Christmas Spirits

by Charles, Jane

  He was also their most important customer and one they did not wish anger. Lachlan had reminded her time and time again that whenever His Grace requested a shipment, it was to be sent immediately. Which was all fine and good, until there was no one to make the delivery.

  She needed to find a way to get the whisky to Danby Castle and the rest would just have to wait. Except she had no idea how to go about it.

  Lifting the lamp from the desk, Mary made her way to the stables. She could use the traveling coach, with the Brachton coat of arms, as her brother often did, with the bottles wrapped in wool and hidden in the seats and floor. But, that would require a driver and a maid to accompany her, thus putting three people at risk if they were caught.

  Beside the coach was the wagon Magnus used for deliveries, and above it on wide shelves, the means in which he used to hide the whisky. A smile pulled at her lips. “Of course!” She had driven many wagons in the past and was quite comfortable doing so. Happy with her plan, Mary made her way to the distillery and gave instructions to have the wagon prepared so that she could leave at first light and hope the excisemen were gone. She couldn’t delay longer or His Grace wouldn’t have his whisky in time for Christmas. She wouldn’t be home by Christmas, but at least His Grace would be happy, and that was really all that mattered.

  Chapter 2

  Being Danby’s errand boy was certainly more preferable to being married to someone his great-uncle had chosen. However, it also made for a tedious trip. Especially on roads that were either covered in snow, ice, or coated in thick mud, and sometimes a combination of all three. The past summer had been the worst in memory and Benjamin wasn’t even sure if the sun shone once, and the winter promised to be worse. Half of his crops had been lost and his tenants had nothing in their cupboards. Of course, he had seen that they were fed, but it was going to be a long, miserable winter.

  Given he was traveling north, Ben had first stopped at his estate in Northumberland so that he could advise his mother that her fears were for naught and that Danby had no intention of marrying him off to a stranger. However, he had been ordered to bring her and his siblings with him on his return to Danby Castle.

  The only other time he’d seen her turn so pale was when the first letter from the duke had arrived, demanding their presence.

  “But if he isn’t interested in finding you a bride, then he must wish to take my daughters away.”

  “As my sisters are eighteen and twenty, it is time they consider taking husbands.”

  “You can’t mean that,” she cried and threw herself upon the settee. “I’ve already lost my husband, and two of my sons. You can’t wish to take my daughters away too.”

  His mother had always been overly dramatic, and usually Benjamin suffered her emotions, but it was beginning to wear on his nerves. “You have not lost the twins. Nate travels and Samuel resides elsewhere. And there is nothing to keep you from visiting him. I’ve offered several times to purchase your passage but you refuse to go.”

  “Oh, this is just dreadful,” she cried again. “I do not know what is worse. You taking a bride or my daughters being taken away from me,” she said, ignoring his offer once again to ship her to Barbados where he hoped she’d have a long and pleasant stay.

  “How does my marrying affect you? It isn’t as though I’ll be leaving.”

  She gasped. “A bride will usurp me in my own home. Why, she might even insist that I leave.”

  “Oh for the love of ….”

  “Benjamin, I will not tolerate blasphemy in my house.”

  His jaw tightened for a moment as he refrained from reminding her that it was his house. “My wife, if I ever gain one, will not ask you to leave. However, there is a perfectly lovely dower house that you did not hesitate to send my grandmother to when you married Father. I think it might suit you very well.”

  She gasped again. “But my daughters. I’d never see them.”

  He was not about to argue further when they both knew that the distance between the dower house and the manor was nothing more than a vast garden. One his mother made use of often during the summer months. “It does not matter at the moment as I have no plans on marrying anytime soon.” He stood. “As for now, I expect you, my sisters and Peter to be ready to depart when I return from Falkirk.”

  “You are serious?”

  “Very much so, Madam. I have not angered His Grace yet, and I do not wish to do so now.”

  Without a backward glance, Benjamin stormed from his house and launched himself into the carriage. The person who needed to be married off was his mother so she’d have someone else to fixate on instead of trying to keep her family under one roof as if they were still on leading strings. His sisters would need to marry one day and Peter, as well. Then what would she do with herself, except try and run his life, and that of his future wife and children.

  Perhaps he should just settle on a wife, have an heir and a spare, so his mother would have someone to take care of. Of course, a wife might not appreciate her interference, but he’d worry about that later.

  A better solution would be to marry his sisters off. As soon as they delivered a child or two, his mother would be at their homes. The gentlemen, of course, would need to have an estate further away than Ainwick, where Abigail lived. Mother could visit her oldest daughter during the day and return in time for supper. No, his sisters needed to find husbands who had homes in places like Cornwall or Dover.

  He grinned out at the passing scenery. A trip to the other end of England would mean she would visit for weeks and not just hours. A most excellent idea and when he returned to Danby Castle, he might just ask his great-uncle for assistance in seeing the matter done.

  * * *

  It had been a good plan. It still was a good plan. Well, with the exception of the broken wheel. Mary had traveled two days without incident, and this was the worst location for the wheel to break—right at the border, just inside Scotland. Few miles separated her from England right now and the borders were more heavily patrolled than anywhere else.

  Mary stared at the wagon and tried to determine what to do. She certainly couldn’t fix it herself. Nor could she leave the wagon and horses to walk to the next town.

  She could take the horses with her, riding one, but what of the whisky? If she left it behind, would someone take it?

  Perhaps no one would even look for it. If she came across this wagon, she’d give it a wide berth, but could the same be said for others?

  Well, she couldn’t stay here another night either, and she’d already wasted a good part of the day trying to decide the best course of action. Luckily, a stream was nearby so the horses were able to drink, but there wasn’t much left for them to eat. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she could also do with a meal.

  Why did this happen to her now? She’d driven a wagon half way across the Continent, following her late husband, a major with the guards, without one mishap. Not one. Of course, had a wheel broken then, an entire army would have been at her disposal to see it fixed.

  Mary had thought about those soldiers last night as she’d lain under the stars in the back of the wagon. It was a frigid night, but the blankets kept her warm and it was really no different than how she’d slept many a night before she was widowed. On a few occasions, they found inns and were able to stay within. Other times, tents were set. The cots usually no more comfortable than the ground, and she had spent many nights sleeping under the stars beside a low fire. Much like last night, minus the warm fire and hundreds of other people.

  At times she was fearful, being all alone, but she had a pistol, and was proficient in using it. But nobody rode by. Not a single person, unless they had during the few times she’d slept. But nobody had stopped. They probably wouldn’t have even known she was hidden beneath so many blankets.

  The rattle of wheels of an approaching carriage drew her attention. As much as she wanted help, Mary was also a bit wary. She moved her hands over her clothing to make sure all w
as in place, then made sure her hat was secure and that no hair had escaped. Once certain that her appearance was what it should be, Mary sauntered around the front of the wagon and stood before the horses, hoping the driver of the carriage would stop. Not that they could miss her, the wagon was taking up half of the road.

  Please let it be someone who can help.

  A moment later, a traveling coach came around the curve and began to slow until it stopped right beside the wagon. Two men sat in the driver’s seat and one hopped down, coming toward her.

  “What is amiss, lad?”

  “Broken wheel.”

  The servant walked around the opposite side of the wagon and nodded. “Are you waiting for someone to come back with a new wheel?”

  The door to the traveling coach opened, and a gentleman stepped out and started to come toward them. Mary drew into herself a bit more, thankful that the clothing she wore was large for her frame.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Broken wheel,” the servant called out.

  The gentleman stopped before her and Mary looked up. He had the blondest hair and such soft, warm brown eyes, untouched by pain, horror or suffering. It still shocked her to see painless eyes even though she’d been back in Scotland for over a year. Then again, she rarely left her family’s land.

  “Is there any way we can be of assistance?”

  She shrugged and concentrated on keeping her voice low. “Unless ye have an extra wheel, I’m no’ sure ye can.”

  The gentleman looked around. “Are you alone out here?”

  Mary’s hand tightened on the pistol in her pocket. “Aye.”

  “When did it break?”

  “Last night.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been out here alone this entire time?”

  He was overly alarmed. This was an inconvenience, not a tragedy.

  “How old are you?”

  “Three and twenty.”

  Skepticism shone in his eyes, but the gentleman didn’t argue the point. Why didn’t he believe her? Why would she lie about her age?

  “Your name?”

  “Mar…” Goodness, she almost gave her real name. But what could she say now? Mary’s brain scrambled, trying to come up with a male name that sound like Mary. “Maryn. Maryn Grant.” Was Maryn even a name?

  “Benjamin Storm, Earl of Kenley,” he introduced himself.

  And a fine earl he was. Such friendly eyes, strong nose, high cheekbones, firm lips.

  Mary blinked. She shouldn’t be studying his face, nor admiring his features. She was a respectable widow!

  “You’re traveling alone?”

  “Aye. Deliverin’.” She pointed to the wagon behind her, and concentrated on saying as few words as possible.

  Lord Kenley lifted his head and his eyes grew wide again. “A coffin?”

  “Somebody needs ta.”

  “Where’s it going?”

  Mary thought for a moment. She could name her brother’s estate, but that wasn’t where she was truly bound and it was always best to stay as close to the truth when delivering illegal whisky. When your family and ancestors had been smugglers for decades, it unfortunately became natural in situations such as this to tell half-truths. “Danby Castle.” It wasn’t as though Lord Kenley would ask for details. One would not inquire of the Duke of Danby about coffins being delivered. Or, at least, she wouldn’t.

  “Danby Castle?” Kenley asked slowly and with suspicion. “Who died?”

  She hadn’t anticipated this question and once again frantically tried to think of an answer, but no name came to her. “I’m not sure I should be tellin’ ya.”

  “As I am His Grace’s great-nephew I have an interest as to who’s in that coffin.”

  Mary could feel the blood drain from her face. Her cheeks were suddenly colder than they’d ever been last night.

  This trip had gone from bad to…well, much, much worse.

  He tilted his head and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “As he or she is to be buried in the Whitton cemetery, I believe I have a right to know who met with their demise.”

  Mary swallowed against the lump in her throat. Why hadn’t she named Lachlan’s estate? Her brother would have covered for her if anyone asked. Why did the duke’s great-nephew have to be the one to come across her?

  Chapter 3

  Grant was not an uncommon surname in Scotland and Benjamin might not have thought twice about it. However, this pup was delivering a coffin to Danby Castle. If a relative of his had died, no matter how distant the relation, he would have known. Especially since they were to be buried in the Whitton family cemetery. Maryn was so nervous that Benjamin couldn’t help but assume that he’d found his great-uncle’s shipment. “Are you related to Marquess of Brachton by chance?”

  The lad blinked up at him in surprise. “He’s my older brother.”

  He strode past Maryn, to the wagon.

  “What are ye doin’?” Maryn cried.

  “I thought to see which of my relatives has departed as you won’t tell me.” Benjamin jumped up into the wagon.

  “Ye canna look in there.”

  Benjamin reached to open the lid. “Why not?”

  “It isna pretty. Horrible accident.”

  “At least tell me who’s in there.”

  Maryn blinked at him again, but no name came forth. However, he was in a near panic.

  “Just let me look so I know if I’ll need to continue onto Falkirk.”

  “Falkirk.” Maryn’s voice squeaked. It was impossible the lad was above fourteen years by the changes in his voice, and he was much too young to be tasked with smuggling whisky.

  “Yes. Falkirk.”

  “Why would ye be goin’ to Falkirk?”

  Benjamin straightened in the wagon and planted his hands on his hips. “My great-uncle, the Duke of Danby, has been waiting on something to be delivered. As it has not arrived, he sent me to retrieve it.”

  Maryn’s blue eyes grew even wider and his mouth dropped open. “From where in Falkirk?”

  “Marquess of Brachton.”

  “Do ye ken what he was wantin’?,” the lad asked slowly.

  Benjamin bit back a chuckle as he jumped back down to the road and walked over to the boy. “I don’t think you want me actually announcing it, do you?”

  His face grew red. “Nay,” Maryn hastily answered.

  Benjamin grinned. “I’ll just take it off of your hands and deliver it to Danby Castle myself.”

  “Ye canna do that,” Maryn screeched and Benjamin hoped his voice changed soon.

  “Why not?”

  Maryn glanced around; the servants weren’t far away. “Do ye have a place to hide the body if yer stopped?”

  “Hide?”

  “Aye, excisemen are everywhere. Ye doona want to be caught and yer in Scotland now.”

  Benjamin thrust his fingers through his hair. Why hadn’t he thought about that before now? Of course he’d need to hide the whisky.

  “What do you suggest?”

  The lad nodded to the wagon.

  He was right. Nobody was going to search a coffin.

  Benjamin abruptly turned and approached his driver. “I need you to drive to the next town and bring back men to fix this wagon.”

  “Of course, your lordship.”

  The driver hopped up onto the seat and the footman held the door.

  “I’m staying here.”

  The servants shared a look of surprise.

  Benjamin couldn’t leave the lad here alone, especially since he’d already been here overnight. He also didn’t want to task either his driver or footman with remaining behind since what was being transported was highly illegal. It was best he remain with the lad and the whisky. Besides, if the excisemen stopped, he wouldn’t hesitate to explain the situation, using the Duke of Danby if necessary to discourage any further questions or searches.

  “Of course, Lord Kenley.” Reluctantly the servant closed the door and returned to his seat be
side the driver.

  “Wait!” Maryn called out. “Do ye have any food in the carriage or oats for the horses?”

  Why hadn’t he thought of that? The lad had been here since last night and it was late afternoon now. “I have a basket from our last stop.” He walked toward his traveling coach. “We’ll tie the horses to the back of the coach and they can be fed in the next town while my driver finds men to fix the wheel.”

  The lad visibly relaxed. “Thank ye.”

  * * *

  Mary went about gathering sticks and small pieces of wood for a fire. She’d been too afraid to light one last night. But now she had Lord Kenley, should the flames draw any attention. Although, he was an earl, and might not be of any assistance if anyone wished to harm them, he was a deterrent simply by being a man.

  She struck the flint three times before a flame took and then she gently blew on the sparks until the rest of the kindling began to burn. For a moment, she warmed her hands over the flames, after removing her gloves. They had kept her fingers from being exposed to the elements, but that didn’t mean they were kept warm. Pinpricks stabbed at her fingers as they began to get feeling back into them. Mary hadn’t realized how frozen they were until now.

  Lord Kenley retrieved blankets from the back of the wagon and laid them over a fallen log after scraping the snow off of it and then set the basket on the ground which she eyed in anticipation. At this moment, she didn’t care what foodstuffs were within. She was starving and would eat just about anything.

  Much of her day had been wasted while she tried to determine what to do about the horses, wagon, whisky and broken wheel, but she was glad she’d remained and not gone off for help. Otherwise, she might have missed Lord Kenley. She would have eventually continued onto Danby Castle and delivered the whisky, and Lord Kenley’s trip to Falkirk would have been a waste.

  Lord Kenley took more blankets from the back of the wagon and handed two of them to her, which Mary wrapped around her shoulders and put the other across her lap. The sun was disappearing and the temperature was dropping. Not that it had been warm during the day, but with the sun, it didn’t feel so cold.