The Black Knave (36 page)

“You are not eating, madam.”

“I am interested in you. You are enjoying this much too much.”

“I have never been out on an excursion like this before.”

Why not with Mary, if he’d wanted one? Why was he charming her so? And he was. She felt as if she were melting into a small puddle, just asking him to step into it.

But at the moment she did not want to bring Mary into the conversation. She wanted to learn more about this man who was her husband. Even if she did intend to leave him, to leave Scotland with her brother, to run far out of Cumberland’s and her grandfather’s reach.

Jack suddenly darted out of her arms and onto the cloth, snatching a piece of meat from the pheasant.

“You see,” Rory said. “He will be all right. He’s a braw lad.”

She nibbled on the pheasant, sharing it with the dog who had now seemed completely recuperated. Her hand ruffled his drying fur. She had come so close to losing him, and at the moment he was all she had. “Aye,” she said. “He is that.”

“As his mistress is a brave lass.”

She looked up sharply. She wished she did not always wonder what he wanted.

“I would like to journey to the Innes land,” she said, deciding to try his approachability. “Anne Innes is a friend.”

“How good a friend?”

She tried not to show resentment at the question. Any husband would ask the question. “A fine one,” she said.

A light quenched in his eyes. He shrugged. “I am aware of the family. She is Jacobite.”

She sat, waiting, as his eyes seemed to study her thoughts.

“I think not,” he said after a long silence.

Her heart dropped. For a moment, she had hoped he would agree.

“A letter then,” she said. “She was betrothed to my older brother.” She hated to plead for even that small privilege.

He drank some more wine before answering. She held herself very still. He was making it clear he was still her master, regardless of those few moments of warmth. “Aye,” he said finally. “I will send someone with it this afternoon.”

“Thank you.” She should feel a moment of triumph, but she did not. She had to leave Braemoor, but now she knew she would leave with an empty place inside her. She wondered whether she would always look for that crooked smile.

She wished she could tell him everything, that she planned to ask Anne to find the Knave for her. Then she and her brother would disappear. But this was his home, and she was his wife, and everything he had recently acquired was dependent on her.

He rose, gathered up the food. Then he offered her assistance in mounting, but all the warmth was gone. He was cool. The arrogant smile was back on his lips. He was a stranger again and, oddly enough, she felt as if she’d just lost a friend.

With Jack clinging to her feet, Bethia spent the afternoon composing her letter. Every once in a while, she leaned down and rubbed his back and he growled with pleasure. ‘Twas a small, fierce rumble.

She could not put from her mind the different faces of Rory Forbes, Marquis of Braemoor. Wry. Thoughtful. Whimsical. Severe. Cold.

She tried to shake the thoughts from her mind and concentrate on the letter. She could not depend on the hope that he would not read it. And she had no idea what the marquis would do if he did read that, in essence, she was asking an enemy of the state to help her escape her marriage and her brother escape the Duke of Cumberland.

If his position and wealth were truly jeopardized, would he try to stop her?

So she very carefully wrote her note:

Anne,

I wanted you to know now much I miss you, and the friends we last discussed. I will always remember the journey to the sea. I wish I could go there again. Or that you could visit me at Braemoor. I would like to take you to Loch Maire. My husband took me there today, and ft is truly lovely. We ate on a finger of land that jutted out into the loch. It is an isolated spot, seldom used. I was hoping you could come, even as soon as the new moon. We could ride out and watch it shimmer under the moonlight. Tell our friend not to worry about the debt. It can be repaid when we meet again. And we can laugh together again about how last I looked.

Your friend,

Bethia

She sealed it, then gave it to Trilby to take to the marquis. She did not think she could bear seeing the marquis again. He was far too dangerous to her emotions, to her usual practicality. He confused her, and she knew she could not afford to be confused.

Rory delivered the letter to Anne Innes himself.

He knew taking Bethia to the loch had been a mistake. He’d just thought she would enjoy it, and she’d had precious few moments of enjoyment. He had not expected the warmth that flared between them—or maybe he had. He’d thought he could control his desire for her, his need, and he’d been shocked when he’d discovered he could not.

He knew then he could not stay at Braemoor, waiting for Alister to return. He had to get away from the tower house, from Bethia, before he destroyed all of them.

He would deliver the letter, then make a trip to Edinburgh. Two days’ hard riding to get there, two back. That should cool his … infatuation. Perhaps he could even find an agreeable woman, one who would make no demands on his heart or emotions. One that was free of loyalties, just as he was. One that would just enjoy an evening of lovemaking.

He’d liked Anne Innes, but he’d not tarried long. She had greeted him with wariness and it was clear she thought him something less than human. Still, conscious of the Highland custom of hospitality, she’d invited him to stay to sup with them. But he had already made enough mistakes; he needed no other person to see more than he wanted them to see.

The estate reeked of neglect, mainly, he supposed, because of lack of money, and the lady herself had a sadness about her. He quickly learned that her father was very ill, and had been for a long time. None of her relatives had fought with the young prince, which had saved them from the depredations suffered by other Jacobite families. Still, her cattle had been rounded up and sold for practically nothing to the Scottish Lowlanders who had supported the English crown.

Rory made a mental note to see that the cattle were replaced and that a sum of money would suddenly be repaid, a long neglected debt to her father. She’d given him no letter in return, but did ask him to tell Bethia that she missed her but understood everything.

“You will tell her that,” she emphasized. “That I understood.”

He assured her he would. Then he turned toward Edinburgh. He wanted to know whether Elizabeth had learned of any other Jacobites looking for safety, since this was likely to be the last voyage. He would also listen to what the English military said, whether there were any leads to the Black Knave. And, particularly, whether his usual coastal rendezvous was still safe.

Those were his excuses, at least, excuses to keep him away from Braemoor. Bloody hell, but he was drawn to Bethia like metal to a lodestone. She filled so many lonely places inside him.

He had to keep away from her.

Rory rode for two days straight, stopping only to rest his horse, and for several hours to rest himself. He reached Edinburgh late the second day.

English troops were everywhere. He wondered whether others felt the deep, visceral resentment that he did. He had not cared that much before Culloden. His father had been intrinsically linked to the country, and Rory had so much simmering resentment for him that Scotland drew precious little loyalty from him. But in the past few months, he had witnessed fortitude and courage. He had ridden the Highlands and passed through the glens and over the gorges. He had seen the tears in the eyes of those forced to leave, and that grief had transferred itself to him. He felt their courage, their fierce loyalty to each other, to their cause, and for the first time he had a sense of place, and knew he would miss it.

The Fox and Hare was noisy and full, but he readily found the innkeeper. “Ye ha’ been neglecting us, my lord,” the man fawned.

“Aye, some business at home.”

“How long do ye plan to stay this time?”

“Only a day or two. I have need of clothes. The Duke of Cumberland has told me of a new tailor.”

At the mention of the most powerful man in Scotland and the second most powerful in England, the man fairly danced with excitement. “I will ha’ yer rooms aired and a fire prepared.”

“A bath, too.”

The owner was well used to his client’s habits and knew he would be well-paid for tending to them. “Aye.”

Rory waited until long past midnight, until the tavern was clear of the last customer. He told the innkeeper he did not want to be disturbed. Then he changed to the clothes of a beggar, put cotton in his mouth to change the shape of his face, then pulled on a unkempt wig of long, dark hair.

He dribbled some rum over his lips and onto his clothes, then slipped out the door to a back stairs and down the street. Rory kept to the shadows, sliding to the ground and snoring loudly when a patrol passed. He finally approached Elizabeth’s house, making sure that no one else was on the street. He had not been able to warn her of his visit. He could only hope that she had no male guest this night.

He reached her rooms without problem, and rapped four times, waited, then rapped again.

No answer.

He started to rap again when he heard someone stir. Elizabeth had a maid that came each day, but did not live in the house. Discretion, she always claimed.

She opened the door and he slipped inside, taking one last look at the empty side street.

She started, then looked closer. “Dear God, but you should have been an actor,” she said.

“I might just do that in the Colonies,” he said. “I will ha’ to change my name, though.”

“You are leaving?”

“Aye, with the next shipment. My new wife will be aboard and, with the devil’s help, her brother. I doubt the marquis of Braemoor would survive their disappearance. Cumberland would never understand.”

“You are going to France?”

“Nay, I will take Bethia there, then find passage to the Colonies. Can you get word to the others that this will be the last shipment for the Knave? And to our people at Nairn that I need a dead body? About my height and weight. They are not to make one,” he added quickly. “Merely to locate one already dead for one reason or another.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I do not want blame to fall on the Forbeses. Rory Forbes must die trying to keep his wife in Scotland. Alister and Mary will be charged with helping her, but they, too, will be gone.”

She smiled at him. “Neither of them are Forbeses.”

“Exactly. My cousin should be clear.”

“I did not believe you liked your cousin.”

Rory shrugged. “He is a good manager. I wish no man to pay for my actions.”

“I will miss you, Rory.”

He took the cloth from his cheeks and kissed her.

“That was far too much a brotherly kiss,” she protested.

He kissed her again, a kiss of memories and affection and good-bye. His lips lingered, but there was none of the exhilaration he felt with Bethia, only the sad parting of two good friends. “I will write you.”

“And who should I expect to sign the letter?”

He thought for a moment. “What about Lazarus?”

She grinned. “Just make sure you do rise from the dead, my lord.”

He started out the door. “If anyone knows of Jacobites, tell them to go toward Banff. Buckie might be watched now. Tell them to look for a farm five miles inland of the village; they will tell them where to wait.” He gave her specific directions. “Tell them to be there within two weeks.”

When he finished, he put the cloth back in his cheeks. “I must go before the inn starts stirring.”

“Godspeed, my lord.”

“Rory,” he said.

“Godspeed, Rory.”

“And you, love.” He took a bag from his pocket and placed it on a table.

“No, Rory.”

“In the name of all those you have helped,” he said. “You might have to leave yourself. This can help buy your way.” Then he quickly left before she could say anything more, before she saw the moisture in his eyes. He had too few friends. He knew he would not see this one again.

Upon his return, Rory went first to the smithy where he found Alister shoeing a horse.

“Your visit was successful?”

“Aye,” Alister said. “I have a letter but I have not given it to her. I wanted to wait for you. I also have drawn a map of the castle where young Dougal is being held. He is a bright young lad, as quick as his mistress.”

The boy was fine, he added.

Alister had arranged several moments with him alone and had questioned him. The lad knew of a way in and out of the castle; apparently he’d charmed one of the serving girls into revealing a possible escape route. But he’d had no horse, no money. He was also locked in his room at night, and had a minder most of the time. “I think he has just been biding his time, waiting for an opportunity.”

“What way?”

“A drain in the kitchen leads into sewers. The sewers dump into a moat.”

“It would be a nasty swim.”

“Aye, but the lad can do it, I think. He is well worried about his sister. He feels he needs to protect her.”

“Ha. The lad needs to protect
me
from her wicked tongue,” Rory said ruefully.

“I thought you had a truce.”

Rory shrugged. ” ‘Tis not easy being anyone’s prisoner. I ha’ been keeping a tight rein on her. She is more afraid than she wants anyone to know, and she might well do something foolish before I can work things out.”

” ‘Tis said she had been ill.”

Alarm filled Rory. “Ill?”

Alister looked at him curiously. “For three days. A physician was called. He apparently told Neil it was only ‘female problems,’ and naught to worry about. Young Jamie at the stable told me about it when I returned from Fort William.”

“She is all right now?”

“Aye,” Alister said. “It appears so.”

Rory’s stomach clenched. What if it were serious? What if she were with child? But then, would the physician not have revealed that? His child? If so, could he let her go? It was already excruciating to think that she might disappear from his life. Since that first crackling energy sparked between them, he’d felt more alive than he’d felt in his life. The sky was bluer, the air fresher, the moon brighter.