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

by Marguerite Kaye

  On a sigh he took hold of her hand. The deep-blue eyes were hooded in thought as his gentle fingers stroked the soft palm. ‘Henrietta! Oh, Henrietta! Forget all that—everything but us. There’s a part of me that would like nothing better than to take you back to Barradine as my wife, to hunt and work the land and come home in the evenings to you. But if I did there’s a part of my soul that would feel as though I had perjured myself and would for ever hear the voices of the people I had betrayed.’

  ‘I’m sure you would feel that way.’ She paused, looking for words. As so often before, the sheer enormity of what was happening in Scotland staggered her and left her speechless. Who was she to ask him to abandon the cause he had fought so long to uphold? But no matter how much he tried to explain the whys and wherefores, she wanted no part of it.

  ‘I’m sorry I angered you and I certainly didn’t expect you to come after me,’ she murmured contritely, prudently changing the subject. ‘I really didn’t think it would matter.’

  ‘It did matter. A lot, in fact. One moment you were there, where I could see you, and the next, you had fled. I couldn’t believe that you’d leave without a word. As difficult as it was to accept, I should have known. You’ve proven yourself quite adept at escaping. What were you afraid of, Henrietta? If I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to think you were afraid to face up to what happened between us that night.’

  Taking offence, Henrietta raised her chin a notch at his insinuation. ‘I’m no coward, Simon.’

  He snorted in disagreement. ‘Right now, I’d say that isn’t exactly the truth. But then, I’m the one from whom you fled.’

  ‘I saw no need in delaying our separation,’ she explained mutedly.

  ‘That was obvious,’ he retorted cuttingly. Her simple statement only heightened his irritation. ‘I can only thank God that you reached your uncle without molestation.’

  ‘You knew where I was heading,’ she said, somewhat heartened by the fact that the muscles in his cheeks were no long tensing beneath his skin. ‘I am to return to London. Uncle Matthew is to accompany me.’

  ‘And when Jeremy Lucas is charged with murder and you are ensconced in your house, you will soon be relentlessly bombarded with marriage proposals from every unattached male in London. How long will it be before you find yourself a husband?’

  She gave a laugh and he glared at her.

  ‘I hardly think this is a laughing matter, Henrietta.’

  ‘Why, you are jealous, Simon.’ Silence met her words and she knew she was right. ‘There is no need to be,’ she said softly. ‘I have lain with you.’

  ‘Yet you will marry someone else.’

  Her temper flared. ‘And shall I marry you? A man who has no future—as we both know? I cannot be your wife, so what would you have me do? What could you give me except a life as a fugitive? I do not know what you expect of me.’

  For answer Simon took hold of her and pulled her into his arms. Sweeping off his hat, he began covering her face with kisses, tugging at her clothes.

  ‘This is what I expect from you,’ he whispered, his mouth against her lips as he gently pulled her down into the heather sheltered by alder. His hand was beneath her cloak now, stroking her hardening nipples with his deft fingers.

  Henrietta gasped, knowing that she should not encourage him, that she should pull away and have nothing further to do with him. Once had been madness enough, but twice...twice was a mistake, unthinkable. And yet to experience once again the things he had done to her that night in Edinburgh—twice was wonderful.

  She treacherously forgot all he was as the warmth of his touch began to reassure her and the pressure of his lips became more eloquent. Carried away by the touch and the scent of him as he enveloped her again in his disturbing caresses, Henrietta was too weak and much too enslaved to fight against it. With a little moan far down in her throat, she began to respond. Returning his kisses, she wrapped her arms around him, yielding to passion.

  His hands were racing down her body, touching her breasts, caressing her thighs, her flat stomach. He found her waiting for him and effortlessly slid inside her. She bit her lip, pressing back a small cry, and then she murmured, half moaning beneath him. Her body arched to meet his as he drove deeper and deeper into her. The waves of passion eventually ebbed, and their united bodies lay quietly within the circle of each other’s arms. Both trembled, and the only sound on the moor was the occasional cry of a bird somewhere in the undergrowth or high in the sky.

  ‘Henrietta,’ Simon said, touching her cheek with his fingertips. She stared at him and fright was reflected in her green eyes, but her fear was second to her passion.

  Quickly she scrambled to her feet and adjusted her clothes. She was trembling and wondered if she was chilled—or if it was nerves. He had been gentle with her, tender, considerate, and there was love in those blue eyes, love even in his deep, magnetic voice.

  Their union had brought pleasure—and guilt. Guilt always seeped in after the pleasure receded. She was an unmarried woman and if, as she strongly suspected, Charles Stuart’s attempt to roust King George from his throne failed, then Simon would be a fugitive from the law. Their love had no future. She could not marry him and, if they pursued their present course, they would both die upon the hangman’s tree. She closed her eyes tightly in an effort to blot out the gruesome image this conjured up. To die in such circumstances was hardly the vision of eternal bliss that marriage was supposed to be.

  ‘Please don’t say a word. I must return to the house. Come, and I will introduce you to Uncle Matthew. He knows how you protected me on my journey to Scotland. I know he would like to thank you.’

  * * *

  ‘Uncle Matthew,’ Henrietta said on entering the cottage, closely followed by Simon. ‘This is Lord Simon Tremain, the gentleman I told you about. ‘We—met on the moor just now.’

  Matthew put down the book he was reading and stood up. With great dignity he directed his attention to the tall stranger. The implacable authority in the man’s bearing caused him to step back apace. When Henrietta had told Matthew about journeying from London alone with this man, he had been fearful of making any comment lest he betray his concern. The matter had been preying on his mind, but it was his fear of what had been on Lord Tremain’s mind that had created his greatest anxiety. As much as he had sought information about him, Henrietta hadn’t been able to talk about him, only to say that he was a Jacobite who supported King James’s claim to the English and Scottish throne.

  ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Lord Tremain. I gather I have you to thank for my niece’s safe journey into Scotland,’ he said, shaking Simon’s hand.

  Simon took note of Matthew Brody’s unease. It was important to him that this man should know he meant Henrietta no harm. ‘I was glad to be of assistance, sir. Although she had me fooled for a time. It wasn’t until we reached my home that her masquerade slipped and I realised she was not a lad, but a lass.’

  ‘And a bonny lass at that.’ Matthew chuckled, glancing affectionately at his niece. ‘What brings you to Inverness, Lord Tremain? We know little of the battle at Prestonpans, only that it was defeat for King George’s army, and that offers of armed support and money are pouring in from the north in support of Prince Charles.’

  Simon nodded. ‘That is so, but there is not enough money. The promised gold from France and Spain has failed to materialise. The Lowlands remain unwilling to send men to support him. The army is composed of Highlanders and likely to remain so.’

  ‘And yet in spite of this, he is carrying his father’s standard south.’

  ‘I am of the opinion that he will not get much support from England and will soon turn tail and head back to Scotland.’

  ‘So he is unlikely to take London by storm.’

  ‘I doubt he will do that.’

  ‘So do I. But what b
rings you to Inverness? Why did you not accompany the prince?’

  ‘Accompanied by a small party of men, who await me in Inverness, I’ve ridden north to rally further support in the Highlands. I do have an understanding of the Highlanders. There will be no peace in the glens until a Stuart is restored to the throne—and the majority of the clans strive towards that end.’

  ‘So you are a formal emissary of the Stuarts?’

  Simon grinned wryly. ‘You might say that. I also wanted to check on your niece,’ he said, glancing with unconcealed tenderness at Henrietta who had not left his side since they had entered the cottage. ‘She left Edinburgh without a word. I had to find her—to make sure she had reached Inverness without mishap. This is not the best of times for a lone female to take to the road.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more. In these troubled times, one never knows who will knock on the door. What is the overall mood among the men who have rallied to the prince’s side?’

  ‘Many of the Scottish chieftains are not enthusiastic about marching on England at this time. They are of the opinion that the prince should pull back into the Highlands for the winter months. Prince Charles seems to forget that while the Highlanders may be fierce fighting men, they are also farmers. Cattle need to be provisioned for the winter, fields got ready for spring planting, which is why many have resisted going south. As for myself, at this present time I must return to my men.’

  ‘Will you not stay and eat with us?’ Matthew offered.

  ‘Thank you, but I must decline your invitation.’

  ‘A whisky before you go?’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I really must be on my way.’

  ‘I understand,’ Matthew said, looking at him with a keen eye. ‘Is there a Lady Tremain, sir, who will be missing you at home?’

  ‘Beyond my mother and two young brothers, who are in Paris at this time, I’m without a wife,’ Simon answered, glancing meaningfully at Henrietta, whose resulting blush lent him a small measure of satisfaction and brought an understanding gleam to Matthew’s eyes.

  Matthew noted that Lord Tremain had elected to stand close beside his niece. The two truly made a handsome couple. A vivid hue darkened Henrietta’s cheeks and her eyes glowed softly—he could only wonder at what had transpired between the two of them when they had met on the moor. He escorted the visitor to the door while Henrietta divested herself of her cloak.

  ‘I see my niece has grown up into a woman and has a mind of her own,’ he said quietly, careful not to let Henrietta overhear their conversation.

  ‘I had not been in her company long, sir, when it became apparent to me. However, my concern for her cannot be dismissed. She has told you of the circumstances surrounding her hasty departure from London?’

  Matthew nodded gravely. ‘She has. She was under great duress at the time. I, too, am concerned. The possibility of this Lucas fellow appearing to exact his revenge is troubling and cannot be ignored.’

  ‘I share your concern. I have become extremely fond of Henrietta, sir—in fact, she has come to mean a great deal to me. Be confident of my good intentions where she is concerned. I should hate to see harm come to her over this.’

  ‘Be assured that I shall guard her well.’

  ‘I know you will, but it is with regret that I shall not be with her to protect her. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her which I could have taken measures to avert. I have done my best, but unfortunately she seems to find it especially difficult coming to terms with my loyalty to King James and his son.’

  ‘That is understandable. She—has told you about her father and the tragic circumstances of his death?’ Simon nodded. ‘It was unfortunate. It was a dreadful time for both Henrietta and her mother. It affected her rather badly, I’m afraid—and her mother...’ He fell silent, reluctant to reveal the full tragedy of that time. ‘Henrietta tends to be intolerant of all those with Jacobite sympathies.’

  Simon nodded gravely. ‘It is understandable.’ His gaze settled on Matthew. ‘At this time it might be safer for her to return to London—both of you. There is no telling what might happen when Prince Charles returns to Scotland. One thing I do know is that he is determined. He will continue the fight whatever the cost.’

  Matthew stepped back and retreated into the room when Henrietta came to bid Simon farewell. Stroking his chin reflectively, he watched the couple. It was rare indeed for a man and woman to complement each other to such a degree, causing his heart to swell with spiralling hope, but then, Matthew was of a mind to think Henrietta could have fallen for a man who, despite his Jacobite sympathies, was far worse. No one could rightly judge the manner of a man on first meeting, but he had made a good assessment of Lord Tremain’s character, and it was evident he cared for Henrietta. As for the future, that was anyone’s guess.

  Simon glanced over to Matthew as he turned away and shoved a log into the fire. He had the feeling that the man would prove a formidable foe should anyone offend or hurt his niece. At the same time he accepted the fact that if he seriously intended making Henrietta his wife, then he would have an ally in Matthew Brody.

  Henrietta and Simon stood and stared at each other, not knowing when they would meet again—if they ever would, even.

  At last Henrietta murmured, ‘Are you sure you would not like something to eat before you go?’ It was commonplace enough, but it was something that mattered. Hunger could be very debilitating and very distracting.

  ‘Thank you, no. Take care of yourself, Henrietta. I only want to make you happy, in spite of yourself. When you journey to London, you are welcome to avail yourself of my home. Remember that.’

  Gently, but firmly, she shook her head. ‘I thank you, Simon,’ she said quietly. ‘But, no, I can’t do that.’

  She gave a sad little flicker of a smile as once again her memories came rushing back to torment her, memories which were becoming a great deal more inconvenient than she would ever have thought possible. So much stood between them, but she knew the main obstacles came from herself. Couldn’t she subdue her aversion to the cause for the sake of her love? Once again there came the temptation, so powerful as to be almost irresistible, the temptation to give in, to cast herself into this man’s arms and allow herself to be carried away, without further thought. She needed him so much, his strength and his protective and so very tender arms. Yet, because she had suffered so much already, her pride restrained her on the very verge of yielding.

  The worst of it was that she could not really blame Simon. From his point of view, he was right. But neither could she retract. She raised her head and met her lover’s gaze squarely.

  ‘I have given you my reasons many times why this rebellion is anathema to me. Nothing has changed. The question of your involvement in the rebellion remains my primary concern. It is a matter that will remain a sharp wedge between us, dividing us—one from the other.’

  It was said quite simply. A statement of fact.

  ‘Be fair,’ he reproved gently. ‘It seems to me that you made your point in an emotional gesture which, though understandable, I implore you to reconsider.’

  An expression of pained sadness entered her eyes. ‘You may know the body, Simon, but you have much to learn about the person.’ Her voice was quiet and oddly strained.

  ‘I know you as a lover and as a woman. I’m not going to give up, Henrietta,’ he said forthrightly. ‘No matter what your feelings are for me, I want you for my wife. I accept there is still the matter of my allegiance to Prince Charles to deal with first. But be assured it is your life and your welfare that concern me—and, of course, your happiness. I have a care for the future and I will not rest until I am assured of that.’

  As she looked up at him her emotions were torn asunder and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable. ‘Do
not think of me being your wife, Simon. It cannot be. I will not. I cannot.’

  His dark blue eyes seemed to withdraw more deeply beneath the black brows and Henrietta’s heart was wrung as she read the vast disappointment in them. He made as if to go to her, but checked himself and bowed slightly, without a word. Then, crossing the room in a few swift strides, he opened the door and went out.

  With her heart breaking, Henrietta followed and stood in the doorway as he mounted his horse. ‘Goodbye, Simon. May God go with you and keep you safe.’

  A muscle contracted near the corner of his mouth and he looked straight ahead. The chasm between them, so perilously bridged on the moor, gaped yawning and impassable once more.

  Henrietta stood and watched him ride away. The moments they had been together earlier had held a million and exceptional pleasures for them both. She had known full well what he was doing to her and that he was capable of annihilating her will, her mind and her soul, and how she would hunger for ever for that same devastating ecstasy she had experienced in Edinburgh. But she would not allow herself to be caught up in some romantic dream. She had told him they could not be together. She would have it no other way. It was instilled into her heart. Soon she would return to London, where she would take up the thread of her broken life.

  She went back inside. Her uncle noted the sadness in her eyes and the dejected droop of her shoulders.

  ‘Lord Tremain must have been extremely concerned about you to come all this way to assure himself of your safety, rather than ride into England with Prince Charles.’

  ‘You read too much into it, Uncle. You heard what he said. He came north to rally support for the cause.’

  ‘Think that if you must, but he must care for you a great deal, Henrietta—and I suspect his feelings are reciprocated, even though you will not allow yourself to admit it.’

  ‘But I do,’ she confessed quietly. ‘The worry of it is that I do care for Simon—so much that it hurts. I believe I always shall. I cannot fight it, you see. Feelings are not things to command.’