“You saw it,” he said, aghast. She looked at him, her face set. He had never seen her so cold. His heart sank.
“Yes, I saw it,” she affirmed. “And if you kill Thomas, you might as well kill Jane too, because she couldn’t live without her husband. She loves him, you see. They trust each other. So, it looks like you’re in for a busy morning. On the other hand, you could, for once, believe me when I say that I have not, and am not going to tell anyone anything about you, now or at any other time. In which case you can go home, because I have nothing more to say to you. I’ll leave you in peace to make your decision.”
She turned briskly and started to walk away. He realised with crystal clarity that if he let her go now their marriage was over. He reached out his arm to block her way and when she swerved round it, he stepped forward, gripping her elbow and pulling her round to face him.
The transformation was instantaneous, and took him by surprise.
“Let me go!” she screamed, pulling backwards and reaching her free arm up to tear at his fingers in an attempt to free herself. Her fragile control had shattered the moment he touched her and she began to fight him in earnest, to his utter, utter relief. She was not indifferent after all. He could cope with her fear, her hatred, even. As long as she felt emotion of some kind for him, there was hope. He pulled her into his chest, wrapped his arms around her to restrain her. The faces at the window disappeared, and a moment later the kitchen door opened.
“For Christ’s sake, Beth, listen to me!” he said urgently into her ear. “I’m sorry. I didna come here to kill anyone. I want to talk to you, that’s all. Let me talk. I swear to God, I’ll no’ lay a finger on you, no matter what happens. Please. Please.”
He took a chance, let her go. Graeme and Thomas were walking down the path. Graeme had a sword, Alex noted, and looked as though he knew how to use it. Thomas carried a stout wooden stave. If she ran to them now, it was over. He would not fight for her if she didn’t want him. He raised his hands palms out to the two men in a gesture of surrender. They continued to advance on him.
She did not run. She stood, flushed, her chest heaving, glaring at him. There was no comparison between the ice statue of a moment before and the woman standing in front of him now, fingers clawed ready for defence, or attack. He far preferred the latter. She took a deep breath, steadied herself with an effort and turned to her friends.
“It’s all right,” she said shakily. “Really. He won’t touch me again. We need to talk. Go back. I’m fine.”
Thomas showed every sign of overriding her, but to Alex’s astonishment Graeme merely looked from Beth to him and then nodded.
“Come on, Thomas,” he said. “Leave them.”
They remained silent until they were alone again. Beth sat down on the log. Her face was still flushed, but her fingers had relaxed. She folded them on her lap. They were trembling slightly.
“So, talk to me then,” she said.
He sat down carefully beside her, keeping a measured distance between them.
“I havena prepared a speech or anything,” he said. “I didna realise ye’d seen the duel.”
“Anne Maynard told me you’d challenged Henri,” Beth replied. “I thought you’d done it as a ploy to keep him from his room while the palace officials searched it. I didn’t realise you meant to kill him. I was naïve.”
“I had to, Beth,” he said. “I ken ye were fond of the man, but I couldna let him live, and take the risk that…”
“I know,” she interrupted. “I understand now. I would have done then, if you’d trusted me enough to explain it to me.”
He nodded.
“Aye, I should have. I’m sorry. I thought ye’d try to stop me.”
“It’s ironic, really, isn’t it, that it was all for nothing. George knows about the invasion anyway, doesn’t he? Is it because Charles went to Paris?”
This was good. They were having a normal conversation.
“No. Well, aye, maybe partly. But it’s no’ just that. I’m pretty sure there was another informer. Edwin told me that Newcastle had received an important letter. It was still being decoded when I left. I dinna think George would revive the Act suppressing Catholics and declare openly in the newspapers that France is preparing to invade unless he’d received definite confirmation. Someone’s given him the invasion plans. But we didna ken that. At least I bought us some time by killing Monselle. And stopped him passing any other information on.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Aren’t Catholics supposed to stay within five miles of their houses?”
“Aye, but we’re also supposed to all leave London. George canna have it both ways. It’s all a waste of time anyway. There are more Protestant Jacobites than Catholics, but the Whigs are too stupit to see it. Anyway, Sir Anthony’s no’ a Catholic, he’s an Anglican, if he’s anything. Anyone’ll tell ye that.” He looked at her. She was smiling. His heart soared.
“I sent Angus off to try to stop Charles,” he said.
“Did you? He didn’t have much success, then.”
“No, but he’s got some wonderful stories to tell ye. He canna wait for ye to get back. He rode from Savona to Paris wi’ the prince, but I canna tell ye more than that or he’ll kill me. You are coming back?” he finished hopefully.
The smile vanished.
“I don’t see the point, Alex,” she said.
“We love each other,” he said softly. “Is that not point enough? Or I love you at any rate. Ye tellt me ye loved me too. Have you changed your mind?”
No, no, please say no.
“No. But it’s not about that,” she said, sadly. “It’s about trust. Maybe you do love me. But you don’t trust me.”
“I do!” he protested. “I realise now that I underestimated you with Henri. It wasna about trust, I thought ye wouldna understand. I should have tellt ye, I see that now. I will in future.”
“No,” she insisted. “I wouldn’t have left if it had just been Henri. But you’ve hidden things from me all along, Alex. And you’ve lied to me, too. You told me you couldn’t have killed Katerina, but you could, and you knew it. You didn’t tell me about Jeannie MacGregor and…”
“Did Angus tell ye about her?” Alex interrupted hotly.
“No,” Beth said. “He mentioned her in passing. He thought you’d told me about her. When he knew you hadn’t, he shut up. I still don’t know what happened. I don’t want to. That’s not the point. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me yourself. You didn’t trust me not to jump into bed with Louis, either. You thought I’d come here to tell Graeme all about you. You didn’t even trust me not to run home from Italy because of the plague, for heaven’s sake! You don’t trust me, Alex, and I’ve racked my brains to discover what cause I’ve given you not to. I can’t think of any.”
She looked at him. He was still sitting next to her, staring down, apparently engrossed in his shoes. The long lashes shadowed his eyes. The make-up covered his face. She had no way of knowing what he was thinking. It started to drizzle.
“Angus once talked to me about the clan,” she said. “He told me how wonderful it is to know that everyone around you is absolutely trustworthy, that they’d die for you, and kill for you too. ‘It’s all about trust and loyalty’, those were his words. I haven’t forgotten them, or what his face looked like when he said them.” Alex hadn’t moved, was still looking down. The rain became heavier.
“So, what use is it if the chieftain, on whom the whole clan depends, is married to a woman he doesn’t trust? It renders the relationship meaningless, no matter how much they love each other, and it puts her outside the clan. I can’t live like that, Alex, and I don’t think you can, either. Whatever I’ve done to make you mistrust me, I’m sorry. I swear to you I will never betray what I know to anyone. I don’t know how to convince you of that, but it’s true. It’s raining,” she said unnecessarily. “I’m going in. If you want to come in, I’m sure Jan
e will give you something to eat before you leave.” She stood up. He remained seated. His eyelashes were wet, because of the rain. He didn’t speak. She looked at him sadly, then turned and walked away, one step, two, three. He reached out his arm, remembered his promise, lowered it.
“I was afraid,” he said, so softly she hardly heard him. In fact, although she caught the words, she knew she could not have heard them correctly. Alexander MacGregor was not afraid of anything. She turned back. He was still sitting, his hands loosely folded over his knees, but he was no longer looking at his shoes, but at her. His lashes were wet, and not because of the rain. He blinked, took a deep breath.
“I was afraid,” he repeated. “I am afraid.”
She came back, sat down, looked at him. There was no mockery, no triumph in her eyes. Only concern, and confusion.
“I’m afraid that if ye learn what I’m really like, ye’ll no’ love me any more,” he said. It sounded childish, even to his ears, but if she thought it so, she showed no sign of it. She reached over, took his hand, carefully took off Sir Anthony’s calfskin glove, and enfolded the strong brown hand of her husband in both of hers. The scar stood out, ridged and white.
“Tell me what you’re really like,” she said softly. “And I’ll tell you if there’s anything I didn’t already know, or suspect. And I’ll tell you if I don’t love you any more.”
His hand lay passively in hers, the palm broad, the fingers long, immensely powerful, utterly helpless.
“I’ve killed, many times, ye ken that. But I’ve killed no’ just in the heat of battle, but in cold blood, too. And once, in pure temper, when there was no need. I was young, then, younger than Angus. You’re right, I would have killed Katerina, aye, without hesitation, and I ordered the death of Jeannie, and would have carried out the sentence myself, but her husband asked to dae it instead. I’m protective of those I love, and I’m jealous, too. I dinna always see reason, and I’ve an awfu’ bad temper. I can be violent without good cause, at times.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.
“I’ve a pretty bad temper, myself,” she said.
“Aye, ye have,” he confirmed absently. “I love danger and adventure. I hate being Sir Anthony at times, but I love it, too. I like to think that I’m forthright and honest, but I’m no’. I prefer to fight face to face, wi’ sword and dirk, that’s true, and I’ll no’ be sorry to see the back of Sir Anthony when the time comes, but I also love the acting and the deception, and the risks. I enjoy making fools of George and Cumberland and all the others. And I’ve dragged my brothers, and the clan, and you as well now, into it, and I’m playing with your lives, and I’m ashamed of that.”
“But not enough to stop,” she said.
“No, not enough to stop, which makes it worse. And I’ve nae right to do that. I’m no’ God, I shouldna be acting as though I am. I could get you all killed.”
“We could get you killed, as well,” she said.
“Aye, but that’s a risk I’m willing tae take.”
“Has it not occurred to you that maybe it’s a risk we’re willing to take, as well?” she replied. “It seems to me that the MacGregors relish danger, to a man, or woman. I know I do. I don’t think you’re leading them, or me, anywhere we don’t want to go.”
There was a silence. The rain had softened back to a thick drizzle, silvering his ridiculous powdered wig, darkening his horrible velvet suit. In a minute his paint would start to run. He didn’t care. He was concentrating fiercely on the slender white hands holding his.
“Look at me, Alex,” she said firmly. He hesitated, then looked at her. “You haven’t told me anything I didn’t know or suspect before I married you in Rome. Your clan loves you, and so do I. I might not always like what you do, and I might question your judgement, belligerently at times, but I still love you, and as long as you’re honest with me, I always will. In fact I’ll still love you if you’re not honest with me. I think I’ll always love you, God help me. I’m a lost cause.” She smiled at him, and he returned the smile, tentatively. “But I won’t come back with you, and stay with you, unless you stop hiding things from me, and learn to trust me, like you trust Angus and Duncan. They know all the horrible, dark, evil things about you, and still love you. Why should I be any different?”
“You’re not,” he admitted. “Well, you are, I dinna want tae ravish my brothers every time I see them, but ye ken what I mean.” His lips curved upwards, then he was serious again. “I love you, Beth. I love you so much it’s made me blind, I think. Angus kens you better than I do. He said you could be trusted, he said ye wouldna be scared away so easily. But I couldna see how you could possibly still love me, if you really knew me. Christ, I’m sorry, Beth. It’s no’ too late to mend, is it?”
“You underestimate yourself, and me,” she said. “No, it’s not too late.”
When Thomas, watching from the window, saw Sir Anthony leap to his feet and lunge at his wife, dragging her roughly from the log she was sitting on and crushing her to him, he grabbed his stave and moved to the door.
“Wait,” Graeme, who hadn’t moved, said. “I think that’s what you’d call a reconciliation.”
Thomas maintained his grip on the stave, but went back to the window. It was without doubt a reconciliation, even though Beth was clearly unable to move, her arms trapped and her feet several inches off the ground.
“What the hell does she see in him?” Thomas asked, watching in amazement as the baronet finally replaced her on her feet and released her arms, which immediately wound themselves round his neck. They appeared to be crying, or laughing, or both.
“Christ knows,” Graeme said. “And I think we’ll get to know too, in good time. When they’re ready to tell us. She’s happy, that’s the main thing. And I’m willing to make allowances for any man who makes her happy. He’s not what he seems.”
“What do you think he is?” Thomas asked.
“I don’t know what he is. But he’s the man she’s chosen, and she loves him, and that’s enough for me. For now,” he said.
* * *
They lay together in bed, she with her head pillowed on his shoulder, one hand lightly resting on his chest, which was damp with sweat from their lovemaking. His arm was wrapped loosely round her, as much to stop her falling out of the bed as anything. The narrow bed, whilst more than big enough for one person, was not designed for two, particularly when one of those people was half as broad again as an average man. But the couple were not complaining, and had taken full advantage of the necessary intimacy such cramped quarters had forced on them. They lay in companionable silence for a while until their breathing returned to normal, revelling in the small familiar things that they had both missed so much about each other, and had thought never again to enjoy. The sweet smell of her hair, and the delicate touch of her fingers as she gently ruffled the light dusting of hair on his chest; the feel of his bicep flexing against her shoulder as he shifted position slightly, and the gentle strength of his long fingers curled possessively round her hip.
After a while she sighed, and in the dim light felt rather than saw his head turn to look at her.
“Are ye sore?” he asked softly. “It’s been a while. I didna mean to hurt ye.”
Her heart lifted as she heard the soft Scottish burr of Alex, rather than the clipped English tones of Anthony. Partly because it was Alex and not the baronet she had missed so dreadfully. But mainly because by accepting her assertion that it was safe to speak in his normal voice, as none of the household would dream of listening at the door, he was showing that he had, at last, begun to trust her. As long as they trusted each other completely, nothing could ever come between them again, she was sure of that.
“No,” she said, planting a kiss on his shoulder. “I am a bit sore, but it’s wonderful. No, I was just thinking how nice it would be if we could just stay like this forever and not have to…you know.”
He did know, exactly, and sighed h
imself.
“Aye, I must admit, I miss Scotland sorely. I’ve often thought myself how it would be if I gave it all up, this Sir Anthony business, and just went back to being the chieftain o’ the MacGregors again.”
“And how would it be?” she asked.
“Wonderful,” he said. “To smell the clean air again, to work wi’ my muscles instead of my head, and wash the sweat off in the loch at the end of the day before coming home to a good honest meal. To face my enemy wi’ a sword and dirk, openly, instead of a flurry o’ lies and deceit. And to wear the feileadh mór and the plaid, instead of these horrible tight satin breeches. I’m terrified that I’ll castrate myself every time I sit down.”
Beth giggled.
“I don’t think there’s any danger of that,” she said. Indeed, he had just proved beyond doubt that three years of wearing skin-tight trousers had done nothing whatsoever to hinder his performance in bed.
He smiled and settled her closer to him.
“It sounds wonderful, though,” she said wistfully. “Running around in the heather all day and swimming naked in the loch.”
“Ye’d no’ be swimming naked in the loch or such frivolities,” he growled. “Ye’d be in the house, lassie, waiting for me to come home from toiling in the fields, providing me wi’ a hearty meal before I ravished ye.”
It still sounded wonderful.
“From what Maggie’s told me, it’s the women who do all the toiling in the fields, while the men sit around telling tall tales of their prowess on the battlefield. And in bed.”
He made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.
“Aye, well, we’ve got our own toiling to do, in London,” he said resignedly. “If Louis doesna use Charles’s appearance in Paris as an excuse to call the invasion off, they’ll be landing in a few weeks. And Charles wi’ them, I shouldna wonder. We’ve a lot to do, if we’re to succeed. We’ll be more use in London than in Scotland right now.”
The Mask Revealed (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 2) Page 32