of the Catholics in Ireland, but the Protestants Cromwell settled in their place are bound to object. It’s going to upset a great many powerful men. It’s going to start the engines of civil war and rebellion all over again. You’d best not get too close to it, nor put too much faith in English treaties, trade arrangements, or alliances. It’s something to warn your family about when you return to your snowy home.” The thought caused an uncomfortable pang and he turned away.

  “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I don’t expect to ever go home. Why were you given Sullivan’s land if you are Catholic too?”

  “I was Protestant then, which illustrates precisely why one should always be f lexible in matters of dogma and religion. You ask too many questions, love. Now look you to the left.” They were turning onto Deveraux Street, and Catherine craned her neck to see. “That’s the Graecian. Most coffee houses cater to specific groups and interests. Men of money and business frequent those on the Exchange. The Graecian’s famous for its scholars and philosophers. Sir Isaac Newton calls this one home. When you hear men refer to coffee houses as penny universities, it’s places like this they mean.”

  They found seats in a far corner and ordered steaming bowls of chocolate. Sir Isaac wasn’t there, but Catherine listened with delight as an impromptu debate arose among several members of the Royal Society as they attempted to arrange the events of The Iliad in chronological order. She had to bite her lips several times to keep from joining in.

  She was all but bouncing up and down when they set out on their way again. “Did you get your business done there, Jamie? It was certainly stimulating, but it hardly seemed dangerous to me.”

  “How many coffees have you had, love?”

  “Three… four I think. And two chocolates. It does indeed have healthful properties as I’ve heard many people say. I’ve seldom felt more energetic.”

  “I can see that,” he said dryly, “and no, my business isn’t done. I had no business there. I just thought you’d like to see it.”

  “I loved it! I’m so happy you’re showing me all this. I’d never have known it existed otherwise.” She stopped and removed her hat, holding it gracefully in one hand as she performed a courtly bow. “To think I believed your debauched and rackety court was the best London had to offer. I freely and most humbly admit my ignorant mistake and tender you my most sincere and heartfelt apologies.”

  He plucked her hat from her hand and plopped it back on her head. “No more coffee for you, love.”

  “Jamie!”

  Where The Puritan and Graecian had been stimulating for weighty debate as well as their coffee, their next stop on Russell Street was an entirely different affair. They stepped into Will’s amidst a roar of laughter, followed by thumping on tables, cheers, and shouts, and then laughter all over again. Jamie was greeted with handshakes and much backslapping and pulled immediately into a merry throng. Reaching back, he grabbed Catherine by the shoulder of her coat and tugged her down into the seat beside him.

  Putting an arm around her shoulder he leaned into her and shouted to be heard above the din. “Look over there, Will. Do you see the gentleman surrounded in the corner?”

  Catherine looked over and saw a long-nosed, sloe-eyed older gentleman keeping court, and nodded.

  “That’s Dryden, the playwright. People come here to talk literature and be entertained. We’ll be staying a while. Stay close, enjoy yourself, and watch your purse. There are sharpers, rogues, highwayman, and thieves in these places, too.”

  She nodded and he returned to the conversation he’d been having with a fellow who looked to be just the sort of man he’d described. They stayed well over an hour, and she clapped, hooted, and shouted with the crowd at each comedic turn, as wits, critics, and satirists took their turns at lampoon, inspired mimicry, and clever libel. One verse in particular was making the rounds from table to table, though she just caught the end of it.

  Dare was an auld prophesy found in a bog,

  Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

  That Ireland would be ruled by an ass and a dog.

  Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

  And now the auld prophesy has come to pass,

  For Talbot’s a dog and James is an ass.

  Lilliburlero Bullen a la!

  Jamie’s head was bent in earnest conversation with one man, then another, and though she’d strained to hear, it was impossible to tell what was said over the noise of the crowd. He turned to her now with a grin, clamping a hand on her shoulder and pulling her close to shout in her ear. “That ditty is the work of Wharton and Dorset, I’d wager,” before returning to his companions.

  “They say at court that half the fellows in these places are traitors and spies,” she ventured, after they’d clambered into a hackney carriage and were on their way again.

  “Mmm… yes. Charles used to call them seminaries of sedition. He’d have closed them down if he could. Tried once, but it lasted all of ten days before he had to open them again for fear of causing an insurrection.”

  “So… which are you?”

  “They’re f lip sides of the same coin,” he said with a sharp look. “I’m your husband, mouse. That’s all you need to know. It’s an impertinent question as well as a dangerous one. Why would you ask it?”

  “Because everywhere we go some furtive fellow or another is always trying to engage you in private conversation.”

  “Not furtive enough, apparently. You said you could be discreet.”

  “And I am, very.”

  “Then I’ll tell you this. Much like yourself, I like to be well informed. Access to the halls of power can’t get a man as close to the heart of a matter as the talk at his local coffee house can. Now no more talk of spies and treason, although I grant you our next two stops are known for it. Filled with radicals and republicans, revolutionaries and agent provocateurs. The sort who appeal to all the ladies. I’m sure you’ll quite enjoy it.”

  They stopped f
irst at Jonathan’s in Exchange Alley and then The Cromwell. Catherine had perfected her courtier’s swagger, and a low-pitched, slightly bored drawl, an unconscious but effective imitation of Jamie’s. Comfortable in her role now, she’d forgotten Jamie’s strictures and joined in with the throng. Confident in her abilities, common sense, and discretion, Jamie let her go. He watched with fond amusement as she went to fetch her umpteenth cup of coffee, every inch the eager stripling on his first big night in town. No mean wit herself, she traded jests and sallies as she jostled through the crowd. Her performance would bring a theatre roaring to its feet, he thought with possessiveness and pride. What madness though, to bring her.

  Why had he? The same reason, he supposed, he liked to taunt and tease her and to make her laugh. He loved to see the excitement shining in her eyes. When he was in her company, things seemed fresh and new. The world throbbed with color and everything pulsed with life. In three short months, she’d become so much a part of his life it seemed she’d always been there, and it was almost impossible to imagine her gone. He watched as she returned, bearing gifts of chocolate, eyes bright with exhilaration, and felt a stab of sadness that he’d never been that young.

  A hand on his elbow pulled his attention away from Catherine. “Buckingham? What are you doing here? I thought you’d left for the country. Good God man! You look like you’re at death’s door.”

  “I’m doing well enough, Sinclair. I leave the day after tomorrow. Now look you there, and heading our way. That’s the tonic I need,” he said with a leer.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “You’re a timid sort of rake, Jamie. A man can make do with a comely lad for want of a comely lass.”

  “The lad is my cousin,” Jamie said, a note of warning in his voice. “Keep your hands to yourself and mind your manners, Bucks, the boy doesn’t share your vices.”

  “Pity,” Buckingham replied with a mischievous grin.

  Jamie made the appropriate introductions and Catherine removed her hat and made a gracious bow.