‘I—I thought he was going to shoot me,’ she whispered.
‘Rest easy, Henrietta,’ he gently soothed. ‘His intent was to kill all three of us and he paid for it with his life.’
‘I knew this was Lucas the minute I laid eyes on him,’ Matthew murmured. Straightening up, he eyed Henrietta and Simon anxiously. Henrietta was visibly shaken. ‘Are either of you hurt?’
‘No,’ Simon replied, ‘although one, or both of us, might have been had you not distracted him when you did.’
‘I already knew he’d killed his aunt and uncle and their coach driver, but I cannot believe he killed Mr Goodwin, too,’ Henrietta said, trying to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand.
‘We all heard him confess to the crime, Henrietta,’ Simon said. ‘We also heard him say that Braithwaite colluded with him in the cover up in order to line his own pockets. I have no doubt that where he is concerned, justice will have its day.’
Henrietta’s face threatened to crumple once more with pent-up emotion, but she promptly sucked in a breath, willing herself not to break down. ‘What shall we do with him?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Bury him,’ Simon answered with contempt.
Matthew shook his head. ‘That’s the easiest thing to do, but I’ll take him into Inverness in the morning. I’ll spin some yarn to whoever’s in charge of the Redcoats, about how he’s been living out on the moor and tried to steal from me and threatened to shoot me if I didn’t hand over my horse and some money. I doubt they’ll waste time trying to discover the identity of one more dead rebel from Culloden Field.’
‘But he isn’t, is he?’ Henrietta said quietly.
‘No, but better for us if they think he is,’ Matthew told her.
Matthew was right. No questions were asked when he hauled Jeremy Lucas’s body into the cart and took it into Inverness.
* * *
Two days after Matthew had taken Jeremy’s body to Inverness, rising from her bed and glancing out of the window, Henrietta saw Simon looking out over the open moor. Clutching her shawl about her shoulders, she left the house. Reaching his side and looking at his strongly marked features, it suddenly seemed to her that she was looking at another man, a man she did not know. What was it? Was it in the hard twist to the mouth, a certain weariness in the eyes or something distant in his whole attitude? It was as if he had suddenly removed himself into another world.
‘You’re deep in thought, Simon.’
Without taking his eyes off the moor, he nodded.
Silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional bird soaring high above them. Henrietta was struggling to still the frantic beating of her heart. It seemed to have become colder all at once, although the wind had dropped, but then she realised that the cold was inside herself. It was spreading from the numbness round her heart.
‘You are leaving, aren’t you, Simon?’ she asked after a moment. He had reached his decision—Henrietta could see it in his shadowed face, resignation and determination mingled. There was grief there, and sadness, too, but those had been put aside—he had no time for sentimentality now.
‘Yes. I must. I have wasted too much time already.’
She gave a tiny laugh. ‘Yes, you’re right. You have wasted too much time.’
Did he sense the bitterness in her tone? Abruptly he took her arm and drew her close. ‘Henrietta, why do you say that? You know very well how things stand and that I cannot remain here indefinitely. Until I leave Scotland and find out what is happening, I am not my own man. It’s true I have wasted too much time, for my time is my country’s and my country is still suffering. We always knew that this moment would come. We agreed that I would leave. You have not forgotten that?’
‘No, I have not.’
Henrietta had been too afraid to think that this day would arrive. While knowing there was no future for them together, despite this, she had hoped and prayed for so long that it never would. And now it had. Hearing what he was saying, she stood still, feeling her heart break, her vision blurring, the wind grieving in her ears.
He smiled then and looked down at her with great tenderness. The smile faded from his face as he again glanced at the moors and the shaded hills beyond. The sun was on them now, but Henrietta would feel the menace of them when night came.
He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. They were silent for a long time as the day lengthened. It was quiet now—she could hear nothing but Simon’s breathing close to her ear.
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘So soon.’ Her heart fell. So little time left. Each moment must be savoured and remembered and treasured against a future empty of him.
* * *
Later, when the horse was saddled and all that was left was to say farewell, Simon looked down into Henrietta’s pale face, her eyes large and dark with apprehension. Taking her in his arms, he placed a kiss on her forehead.
‘It must be faced, Henrietta.’ His voice dropped to almost a whisper and his arms tightened around her. ‘If I am taken—if you find yourself to be with child, it will be all that is left of me. I ask you to keep it safe. I will give you the address where my mother is staying in Paris. Go to her. Do you promise me?’
For a moment she was unable to speak for the tears blocking her throat. She swallowed them down, knowing she had to be strong for them both. At length, she said, ‘There is no child, Simon, which is as well.’ Drawing herself from his arms, she looked up at him, stepping back. ‘Nothing has changed. Because of what you are, should you succeed in reaching France, we cannot be together.’
‘But we can—if I survive this. Be honest with yourself and admit it. We are caught up in something that cannot easily be cooled and I doubt distance or time will have any effect on the heat of our emotions.’
She shook her head with infinite sadness. ‘I will never forget the suffering my father brought to me and my mother with his support for that wretched Stuart cause. You, too, are of the same persuasion. I cannot—will not—live with that. My head is still too troubled with the cruelties of the past. It cannot be ignored.’
‘The whole world is drowning in troubles, both past and present,’ Simon countered, his mien softer now. ‘My uncle, my father’s brother, is a staunch supporter of King George. Yes, my father was a Jacobite, but my uncle did not hold it against him. I have friends who are loyal to King George. Like me, they do their duty as they conceive it must be done. But I know well that they bear me no personal animosity. There are times when things are strained, I admit that, but at the end of the day we are all Scots or Englishmen wanting naught but the best for our country.’
His words were words of reason, but Henrietta was not prepared to listen to such calming talk. ‘I hear what you say, but for myself I cannot feel the same. My life is in London. I have things to do. It cannot be dismissed.’
Bitterness seared his heart. ‘And what will you do there, Henrietta? Become a socialite and marry some handsome bachelor who is unable to resist you?’
‘Probably. But in truth, beyond setting my house in order, meeting with Christopher Goodwin and informing him about what Jeremy did to his father, I haven’t given it much thought.’
Simon eyed her relentlessly, his jaw tight and his mouth a resolute line. Searching the green depths in the eyes of this proud young beauty, he would go to any lengths to keep her from the life she planned in which he had no place. He was astounded how the image of her coupling with any other man but him tore him to shreds.
His jaw hardened and a glint of anger showed in his eyes. ‘Look at me.’ He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face upwards. For a moment she resisted and then she raised her eyes and looked him straight in the face. ‘Have it your way for now, Henrietta, if it makes you feel better. We have loved one another, and no matter what you say we a
re meant to be together.’
‘You are taking it for granted that because we made love I will marry you. It’s not like that for me.’
‘Then remember this. I know how you feel when you are in my arms. I have seen it in your eyes and felt how you reacted when we made love, and if you think you can watch me walk away and forget me, you are mistaken.’
There was a warning underlying the lightness of his words and Henrietta knew that he spoke in all seriousness. Simon was a man who must conquer whatever the odds against him and she knew she could expect no mercy from him, that his passion would never be satisfied until she had surrendered her love to him absolutely. The deep timbre of his voice reverberated in her breast and she gave up trying to discern what his faults might be.
‘I won’t stand against you, Simon, not ever. But it has to be this way. How are we supposed to have any kind of life together if you continue to support Charles Stuart and follow wherever he leads?’
Anger came to add to the bitterness of Simon’s disappointment. He knew, had always known, that she was fanatical in her hatred of Jacobites, but he had hoped that she would not allow her fanaticism to affect how she felt about him. He grasped her forearms hard. ‘You have got to trust me, Henrietta.’
‘How can I?’ she cried, shaking off his touch. ‘I don’t even know you. How can you ask me to be a part of it by making me your wife?’
‘You don’t understand. I have a duty.’
‘One that apparently matters to you more than I do,’ she retorted as tears flooded her eyes.
‘No!’ He put out a hand to restrain her, but she shook him off. ‘Henrietta, you are the most precious thing to me in this world and my main concern is for your safety.’
She shook her head. ‘I think you should go. It seems we cannot agree.’
Simon stepped back. He stared at her for a long moment. For the first time in his life he found himself beginning to resent his duty to the Stuart cause. After all Henrietta had gone through with her father, it wasn’t fair to ask her to become a part of it once more. Yet he could not see himself ever shirking his duty for the cause. It was too deeply ingrained in him. Maybe he should not have hounded her so relentlessly, he thought. Maybe he should have spared her all this. Then again, he could not imagine his life without his lovely Henrietta. She was the most important thing in the world for him, and because he loved her, until this whole thing was resolved, he would not drag her into a life as a fugitive.
At last he gave her a grim and hardly perceptible nod. ‘Very well. I accept what you say. I won’t fight you over this. I don’t have all the answers and it’s too early to see what the impact of our defeat on Culloden Field will have on the cause. Maybe the conflict I am duty-bound to fight will go on.’
‘I sincerely hope not, but maybe it will. Who is to say?’
‘I am being selfish. I can’t have it both ways. Taking everything into consideration, I suppose you will be better off without me. At this time I have nothing to offer you. I have no right to ask you to share the life of a fugitive—outlawed from my homeland for ever.’
Henrietta heard the anguish underlying his words and her heart went out to him. How she wished she could accept his devotion to aiding Prince Charles reclaim his father’s throne, but everything in her recoiled from her attempt to wave it away. ‘I’m sorry it is to be this way. But I cannot...’
‘I understand. I wish with all my heart I didn’t have to leave you. I don’t want to leave you—and in a way, come what may, I’ll never be free of you. I won’t write to you, so should I survive this, don’t expect a letter. Letters will make me hope and dream, and if I don’t stop doing that, I will die of wanting you. I love you, Henrietta. I loved you at Barradine. I love you here. I will always love you. Everywhere and always. Always remember it. But if you send me away without hope, then I won’t come back. Believe me, I am not a man to beg.’
‘Stop it,’ she cried wretchedly. ‘Don’t threaten me, Simon.’
His face softened for a moment, since he adored the very ground she walked on. ‘It’s no threat, Henrietta. I mean what I say. But I would have a kiss to remember, to keep me warm on the cold nights to come.’
He bent to kiss her, and despite her resolution she clung to him. All at once he was again the passionate lover she had come to know. His arms tightened around her and his breath was warm on her face, but she did not return his embrace. Something inside her remained frozen. When he removed her hands from around his neck, she held them stiffly by her sides.
Simon turned resolutely and, making his way to Matthew, bowed gravely. ‘I’m no great hand at thanks,’ he said, ‘but while I live you may command me as and where you like. I am your most grateful servant.’
Matthew offered him his hand unreservedly. ‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘Don’t worry over Henrietta. I shall be watching her.’ He added for his ears alone, ‘Try to come back for her. She’s worth it.’
‘I have known that for a long time. But your niece is stubborn, more unbending than I ever thought,’ Simon said with a fleeting smile.
‘Ah, but love moves mountains and can turn even the wisest heads.’
Mounting Matthew’s pony, which he was willing to let Simon take since he would have no further need of it as he was to journey south, with a final salute Simon rode on to the moor.
With her heart breaking, Henrietta stood and watched until he was swallowed up in the darkness of the moor.
A terrible despondency overtook her. Returning to the cottage, she went upstairs to her chamber. She lay down, her knees pulled in towards her chest. Tears drenched her face and she sobbed as if her heart would break as the awfulness of everything that had happened now engulfed her. The overwhelming sorrow of her parting from Simon that now burst its dam did not abate until every last drop of it had poured out and drained away. Here in this room she wondered how she could go on. She would be better off dead. For a moment it did occur to her that perhaps she was dead, since hell could not be worse than facing life without Simon.
How long she remained there she was not sure. When she could cry no more she opened her eyes and for several moments her body seemed unwilling to move. It was with every ounce of her will that she raised herself off the bed and swilled her face with cold water.
Going outside in search of her uncle, she found him looking out over the moor. She moved to stand close to him. He placed his arm about her shoulders.
‘Will I see him again, do you think? I do so want to be with him, but...’
‘But there are too many issues holding you back, I know. My advice to you is to put aside what your father did to you and your mother. Do not forget that he suffered the ultimate punishment for his crime—if that is indeed what it was. Who is to judge? You have to go on, Henrietta. Too much looking back can make you blind to the present—even to one’s own heart. If Simon succeeds in escaping the Redcoats and manages to get to France, then despite what he said to you I think he will write to let you know he is safe—so take care of yourself. Do you want to die before you can prove your love?’
Matthew spoke to her with such an air of grief and regret that it moved Henrietta to fresh tears. Already the instinct for life was reviving in her, willing her to go on towards the goal which at this moment eluded her.
‘How did you know?’
‘He loves you. I have no right to interfere in your life. You are in love with him. I knew from the first day I saw you together.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Everything will work out—sometimes for the better, sometimes not. You’ll see.’
* * *
On the point of leaving, Henrietta looked into the cave where Simon had stayed. Nothing showed that it had been occupied for weeks. It was empty of him, empty of feeling.
Had he been taken? The terror of such a thing happening, a terror that would travel with her from Scotland
and stay with her rose now to engulf her, choking, drowning her. Her ears rang with her own pulse beat and her throat closed so tight that she felt she could not breathe. A sadness like a weight settled over her. Turning, she left the cave.
* * *
Simon took the most direct, available route to the west coast, skirting lochs and following treacherous tracks through bogs and outlaw-infested forests. Tormented by weariness and cramped limbs and the ache in his chest from the wound inflicted at Culloden, he welcomed the discomfort for it prevented him dwelling on thoughts of Henrietta. Her loss was as fresh to him as the void inside him that was as mortal as only death can be.
He had no outlet for his emotions and the emptiness inside him was so total that it eclipsed everything. With that thought he slammed a door on her image, for he knew otherwise it would never let him rest again.
Many times he came upon Redcoats searching the forests and it was only by his cunning and tenacity that he escaped discovery. Entering the western Highlands at Fort Augustus, he met up with other Jacobites, some fleeing the Redcoats and desperate to get to France. Simon had nothing but admiration for their perseverance. The native courage that Highlanders had inherited from their Celtic ancestors was preserved unimpaired.
Simon was not alone when he boarded a small boat and escaped to the Outer Hebrides. Here he met up with Prince Charles. His loyal supporters still gave him shelter. Pursued by government supporters and local lairds who were tempted to turn him in for the thirty-thousand-pound reward, for weeks they crossed from one island to another.
Finally they were taken out of Scotland by a French frigate after a rendezvous at Loch Uamh, Prince Charles’s starting point between Fort William and Arisaig, which ferried them away from Scotland. They arrived in France in September of ’46.
* * *
In the grey, rainswept light of the early evening, Henrietta and her uncle arrived at Whitegates. There was despair in her heart and it was echoed within the hearts of all those who had flocked to Prince Charles’s banner. Culloden was on everyone’s mind. The swift and bloody defeat and the ignominious flight of the Highlanders had demoralised them all. The cause of the Stuarts was now lost.
Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and UnrepentantReturn of the Prodigal GilvryA Traitor's Touch Page 65