Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘It was you who chose to isolate yourself,’ Henrietta pointed out.

  ‘Aye—well—that business with your father...’ He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘I never did understand why he involved himself with those damned Jacobites.’

  Henrietta smiled. ‘You always were a militant Catholic. Have you recanted your faith altogether, Uncle?’

  ‘Sanctimonious hocus-pocus doesn’t interest me.’ He took in every inch of the young woman before him before he spoke again. ‘Dear child, how often I have thought of you in London and wished you well. Your letters were a delight, to be sure, but I cannot tell you how your arrival has lifted my spirits. I had begun to despair that I’d never see you again. You’re the only family I have now.’

  With those simple words, Henrietta felt the wall she had erected in fear crumbling away. ‘Well, I’m here now,’ she murmured, wishing she had known him better before he’d disappeared from her life. Yet she had every hope that would soon change. ‘Are you ever lonely?’

  Shaking his head, he smiled. ‘I like being alone. I often sit in the dark and meditate—which may sound odd to you, but that is what I do. I have friends in and around Inverness, and when I’m in the mood I visit them. From time to time they arrive with their hounds and I am whirled into the fine company of the hunting scene. But for much of each year I am alone.’

  ‘Why did you never marry, Uncle Matthew?’

  ‘Never wanted to. I was too busy travelling and...’

  ‘Reading your philosophy and history books,’ Henrietta finished for him quietly.

  ‘Aye, and that. Then, too, I found myself at odds with women. I’m sure those with whom I came into contact with thought I was a crusty old so-and-so and not worth the bother.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ Henrietta said affectionately. ‘My mother always said you were pleasing company. Indeed, you have a way about you that reminds me of my father—when he wasn’t trying to incite rebellion in his fellow Jacobites.’

  ‘And we all know where that got him.’ Shaking his head dejectedly as memories of his dead brother assailed him, at length he said, ‘I don’t know why you are here, attired as you are, but I imagine you have good reason and will get round to explaining in due time.’

  ‘There are some things you should know, Uncle, and I think we should talk about them at length.’

  Matthew glanced curiously at his niece’s face, deciding it was a matter of some urgency. ‘Of course, and so we shall. But come.’ He waved her to a settle before the fire. ‘What kind of host am I? You look quite done in. Sit down and I’ll make you some tea—so you see I am quite civilised. Indeed, I have a woman, Moira, whose son brings her over from Inverness in the cart once every week to cook and clean the house and bring whatever provisions I need—although of late she’s become rather hard of hearing and doesn’t see too well, but she declares she’s fit enough to carry on.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. The cottage is so isolated I should hate to think of you here alone day after day. From the neatness of the house I can ascertain that in spite of her limitations Moira is fully capable of doing the chores.’

  ‘Be seated and get comfortable and you can tell me what it is that has brought you all this way. Something tells me I will not be liking the sound of it.’

  * * *

  Over tea and muffins Henrietta told her uncle everything that had befallen her. Handing him the copy of the will, he read it carefully. His appalled face was a study. ‘But this is the work of the devil. It must not be. The man’s a first-rate crook—and a murderer, if what you have told me about your guardians’ death is to be believed,’ Matthew stated sharply.

  ‘It is, Uncle Matthew. You don’t know Jeremy and the lengths to which he will go to get what he wants. I did not seek to inherit my guardians’ wealth. Indeed, I did not want it.’

  ‘Will Jeremy Lucas come here?’

  ‘I very much think he might. He will hound me until he catches me unawares. Now he knows my guardians left everything to me, he’ll be more adamant about killing me.’

  ‘I can understand now why you were so anxious about the man. He certainly seems intent upon doing you some harm. You were right to come to me, even though you put yourself in some amount of danger. But now you are here I will do all I can to ensure that you are not harmed. Of course you must return to London at some point. It is necessary. I will go with you—but I think we should wait a while until the unrest in Scotland caused by the arrival of Charles Stuart settles down.’

  ‘I must confess that I’m weary of travelling for now.’

  ‘Then if you can tolerate the seclusion of my humble home, my dear, we shall wait until the spring. But in the meantime I shall write to Baron Lucas’s lawyer, Mr Goodwin, and explain the situation.’

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Matthew. I would be grateful if you would. I know I should have spoken to him myself, but I was afraid of Jeremy and what he might do. When I left London I was quite desperate. I didn’t know who to turn to—there was no one—only you, and you were hundreds of miles away.’

  ‘But you came. And you rode from London alone—all that way?’

  ‘No—I—I met someone who was also bound for Scotland. His home is in the Borders, south of Edinburgh.’

  ‘And does he have a name?’

  ‘Lord Simon Tremain of Barradine,’ she answered, lowering her eyes lest he read in them what was in her heart.

  ‘And is he honourable?’

  ‘Yes, yes, he is.’

  ‘May I ask where he is now?’

  ‘When we parted company he was going to join Prince Charles at Prestonpans. I have heard nothing since leaving Edinburgh, but I believe there was to be a battle.’

  Matthew nodded. ‘The Battle of Gladsmuir. I heard reports of the fighting when I was in Inverness yesterday. The government army loyal to King George was defeated. The Highland army suffered few casualties.’

  Henrietta’s relief was so overwhelming that tears started to her eyes.

  Matthew glanced curiously at her and, after noting the sudden welling of emotion in her face, decided there was more to his niece’s relationship with this fellow Scot than she had admitted to.

  ‘And what does he mean to you, this Jacobite lord? Is he special to you, Henrietta?’

  Her eyes jerked to his and she shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Uncle. Lord Tremain is a Jacobite. Do you see?’

  Matthew considered her for a moment, then he nodded, understanding. ‘Yes, my dear, I see. I really do.’

  * * *

  The following weeks were filled with assorted activities, for Matthew would not allow his niece to be idle. When he wasn’t engrossed in his books she saw little of him during the day. Sometimes he was off riding or hunting with his neighbours—the closest being two miles away—for Matthew was a vigorous man, despite his age.

  News reached them that Charles Stuart and his supporting Highlanders, buoyed by their success at Prestonpans, were preparing to march into England—even to going as far as London, to reclaim all his father’s lands. Scottish chieftains were not so enthusiastic and tried to dissuade him, for while men poured to his side from the north, there seemed little support from the south. The prince was contemptuous of the weakness of the Jacobite lords and chieftains and turned a deaf ear. He invaded England in the latter part of that year.

  * * *

  Simon had no intention of accompanying Prince Charles south. Charles was disgruntled, but after drawing a promise from him that he would ride north and rally further support from the Highlanders, and after wishing the prince good fortune, with a small party of men Simon headed north for Inverness.

  Try as he might, he had been unable to stop thinking of Henrietta. He was tortured by the thought that something might have happened to her, preventing her from reaching her uncle. Was she safe? He had
to know. Dourly he wondered if she’d left for London. Sadness settled on him as he thought of that. He wanted to kiss her again, hold her in his arms, look upon her face.

  What would have happened, he mused, had he met Henrietta Brody some years earlier? Would he have fallen in love with her? Perhaps not, for that Simon Tremain was different from the one who existed now. He had been hardened, physically and mentally, by the years spent as a soldier and pandering to Prince Charles in France. Still, to look at her beautiful face, her wonderful green eyes, her cropped golden hair...

  He shook his head. There was no use conjecturing about the past. What was done was done and the past could not be changed. But he might be able to change the future....

  This woman, whom he knew he wanted to make his wife, was beginning to seep into his very soul. She had branded him, burned him with a fire that had made him for ever her slave. Never again would he be free of her. He loved her with a fierceness that was new to him and knew that if that love was not returned then he would be condemned to live in hell itself.

  * * *

  ‘Something is wrong,’ Matthew stated with conviction one day. ‘You’re as pale as a daisy and the way you’ve been moping around here lately, you’ve undoubtedly become bored after the excitement of the journey north. A young girl like you should be out with friends and going to balls and such. Perhaps a visit to Inverness would improve your frame of mind. I have to go there to see my solicitor and you will accompany me.’

  ‘I would like that,’ Henrietta acquiesced, enthusiastic about a change of scene.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to do a little shopping,’ he suggested, eyeing her boy’s clothes with distaste. ‘I confess I would feel better with you attired in a more feminine fashion. Women always enjoy such things and I understand there are some excellent dressmakers there.’

  His suggestion brought a smile to Henrietta’s lips. Her sweet, scholarly uncle was so concerned about her lack of feminine clothes that he imagined a new gown would be effective in cheering her. She was in no mood to fret over fashions just now, but he was offering to spend his own money and time escorting her to dressmakers in the hope that it would make her feel better, so she would humour him.

  ‘I’d love to go with you to Inverness, Uncle Matthew, and I suppose you would like to visit some bookstores while we’re there.’ The sudden sparkle that lit his eyes told her she had hit the right note.

  * * *

  Henrietta enjoyed the outing to Inverness in Uncle Matthew’s small cart pulled by his shaggy old Highland pony. The scenery was spellbinding, the mountain slopes thick with the growth of larch and alder and birch. Set on the banks of the sparkling River Ness, which was less turbulent than the sea into which it merged and from which a freshening wind blew, it was like no town she had ever seen, with dwellings cluttered on a spacious estuary. Despite a change in the weather of late, with rain never far away, the day fairly sparkled beneath a clear sky, while the air was imbued with the scent of the moor.

  They shopped for clothes—plain, serviceable garments that would serve Henrietta well for the time she was in Scotland. Matthew visited his favourite book shop, taking pride in introducing her to the proprietor, and escorting her to a meal at his favourite tavern smelling of roasting meat, damp wool, whisky and ale, before setting off for home. The light failed early at this time of year and Matthew had no wish to be on the road after dark.

  * * *

  The following afternoon while the weather held, Henrietta left her uncle engrossed in his books and went on to the moor, sidestepping the little glittering streams that threaded through the heather and myrtle and springy moorland grass. The silence and the freshness of the air acted on her like a tonic. There were mountains to the north and west, mountains that were a miracle of shade and shadow.

  The sudden appearance of a horse and rider ahead of her dragged her from her melancholy thoughts. She ceased walking and, hugging her shawl about her shoulders, stood and watched the rider come closer. He dismounted when he was just a few yards away and her heart turned over. He was tall, broad-shouldered and blue-eyed, with a proud face and unruly black hair beneath his broad-brimmed hat.

  ‘Simon!’

  How could she have thought he wouldn’t come to her? Too late she realised that she ought to have known he would—that it would come down to this moment. She needed to think and to endeavour to gather her wits about her—she needed to steady her pulse—steel her heart.

  She breathed, quietly wild with joy, and silently uttered thanks to God. In an instant, her heart had made its choice between fear and happiness. Everything but the glow of that happiness had been swept aside. Her whole being was irradiated. But no sooner had she allowed her happiness to overcome her fears than she was regretting it. She had not been able to resist the impulse which had made her heart soar as soon as she set eyes on him. Too much so, perhaps, and even as he stepped closer she was suffering a return of all the clear-headedness which had flown so deliciously to the winds a moment before.

  Yet there was something inside her she had not been aware of until now, and that something was the depth of her love for Simon. She loved him enough to crush down her own fiercely urgent desire for him. In a lightning flash of understanding, she knew that she could not, must not, be his while the bloody conflict that tore through Scotland and his own strong commitment to the Jacobite cause remained unresolved.

  Chapter Seven

  One look at Simon’s face convinced Henrietta that he was angry with her. Not only were his eyes glinting with icy shards, but the muscles in his cheeks were tensing and vibrating to a degree that she had never seen before. Immediately she was on the defensive.

  ‘You take me by surprise, Simon. I thought you would be occupied aiding Prince Charles in his rebellion.’

  Completely alone on the moor, they stood and looked at one another with some amazement—she on account of the hard, stubborn line which had settled disquietingly between Simon’s black brows—he because he had encountered resistance from that soft, graceful creature with her deceptive air of fragility. Beneath her cloak she wore a deep-turquoise wool gown. Her short cropped hair was partly concealed by a lace cap. Wispy curls escaped around her face, lending an enchanting softness to her features.

  ‘Are we to view each other with such formality now, Henrietta? Just tell me one thing. Was it too much for you to wait until after the battle at Prestonpans before leaving Edinburgh? Or were you so impatient to leave me you couldn’t wait?’

  Simon’s impatience was supreme, yet he couldn’t entirely decipher where it was centred. After all she had made it perfectly clear that she intended going to her uncle. The fact that she had, had cut through his heart like a knife, leaving him with a dark sense of having been betrayed. In spite of his past qualms about becoming involved with her, he was reluctant to let her go and see it all end without making some effort to hold her to him. ‘Was it really your design to provoke every contrary emotion I’m capable of feeling?’

  Stunned with an unwilling fascination at Simon’s fury, Henrietta stared at him in amazement. In the face of such flaring emotions emanating from this man who towered over her, all reason had fled.

  The dubious scowl that Simon slanted down upon her suggested that he had serious doubts about her sanity. ‘You left Edinburgh without even so much as a whisper to anyone,’ he accused. ‘You didn’t even say goodbye. Nor did you even hint of your intentions to leave. You told me you would wait until I returned.’

  ‘My main reason for leaving Edinburgh was to go to my uncle. Another reason was because my feelings for you are of a kind that no woman should have for a man who has broken the laws of this land. And what if you had been killed in battle, Simon?’ Henrietta replied in a soft, quavering voice. ‘It seemed an appropriate time to leave.’

  ‘Appropriate!’ he snarled. ‘Inappropriate would be more like i
t. I left the prince to come after you.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ she asked without revealing her feelings, though she was deeply moved and touched by his confession.

  ‘I had to come. Good God, woman! I might have got you with child. Did it not occur to you?’

  ‘It did and I’m not, so you can return to the prince. I have heard he is marching into England. I am surprised you have not gone with him,’ she uttered quietly. ‘Why have you come here? What do you want from me? Thinking I might be carrying your child is only the half of it. If you are hoping to convert me to your cause I would advise against it. I haven’t come all this way to be drawn into something that was lost before it began.’

  ‘I came to find you because I wanted to see you. The conflict goes on, Henrietta, and there will be no let up until Prince Charles is successful. But it will not always be so. Prince Charles will—’

  ‘The prince! Always the prince!’ she chided angrily. ‘You are a traitor to the English Crown, well and truly launched on the seas of rebellion along with your precious prince. You and men like my father talk about the cause as besottedly as though it were your mistress. Have you forgotten that I’ve rather less reason to love the cause? You may cherish understandable nostalgia for a Scotland ruled by the Jacobite prince. My own memories are far less alluring, I assure you.’

  ‘You are wrong in assuming I want any of this. Yes, I am a Jacobite and I admit in the beginning I was drawn in by illusions of a Scotland ruled by James Stuart. But Scotland is my home and I have no intention of becoming any further involved in its politics. It is enough that my country should be risking her peace at the whim of a prince. I believed it was foolish to embark on this campaign without the support of King Louis—or at least of his bankers—but I have committed my resources to the cause and there is no going back.’