Reaching out, Victoria scratched the horse’s ears and giggled when Iris’ nose nudged her arm, “Missed you, Iris. We’ll be reacquainted this eve. I give you my word.”
After a few more moments with the horse, Victoria went back toward the manor house, with her mind methodically planning how she was going to pull off this dangerous act. First, she needed to get the message out. Spotting one of the kitchen boys who helped with slaughtering the meats, she hailed him.
The boy looked surprised, but he came over anyway, “Yes, My Lady?”
“You’re Ross, correct?” Victoria asked and received a confirming nod in answer. “Good. Run quickly to the Barton Inn and give the proprietor this message. It is important. Thank you.”
Taking the folded note and two silver coins, Ross nodded eagerly, “Right away, My Lady.”
Not even stopping to grab a cap or swallow a mouthful of water, the boy took off to the front of the manor and soon enough up the road. Satisfied that one part was done, Victoria went into the manor, up to her bedroom, and from her armoire, took out a riding dress, as indeed she was going to ride this evening, to see the inn.
After that, she also took out a riding skirt, a blouse, and a hooded cape slated to be worn much later, and examined them. The very thought of speaking with this MacTavish in the danger of night, sent ripples of anxiety through her. The door was knocked on and she hurriedly shoved the clothes under her pillow. “Enter.”
“Here you are, My Lady,” Helen replied, while coming inside with the now replenished tray.
“Thank you, Helen.” Grateful for the distraction, Victoria dug into her meal with relish, hoping her face would not betray her.
The day seemed to crawl as Victoria tried her best to do her normal routine; read in the library, break for the midday meal, and then take a walk in the garden. When the time came for her ride, Victoria asked one of the stable boys, Charlie, to accompany her.
“Are you sure this is wise, My Lady?” Ruth asked, while fastening her dress. “I fail to think your father would agree to this.”
“It’s just a short ride, Ruth,” Victoria replied while spinning around to look at herself in the mirror, “It will not take even half the hour. I have missed Iris and the simple pleasure of a trot.”
“Please be careful,” Ruth replied while handing Victoria a pair of riding gloves. “I do not wish to tell His Grace of any mishap on your part.”
“I promise, Ruth,” Victoria said while leaving the room and going down the stairs.
Feeling giddy but trying to not show it, Victoria walked with measured steps toward the stables and spotted Charlie, who was ready and waiting for her with Iris already saddled.
“Good evening, My Lady,” Charlie, a tall but stocky stable boy said with a tilt of his cap, “We’re all ready for you.”
With his help, and the mounting block, Victoria was seated sidesaddle, and as she sat, the memory of handling a horse came back to her. Heeling Iris slightly, the horse took the command and walked forward. Pulling back on the reins, Victoria waited for Charlie to mount his horse and when he was seated, she moved forward.
“I am not of a mood to take the normal trails, Charlie,” Victoria spoke, “I’d much rather take the road to the village.”
“Very well, My Lady,” Charlie replied, “I do not see any objections to that.”
After walking a bit, Victoria increased the pace to a moderate trot while taking note of rough areas along the way where Iris might have some trouble. As they neared the village, Victoria felt her heartbeat increase and spotted the large structure of the Barton Inn, it’s renowned blue and white trimming and wide doors blooming in her vision. Her actions later in the night might be risky, but she had some information, small as it could be, to help this man on his quest.
“I think this has satisfied my wish to be reacquainted with Iris,” Victoria said over to her companion, “I think this is enough for this evening, Charlie, thank you.”
“Of course, My Lady,” Charlie replied.
With both steeds heading back, Victoria felt more anxiety twist her stomach. On their way, she debated within herself if this was the right thing to do. Was it right, was it sane? Could she handle seeing the supposed brother of the missing Andrew? Fear was a steady sensation in her stomach, but she felt this was what she needed to do.
Back at the estate, Victoria thanked the stable boy once more and went her way to the house. As she entered, Ruth came around a corner with a concerned look that changed to relief.
“You’re back, My Lady,” Ruth replied. “How was it?’
“Invigorating,” Victoria replied while placing a fatigued look on her face, “A bit too invigorating. Please, have a maid arrange another bath and send up my supper to me? I had forgotten how riding takes a toll on the body. After that, please do not let anyone disturb me.”
“Of course, child,” Ruth replied. “Right away. I am glad you’re home safely.”
While the older woman went off to arrange for her bath and supper, Victoria went to her room and checked for the hidden clothes that looked undisturbed. Satisfied, she then started to tug at her boots and gloves before paying attention to her dress. While reaching behind her to release the sashes, Victoria remembered that she was supposed to be tired, so undressing herself fully was not going to make any sense to her maids.
Sitting uneasily on a chaise in the room, Victoria waited until the first maid entered and asked her to help her out of the riding habit.
“Yes, My Lady,” the maid replied and placed the bucket where she stood, to help Victoria out of the dress. When she was down to her chemise, Victoria then instructed her to go and fill the tub.
The soothing warmth of the water did not settle Victoria’s nerves as the unsafety about her actions and the possible consequences that might occur from her activities ran through her head like wildfire.
Clad in her nightgown, Victoria bade her helpers goodnight and settled to eat her supper. The warm tea, buttered rolls, and cold cuts of meat were appetizing, but her stomach could hold only so much.
With the rest of the food covered, Victoria lit a candle by her bedside, laid down, and waited. The wait became torturous after a while, so she got up and moved toward the window to watch the moon rise.
She was in luck because it was a full moon and the light of that heavenly orb was going to guide her way. Silently, she donned her skirt, top, and hooded cloak, and with her boots in hand, slipped a letter opener into her pocket for a weapon, then slipped down the stairs.
Taking a servant’s corridor, she quickly found herself on the outside of the manor and only there did she put her boots on. Hurrying to the stables, Victoria was ready to pick the lock but found the door’s latch open. It was a curious occurrence, but she didn’t have time to spend pondering it. She crept to Iris’s stall and found the horse sleeping, but with one touch the animal came to life.
“Shhh,” Victoria whispered, as her fear of being caught was clogged in her throat. “Shhh, Iris, be a good girl.”
Spotting the horse’s blankets and saddle, Victoria, by measured moves and memory, saddled the horse and walked her out of the stable. Outside, her fear seemed to triple, and a part of her wanted to drop this reckless task and go back inside to safety – but she didn’t.
Taking a side gate of the manor, that led to a field, Victoria heaved herself up on the horse and guided Iris out and into the field. The low-cut grass was easy to ride over, and a good way from the manor Victoria spurred the horse into a canter, over the field, and toward the road.
When she felt the rough gravel of the road under the horse’s hooves, Victoria rode off. Do or die, she was going to help settle this matter.
Chapter 7
Earlier that Evening
“This is it?” Hector asked, looking at Barton Inn. “This is where tha blootered wallop said is partial tae Scots?”
The blue and white awning and paint of the inn, now reflecting a calm color under the darkening evening, gav
e the Scotsman a sense of serenity - one that instantly made Hector suspicious. It was just too goddamn English for his taste.
Perhaps his foul mood was spurred on by the English trousers on his lower half that caged his legs in what felt like bars of iron and restricted his natural movements. This piece of confining clothing only enhanced what Hector felt for the English - they were unnatural.
“Aye,” Donald, who was dressed the same, replied while scanning the land. “That’s what Mrs. Eliza said. She e’en told us it’s near tae tha Moore land.”
Still lingering on his horse, Hector felt even more misgivings in the center of his gut. Everything in him wanted to find this Duke, Geoffrey Moore, and demand answers from him about his missing brother. He was convinced that the son knew everything his father had done and Hector was itching to know all that the son knew, but Donald had cautioned him.
“It wouldnae be smart tae make siege on tha man’s home,” Donald had cautioned the morning they had left the inn in Naseby. “We hae some information noo, but we need more tae take caution, Hector. If we lose him well, we hae lost everythin’.”
Hector had hated to admit it, but Donald was right. What would he do without this stalwart man at his side? After a few hours ride they had entered Crowland. Even though their dress had disguised them, the moment they spoke, asking for directions, earned them hateful glares and sneers paired with haughty, self-righteous looks.
It was as if the Englishmen were looking at a mangy dog who had defied nature and altered itself into a human being. The clipped words they received, however, did allow Hector and Donald to find the Barton Inn.
It was decidedly fancier than most roadside inns and Hector could easily picture some gentry staying inside. The lawns were cut and the windows were clean. Feeling the sweaty grime and caked-on dust from the hours of travel, Hector felt that he was going to sully the place just by stepping inside – but they needed rest.
“Ach,” Hector groaned, while hopping off his horse with practiced ease. “I’ll make tha arrangements.”
Striding to the black-clad proprietor, he asked the man if lodging was available. To Hector’s slight comfort, the man did not look at him like he was dung under his shoes, and nodded.
“Yes, sir, we are open,” the man replied, with a quick look up and down before he cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, are you by any chance, Mr. Hector MacTavish?”
The Laird frowned a deep furrow between his eyes, “Aye, that I be.”
“You have a message,” the man said, pulling out a folded note and handing it to him. “I do not know who sent it or where it came from, only that a young boy rushed to give it to me this morning. To be honest, I did not expect your arrival, but it seems I was wrong. A room is seven shillings.”
Taking the note, Hector didn’t even ask about the price and handed the money over to him. He clasped the paper gently, and though the mystery of it all prodded him to open and read whatever was inside, he took care of the first matter before anything else, “D’ye hae a stable where we can put oor horses into?”
“Yes, sir,” the man nodded. “I’ll have one of our stable boys assist you.”
“Thank ye,” Hector replied and went back outside to grab his bags. “Donald, c’mere, somethin’ strange just happened.”
The other man frowned while taking his bag off his horse, “How strange?”
Hector brandished the note, “Someone was expectin’ us. I dinnae ken who. But he wrote tae me.”
Pulling Hector to the side, Donald looked over his shoulder. “Ye ken someone was followin’ us?”
Hector felt amused, “Nae, an’ aside from that, we’re both guid trackers. We would hae kent if someone was followin’ us.”
“Open it up then,” Donald requested.
Unfolding the note, Hector read, “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.”
The Laird’s son did not have to look up to see Donald’s stunned face - he was pretty shocked himself.
“Christ above,” Hector whispered in awe. “How does this man ken aboot Andrew?”
“It might be a trap,” Donald pressed with his eyes narrowed. “I dinnae trust this friend.”
Hector shot a quick look at his companion and nodded while folding the note, “Me neither but…I ken it’s a chance I’m willin’ tae take. If he kens anythin’ aboot Andrew, I need tae have it.”
“Are ye tellin’ me yer ready tae risk yer life fer a bloody suspicion?” Donald’s tone was laced with incredulity, “Are ye mad, Hector?”
“Nae,” Hector replied, “But I am decided tae find me brother an’ if that means takin’ a risk on me part, be it so wi’ me.”
Donald scrubbed a hand through his dark hair and sighed, “Ye were always tha risk taker. Should I wait up wi’ ye then?”
Mulling over it for a moment, Hector shook his head, “Nae, ye need yer rest. I’ll take care o’ this meself.”
“Hector--”
“Ye cannae change me mind, Donald,” Hector replied evenly, “I’ve already considered all that might happen an’ I will deal wi’ what comes. Ken ye, what kind o’ ambush would be staged in an inn’s garden?”
Donald had to agree to that logic. If this friend had wanted Hector dead, he would have asked him to meet in a solitary place, one removed from the eyes of men. “Ach, yer right.”
Slapping Donald on his shoulder, Hector grinned, “O’ course I’m right, noo, let’s get some scran, a bath, an’ change into some normal clothes, these thrice-damned trousers are ridin’ up me arse.”
Donald’s loud laugh rang through the air, as the two went back to the inn. Inside, Hector got directions to their room from the property owner and was told that a bathhouse was on the property near a well.
Getting settled in took a few moments and satisfied with that, Hector rushed off to the bathhouse, needing to get the dirt off his person as soon as possible. Rubbing a hand over his cheek, Hector felt the scrub of his beard coming in. Unlike most Scotsmen, his beard did not grow quickly, and his clean jaw did prove a sort of allure for some women.
Scrubbing himself from his hair to his feet, Hector wondered who this friend was, and how did he know about Andrew? As far as he was aware, this scandal had been covered up for decades. So who could have come across it?
Upending a bucket over his head, Hector braced himself for any surprises that might happen, which meant carrying his sword. The meeting might be in the garden, but he didn’t mean to be unprepared. Patting himself dry, he donned his kilt, loose shirt, boots, and finger-combed his hair to dry in a style that didn’t look too rakish. When he got back to the room, he found that their supper – warm tea, medium bowls of roasted fowl, and stewed vegetables - was laid out.
“So yer goin' tae do this,” Donald pressed, while spearing a diced carrot. “Goin’ tae meet this friend wi'out me in tha garden.”
“Aye,” Hector replied, while brushing his hands off and looking out the window to the dark sky. “I ken its time tae go wait, eh.”
“Aye,” Donald replied with a nod. “Just hae yer heed aboot ye.”
Standing up, Hector grabbed his sword and with a clap to Donald’s shoulder, he nodded, “Will do.”
Leaving the inn by the back door, Hector stepped softly into the night, felt the cool air, and spotted the largest tree in the garden. It was a wide spreading oak that dominated a good portion of the yard. After a quick scan to assess the points where he could get attacked from – and found many – he decided that the best he could do was keep his wits about him and be ready for anything.
He pressed his back to the rough bark of the tree and looked around, breathing deeply. His mind started to run ahead of hi
m, wondering who this man was, what he looked like, where he had come from, and how he had gotten to know about Andrew.
Could it be it was this friend who was the man who had been charged to carry the babe to Scotland but had failed in his task? With every thought, his emotions changed from angered to excited and then to cautious. Continuous glances at the full and rising moon and the growing chill of the night told him time was passing, but no one had shown up.
Was this all a trick? Some ruse to get him off his guard and tire him for some attack that might come unawares soon after? He was just about to disregard this ‘meeting’ and go back to the room when he heard a soft crunch on a twig and spotted a figure in a dark cloak coming toward him.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 6