The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2)

by Julia Brannan

  “He is,” affirmed Alex. “But Charles could give him a run for his money, that’s for sure.”

  “It’s a shame that Angus can’t meet him,” Beth said. “I know he’s disappointed, although he won’t admit it.”

  Alex considered for a minute, then shook his head.

  “It’s too risky,” he said. “The similarity between us doesn’t matter in normal society, where no one pays close attention to servants, and nobody knows Alex MacGregor anyway. But a lot of Charles’s friends know me. They’re not looking for anyone resembling Alex now, but if they see Angus, someone’s bound to notice his remarkable similarity to me and start making connections. Some of them have even met him before. John Murray has, although Angus was only ten or so at the time. I’m sorry for Angus, but it can’t be helped.”

  After Alex had gone, Beth divested herself of her dusty, constrictive clothes, and donning a loose dressing gown, brushed and loosely braided her hair before settling down with a book, hoping it would be interesting enough to keep her awake until Alex returned in the early hours of the morning.

  It wasn’t, and an hour later Beth was already nodding over it and contemplating having an early night, when the door opened and Angus entered. He looked as dishevelled as she had earlier, his shoes and stockings red with the dust of the streets, his hair damp with sweat.

  “And this is November!” he announced as soon as he’d closed the door. “Christ, I’m glad I wasna here in July!” He tore off his stock, followed quickly by his coat and waistcoat, and walked across to the ewer and basin in the corner of the room, peeling off his shirt as he went.

  “The weather’s unseasonably warm for the time of year, I’ve been told,” Beth said, raising her voice to be heard above the splashing of water. She was not troubled in the least by her brother-in-law’s state of undress; she was accustomed by now to the scant regard for decency her husband and his brother had when in private. As long as the essential parts were covered, that was all that mattered. As Beth too by nature had scant regard for propriety, this suited her very well, and she was as unconcerned as Angus by the indecent amount of leg she was showing as he threw himself onto the sofa opposite her. He had wet his hair, and water dripped from the ends onto his bare chest. He kicked off his shoes and lay back, folding his arms behind his head and sighing blissfully.

  “Did ye enjoy being swept round St. Peter’s by the prince?” he asked after a moment.

  “I’d have enjoyed it a lot more if I’d actually had time to see anything,” Beth commented. “You were there, then?”

  “Aye, but I ducked away out of sight when I saw ye. Ye’re getting on well, then, I take it? You looked like a proper couple, wi’ your arm tucked in his an’ all. I almost felt sorry for Sir Anthony, trailing along behind, forgotten.”

  “Yes, well, that’s the image we’re trying to foster, of the prince as a fop and lady’s man, who, if he ever does manage to stir himself enough to make it to England, will spend all his time stealing other men’s wives and drinking, rather than fighting for his country.”

  “He’s very handsome, is he no’?” Angus said wistfully. “What’s he like?”

  “A tornado,” Beth said. “I wish you could meet him, Angus. I’ve asked Alex, but…”

  “Aye, I ken it’s no’ a good idea,” he replied resignedly. “At least I’ve seen him, though. I’m sure I’ll get to meet him when he comes to London.” That he was in no doubt this would happen, and soon, was clear from his tone.

  “Are you staying in tonight?” Beth asked, surprised. “I thought you’d be making the most of your last few days in Rome to capture as many Latin hearts as possible.”

  Angus turned his head and eyed her suspiciously, but seeing no mockery in her eyes, he relaxed again.

  “No, I’m no’ in the mood for romance tonight. Or for traipsing the streets either. I’ll bide here, unless you want me out of the way.”

  “Not at all,” said Beth. “It’ll be nice to have your company.” She stood and replaced her discarded book on a shelf before pouring two glasses of wine and placing one on a small table by his elbow.

  “Are you missing Katerina?” she asked, resuming her seat.

  “No,” Angus replied automatically, reaching for the glass and tilting his head forward to take a sip. “Well, aye,” he amended. “I am a wee bit. Although I dinna rightly ken why. I couldna understand a word she said.”

  “Neither could I,” said Beth. “But I liked her too. She was beautiful, and full of life.”

  “Aye, she was, was she no’?” he said regretfully. “That was why I couldna bring myself to do the right thing.”

  For a moment Beth had no idea what he was talking about. Then the realisation hit her, and the wine turned to vinegar in her mouth. She put her glass down.

  “Jesus, Angus, you don’t really regret not having killed her, do you?” she said. “I thought you were concerned about her.”

  “I am,” he replied, sitting up. “But that doesna change the fact that if this Henri laddie goes dashing off to the Elector wi’ the invasion plans, I’ll have destroyed the best chance King James has ever had to reclaim the throne, and all because I was soft on a lassie and couldna hurt her.” He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. Beth put her hand out and laid it on his.

  “Angus, you can’t do this,” she said. “You can’t torture yourself over something that hasn’t happened yet. There’s no shame in being human. Even Alex said he couldn’t have killed her.”

  “Alex was lying, to comfort me,” Angus replied. “I ken him well. In the same situation he’d no’ have hesitated for a minute. He’d have killed Henri and Katerina too, and dealt wi’ the guilt later.”

  He looked up, saw her stricken face, and folded his hand round hers.

  “Did he tell ye otherwise?” he said softly.

  She nodded, temporarily speechless.

  “Aye, well, maybe I’m wrong,” he said. “I’m sorry. I should have gone out after all.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” she said a little huskily. “I need to know these things. I can deal with them. I wish he’d stop trying to protect me.”

  “He loves ye,” Angus said frankly. “He doesna want ye to think ill of him.”

  “He won’t make me think well of him by lying to me,” she said sourly.

  Angus opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

  “I think he’s afraid that if ye learn about the darker side of him, he’ll lose ye,” he said. “He knows you’ve been brought up sheltered.” She opened her mouth to deny this, and he held his hand up. “Aye, I ken you’ve no’ been sheltered in the way o’ your cousins, and all the other silly women I’ve met since I’ve been footman to Sir Anthony. I ken you can use a knife, and ye’ve suffered hardship, and can cope wi’ it. But nothing can make ye understand the Highland way of life except living it. I mind that your mother was a MacDonald, and she’s tellt ye a good deal about Highland life. But it’s no’ the same thing as living it every day. It’s a hard life, Beth, and to succeed you need to be ruthless at times, man or woman. Ye need to be able to kill to defend what’s yours, and sometimes ye need tae kill to take what belongs to someone else with plenty, so you willna starve. I started to learn to fight when I was five, I killed my first man when I was fifteen. I was sick afterwards, but I got over it. It gets easier the more you do it, easier still in the rage of battle, but I dinna enjoy it, and I never will, and neither does Alex.” He picked up the bottle and lifted it to his mouth. Beth watched as he drank, the muscles of his throat working convulsively as he swallowed half the bottle in one go. She had rarely been in Angus’s company without Alex being present. She thought of him in many ways as a boy still, carefree and feckless, his main interest the pursuit of pretty girls. She had thought Alex was an ineffectual fop. Wrong, on both counts.

  “Am I shocking you?” he said, wiping the neck of the bottle with his hand and replacing it on the table.

 
“No,” she said. “As I said, I need to know these things.”

  “Aye, I think you do,” he agreed. “You’re a MacGregor now, after all. It’s even harder for Alex than the rest of us, because he’s our chieftain, and that’s a big responsibility, especially for a fair-minded man like him, who takes it seriously. The clan looks to him to lead them. They’ll obey him without question.”

  “Without question?” Beth said. “I’ve seen you arguing with him.”

  “Aye, I’ll argue wi’ him sometimes, and so will Duncan. We’re his brothers, we have that privilege. And he’ll listen, because he’s fair. But even so, if he orders me to do something, and I dinna agree wi’ it, I’ll still do it, because he’s my chieftain. All his men trust him to look after them and protect them, and in return he trusts us to obey him. It’s all about trust and loyalty, Beth. It’s a wonderful thing, to know that ye can trust every man and woman around you with your life. That they’ll kill or die for ye if they have to, without hesitation. There’s nothing better than that feeling. It’s worth any hardship to keep it, and it’s what the whole clan system’s based on. And it’s what the Elector George and his cronies are trying tae take from us. Ye’ll no understand that rightly, I’m thinking, living as ye do in a society where no one trusts anyone, an’ everybody’s waiting to stab each other in the back.”

  “You’re wrong, I do understand it,” she said quietly. “I’ve got friends who I feel that way about, in Manchester.”

  He observed her intently for a moment.

  “Aye, so ye have. Ye’ll understand, then, that if people start to disobey their leader, look only to their own interests and go their own way, then the trust will be gone and the whole clan will fall apart. The MacGregors have been proscribed for nigh on a hundred and fifty years, and we’re fragmented, each group wi’ its own chieftain, but when it comes down tae it, we’re one clan, and will fight and die for each other against all comers, and that’s why we’ve survived, against all that the law and the Campbells can throw at us.” His voice was laced with pride, and Beth smiled.

  “Sometimes Alex has to make terrible decisions, decisions I’d no’ be able to make,” he continued. “That’s why he’s fit to be chieftain and I’m not. And he can make them, Beth, though it costs him dear, sometimes. Has he told ye about Jeannie MacGregor?”

  “No,” said Beth.

  “Aye, well, it’s no’ for me to, then. Suffice to say, she broke the trust of the clan and he had to make a hard decision. And he did it without hesitation. The English would say that makes him a savage. I say it makes him a man, and I’m proud to call myself his brother. But I let him down, Beth, and the clan, and Scotland too, though he’ll never tell me so. Because Henri and his ilk are threatening our whole way of life. I should have lived up to the trust Alex has in me and killed him. If Henri had known we were there, he’d have killed me and Katerina too without a qualm, to protect himself.”

  “I still think that makes you the better man, because you couldn’t,” she said.

  “And I think it makes me the weaker one. But we’ll agree tae differ.” He smiled.

  There was a pause while she tried, and failed, to think of something that would comfort him.

  “We’ll find this Henri, and stop him,” she said finally.

  “Let’s drink to that then,” Angus replied with forced joviality. “Or is it the Sasannach way to ration the wine?”

  “No, and it’s just as well, the amount you get through,” she said, draining the last dregs of the bottle into his glass.

  There was a knock at the door and Angus shot to his feet. “Relax,” she said. “That’ll be the ice cream I ordered. There’s enough for two, if you want some.”

  “God, aye, I love the stuff!” he said, licking his lips in anticipation, suddenly a boy again.

  He went over and opened the door before Beth could stop him. The maid with the covered dish eyed the young Scot’s muscular chest with appreciation, before casting a glance round the room. Seeing Beth also casually attired, she smirked knowingly, before handing the dish to Angus and disappearing.

  “Thank you,” said Beth crossly, as Angus put the dish on the table before lying back down on the couch, leaving her to share the creamy treat out into two bowls. “Could you not at least have put a shirt on before opening the door? Now it’ll be all over Rome that I’m having an affair, and my reputation will be ruined.”

  “No, it willna,” Angus said, unperturbed. “You should be honoured. They’ll think I’m your cicisbeo. You’ll be considered the height of fashion.”

  “My what?”

  “Every fashionable Italian lady has one, and a lot of tourists, too. It’s a male companion, usually young, handsome and virile, like mysel’, who accompanies a married lady to the theatre and suchlike, when her husband canna be bothered. He’s often her lover, too. It’s all above board. He usually receives presents off her, as well.” He winked cheekily at her, before replacing his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.

  “Young, handsome and virile, eh?” said Beth mildly. She had just come up with something that would take his mind off his troubles, temporarily at least. She carefully smoothed the last of the ice cream into a bowl, before licking the spoon. “Honoured,” she added under her breath. “Well, here’s your first present, my darling cicisbeo.” She neatly tipped the bowl of ice onto his bare stomach, before leaping backwards.

  Not fast enough. He gasped, his eyes shot open, and his arm shot out sideways, all in the same moment. His fingers caught the end of her plait, and she was trapped.

  “Now that,” he said, smiling slowly and ominously, “was a mistake. I think ye owe me an apology.”

  She reached up to try to pull her hair free, and he twisted his wrist, wrapping the thick blonde braid round his fist once and pulling her closer to him. A trickle of white ran down his side. She contemplated for a moment whether she should break her resolution only to apologise when she was genuinely sorry.

  “Would you like a spoon?” she said instead.

  “Good God, Elizabeth, I did not think we were so impecunious that we could not afford tableware,” trilled a voice from the doorway. Angus turned his head to where Sir Anthony was standing, leaning negligently against the doorpost. Beth tried to turn as well, but was unable to due to her awkward position.

  “Your wife, sir, needs to learn to show due respect to her menfolk,” said Angus, in a reasonable imitation of Sir Anthony’s own falsetto. It was clear that he had no intention of releasing her until she had apologised. His revenge was going to be uncomfortable, probably involving the contents of the ewer and basin and the rest of the ice cream, and she knew from experience that she would get no sympathy or assistance from Alex.

  “So, this is Angus, I presume?” came the voice from the corridor behind Sir Anthony. The young man stepped forward over the threshold, surveying the scene before him with a mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes. “I have heard a great deal about you, sir, although I see there is a good deal more still to learn.”

  “Shit!” cried Angus, releasing Beth’s hair and shooting to his feet. The ice cream slid unnoticed down his breeches and landed on the rug at his feet with a wet splat.

  “Your Highness,” he said, bowing with a commendable degree of finesse and dignity, all things considered. He straightened up, his face burning.

  “I am delighted to meet you, sir,” said the prince, smiling. “It seems you are well versed in the family tradition of making a memorable first impression. As I remember, your brother was covered in something far more pungent than ice cream when I first made his acquaintance. Indeed, you referred to the substance yourself, only a moment ago.”

  Angus and Beth turned as one to Alex, who had closed the door and until this moment, had been viewing his brother’s discomfort with a mixture of sympathy and amusement.

  “Aye, well,” he said, turning towards the dressing table to remove his paint. “It’s a long story, and ye dinna want to hear it now.”


  “I do,” said Beth and Angus together.

  “No,” said Alex firmly. “Go and make yourselves decent, for God’s sake. The prince is here to meet Angus and to put a proposition to you, Beth.”

  “Do not worry yourselves on my account, although you may wish to change your trousers, Angus, before the cream soaks through. As for yourself, Elizabeth,” Charles said merrily, eyeing the lovely young woman in the thin silk wrap with appreciation, “you look absolutely delightful as you are.”

  Beth cast a glance over the prince’s shoulder at her husband, and was met with a warning glare that sent her off into the bedroom to change. Prince he might be; family he was not, and Alex would not have his wife sitting half naked in the company of any man other than his brothers.

  Decently attired, Angus and Beth returned to the sitting room, where Sir Anthony had now effected his nightly transformation into Alex, the ice cream had been removed from the rug, and a fresh bottle of wine had been opened and partially consumed. Clearly Charles intended to stay for some time. Now recovered, Angus was glowing with happiness at finally getting to meet his prince.

  “As I was saying,” Alex said hurriedly, seeing the continuing curiosity in both his wife’s and his brother’s eyes. “His Highness has a proposition for you, Beth. But I’ve told him that if ye dinna want to entertain it, he’s no’ to try and persuade you, and he’s promised he’ll not.”

  “Of course I won’t,” replied Charles insincerely, draining his glass in one and refilling it. “I won’t need to. I am confident that when you hear it, you will agree immediately.”

  As was often the case at this period of his life, the prince was right. When Beth heard the proposition, she was only too delighted to agree, without any need for persuasion at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Father Antonio Bruno Montefiori smoothed down his black robes and surveyed his domain from the vantage point of the chancel, satisfied that he had made the church look the best he possibly could in the short time he had had to do so. Hidden away in the southern outskirts of the city, this was not a church to be included on the tourist’s itinerary, or indeed on any itinerary. Its worshippers were faithful but few. However, this was Rome, and the church, though somewhat dilapidated, did possess a beautiful triptych of the death and resurrection of Christ after, although unfortunately not by, Raphael, an exquisite altar cloth of linen lavishly embroidered with gold thread, and some heavy gold candlesticks, all of which were now on display in honour of the occasion.