by Jackie Ivie
“Please?”
“I’ve still a prince to sway with my plans, Lisle. I canna’ afford dissent in my own bed.”
“Please, Langston?”
They had reached the stallions. There was a mounting block beside Blizzom. Langston ignored it and put his hands about the golden girdle that was around her waist, and had to try twice before he could lift her.
“You weigh five stone more, wife.”
“’Tis your gold creating such,” she replied. “I can scarce walk.”
“Forgive me.”
The words were meant to convey more. Lisle watched him mount Torment, who tossed his head a couple of times before coming under control.
“Come. Stay close to me. I will na’ let you from my sight this eve. I daren’t.”
“Truth?” she asked, without inflection.
“Of course. I’ll na’ let my lady get far. How can I? She’s a fortune in gold on her.”
“And it’s easier to make certain of what she does and does na’ do. As well as what she might say. I ken there’s another reason to this truth.”
He looked over at her, as he got close. “Truth has many layers, remember?”
“Oh, aye. I recollect that lesson very well. As well as I recollect the reason you gave me for stopping in the midst of the North Sea in order to calm my belly. It had naught to do with having to await the rest of your armada. None at all.”
“I also wanted the other. ’Twas nae lie.”
“’Twas nae truth, either.”
“Very well. ’Twas half a truth. Fair?”
“Naught is fair, Monteith, recollect that as well? This is a negotiation. Very well. Carry on. Take me to this prince that cost us so heavily last year, and is preparing to do the same to the Highlands once again. He dinna’ even have the heart to stay and fight and die like a man. He ran!”
“He had to run, Lisle. If he’d been taken, there’d be nae chance ever again. Never.”
“There is nae chance now, Monteith. Remember I said it.”
“I ken.” He looked away from her and back at the columns of men that were of an uncountable number, the rows of bagpipers, the drums, the large banners held aloft every fifty or so men, that had a dark green background with the golden lion passant at the center of each. It was very impressive. It was all for one man, one reason, one unattainable vision that had already been proved impossible.
She wrapped her hands around the pommel of Blizzom’s saddle, although the green-and-gold-bedecked riding platform that she was on didn’t look remotely like the saddle she’d been on before. It was too richly appointed, and too large, and tassels of real gold trailed to the streets where the populace was probably hoping it would fray and lose some of it. She started praying, like she hadn’t in months, fervently, and with her entire heart and soul.
Someone gave a signal. It was the long, drawn-out note, and the moment it ended the drums started, thumping in rhythm to her own pulse, or creating a beat that dragged her pulse into cadence with it, and then the skirl of pipes started up. The column didn’t have to wend its way through anything because people immediately moved out of the way for them.
Their destination didn’t merit the time it took to mount up and start a drumroll, since they were merely traveling down one rue and stopping at a large, imposing gate that was probably located on castle grounds still.
The word MONTBAZON was emblazoned into the ironwork gate.
They were at the front steps before a retinue of servants came out, one of whom appeared to have the authority to meet a contingency looking like an invading army, moving in perfect unison. Langston held up his arm, and two-by-two they all came to a halt.
“We’ve come to see my prince!” he shouted down at the group of servants, and the brave one stepped out and told them that the prince no longer kept Madame de Montbazon company. There was more to it, but Langston’s lips simply thinned, and he dismounted. He took Etheridge in with him, and three more Lisle didn’t recognize, and there was a thunderous look about his features when he returned.
They turned around with a precision that defied explanation, and Lisle watched as two-by-two they passed the column that was sitting, awaiting their own turn. There wasn’t a sound made; no drum…no pipe, only horse hooves, only leather creaking and bridles jangling in the late afternoon sunlight.
Lisle leaned a bit to ask, “What has happened, Langston?”
“Our prince is a bonny fellow.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I would go to the Chateau de Valmilarot, where he lives, but he is na’ at his abode.”
“How do you know?”
“I employ spies, Lisle. I do so when I have a need to know things.”
“So…he was supposed to be here?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
“He keeps the Lady de Montbazon company while her husband is in military service.”
“So…where is he?”
“Apparently, he was keeping Louise too much company, and now that she is expecting his child, he has left her to face the ruination alone. She is in seclusion. She is very unhappy. I doona’ blame her.”
Lisle gasped.
“You wish to hear the rest?”
She nodded.
“He has taken up with the Princess of Talmont. Apparently, this is news to all, especially the Lady de Montbazon.”
“Is he with the princess now?”
“If I had paid to have him followed I wouldn’t be in this situation, where I have legions following me, making a spectacle about me, and incapable of providing clear direction to any.”
Lisle’s lips were twisting, but she kept the glee inside. God was answering her prayers…already. “Is this the man you would give your life’s blood for?” she asked.
His eyes were black, so he wasn’t going to be open with her. He was probably keeping it from himself, as well.
“I would go to the grave for my prince. I would do whatever it takes to get my respect, life, and liberty back. That is what I will do. Even if I have to sober him up, button up his trousers, and prop him onto a throne in order to make it happen!”
“I hope your men feel the same,” she replied.
“They doona’ know what you know. I would prefer it kept that way.”
Lisle nodded. She didn’t wish to foul her mouth with tales, even if they were truth. Besides, she didn’t have anyone to impart the story to, even if she wanted to. Betsy, Cassie, and Bess were all starry-eyed at the prospect of staying in a real royal palace. If she dared mention anything scandalous about Bonnie Prince Charlie, she’d probably find herself stuck with a sewing pin, instead of using them to hold the fabric together.
The Princess of Talmont was in, the prince of the House of Stuart was said to be with her, and Monteith would be granted an audience if he waited for the household to prepare for such an honor.
Langston sat atop Torment, clenched his jaw until a nerve poked out the side, and held the black anger inside where no one could see it. He should have checked with his spies instead of trusting to details that were days old. He should have prepared for contingencies. He’d taught himself better; no loose openings, no unknown quantities, no women. He glanced sidelong at Lisle again, and felt the same stutter in his ribcage that had him going to a knee the moment he’d seen her.
He knew she was the loveliest woman alive. There was something about the light behind her blue eyes, and the joy behind her smile, and even the anger behind the words she used to flay him with. She had fire. That’s what it was, and everything he’d purchased and designed was putting that on display. She was the fire that burned deep in his heart, making him stumble when he couldn’t afford to.
He was a diplomat with a prince to sway, and a country to gain. He was an actor with a part to play. He was a liar, and an expert one. He couldn’t afford to just be Lisle Monteith’s husband.
He groaned.
“Her Highness will see you now.”
A bewig
ged butler announced it, and Langston held up his hand for the three men he’d chosen to come with him, and dismounted. He thought for a scant moment about bringing Lisle. He didn’t dare. He turned his back on her and walked up the steps.
The princess was nearing her fortieth winter, if Langston’s eye was correct, and she was alone. Langston eyed the remains of a feast, several wine decanters, and more than one tankard brimming with ale.
Such a thing could be used to his advantage. Many a man had found himself locked into things he wouldn’t have agreed to if he’d been sober. He approached the high-backed chair the princess was perched in and went to his knee, clanging the broadsword at his hip with the movement. Beside him, the three men did the exact same movement with the exact same sound, although it was behind his.
“Langston Leed Monteith, laird of Clan Monteith; protector of Clans MacDugall, MacDonald, and MacIntyre, to see my one true lord and liege.”
“You…come too late, my lord,” came the answer. The princess was frightened. Either that, or she’d imbibed too freely.
Langston went back to his feet, the others following suit with the exact motion. “What do you mean…too late?”
She smiled. It wasn’t comely. Langston blinked. The woman was forty, and she wasn’t attractive. There was no accounting for a man’s taste, however. He’d long ago learned not to puzzle it.
“Your prince…has fled.”
“Fled!” The word exploded from his lips. The princess jumped. “He knew the dates! He knew the plans! I left nothing to chance. Nothing.”
“You left human nature to chance, my lord.”
She looked wise beyond her years all of a sudden. Langston’s eyes narrowed. “Go on,” he said.
She shrugged, lifting a tired bosom with the motion. Everything she did looked tired, he decided.
“Well?” Langston put a hand to his hip. The other still rested on his sword hilt.
“Prince Charlie left this morn. Before the gossip broke.”
“What gossip?”
“Surely you’ve just come from Montbazon?” she supplied.
He nodded, the motion curt.
“And Madame de Montbazon kept her silence from you? That is a surprise. She has been spouting her misfortune on every ear that will listen since yestermorn, when your prince joined with me.”
“I haven’t time for this! I must find my prince!”
“He sailed already. It’s too late.”
“Sailed?” Langston’s heart was falling, inch by tormenting inch. It was paining clear to his fingertips with how it felt, too. He swallowed. “To where?”
She shrugged again.
“You know. You’re paying.”
She smiled again. “True.”
“Tell me the direction. I may yet stop this!”
“I’m not so certain I should.”
“What?” It was the second time he’d shouted at her. She didn’t look like it was a normal occurrence. Etheridge put a broadsword against Langston’s thigh in warning.
“If I tell you where he is, you’ll go after him?”
Langston nodded. He didn’t trust his tongue. Rage was difficult to control when combined with the impotence of his position. He twisted the hilt of his sword until it felt like the gold was being moved and molded by his fingers.
“And if you reach him, what happens?”
“He gains his country back. What else?”
“And I lose him.”
Langston narrowed his eyes and pinned her in place. “Tell me the direction and the tide.”
“Or…?” she asked.
He pulled his sword. Three other blades joined his. She waved her hand, and guards stepped forward, filling the sides of the room. Langston counted eleven without his eyes leaving her face. She was smiling again. She was still unpleasant to look upon, he decided.
“He doesn’t wish to go with you.”
“How do you know?”
She shifted her head slightly, and a missive was held out to him from his left side. Langston swallowed before reaching for it. He wondered if this was how Lisle had felt. How he’d made her feel. He didn’t like the comparison.
“You would wish to support a sovereign, without a country, at your side?”
“It’s that, or no sovereign at all. Read. Don’t listen to just me. Read.”
There were four words on the paper, and the distinctive seal of the House of Stuart at the bottom of it. God go with you.
“He will na’ come with us?” Etheridge asked at his side.
Langston handed the parchment to him. There was a grunt as he also read it. The swords were lowered.
“What shall we do now, my laird?” his second-in-command asked.
“We do what we need to do. Without him.”
He swung on his heel and marched out of the room without a backward glance. The three clansmen were with him every step.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Langston Monteith was known as the Black Monteith, and it was due to his temperament. It had to be. Lisle had been ill every morning they were sailing, although the ship was making very good headway with a healthy wind behind it, making any wave unnoticeable. By afternoon, she was always feeling better, drinking broth, and trying to sway him.
There was only one thing left in her arsenal, and she was afraid to use it. He wasn’t speaking with her anyway. He was studying things at his table, spreading maps and charts and drawing lines, and coloring in glens and shading forests, delineating even the gulches and moors, and if she chanced to try and look, he was bundling it all into a large roll and walking out.
He hadn’t said a word to her after leaving the residence where their prince was staying. He hadn’t said whether his plan to sway the prince had been successful or not. He had such a dark look about him, she thought it must not have been. Then again, if his plan had worked, and the prince was aboard any other ship, then Langston was planning and preparing and gearing up for a large confrontation that might result in death, in which event he might look just as grim.
Any man would.
He wasn’t sleeping, either. Or he wasn’t sleeping with her. Lisle reached out every night for the place he’d been, and never once did she connect with him; until the last night. He must have finalized what he had to do, for when she woke the final day, he was there, watching her, and he was smiling.
“’Tis been rough, Lisle love,” he said in a gruff voice that probably went for an apology.
“Better than my first crossing,” she replied.
“Truth. You are a horrid sailor. You’d have been tossed overboard had this been Solomon at the helm.”
“Nae!” she responded.
He smiled. “I’d say I jest, but it would be a lie. Then again, since I lie very well, how would you know?”
“’Tis a strange honeymoon you accorded me, Langston,” she remarked when all he did was sit there and trace little circles about the coverlet’s quilting threads.
He looked across at her and smiled. “Aye. That it was.”
Lisle gathered her nerve and asked it. “Does the prince sail with us?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
“Of course! There is a huge bounty on his head. He’ll na’ be safe anywhere in the country.”
“I’ve enough men to guarantee his safety.”
“The Sassenach have more, Langston. They always have more. That’s why they always win.”
“Not always. Recollect I told you of…Saladin, the Arabian general?” His voice broke before the name, and a shadow went across his face.
“Was there huge loss of life?” she asked.
He looked at her, and made her wonder if he was going to tell her the truth. “Aye,” he replied finally.
“Then…was it worth it?”
“To gain what we must, it will be worth it. Trust me.”
“I canna’ trust you, Langston.”
He sucked in air at the surprise. “Why na’?” he asked.
“Becau
se to be trusted, a man must be trustworthy. His word must be his bond. He canna’ tell lies, and expect to be believed when he is na’ telling a lie.”
“I doona’ think I like this conversation very much, Lisle love.”
“You’re going to like it a lot less in a moment, Langston Leed.”
He smiled at her use of his names, since she’d given them the same inflection he had. “Go on,” he said finally.
“I doona’ wish you to risk it. There is too much to lose.”
“There is too much not to try.”
“You’ve given them back their self-respect. You’ve given clansmen back their joy, their worth, made them walk like men again, rather than slink about like shadows. You’ve given the glens new life, and you’re willing to toss it all away? For what?”
“Freedom,” he replied.
“There is nae such thing.”
“There is. It’s in everything about us. Do you na’ see? It’s in every drop of rain that hits the ground. It’s in every wisp of fog, every gurgle of every burn, and it’s in every whisper of the grasses out on the moors. It’s everywhere. It’s just not in here.” He thumped his chest with a sideways fist. “And that hurts too much to let it go.”
“What if you’re…taken?”
“I had the dower house constructed for a reason, Lisle. ’Tis very fine, the best stone, the finest furniture from the finest craftsmen. I had it hidden away, cleared forest to make it as sheltered as possible. ’Tis na’ even possible to see it, unless one knows where it is.”
“I canna’ live in a dower house, Langston,” she whispered.
“Why na’?”
“Because I am na’ a widow.”
“You’ll na’ need to take up residency anytime soon. I’m simply preparing for everything that could happen.”
“Langston.” Lisle reached out and touched his hand with her forefinger. Then, she opened her hand and spread it atop his, much like she had in the carriage following their wedding.
“Aye?”
Something had shifted, turning the black back into the amber brown she loved. Lisle knew what it was. He couldn’t pretend when his emotions were involved, and that was the only hold she had.
“You dinna’ plan for our son,” she whispered.
