This time he was the first to break eye contact, under the pretence of leaning over to throw another log on the fire, but in that moment she had seen his gaze shift, and knew he was hiding something from her.
There was a perfunctory tap on the door, after which it opened, and Angus’s face appeared.
“I’ve come tae fetch the dishes, if it’s all right,” he said, smiling at his brother and then at Beth. He had the same blue eyes as Alex, she noted, but whereas his were currently bubbling with merriment and not a little curiosity as to how matters were going, his brother’s were carefully shielded, revealing nothing. Without waiting for an answer, Angus moved to the table, and began piling the dishes. Alex continued talking as though he wasn’t there.
“It’s of great gain to me that I know Sir Anthony’s identity is safe,” he said.
“I’m sure it is,” she retorted, following her husband’s example with regard to Angus. “But there’s another reason, isn’t there? You said you would answer my questions truthfully. What are you hiding?”
“What I said,” Alex reminded her, his voice testy, “was that I would answer ye truthfully, or not at all. Any other reasons I have for marrying ye are none of your concern.”
The arrogance of his tone left her speechless for a moment, and she felt the familiar tingle of her temper rising.
”Dh’innis thu dhomh gu bheil gaol agad oirre,”Angus put in cheerfully from the corner of the room. “Nach do dh’innis thu dhi?”
Alex’s sudden stillness told Angus immediately that he’d made a terrible mistake. In a split second he registered the fact that Beth had somehow understood his words, and that Alex was about to explode. Knowing his brother well, and being possessed of a strong survival instinct, he abandoned the dishes and ran.
He was almost through the door, twisting his body sideways to make himself less of a target, when the chunk of wood flew past him, catching his arm as it went, and causing him to lose his balance and stagger forwards for a few steps before landing on his knees in the hall. Thanking God that Alex had had no more lethal weapon to hand than a piece of wood, he scrambled to his feet and disappeared.
Beth looked at her husband with astonishment. The transformation from calm and peaceful to enraged and violent had been instantaneous. The man standing by the hearth, fists clenched and clearly torn between staying in an attempt to explain what his brother had unwittingly revealed, and going after him to tear him limb from limb, was as far removed from Sir Anthony as it was possible to be. Here was the formidable Highland warrior her mother had told her about on dark winter nights, quick to anger and to violence. As she debated what to do, he took a step in the direction of the door.
Hoping her mother had also been right when she’d said that the Highlander’s temper subsided as quickly as it flared, and that they generally abhorred hitting women, Beth also stood, the movement drawing Alex’s attention.
“I assume by your reaction that your brother spoke true?” she said.
He stared at her unseeing for a moment, then he scrubbed his hand violently through his hair and the coiled spring of tension relaxed a little. He did not make any further move to follow Angus.
“He had no right tae say that,” Alex growled through his teeth.
“He didn’t know I would understand him though, did he?” Beth reasoned.
“No, I havena told him that ye ken the Gaelic.” He rubbed his hand through his hair again, but less violently this time. Beth relaxed a little. The crisis seemed past.
“But you have told him that you love me, which it seems to me is indeed of concern to me, in spite of what you might think. Is that then the other reason why you married me?”
There was a silence, during which Beth wondered whether he would explode again to avoid having to admit it, or would come up with some plausible reason why he’d told his brother such a falsehood.
In the end, he did neither, instead keeping his promise to tell her the truth.
“Aye, it is,” he said. He threw himself down in the chair again, and this time Beth came and sat opposite him. “But it’s no’ the sort of thing a man would want everyone to know.”
“But I’m not everyone,” she pointed out. “I’m your wife. This changes everything.”
“You’re Sir Anthony’s wife,” Alex replied logically. “And whatever I may feel for you, it doesna change the fact that you and I are going to separate, and you are going to go off and live in the country somewhere, while I go to Europe.”
For a moment she contemplated what would happen if she fell in with his plans. She could retire to the country, live a quiet life, bring Graeme, Jane, Thomas and Grace to live with her. She was free of her brother, she could be free of the endless stultifying society round, could ride her horse bareback whenever she wanted, could…could what? What meaning would her life have? As appealing as the idea of an eventless existence seemed at this moment, she knew herself well enough to be certain that in time she would find it as stultifying as the London life. She couldn’t marry again and have children, as long as Alex/Sir Anthony lived, and interesting adventures are hard to come by in country villages, as are tall handsome men who love you, even if they are reluctant to admit it, and a bit frightening into the bargain.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “You promised me that if I married you you’d give me adventure, and I’m going to hold you to it. I’m coming to Europe with you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“No. Absolutely not,” Alex replied, his tone brooking no argument.
“I’ve never been to Europe. Never been anywhere, for that matter, apart from Manchester and London, of course. It would be wonderful to travel,” said Beth, pointedly ignoring both his declaration and the tone it was delivered in.
“I’m no’ stopping ye from travelling. If you want to go travelling, that’s fine by me. I’m giving ye your freedom.”
“Good,” Beth replied. “So where are we going first?”
“I,” said Alex, with great emphasis on the singular pronoun, “am going to Calais, and then to Rome as quickly as possible. You can go wherever you wish, but no’ with me.”
“But why not?” Beth asked. “Surely I’d be safer travelling in company with my husband than alone? I believe Europe can be very dangerous.”
“I certainly wouldna advise ye to go alone. But I’m sure you can find other people who’d be willing to go with you. Isabella for one, or Clarissa, perhaps.”
Beth shot him a withering look.
“I hardly think I’m likely to get the adventure you promised me, or to meet intelligent and interesting people, as you also promised, if Clarissa and Isabella accompany me,” she said scathingly. “I assume you’re off to Rome to meet King James. Well, now I know which king you were referring to, I do want to meet him. And I can’t do that with Isabella or Clarissa. No, I’m coming with you.” She sat back, her face determined.
Alex held on to his temper with difficulty. He should have foreseen this, knowing how spirited she was. But he had thought her first wish on discovering who he was would be to get as far away from him as possible. For his peace of mind, he needed her as far away from him as possible.
“Beth,” he said, slowly and reasonably. “I married ye to free ye from danger. From the danger of being forced into a marriage against your will by your brother. From the danger of his violence if you refused to do as he wished. If I agree to you coming with me, I will be putting you in greater danger than you could ever be from your family, d’ye no’ understand that? If we separate now, and I am later caught or betrayed, ye can claim that ye had no idea I was anyone other than Sir Anthony Peters, court fop extraordinaire. It would be a whole different matter if we were to stay together. No one would then believe you were innocent. I can trust you to act the part of surprised estranged wife, to ensure your own safety. It’s a completely different thing to act a part day in and day out, aware all the time that one wrong move could betray ye. Now do you see why it’s impossible for you to come
with me? Ye’d endanger not only yourself, but me as well.”
“You’re not giving me a chance,” she replied hotly. “I’ve been acting a part for the last eight months.”
“Aye, and look how many mistakes ye’ve made in that time,” he responded, his voice rising a little. “The rosary, the outburst at the table, to say nothing of telling your brother your intention to declare for the Pretender and kill George. If your family and their friends were no’ so arrogant as to believe it impossible that anyone of their acquaintance could favour the Stuarts, they’d have known ye for a Jacobite long since!”
“That was different. I’ve changed since then,” she said, leaning forward in her seat.
“In what way? Your circumstances have changed, that’s all.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “Yesterday I had nothing to live for. I was living a life I hated, with no prospect of it ever ending. I had no true friends here, no one who cared for me as I really am. I couldn’t care less whether I was found out for a Jacobite or not. More than once I’ve contemplated taking my own life, especially because I knew if I did, my brother would not get my dowry. I married you because I hoped that you were kind, that at some point you would allow me to retire from society, to return to Manchester and free my servants from their dependence on Richard.”
He looked at her incredulously.
“Well, what’s the problem, then? I am kind, and I am allowing you to retire from society.”
“Yes, but I now know that you married me not to get your hands on my dowry, or my body for that matter, but purely because you loved me. Loved me enough, in fact, to throw away twenty thousand pounds that you have need of, and to take the risk that I might betray you anyway. That’s what changes everything, what changes me, not my freedom! Can’t you see that?” Unbidden, her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away from him, searching in her pocket for a handkerchief.
He stared at her, frozen. He wanted to strangle her. He wanted to throw her down on the hearthrug and take her now, brutally. He wanted to cradle her on his lap and kiss away the tears she was trying so manfully to swallow back, not wanting him to pity her. He could not do any of those things. Instead, in desperation, he did the only thing he could do, without giving in to her.
“Christ, woman, have ye gone daft?” he shouted, losing his temper. “It’s no’ a game I’m playing. If I’m caught, I’ll be tortured until I betray my friends. Then I’ll suffer a traitor’s death. D’ye ken what that is, lassie?” Before she could open her mouth to answer, he continued, scrubbing his hand viciously through his hair. “First I’ll be paraded through the streets on a hurdle, for people to spit and throw shit and stones at me. Then I’ll be allowed to make a brave speech for the entertainment of the crowd, while I try to hold on to my bowels so as no’ to disgrace myself. For I’ll be terrified, knowing what’s going tae happen next, and knowing there’ll be no escape from it. Then I’ll be hung, not long enough tae die, ye ken, just long enough to suffer, badly. After that I’ll be cut down and have my private parts cut off, before being disembowelled slowly, and my heart thrown on the fire. And I’ll be alive and feeling for every endless minute of it. That’s what I’m risking. And I can expect no mercy, because I’ll hae made a fool o’ the king, and of half the aristocracy of the country. And by Christ, they’ll make sure I suffer for it!” He glared at her. Her eyes were huge in her white face. He had frightened her. Good. He stood up, towering over her, and passed his hand through his hair again.
“And as for yersel’,” he continued, his Scottish accent more pronounced in his passion. “If ye do as I tell ye, and leave me now, and then I’m discovered, you’ll be cast out of society, which I ken ye dinna care a fig for. If ye insist on coming wi’ me and having romantic and glamorous ‘adventures’, as ye seem tae think they’ll be, and we’re caught, then ye can at least be assured that women dinna suffer quartering. Ye’ll merely be burnt alive, or if you’re really lucky, hung until dead, which can take up to an hour, depending on the skill of the hangman. Have ye ever seen a hanging?”
“No,” she replied quietly, “But…”
“Well, then,” he interrupted. “I have, many times. It’s no’ a pretty sight, I can tell ye that, certainly no adventure, and in all the hangings I’ve seen, no one has ever come riding in on a white horse at the last minute tae rescue the damsel, as they do in all the best poems and novels. Before they burn or hang ye, however, ye’ll be kept in a filthy, cold prison cell for weeks, in between being ‘questioned’, which, as ye’re no a lady o’ quality, but a mere barbarian Scot’s wife, will consist of a damn sight more than polite requests for you tae reveal your accomplices. Whatever ‘unpleasant experience’ ye suffered that made ye so feared of my advances the other night was nothing compared to what you’ll suffer if you get a brutal questioner. Which you will, because you’ll be the wife o’ the man who made a fool o’ the king and all society!”
Her face flushed scarlet at his last words, and he knew he had hit below the belt. But he didn’t care. He had to make her realise the seriousness of the situation. He turned away, pacing the room, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair again, as he always did when deeply disturbed. When he turned back, she was looking at him, not terrified, as he had hoped, or angry, as he had expected, but laughingly.
“I saw a picture of a porcupine once, in a book,” she said.
“What?” he said, utterly perplexed.
“That’s what you remind me of now,” she answered calmly. “A large, red porcupine.”
He felt the top of his head, realised that his hair was standing up all over the place, the blue ribbon dangling precariously on his shoulder. The rage vanished, and he felt foolish suddenly, and not a little ashamed of some of the things he had said to her. He made an attempt to smooth down the wayward locks, and sat down again.
“Aye, well, I’ll admit, I am feeling a wee bit prickly at the moment,” he admitted. “I’m sorry if I frightened you. But I’m no’ sorry for what I said. It’s true, Beth, every word of it. It isna a game, no’ something I’ll have you involved in, an ye dinna know what the consequences will be if things go wrong.”
“You didn’t frighten me,” she replied. “But you’re right. I hadn’t thought properly about the consequences. I can see I need to give it a lot more thought.”
“Good,” Alex said, deeply relieved. “I knew ye’d see reason, understand that it isna possible for you to come with me.”
She looked across at him, surprised.
“Oh no,” she said resolutely. “I’m still coming with you. I just need to think about the sort of wife people will expect me to be to Sir Anthony, that’s all, and how I can play that role convincingly and to our best advantage.”
Alex dropped his head into his hands in despair.
* * *
The three men and one woman sat in the kitchen. Between them on the table burned a single candle, which supplemented the light from the fire, and a bottle, which was regularly passed from one hand to the next.
“She does have a point,” Angus ventured, after receiving the bottle from Iain, and taking a deep draught of the spirit within.
“No, she doesna,” retorted Alex. “I never had any intention of her getting involved in all this. And why I’m even speaking to you at all is beyond me. I never thought my own brother would give my enemy such a weapon, knowing how well she’d wield it against me.”
“Och, be fair, man,” put in the representative female, Maggie, who, as well as being Iain’s wife, also doubled as cook and general maid. “Ye didna tell any of us as she had the Gaelic. How was Angus tae ken? You’ve only yersel’ to blame.”
“And even then, how was I to ken she’d use how you felt for her against ye?” Angus added.
“Christ, man, have ye learnt nothing about women in nineteen years? Dinna ever tell a woman you love her unless you’re wanting to be led around by the nose for the rest of your life.”
“I often tell women I love them,�
�� Angus protested.
“Aye, but ye dinna mean it, as they well know. It’s a different matter entirely.”
“What are ye going tae do?” said Iain, interrupting the dialogue before it got too heated.
“I’m going to make her decide that she doesna want to come with me, that’s what I’m going to do,” Alex replied determinedly.
“Why do ye no’ just forbid her to come? You’re her husband, after all,” Iain said. His wife snorted derisively as she reached for the whisky bottle. “And you’re her chieftain too,” he added hurriedly before Maggie could point out that she rarely took any notice of her husband, unless it suited her to do so.
“Aye, well, that’s the other thing she doesna understand, having been brought up a Sasannach an’ all. She’ll no’ obey me just because I’m her husband, in spite o’ the marriage vows she took two days ago. She’s too much spirit for that. And I’ve no’ the time tae teach her about clan rules. If I forbid her outright, like as not she’ll wait till I’ve sailed and book passage on the next boat to follow me. No, she’s got to decide for herself that it’s too dangerous. And I think I ken how to do it.” Alex upended the bottle, draining the last dregs, and plonked it down on the table. “And you’re going to make amends, by helping me,” he finished, turning to his brother.
* * *
Even as Alex outlined his plan to his compatriots, Beth lay in bed, watching the single candle on the dresser cast enormous shadows round the room as it wavered in the draught which succeeded with effort in forcing its way through the window.
Her mind was full of the same topic. How was she going to convince Alex that she would be an asset rather than a hindrance to him if she were to accompany him to Europe? He was a very good actor, she had to admit that. Never in a million years would she have suspected that Sir Anthony Peters was a Jacobite Scottish Highlander. Now she had to convince him that she could act a part as well as he, if she put her mind to it.
She had spoken honestly to him. The fact that he loved her did make all the difference. She did not love him, but she liked him, and admired him immensely. And desired him too, although of course she was not about to tell him that, not yet, not until she was sure she wouldn’t freeze in terror if he touched her. She had to convince him that not only was she capable of acting whatever part was necessary, but that she would not be as reckless with his safety and reputation as she had been with her own in recent months. How she could do that whilst cooped up in this house, however, she had no idea. She sighed, and blowing out the candle, settled down in an attempt to get some sleep.
The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) Page 8