The floor was hardwood and to the very back was a staircase leading up, to where Hector assumed were the rooms. The air was a mix of spiced wine and ale, and what smelled like roasted chicken. It was better than sleeping in the woods with nothing but a smelly blanket and poor food, so he deemed it fitting for lodgement through the night.
He knocked the dirt on his boots off on the doorsill and tried to find a proprietor just as one of the men at the fireplace looked up to see him and yelled, “Oi, Eliza, a stranger with a kilt here for you!”
There was a clatter of something made of iron coming from a backroom, and Hector’s ears rang with the sound. Then from just beyond the fireplace, emerging from a recessed room, came a woman, busty with fair enough skin, in a dark dress covered with an apron. Her hands were wiping off in the smock when she came forward.
“How d’ye do, my good sir?” the woman named Eliza asked, her dark eyes scanning him from the top of his head to his booted feet. “Name is Eliza.”
“I need a room, ma’am,” Hector replied wearily. “Fer me an’ my companion. An’ some vittles, if ye can provide it.”
A thick dark eyebrow twitched upwards and the woman – as did all the other single women who had seen him from the time he had grown into his body in his sixteenth year – started to flush. The men’s conversation from across the room was a background to the two.
“Will ye be able tae offer me a bed, ma'am?” Hector asked, his eyebrows lowering.
“A bed,” she had whispered, dark eyes glittering as she approached him, “And a body to go with it.”
The temptation to take her up on her offer was strong inside him, but he could not afford to lay with her, even though it was a while since he had bedded a woman.
“Thank ye, but no' tonight lass,” Hector replied, not realizing his brogue had gone huskier with his fatigue. “Just tha bed an’ some warm food, thank ye.”
Eliza’s face fell, but she took the refusal in good spirit. “That will be six shillings. The food is warm bread, broth, and lamb stew. Do you have horses, sir?”
“Two,” Hector replied, even more relieved at the description of the food. “Thank ye.”
Eliza nodded and then turned to the two men at the fireplace, “Nathan, get yer bum out and put these gentlemen’s horses in the stable out back!”
One of the men groaned, and his head fell on the rough table before he got up, grumbling under his breath. Grabbing a loose cap, he left the room and Hector followed him. On the small porch, he spotted Donald and called over, “It’s a’right Donald, we’ve got lodgin’. Let him handle tha horses an’ come inside.”
Donald shot a last suspicious look toward the man before accompanying Hector on the landing. This close, Hector could see a mirroring of his fatigue on the man’s face, and though Donald had a brave face on, Hector knew he was depleted.
“C’mon,” Hector sighed while guiding the man inside, “Two beds an’ some vittles fer us.”
The two took a table at the very back and sat wearily. The kitchen door opened and Eliza came out bearing a tray of succulent-smelling lamb stew, a platter of bread chunks, and two pewter cups of warm broth. “The room is being aired out, sirs. It’s the last one to the left. Holler if you need anything.”
She left with her hand brushing over Hector’s shoulders. Donald turned a knowing eye to the man, but Hector glared.
“Drop it,” he snapped while brushing his hands off and grabbing the cup of broth. “We need tae eat an’ rest.”
“Aye,” Donald sighed and took up his warm cup serving. “This is wunnerful. Are ye sure ye dinnae want tae bed tha lass?”
“Stop jestin,” Hector said. “If we want tae get any guid information on this Moore fellow, I ken we need disguises, English clothes. Oor speech will gie us away, but oor kilts, e’en more, d’ye ken?”
After swallowing a bit of the lamb stew, Donald nodded, “I ken, just get enough clues an’ move on afore anyone can report us. But what d’ye do when we find this Duke?”
The two hadn’t noticed Eliza who had just come from collecting some other patron’s empty flagons in the back.
“’Scuse me, good sirs,” Eliza said while balancing her tray on her shoulder, “Are you talking about the Duke of Crowland?”
Hector nodded, “Tha vera same. What do ye ken o' him?”
Eliza’s dark eyes flit from Hector to Donald. “A bit, but to make sure, which of the Dukes of Crowland are you speaking about?”
The shock Hector felt was reflected in Donald’s face before Donald asked, “There’s more than one?”
Eliza nodded, “There’s two. One Duke is dead, long gone now, and the other, his son, took his place.”
More than one! The words immediately twisted every conception the two had about confronting Moore. Hector met Donald’s eyes before he quickly stood, swiftly took a chair from the nearby table and then gestured for the woman to sit, “Please, sit ye, an’ tell us all ye ken aboot these two.”
Chapter 6
The morning had barely dawned when a carriage came galloping onto the Monstall estate. Victoria, though a bit sleepy, managed to get up from under the covers and look out the window.
Her eyes widened to see a black hansom carriage, one with the coat of arms of the Crown on it, with horses as dark as the vehicle was, come to a grating stop at the front entrance. The footman, clad in a red jacket, breeches, and stockings jumped off the carriage and hurried to the door leaving the horses to pace on the spot.
Slightly alarmed, Victoria grabbed her robe and slippers and left the room to go to the staircase just in time to see the footman give the butler a note. She stood there, watching with slight anxiety, what was happening. The butler, after a short conversation with the footman, hurried off to where her father’s study was.
Soon after, Geoffrey came out, his face contorted in confusion before he, too, spoke with the footman. The expression on the Duke’s face swiftly changed from confusion to alarm, and then he gestured for the man to stay. He spoke quickly to the butler who then took the stairs two at a time and hurried past her to her father’s room. Geoffrey had gone back to his study in the meantime.
Apprehensive about what was going on, Victoria tried to stop the butler when he came back, bearing a packed valise.
“Mr. Drummond, what is happening?” she asked in anxiety.
“Cannot speak now, My Lady,” the butler, Archibald Drummond, replied hastily. “Your father needs me.”
Pressing her lips together, Victoria added the pieces together. A man from the Crown had come with a sealed message, her father was packing a bag, and the footman from the Capital looked anxious. Something was happening in London, she was sure of it. Her suspicions were confirmed when her father came out with his traveling coat on and his dark leather satchel that he only used when called upon by the legislative arm in the district.
Victoria couldn’t hold her concern in anymore and called out, “Father!”
Geoffrey’s head snapped up, and he looked at her just as he was hurrying to the door, “The Lords in London need me, Victoria. You’ll be safe here until I return. Miss Willow will be your chaperone in my absence.”
With that, he was out the door and soon after Victoria heard the galloping of the horses. Sagging a little, Victoria hoped that what was happening at the Capital wasn’t too perilous, seeing how quickly the messenger had arrived and left.
She retired to her room and instantly gravitated to the window to look over the lawns. The land was so flat that it disappeared into nothingness the further she looked. A soft reminisce of the blue peaks of Ingleborough, the highest mountain in the Yorkshire Three Peaks area she had passed through coming from a ball in York, slithered through her mind. There was just something about mountains that held a mysticism to them.
“My Lady?”
Startling a little, Victoria dragged herself out of her musing and looked over her shoulder to see Amelia, standing there in her dark maid’s dress and white cap. “Yes, Amelia?�
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“Should I prepare your bath now, My Lady?” the younger woman asked.
“I suppose,” Victoria sighed. It wasn’t as though there was much to do except bathe, break her fast, and find a good book in the library - one of the few she hadn’t read. “And please tell the cooks to make a light fare this morning. I am not very hungry.”
“Yes, My Lady.” Amelia curtseyed and hurried off to get the water ready and notify the kitchen staff.
Victoria turned back to the windows and sighed. She still hadn’t thought of a way to negotiate with her father about him giving her some leeway before being courted by Mr. Keating. Just thinking of the rich landowner made Victoria feel as though a cage was suspended over her head, just waiting to descend and trap her into a life that held no freedom or pleasure.
The door to her quarters opened up again, and three maids carried in buckets of hot water toward the screened-off tub at the far end of the room. Knowing it would take a few trips to fill the copper tub, Victoria didn’t move from the window until Amelia told her that all was ready.
Moving toward the enclosure, Victoria stepped behind the screen and disrobed. With the help of her maid, the young heiress stepped into the warm water and let out a satisfied sigh. Bathing was always a comfort for her. The soft soaps and bath oils made in France, that her father sourced for her, left her skin smooth to the touch and fragrant.
The safety of the screened area was where Victoria permitted herself to speak freely with Amelia, asking questions about how her mother was, and her sister Sara, who was younger than Amelia by ten years.
“She’s not well, My Lady,” Amelia replied glumly while sponging Victoria’s shoulders. “Last night a strong fever came upon her. The tinctures my mother uses relieve her for a while, but the pain comes soon after.”
That didn’t settle Victoria’s mind, so while standing up from the tub, she said, “When I am dressed, I will give you some silver. Leave and go to the town and buy some stronger medicine from the Apothecary for your sister.”
Amelia’s eyes widened a fraction before she bowed with her hands twisting in her apron. “T–thank you, My Lady, we’d be so grateful.”
A soft morning dress of pale blue and kid slippers was chosen for the first half of the day, and after liberating a few silver coins from a drawer, Victoria pressed them into Amelia’s hand. “Run quickly now and tell Percy to drive you. I’ll take care of him when you come back.”
“Thank you, My Lady,” Amelia cried before turning away and hurrying to the stables.
Seeing her off, Victoria went to her sitting room and waited for another maid - Helen, Victoria recognized - as she set her breakfast tray before her.
“My Lady,” Helen said, while pulling an envelope from her large front pocket, “Mr. Drummond received this missive this morning. It’s for you.”
The hand that was poised to take up her cup of tea stalled for a moment before it reached out and took the letter, “Thank you, Helen, I’ll ring for you when I’m done.”
“Very well, Miss,” Helen dipped out a curtsey and left.
Ignoring her tea, Victoria examined the letter with more anxiety than curiosity. A part of her feared it was from Mr. Keating, but there was no formal address, or stamp that denoted the man’s station. The only address was her name written in a familiar script, and she sighed in relief. It was from one of her contacts in the town, a Mr. Mark Johnson, who lived in Northamptonshire.
At eighteen, Victoria had secretly used one of her father’s contacts to find a sleuth, a man who could track down persons of interest or lost family members. She had pledged him into finding Andrew, her lost cousin. For the first few years, there had been some promising findings with Mr. Johnson tracking the messenger Ruth had sent with the baby all the way to Glasgow, and even to Cladich, a town in Argyll. Sadly, that was where the trail stopped.
Unfolding the letter, Victoria read:
Greetings Lady Moore,
I think it is prudent of me to inform you that there is a Scotsman in my town, inquiring about the missing Andrew MacTavish, the very same that you have conscripted to find for the last three years. His name is Hector, the current son of the late Laird MacTavish and is of a decided notion that his half-brother is still alive.
If I am correct, he will be arriving in Crowland this evening and staying at the Barton Inn as he is desirous of speaking to His Grace. I do not expect this meeting to be a peaceful parley based on the history between your family and his Clan. Please take caution.
Your faithful Servant,
M. J.
The faint strains of hunger Victoria had for food disappeared entirely, and she stared at the note. Seeing this made all her memories, hopes, and fears about finding her cousin come back to her. Ever since Ruth had told her about the ill-fated life of her cousin, Victoria had pledged herself to find Andrew. With all the dead-ends she had reluctantly let it go but this made it all come back.
A precarious, exceptionally dangerous, idea started to form in her mind, but there was no way she could make it happen. Barton Inn - that was less than half a mile from the gates of the estate. A horse at a medium trot could get there in less than ten minutes. Her eyes flicked up. Her father was away…could she meet this Hector on her own?
Years and years of knowing the proper way to conduct meetings between a single female and a male battled with her urge to throw on a hooded cape, get a horse, and ride out to meet this man. But was it safe? She did not doubt that Mr. Johnson’s words were accurate about this Hector arriving at the inn.
Never a one to be rash, Victoria still felt a pull, a drawing to this man who she had never heard of before. Yes, it was exorbitantly risky, but it was a chance she had to take.
Getting up, she went to her desk and pulled out two sheets of paper, a quill, and a pot of ink. Nibbling on her bottom lip for a moment, she wrote on the first one: Dear Proprietor, if a Mr. Hector MacTavish arrives at your lodging, please give him this note secured within.
On the second she wrote: Dear Mr. MacTavish, there is a report that you are in search of a certain person who has been a subject of my interest for years, a Mr. Andrew MacTavish, who is supposedly your missing brother. I have been in search of him for years but to no avail. I think our combined powers might finally allow us to find him. Please meet with me under the largest tree in the Inn’s garden, this night.
A friend.
“My Lady,” Helen asked from the doorway. “My apologies for the disturbance but Amelia has just returned from the Apothecary, and Mr. Percy is awaiting. My Lady, is the food not to your liking?”
Jerked out of her reverie, Victoria looked down at the untouched tray. The tea was cold and so were the roll, butter, and fruit squares. So caught up in her thoughts, Victoria hadn’t eaten a thing.
“No, Helen, it’s fine. I was just trapped in my thoughts,” Victoria replied. “While I cater to Mr. Percy, would you get a replenished tray for me?”
“Of course, My Lady,” Helen replied and whisked the tray away.
While pocketing some silver, and both folded notes, Victoria left the upper room and took one of the numerous back stairs that led to the servants’ quarters and, coincidentally, also gave way to the stables.
The summer morning was warm, not overly so, but Victoria knew that if she spent much time outside, she would begin to perspire and be forced to take another bath, so she hurried as quickly as she could toward the brick and wooden stable house.
As she neared it she came upon Percy. The Head Groom was a tall, thin man with wisps of flyaway brown hair. He instantly removed his cap and bowed when he saw her, “My Lady, good day to you.”
“And to you,” Victoria smiled while clasping his hand with some silver, “Thank you for aiding Amelia today.”
“No’ a problem, My Lady,” Percy replied while pocketing the coins, “Is there something else I can help you with?”
“Ah yes,” Victoria replied while looking toward the low stable, “Is my horse, Iris, fit f
or a ride? I was thinking of taking a ride this evening.”
“Oh sure, sure, My Lady,” Percy replied, “She’s just fine and jolly. I can take her out to stretch her legs before your ride.”
“May I see her?” Victoria asked.
“Not in them shoes, My Lady, you can’t.” Percy replied, “All the muck inside will ruin them slippers, for sure. I’ll go get her. You just wait under the eaves here.”
Stepping under the eaves of the stable, the smell of hay, manure, and horseflesh met her nose just as her ears picked up low whinnies and the stomping of shod feet. Victoria stepped back just in time for Percy to come out with the regal golden Palomino mare – she was a beauty to look upon with light golden hide and even lighter, pale golden mane and tail.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 5