Journey to Enchantment (41 page)

Delavale checked their speed, and they rode with ever-increasing vigilance, skirting the ancient market town of Devizes with its great old church and the ruins of the once proud castle which Oliver Cromwell had destroyed. MacLeod suggested that they stop and rest at a cosy hedge tavern just east of the town, but Delavale shook his head and pressed on across Roundway Down, ever north and east.

The sun was setting when they came into a tiny hamlet, where a Gothic church tower rose with sturdy placidity above a little cluster of trees and cottages.

“D'ye see any uniforms?” asked Delavale, scanning the drowsing street.

“Nary a one, sir. But there's a wee tavern. D'ye mean tae wet yer whistle, I can take the horses tae yon smithy, and see them fed and rubbed doon.”

“I'll go with you and make the arrangements. Do you stay with the hacks until I return, and we'll find ourselves some dinner sooner or later.”

MacLeod did not relish the thought of Delavale going on alone, but his protests were overborne. Delavale was determined not to involve the Scot in the perilous business he must now undertake. He had a near rebellion on his hands when, having arranged for the care of the horses, he left the smithy beside MacLeod and demanded that in the event of trouble the big man should keep out of sight. Not until Delavale pointed out that someone must get back to Miss MacTavish and conduct her safely to her aunt's home, did MacLeod vow to do as he was instructed.

The two men looked at each other and, not daring to allow this to seem a possible farewell, said nothing. Delavale smiled and winked. MacLeod regarded him miserably, and watched as the tall, slim figure wandered off.

Farther along the street a tiny bow window offered a glimpse of bon-bons and comfits. With Prudence in mind, Delavale stooped to the narrow door and went inside. The interior was warm and fragrant, and the rather deaf elderly lady behind the counter was shyly pleased by his compliments on her neat establishment. He chatted at a shout with her, explaining that he was en route to visit a friend in Hungerford, but had never passed this way before. He was at once regaled with a listing of noteworthy attractions, and urged not to miss the earthwork where had been found many prehistoric artifacts well worth the viewing.

He listened to her with his usual courteous attention and said he would certainly plan to pay it a visit, then added idly, “It seems I heard something about a fine church nearby. It must be very old, I collect, for it is said to have a leper's window.”

“Aye. Ye'll be meaning St. Peter's in Greater Shottup. A very nice old church, sir, and lies about six miles east.”

“On this same road, ma'am?”

“Yes. You'll have no trouble finding it,” she said, smiling at him. “Just keep yer eyes open for scarlet coats.”

En route to the door, he checked. “Huntsmen?” he asked, turning back.

“Of a sort. They do say they're after the man what has the poem.”

Delavale's breath seemed to freeze in his throat. “Poem…?”

“Have ye not heard about it, sir? Why, there's notices up everywhere. There's a reward of a hundred pound. A
hundred pound!
Fancy that. It's for anyone laying a information 'gainst one of those poor Jacobite gentlemen. If he turns out to be the one with a poem of some kind. Did ever you hear anything so odd?”

He said with forced nonchalance, “Mayhap the Duke of Cumberland has a taste for poetry.”

She said with a frown, “Perhaps so, sir. Though from all we hear his Grace has little taste for aught but cruelty. Be that as it may, if you just follow the road east, you can't miss it.” Rather wistfully, she asked, “Was your honour meaning to buy something?”

He thought he should buy the whole shop, considering the service she had unknowingly rendered him, but settled for a bag of sweets, squandering a whole groat on his selection, much to her delight.

Striding back along the quiet street towards the smithy, he was frowning and dismayed. The military might not know about his rendezvous point, but they had learned about the cypher. To wonder how was pointless. There were a hundred ways they might have obtained the information, none pleasant. He and MacLeod had been six miles from death! Had he not stayed to buy those sweets.… His lips tightened. No possibility to deliver the cypher tonight. He must get Prudence safely to Highview Manor, and then try again.

MacLeod was waiting anxiously, and Delavale brought a comical look of dismay to the Scot's broad features when he murmured that they dare not stay to eat here. He tossed over the bag of sweets. “This will help assuage that great hunger of yours.”

MacLeod was almost childishly pleased. He possessed a sweet tooth and made no complaint as he mounted up, chewing contentedly on a piece of toffee.

Delavale chose a route that avoided all frequented byways. He rode fast, eager to get back to Prudence, not noticing MacLeod's occasional attempts at conversation until the Scot thrust the bag at him and leaned over to shout, “Ye're looking proper doon in the doldrums, sir. Will ye nae try a bit? They're verra good.”

Delavale grinned and took a piece. He began to unwind the twist of paper, then paused, staring down at it. Slowing, he demanded, “Give me the bag again. Are they all the same colour?”

MacLeod said uncertainly, “I dinna ken what colour they are, but they taste like—”

“Not the sweets, man! The paper wrapping.”

“Ah. Why, some are red, I fancy, and there's a few whites, and one or two blues. If ye dinna care for the one ye got—”

Delavale reined up and poked about in the bag. “I'll take all the blues,” he declared, stuffing them into his pocket. He unwrapped one piece, put the toffee into his mouth, then took out his watch. MacLeod drew back a little, eyeing him uneasily. Delavale extracted a small fold of parchment. “Och, awie!” groaned MacLeod, with belated comprehension. “Did ye no get loose o' yon cypher?”

“Not only did I not, but it seems the army knows about it, and have put up a reward of one hundred pounds for any Jacobite fugitive caught carrying a ‘poem.'”

MacLeod voiced a string of profanity. “What d'ye mean tae do, sir?”

Delavale put the blue-wrapped cypher into the bag. “For a start, eat no more of these. Never look so glum. Here, you may have the other blue ones. If anything should happen to me, you must take the sweets to the home of Lord Boudreaux. It is in Grosvenor Square in London. Now—ride, man! The sooner we're back in Trowbridge with Miss Prue, the better I'll like it!”

His anxiety communicated itself to the Scotsman, and they rode on at reckless speed through the quiet night. They saw only one group of redcoats, torches bright as they searched a large farm wagon on a distant lane. Neither man commented, but they increased their speed.

At ten minutes past nine o'clock they paused at a decrepit hedge tavern to rest the horses and snatch a quick cold supper and a glass of ale, and half an hour later, they were back in the saddle, riding steadily westwards.

With every mile, Delavale's fears increased. What an unconscionable fool he had been! She would not have left him, surely? That fierce pride of hers would not cause her to run into danger? But Cole would guard her. She would be safe. She
must
be safe! If she was not, it would be all his fault. How could he have become so angry? But she'd been angry, too. He smiled fondly at his mount's ears. How she'd railed at him. And how gracefully she had sunk into that curtsey—with a feather duster flourished in her little hand.

“Did ye say something, sir?”

“Oh, er, no, Mac. I was just thinking of something.”

MacLeod's lips curved into a grin. He could guess of what the master had been thinking to bring that silly chuckle from him. He said nothing, however, and side by side they galloped on.

Delavale was crushingly weary when at last the many chimneys of The Black Lion loomed through the trees and they turned into the still lane. His eager eyes sought the window of her chamber. No light, but it was, of course, very late. Past one o'clock, for he'd heard a churchbell toll the—

The Black Lion leapt crazily onto its side. The moon shot down the heavens. In a wild tumbling confusion, Delavale was down, his hack squealing with terror, and a triumphant howl filling his ears. Dazedly, he fought his way to his knees. A gleam of steel plunged down at him, and he flung up one arm in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

As from a distance, he heard the eldritch blast of a Highland war cry.…

XX

For Prudence, the hours that followed Geoffrey's grandiose exit separated into three distinct phases. The first was commandeered by rage: a seething resentment that Geoffrey, Lord Delavale, had dared to judge a MacTavish to be so deficient in manners as to require instruction! And, even more heinous, that he had cringed from presenting so uncouth a peasant to his fine friend! Polite Society, Miss MacTavish impolitely informed a passing moth, could go and boil its collective head! She began to rehearse what she would say to my lord Delavale when he returned. This impressive speech began with a denunciation of outmoded snobbery and pretension, went on to condemn high-flown English arrogance, and, whipped by her growing passion, took in and elaborated upon Butcher Cumberland and the savage nature of the English army in general, and my lord Delavale in particular. At this point, reason crept in to remind her of Mr. Ligun Doone. Her rageful bubble collapsed.

Here began the second phase, this being a growing unease because Geoffrey (reprieved from being my lord Delavale) did not return. If he had been displeased, she thought resentfully, he had deserved it. Ligun Doone was well and good, but he was still a mere man. And she a woman. Refusing to admit that she wished to look her best when she devastated him with her speech (which would have to be edited, just a little), she rang for a maid and sent her gown to be pressed. She spent the intervening time in polishing her speech and planning her future. She would go home, of course, as soon as that could be arranged. Only she had no money to pay for her journey. She thought forlornly that she might have no home to go to, either, and two big tears slid slowly down her cheeks. Where did she belong? Her heart was in smashed, trampled pieces. She was unloved and unwanted. Her family was scattered, for she refused to believe that anything worse could have happened to them. Life, she decided, was treacherously hard. She thought, ‘Och, poor wee bairn,' and a watery giggle broke the silence of the little bedchamber.

The maid returned with her gown neatly pressed. Prudence allowed the girl to help her don it, then asked that she carry a message to her betrothed.

“Lord Delavale is gone out, biss,” said the maid snuffily, dabbing at her red nose.

Fright ushered Prudence into the third phase. Had Geoffrey left her? She managed to sound calm and said that my lord had indeed mentioned that he might have to leave for a short while. The maid's only comment being another sniff, Prudence was emboldened to request that Delavale's man be sent to her.

Since Cole soon scratched on her door, she was relieved of the fear that she was truly abandoned, but he told her that Master Geoffrey had left almost two hours since. His gloom was all too understandable. Whitening, Prudence gasped, “My God! The cypher!” and sat down abruptly.

“Aye,” Cole confirmed. “Gone off without me, and God only knows what he might run into. He's got no papers, Miss Prue. And if he should be stopped—” Here, belatedly, he noted the girl's terror and said bracingly, “Never look so afeared, ma'am. My lord took that great bare-kneed MacLeod with him, and for all he's a new man, he's devoted, I suppose.” He added grudgingly, “And he can fight, I'll say that for him. Better than I could, with one arm! Master will be back at any minute. You just wait and see.”

Wait, they did. Afternoon became dusk, dusk dragged into evening, night fell, and still Delavale had not returned. He had left strict instructions with Cole, so that Prudence was obliged to attempt to eat the dinner that was brought up to her parlour at seven o'clock.

The evening was cool and the wind blustery, but she was restless after her solitary meal, and she walked in the garden, going reluctantly to her parlour soon after nine o'clock. To prepare for bed was out of the question, and she looked through some old copies of
Ladies Magazine,
turning the pages with restless, unsteady hands until at last she became so drowsy that she fell asleep in the chair.

An ear-splitting Highland war cry woke her. It was cold and dark, for the candles had guttered and the fire was almost out, but from the windows came the glow of lanterns, and a great hubbub was arising in the yard.

Prudence was across the room in a flash and running to the stairs. She knew beyond doubting who was at the heart of the uproar, and a great flood of relief swept her when she saw him being aided into the vestibule, his arm across MacLeod's broad shoulders and his dark head bowed. She came down the stairs with a flutter of draperies and pushed her way through the excited little crowd of men in nightcaps and dressing gowns. MacLeod tossed her a tense look, opened his mouth, then shut it again. He looked rumpled, and there was a cut along his jaw. Cole, wearing a garish red-and-black dressing gown and a nightcap with a long red tassel, said quickly, “It's not bad, miss. Some thieves tried to waylay the Captain and he took a spill. Just a few grazes—nothing to be in the boughs about.”

Delavale lifted his head and peered at her. There was a large graze above his right eye, and his face was mud-streaked. He said thickly, “Prue…? You all right?”

She clasped his hand and assured him she was perfectly well.

“Disgraceful! Disgraceful!” cried the host, flushed and distressed. “That one of my guests should have been set upon! Practically in our own yard! We'd best have the Constable in!”

Delavale threw a warning glance at Prudence and she said quickly, “No, no. It was not your blame, host, and I had sooner see my lord brought quietly to my parlour so I can tend his hurts. Can you manage the stairs, dear sir?”