Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “Then permit me the opportunity to enlighten you.” With her expression, she added the plea she wouldn’t allow into her voice.

  The reprimand in his eyes remained but, ever the gentleman, Robert would never chastise her in front of a servant. Elizbeth wanted badly to lay a hand on his arm, but that would, no doubt, induce him to send her home without so much as another word.

  Instead, she held his gaze. “As you can see, I am not traveling alone. It is quite respectable for a lady to travel with a maid.” Before he could argue, she said, “This is important. Can we walk?”

  He blinked in surprise.

  “Rosie can follow at a respectable distance,” she added. For an instant, she feared he would refuse.

  Then he angled his head in agreement. “If you are certain it is that important.”

  “I would not be here otherwise,” she replied.

  Robert escorted them from the room and outside into the cool morning air. Her nervousness relaxed a sliver when they reached the sidewalk and he offered his arm.

  “What is amiss, Liza?” he asked once they were far enough ahead of Rosie that she could not to overhear.

  An unexpected rush of emotion at hearing his pet name for her constricted Elizbeth’s heart. Tears sprang to her eyes. He looked sharply at her. The concern that radiated from him made her want to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she tamped down the impulse and accepted the handkerchief he pulled from his coat pocket and pressed into her hand.

  “It cannot be that bad, can it?” he asked as she dabbed at her eyes.

  The gentleness in his voice made her stomach do a somersault. She nodded, not quite certain of her voice. They walked. He waited patiently. Patience was one of his finer qualities—or so her father said. She loved Robert, but occasionally thought a dose of impatience might be exciting. Not today, however. Today, she was immensely glad for his patience.

  At last, she said, “It is too fantastical to be believed, Robert, but please hear me out before you discount what I tell you. I promise you, every word is true.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “You have my word,” he said.

  She spilled the story in one long rush of words, all too aware of how mad she sounded. Her pulse raced fast by the time she concluded with, “Last night, Father informed us that he is going to send us to France. Can you imagine, Robert, me sent to France to marry a stranger? All so Father can build alliances with men who will finance an army for the rightful King of Scotland and—” She broke off, startled by his fierce frown.

  “Is this nonsense an attempt to induce me to elope with you?” he demanded. “I have never heard a more insane tale in my life.”

  Elizbeth stared, dumbfounded. “I…”

  “Do you deny marriage is why you have come to me with this tale?”

  Mute, Elizbeth shook her head.

  Anger suffused Robert’s features. “I have yet to request of your father the right to court you, much less marry you. What would he think if we ran off and got married? How could you invent such madness?”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I-I would never make up any story, much less one that labeled my father a traitor.”

  Terror flashed in his eyes. “Good God, have you repeated this to anyone else?”

  “Of course not,” she blurted, more frightened by Robert’s fear than even her father’s plan. “Well, that is, Aunt Davina and Uncle Grah—”

  “Does Graham know you are here?” Robert cut in.

  She shook her head. “He was still abed when I left. I have no idea the result of his discussion with Father.”

  “And your aunt?”

  She’d left Davina a note, but she doubted Robert would consider that good enough. “I told no one of my plans when I left.” Was Robert so terrified he’d be made to wed her? She thought he wanted her for his bride.

  “You are to return home and forget these wild tales,” he told her.

  Elizbeth halted. “It is not a tale, I tell you. Margarette overheard—”

  “Margarette has a very vivid imagination,” he snapped.

  She simply couldn’t believe his reaction. “Father himself told us that Great Aunt Saundra was the Duke of York’s wife.”

  “Have you any idea how dangerous this story of yours is? Or how insane you sound?”

  Anger finally displaced shock. She stiffened. “I did not say I believe it, only that he does.”

  Robert cupped her elbow and turned back in the direction they’d come. Rosie halted, clearly uncertain what to do as he urged Elizbeth toward her.

  “Miss Burns,” he said as they neared Rosie, “please come along.”

  Rosie fell in behind them after they passed.

  “Robert,” Elizbeth began, then broke off at his stern glance. “Mister McFarlan,” she amended, “you cannot think that I am telling tales.”

  “I think you have grown impatient with me and hoped this wild story would entice me to act.”

  Elizbeth fought against the blush that rose to her cheeks, his words too near the mark. She caught his glance askance. His frown deepened.

  “Please, Robert…” she trailed off, not certain for what to plead.

  He cast her a look of mingled anger and disappointment, but remained silent as he marched them back to the carriage.

  When they reached the vehicle, he opened the door, but turned her to face him. “You are to return home and never repeat that story.”

  “It is not a story, but the truth,” she cried. She clutched at his sleeves. “Robert, you must believe me.”

  He grasped her waist and tossed her onto the carriage seat. Elizbeth bounced toward the far side. She seized the handle near the door to keep from toppling over. A wide-eyed Rosie climbed into the carriage with Robert’s more contained assistance.

  Looking past her maid, he locked gazes with Elizbeth. “I warn you, Miss McKinley, remain silent.” He closed the door and pounded on the side of the carriage. They jolted into motion and Elizbeth burst into tears.

  ***

  Davina stared out the bay window of her bedroom, scanning the distance for Elizbeth’s carriage. When her niece returned home—if she returned—Davina would strangle the girl. When Davina awoke and found the note slipped under her door informing her Elizbeth had gone to meet with Robert in Inverness, she’d been furious—she was still furious. Worse, she was afraid. If Elizbeth told Mister McFarlan of James’s delusions about being the next King of Scotland, there was no telling how he might react.

  Davina liked Robert. He was steadfast and solid, not at all the sort of man to give in to impetuous passions. He would make a respectable husband, but would he have the nerve to oppose James? Yet, how could he possibly ignore such a wild tale as the one Elizbeth would tell?

  Davina let out a frustrated breath. How she itched to turn her eldest niece over her knee. The girl had never behaved so irresponsibly before, gallivanting off alone to visit a gentleman with only a maid to vouch for her. She’d never even shown an inclination toward hoydenish behavior. Margarette was the wayward sister.

  Davina understood well Elizbeth’s fear that her father might send her to France to marry a stranger. But Davina also understood that Elizbeth was using the situation to frighten Robert into marrying her. She had, no doubt, convinced herself the gentleman would go into a passionate rage at the thought of her bound to another man—in another man’s bed—and would marry her post haste.

  Davina started from her thoughts at sight of a carriage in the distance. At last. Davina rose, her stomach in knots, despite the sliver of relief that Elizbeth was returning home.

  The carriage drew closer. Davina cast an angry glare in the direction of Graham’s rooms. She would prefer him beside her when she confronted Elizbeth, but she’d gone to his room the moment she realized what Elizbeth had done and found his chambers empty. Of all the days for him to be absent. Irritation flared. How could he be so cavalier as to spend last night carousing—and not even return home? They needed
him now more than ever.

  Shaking off her anger with Graham, she refocused on the carriage. Alarm flashed through her. The carriage wasn’t Elizbeth’s. Perhaps it was Graham returning. He usually rode, but— Davina’s mind snapped to attention. There was something about the carriage. The gold markings on the side were— She drew a sharp breath. The approaching carriage was rented. Who would be coming to them so early in the day, in a rented carriage?

  Margarette burst into the room and barreled up to her, breathing hard. “He is here.”

  Davina didn’t have to ask who the ‘he’ was to whom she referred, but could make no sense of why. Why such haste?

  “What are we to do?” Margarette stared, eyes wide with fear.

  What could they do? Oh, where was Graham?

  “Aunt.” Margarette grasped Davina’s hand with trembling fingers.

  Davina gave her niece’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Take heart, lass. We are not yet caught.”

  She released Margarette, then hurried to the dresser to yank open the top right drawer. She lifted out a small jewelry box that contained her pearls, ruby necklace, and a matched diamond necklace and earring set her mother had given her. She yanked her reticule from the left top drawer and dumped the jewelry inside. Carefully, so as not to leave any clue, she replaced the jewelry box in its drawer. From the left drawer, she also removed a small muff pistol. She closed the door and, with a prayer she wouldn’t need the weapon, hoisted her skirt and secured it under her garter.

  She whirled and hurried to a decorative table on the left wall where sat a small pottery vase. From inside, she pulled several banknotes—no more than two hundred pounds—a paltry sum. She stuffed them into the ridicule then replaced the vase. All the while, Margarette gaped, eyes wide in a face white as chalk.

  Davina grabbed two cloaks from her closet. She grasped Margarette’s hand and slipped from the room. Quietly, Davina closed the door, then hurried with Margarette down the narrow servants’ stairs to the kitchen. They emerged in the larder. Davina pressed a finger to her lips in instruction for Margarette to remain quiet. She cracked the door open and skimmed the kitchen with her gaze. Finding the kitchen empty, she pushed the door wide and tugged on her niece’s hand. They slipped outside unseen.

  They hugged the east side of house and continued along the edge of the gardens. She pulled Margarette past the rose bushes, still sporting some few late blooms even as their leaves began to yellow, and into the taller shrubbery. Davina slung an arm around Margarette’s shoulders, bent low, and hurried her along until they reached the small fish pond.

  She prayed James didn’t take the Frenchman to the second floor drawing room, for she and Margarette could easily be seen from there. They circled the fish pond. She forced back the need to cry, born as much from anger as fear. Open lawn lay between them and the stables.

  “Hurry,” Davina urged in a whisper, and began to run.

  They skirted the farthest edges of the garden, cut through the southwest side of the arboretum. Between leaves newly touched by autumn, the low building came into view. Two minutes later, they slipped through a small side door into the stables. Davina pulled Margarette down the aisle toward the stalls where the geldings were kept. She nearly cried out when the stablemaster, Mister Crawford, emerged from his room at the far end of the building.

  There was no help for it now.

  He strode to them and stopped where they did, near the geldings’ stalls.

  Davina drew in a steadying breath. “Saddle two geldings, Mister Crawford,” she ordered. “Use Graham’s tack and be quick about it.”

  He frowned. “What is amiss, Miss?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind that. The horses.”

  He remained where he was, between them and the stalls, frowning.

  “Now, Mister Crawford,” Davina snapped in her most imperious tone.

  Mister Crawford’s eyes widened incrementally in the instant before he offered a nod and headed for the tack room.

  Margarette pulled Davina to the far end of the stables. “What about Elizbeth?” she whispered. “We cannot leave her. She wasn’t in her room when I went to find her, before I came to you.” She sounded on the verge of tears.

  “I know,” Davina said, voice low. “She went to visit Mister McFarlan. We will not let them take her, but neither can we allow them to capture us. We escape first, then look for her.”

  “But what if we cannot find her and she returns home?” Margarette shook her head. “I will not leave her.”

  Davina gave her a stern look. “You will do as I say.” Davina grasped her shoulders. “You are no good to Elizbeth if you are caught and sent to France.”

  Margarette’s eyes shimmered with tears.

  Davina tugged her close and hugged her. “Never fear, I do not intend to leave her.”

  Margarette pulled back. “What of Uncle Graham? He will not let anyone take us away, even if Father will.”

  Nae, he wouldn’t. Not if he could stop it. But Graham couldn’t help them when he wasn’t there.

  They stood together in tense silence. Margarette dashed at her eyes. Time seemed to crawl as they waited for the horses.

  “Here they are, Miss.”

  Davina whirled at the sound of Mister Crawford’s voice. He led two geldings toward the mounting block.

  “Here, Margarette,” Davina said. She swung one of the cloaks around Margarette’s shoulders then fastened the clasp. “Mount up.”

  Her niece nodded and went to where Mister Crawford waited. He helped Margarette up onto one of the horses. Davina donned her cloak. She didn’t wait for Mister Crawford but fitted her booted foot into the second horse’s stirrup and swung her leg up over the animal’s rump. It felt odd, riding astride, but they might need the speed. That was, if they could have it, for a glance showed Margarette looked very awkward on her horse.

  Davina grasped the reins and looked at Mister Crawford. “Mister Crawford, this may seem like a strange request, but you cannot tell my brother James we were here.”

  “Miss—”

  She shook her head. “Tell my brother Graham that we left. He will understand why.”

  The man shook his head. “Surely you dinnae have to leave like this? You should speak with your brother.” He started to turn.

  “Mister Crawford.”

  He halted.

  Davina could scarcely think the words, much less voice them, but forced herself to say, “Sir, it is a matter of life and death.”

  It wasn’t a lie, not really. She, Margarette and Elizbeth would surely wither away and die should they be forced to leave their home and marry men who considered them nothing more than political pawns. Almost worse, Graham would never allow James’s actions to go unchallenged. He would kill their older brother and, God knew, would come in search of them, then kill their unwanted husbands as well…or die trying.

  Mister Crawford stared as if she’d sprouted horns. He looked at Margarette and his gaze sharpened. His eyes returned to her. “If you are sure, Miss?”

  She gave him a gentle smile. “Sadly, yes. Open the rear door, please. Come, Margarette.” She turned her horse and urged him toward the doors. Mister Crawford hurried ahead of her and swung open the left door, then stood aside as they rode through.

  Davina waved her niece up to ride beside her. “We must cut along the west side of Milford Hall, then through Lord Drummon’s estate.”

  Margarette nodded, face pale.

  Davina gave her an encouraging smile. She opened her mouth to assure her all would be well. A shout went up behind them. “Ride like the wind, Margarette,” she ordered.

  Margarette snapped her horse’s reins and shot forward.

  Davina followed without looking back.

  Chapter Five

  “Damn it, Davina,” Graham growled as his sister and niece sped away from him across the meadow, both riding astride and neither looking back. He dug his heels into his stallion’s already heaving sides, angling toward the stab
le doors, where Mister Crawford stood.

  Graham yanked his mount to a halt when they reached the stablemaster, and leapt from the saddle before the stallion stilled. “Mister Crawford, where are Davina and Margarette headed?”

  “I dinnae know, sir,” the man said, expression stricken. “Miss McKinley didn’t say. She did say—” Crawford’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “That is, she said it was a matter of life and death, sir.”

  Graham expelled another choice oath. What did Davina mean, racing off across the countryside? Ignoring his call? He’d galloped home, the back way, ripe with the tale of how he’d followed Elizbeth on her early morning jaunt, to tell Davina that Mister McFarlan had risen in his estimation. Now, Davina careened off to who knew where, and God only knew why.

  Graham handed the stablemaster the stallion’s reins. “Give him a good rubdown, Crawford. I shall go up to the house and find out what spooked my sister.”

  “So, you do think ‘tis naught, sir?” Mister Crawford asked, expression shifting from unease to relief.

  Deliberately dissembling, Graham chuckled. “A new shipment of silks come into the harbor, most like.”

  Crawford smiled tentatively, though his eyes flicked in the direction Davina and Margarette had gone, their trail through the meadow nearly opposite the road to Inverness.

  “I will settle the horse for you, sir.” Crawford dipped his head and led the horse away.

  Graham pivoted and set off toward the manor at a swift pace. Bereft of Davina’s advice and support, he would have to meet Elizbeth at the door and demand an explanation. Could he? He never played the censorious elder. James and Davina amply filled that role in the girls’ lives.

  A real grin flicked across Graham’s face as gravel crunched beneath his boots. The expression on McFarlan’s face when, Graham could only assume, Elizbeth told her beloved the wild tale of James as King of Scots had been worth the early morning ride. The milksop had actually looked like a man for once. He’d marched Elizbeth back to her carriage so fast, Graham had to scramble to remain unseen. From her expression, Elizbeth had been as surprised at McFarlan’s sudden acquisition of a backbone as Graham, though a sight less approving.