by Kate Gray
the sheep from the far grazing fields.”
“You allowed your sheep to wander at night?”
“Ah, well, you know, the last wolf in Scotland was done in around 1680, so they say. Same for bears and any wild cats we once had. Easy enough to wipe out entire species on an island, don’t you know….”
He was absurdly ashamed of this fact, though he couldn’t say why. They were dangerous, wild creatures that had wreaked havoc on livestock for years, not to mention all the human attacks. Some part of him mourned the loss, however.
“You truly are the masters of all lands.” Arpan did not bother to hide his sarcasm; he knew what kind of footing he was on with Macconnach.
“Please, do me the honor of not including me in the numbers of those who lay waste to the landscape.”
“Hm, I have not yet been to Scotland. Is it much different than London and Southampton?”
“Surely you are not serious. There does not even begin to be a comparison. Except maybe Glasgow.” Macconnach smiled, pulling a flask from his satchel. “Nowhere in England can produce this, for instance.”
“What is it?”
“My family’s art. Single malt, aged thirty years, this stuff. Laid the day I was born. My father thought it only fitting that I have a regular supply of it.”
They each took a long pull, Macconnach once again savoring the slow burn and the aroma of his homeland that lingered behind. Arpan nodded appreciatively.
“Very fine. The duke was not a Scotch man of any note, but there were many in our group who were. It is certainly the best I have had.”
“How did you come to be in Wellington’s circle?”
“Ah, a long story, best made short. Wellington is a hard man, but he invariably rewards those whom he finds worthy. I was someone he saw in that light.”
“Did you save his life, something like that?”
“He probably would have distanced himself from me if that had been the case. No, I think he appreciated my mind. Saw my worth before I did, for certain. I was an arrogant young officer when first we met, but I apparently impressed him enough to have him bring me along when he left to take on Boney.”
“Did you ever see Bonaparte?”
“Only once, from afar. I was in signals and intelligence, you see.”
Something clicked into place for Macconnach on learning that.
“Is that how you knew what I was?”
Arpan laughed, but said nothing.
Many of Macconnach’s colleagues continued to work in that field, in spite of Grandy’s dislike toward it. “You know that we are likely headed into something quite deadly. The closer we get, the more I feel the sense that we are being drawn….”
“Into a spider’s trap? I have had that same feeling, although I can only attribute it to the years I have spent in my field.”
“We could divide the party up, send Miss Alderton in a safer direction with the other men.” Macconnach felt he already knew the answer to such an idea.
“I think she would immediately see through that. What reason would you and I present for remaining together?”
“She is damnably clever, and horribly persistent, I grant you that.” He scowled, while Arpan wagged a knowing finger his way.
“And you care for her. I can understand why you should want to keep her safe.”
“I…no…that…no.” Macconnach found himself tongue-tied, and sighed with no little aggravation. “Oh, very well. I don’t know why, though. She despises me, won’t hear a word I say, and is purely maddening.”
“As I have some experience in the matter, I might posit that she is wrestling with her innermost thoughts, as you are. We are not afforded the choosing of the workings of our hearts. The gods may even only dabble in such things. I had an arranged match, you know, but I met an English girl, and found myself having to pay the bride price in order to free myself.”
“You’ve a wife? Is she here?”
“No. She is in Cornwall, with our daughter. It will be some time before we can be together again.” Arpan stared off into the night sky, thinking of the chilly days his children were existing in. They were a world apart.
Macconnach watched his companion with sympathy. It couldn’t have been easy to make such a choice. He looked over at the slumbering form of Isabel Alderton. Nobody would mistake her for a lad in uniform right then, as the curve of her hip gave it all away.
He bit his lip in thought, as his mind warred between seeking a solution, and the desire to run his hand along that outline some six feet away. He took another swallow from his flask, but it didn’t help.
He knew that Miss Alderton assumed he was like other men of his profession, with a long trail of debauchery in his past. She had spent too much time in that world to ignore the existence of the comings and goings of a certain type of female.
He just wished that she might apply some of her beloved logic and realize that not all men engaged in that sort of thing. He certainly never had. Grandy had been death on it, but Macconnach hadn’t any interest to begin with.
His interests had always lain in finding the right young lady, eventually. There had never been any rush on his part. It was a matter of joke amongst his friends back home, especially as his brother seemed to have no end of offspring squirreled away in every corner of Britain.
Reggie Macconnach wasn’t exactly a rogue, he never meant to leave ladies in an indelicate state. He just had the disposition of an actor or a poet. He was not the first man to behave that way. It was not handy for the first son of Kenneth Macconnach to behave so, however.
As Macconnach argued with himself, he heard Reggie’s voice in his ear, rambling on some bit of Shakespeare, on the beauty of women. And he finally had a better understanding of his brother.
Isabel was only one woman though, a less than a fraction of Reggie’s numbers, and so he only felt a fraction of understanding. He wished he could devise a reason to walk round the other side of the fire, so that he might look upon her face, but it was an idiotic idea. She would probably wake and throw stones at him.
What would it be like to lie next to a woman? He felt even more idiotic that he did not know. Thumping the flask into the dirt next to him, he pulled his jacket up over his head.
Sleep was evasive, but at least he wasn’t sitting, staring at something he couldn’t have. Arpan sat up on watch, smiling and looking up into the stars. He sent a prayer or two up into the heavens, and then fixed his gaze out into the quiet expanse that lay around them.
He could not be sure what dangers were in front of them, but he was beginning to perceive the presence that Macconnach had been tracking. Arpan did not know why, but he felt it pulling on him, telling him to go to the hills.
He was wanted.
ॐ
“General Sahib, the morning report.” Abington was lingering over his breakfast chai.
“Thank you, Ranajit. How is it out there?” It was a question he asked out of habit every morning, even though the answer was fairly predictable. Spring was just beginning to settle itself firmly.
The heat and humidity would not fully blossom for another month or so. He imagined Macconnach’s reaction to that information and smiled, but only for a moment.
Thinking of Isabel out in the wilds was enough to dampen his amusement. He had no doubts as to her safety. But he knew what anyone would think of him for allowing her to traipse off with no chaperone, in the company of only men.
Her reputation would suffer. That cost alone was what gave him pause. Otherwise, he trusted her implicitly, and the men who were with her were deserving of the same respect. Arpan had assured him that the character of all the other men who would be with him would be unimpeachable.
If society were but a little bit more advanced, Abington could envision his daughter living her life on her own terms, as she so desired. The only factor that might enable a young lady to do so, on society’s current terms, was economy.
Many young ladies married very old gentlemen i
n the hopes of achieving just that end. Lord Abington was still as certain as ever that he desired no such fate for Isabel.
It did not alter the fact that some women found themselves with no other option, but Abington did have the means to prevent it for his daughter.
Isabel thought, most likely, that her father knew nothing of Alexander’s business venture. He wondered from whence she thought her brother had gained his capital.
The shop in Paris was meant to be Alex’s living, in order that Abington might make a more sizeable bequeath to Isabel. The whole of the inheritance system was still a grand mystery to Abington.
As it was unlikely to alter, he must do what he had to. Alex, to his credit, was all in favor. He would, after all, inherit his father’s title, and the estate in Sussex.
Beyond that, between father and son, they had devised a means to settle as much property and earnings on Isabel as possible, and to protect the same from avaricious suitors.
If she ever got to a point of wanting to marry, that was. Abington had not told her any of this, and did not plan to unless and until she was on the brink of matrimony.
Call him diabolical, but he had the idea that she ought to decide to take on a husband in spite of the fear of no longer having control over her life. That’s what it was all for, wasn’t it? Stepping to the precipice, taking a deep breath, and letting go?
He blew out a long breath of air, and turned his attention to the morning’s report. Predictable numbers, top to bottom, all present and accounted for…excepting one. Abington