“No, but you’d remember a badly injured Scot,” John insisted. “He’d have come here with his belly torn open, a bayonet wound in his shoulder, and some burns and the like from our canisters.”
Victoria bit her bottom lip anxiously. “In my opinion as a woman of healing, someone with such injuries would not have been able to survive. I certainly would not have the implements, nor the surgical skill, to be able to tend to such inflictions.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.” John shifted back around on the chaise, directing his cold stare at Victoria instead. “Some of the men at the barracks say that you’ve got magic hands that can heal anything. One of them came to you with a gash up his side, and you sewed it up neat as anything. No festering, no suppurating. He’s good as new, and he’d not be alive if it weren’t for you. Our surgeons turned him away and told him there was nothing they could do for him.”
Camdyn saw Victoria gulp, and wondered if he could reach the sword and silence John before he had the chance to raise an alarm. Then again, it was highly likely that this man had informed his fellow soldiers of where he was going, in case anything like that happened.
He’s tied our hands here, Victoria. All we can do is act like all’s well.
Victoria cleared her throat. “I do not know how familiar you are with the world of medicine, Mr. Vickers, but there is a vast difference between an injury to one’s side and someone’s belly being torn asunder. You see, there is a greater chance of an internal organ, or several, being cut or damaged. When that happens, there is very little anyone can do, even someone with purportedly magic hands.”
Aye, there ye go, lass. That’s what we need. Be confident, and he’ll soon give up.
She sounded convincing. Camdyn would have believed her, if he had not been healed by her himself.
John looked suddenly perplexed. “Is that true?”
“You could ask any of your surgeons, and they would tell you the same,” she confirmed. “It is why we call wounds to the stomach, the ‘kiss of death.’ I do not imagine this person’s injury was shallow either, so I find it highly unlikely that he is still living. If he was, he would be something of a miracle, and I am afraid I do not perform miracles.”
John jabbed a thin finger at Camdyn. “Who’s this fella that keeps staring at me? Lady McVeigh and Mrs. Balfour were overheard, speaking of a stranger at your house. They said he was your guard, but I’ve reason to think different.”
Gossipin’ lasses are a worse threat to men than any bastard army!
Camdyn had known they might be trouble, the moment they started flapping their lips about how handsome he was, and how much they wanted a personal guard of their own.
To his surprise, Victoria merely chuckled. “That is my guard, Mr. Vickers. He is the nephew of my departed husband’s manservant and was sent to me when the situation with the Jacobites worsened.” Her voice built in strength. “The reason he may have appeared to be a stranger to Lady McVeigh and Mrs. Balfour is because he used to be stationed downstairs. But I was attacked by a patient some weeks ago, and I have kept him in this room ever since, for my protection.”
John seemed to flounder. “But… I heard he was a Scot.”
“That is no crime, Mr. Vickers. Mr. McIntyre here is Edinburgh born and bred, and if it was safer upon the roads, I would have retreated there during these unsettled times,” Victoria lied. Indeed, Camdyn found it difficult not to smirk at the ease with which the words rolled off her delightful tongue.
“Then, let me hear him speak.” John could clearly see his entire pursuit in coming here crumbling around him. His desperation reeked to high heaven.
Camdyn smiled, for he had often entertained Bernadine with his array of Scottish accents. Edinburgh was, by far, one of the easiest.
“You would question my heritage?” he said smoothly, fattening his vowels and adopting a mellifluous tone that his Highland brogue lacked. “It’s rude to accuse a fine lady of lying. I hope that’s not what you’re doing, or I might take that as a form of attack, and have you cast out of this house before you’ve had your head seen to.”
John looked as though he had been struck a second time with the hilt of a sword. “This isn’t possible. I was… so sure.”
“Sure of what?” Camdyn replied. “If you’re looking for the man who did that to your skull, I suggest you turn your attention further north. No Jacobite would be foolish enough to linger here after Culloden Moor.”
John shook his head. “But… but… I…” he spluttered. “We were told that a rebel is still in Inverness and is waiting for his chance to ignite a new war.”
“With what army?” Camdyn felt his body relax. John Vickers was the one with tied hands, now.
“I… well, I don’t know.” He straightened up on the chaise. “Still, you can’t deny that someone hit me in the back of the head, and they were certainly not loyal to the crown, or they wouldn’t be attacking Englishmen!”
Camdyn shrugged. “Maybe he thought you were there to loot bodies, or maybe the man who injured you just isn’t fond of Englishmen. Even Scots who did not join the Jacobite cause do not care for the English, as a matter of principle.”
John turned an alarming shade of puce. “How dare you!”
“I am only speaking the truth, Mr. Vickers,” Camdyn replied, feeling the roundness of the Edinburgh accent in his mouth. “For my part, I take no issue with the English. As you can see, I have chosen to work for one, and she is perfectly safe in my care.”
With that, John stood up, rivulets of pinkish liquid running down the back of his neck and stormed out of the room without uttering another word. Camdyn resisted the urge to run straight to Victoria, in case the Englishman came back, but he allowed himself to offer her a wide, reassuring smile.
This battle had been won, but he had a nagging feeling in his heart that the war was yet to come.
The moment the Englishman left her study, Victoria’s bravado and courage seemed to drain out of her, like blood from an open wound. Even Camdyn’s smile could not comfort her. If she could have felt his arms around her, it might have been different, but she did not dare to move a muscle.
“Have these men not had their fill of conflict? The English were victorious at Culloden. Is that not enough? Can they not, now, proceed toward peace?” she muttered, dreading the prospect of a full day of patients. In their faces, she would not see people in need of healing. Instead, she would see potential enemies, who wanted to take Camdyn from her.
Camdyn broke away from his position across the room and came to crouch beside her. “Och lass, ye need to keep yer chin up. Whatever that lad thinks he kens, he’s nae got a whiff of evidence.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Ye were a true warrior back there, lass, though I could’ve used a bit of forewarnin’ that I were goin’ to have to speak fancy.”
She knew he was trying to bring some levity to the situation, but she could not muster any good humor. Now, more than ever, she realized the peril that her dearest love was in.
“What are we to do, Camdyn? What if Mr. Vickers speaks with his regiment, and alerts more to his suspicions? That trick may have worked upon the fellow, temporarily, but he was incensed when he departed! He will not leave this be, as long as he believes you are the culprit.” Victoria held tighter to Camdyn’s hand, as though he might disappear if she let go.
He lifted his free hand to her face and stroked his thumb across the apple of her cheek. “We endure, lass, ‘cause that’s all we can do. I’ll play the part of a fine, Edinburgh Lowlander, and ye do exactly what ye’ve just done today. They’ll tire of botherin’ us eventually, I swear to ye.”
But waiting around for more soldiers to try and coax the truth out of them was not something Victoria wanted to do. It was much too risky and could well end with Camdyn dangling from the end of a rope. A sight she could not, and would not, bear.
Just then, Genevieve came into the study, looking harried. “Well, I’ve never encountered such a rude bru
te in all my life!” She turned her nose up. “The fellow was just standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking lost as a mangy pup. So, I go to ask him if he might care for a cup of tea or some water. He shoves me—he actually put his hands on me—and strides out like he’s the bloody King!”
“If he comes back, dinnae let him in,” Camdyn said, glancing back over his shoulder. “He is nae welcome here. Gave Victoria a barrel of grief an’ all.”
Genevieve’s keen eyes sought Victoria’s. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” Victoria replied, “but I do not believe he means well. Camdyn is right. If that man should return, you are to prevent him from gaining entry. Inform the footmen, also, so they may assist you if he causes further trouble.”
“Ye might want to tell anyone downstairs that Victoria is nae seein’ anymore patients today, neither.” Camdyn cast Victoria a look, as if to say, “There’s nay use arguin’, lass. Ye ken ye’re nae in the right mind for seein’ folk.”
Victoria nodded to Genevieve. “Apologize on my behalf, but I am quite shaken by that last fellow. I fear I will be much too distracted to give the patients my full attention.”
“I’ll tell them, M’Lady.” Genevieve opened her mouth as if she were about to say something more. But she appeared to think better of it, as she turned and left Camdyn and Victoria alone.
Immediately, Victoria dove back in, determined to seek a solution to their growing problem. “We cannot remain here, Camdyn. If you and I are to have a hope of staying together, then this house, and this place, will not do.” She gestured to the half-closed door. “You heard Genevieve. Mr. Vickers will not cease. More will come, and one tiny mistake in our ruse may see you hanged.”
Camdyn held her gaze. “What choice do we have, but to dig in our heels and weather it? I am nae goin’ to let them take me. They’ll not a make a martyr or an example out of me.”
“We could…” Victoria’s mind churned with ideas. “We could… Yes! We could return to England, to my family in Dorset or to the empty manor in Somerset that used to belong to my husband. No one resides there now, not since he came north. Nobody would know you, Camdyn. You could create a new identity for yourself, that none would question. After all, no one would be searching for a Jacobite in England. We would be comfortable with my fortune, and we could find peace there, away from all of this fracas.”
She watched his expression turn gloomy. “I mean nay offense, lass, but I’d rather swing on the gallows than live me life among so many Sassenachs. I couldn’ae find peace there, even with ye at me side. I’d be like a lone wolf among foxes, wonderin’ when one of ‘em might try to take a bite.”
“Then, what about the place you hail from?” Victoria pressed in desperation, for the walls of this manor were beginning to close in around her. “The castle… The place where the other English lady lives. Forgive me, I cannot recall her name, but that might be a suitable alternative. They would not judge me for being English, and if they are as kindly as you say, then we might be very happy there.”
Camdyn shook his head reluctantly. “I cannae bring this storm to them, lass. I promised I wouldnae go back there ‘til the dust had settled.” He paused. “Actually, I said I wouldnae go back ‘til Bonnie Prince Charlie were on the throne, but I’d have swallowed me pride to save us, if I thought it’d be safe. But I cannae go there while there are Sassenachs after me. I’d only be bringin’ a fight they haven’ae asked for, to their door.”
“Surely, the Laird you once held dear would fight on your behalf, if it came to that?” Victoria shivered with fear, the study she had once adored now feeling as though it had been violated by the presence of John Vickers.
Camdyn sighed wearily. “Aye, he would, but I am nae goin’ to ask that of him. He’s got bairns and a wife, and people who rely on him. He’d nae thank me for puttin’ ‘em in harm’s way to save me own skin.”
“There must be something we can do!” Victoria cried, wondering why he was not offering any solutions of his own. “Perhaps, I could… Yes, perhaps I could use some of my husband’s fortune to buy us a plot of land and the title of Laird, that would belong to you. Somewhere quiet and distant. Beside a lakeshore, maybe.”
Camdyn canted his head. “I already know how to run a clan, after all I did as Laird Young’s right-hand. It’d be a fair amount of work, if we couldn’ae get land with a fort or a castle already on it, but I’ve never been shy of that.” He flashed her a warm smile. “And a lakeshore dinnae sound bad. If there’s good fishin’ and huntin’, we’ll have ourselves a proper clan in nay time.”
“You would find that… pleasant?” Victoria’s heart flickered with a new flame of hope. In truth, she had never found much purpose for the fortune that her husband had left behind when he died. If she could use it to seal her own happiness, that seemed as good a use as any.
“Aye, I daresay I would.” His smile widened. “Never thought I’d be anythin’ like a Laird, but I am nae goin’ to deny I’d like the idea, if I had ye to be me Lady.”
Victoria leaned closer. “Then we must begin our bid for freedom,” she urged. “I shall have a lawyer sent to the house as soon as possible, so we may find the right land, and start our lives afresh, far from here.”
“Ye’ll be needin’ a Scots lawyer. I will nae let ye buy land off a Sassenach, who probably snatched it from my people and called it his own.” A note of bitterness prickled in Camdyn’s voice, but Victoria was too excited to think much of it.
She nodded. “Of course, my dearest Camdyn. We will only purchase land that belongs to no one else.”
Gazing into his eyes, her hope dwindled for a moment. The idea was a grand one, and no mistake, but an endeavor of this stature was going to take time. And time was a luxury that they did not have.
What are we to do until then, Camdyn?
She did not dare to ask, fearing she would not like the answer.
Chapter 20
True to her word, Victoria sent for a highly recommended Scottish lawyer the very next day. By two o’clock that afternoon, she found herself sitting across the drawing room table from a Mr. Angus Galloway, a gentleman venturing into middle age, with graying hair and intelligent brown eyes.
As ever, Camdyn joined her at a distance. He had taken up a position by the drawing room door. Far enough away that he looked like a member of staff, yet close enough to hear everything that would transpire.
“So, you see, I have grown rather weary of this manor and its locale. Without my darling husband, I cannot continue to reside here. The memories are much too painful.” Victoria feigned heartbreak as she concluded a partially fabricated tale of grief and woe, pertaining to her deceased husband, that she hoped the lawyer would believe.
Mr. Galloway showed little emotion upon his aged face. “That’s understandable, My Lady, but I wouldnae advise ye seeking land further north. Have ye no family back in England? That’d be yer safest course of action.”
“We parted on ill terms, Mr. Galloway,” she lied. “My mother had hoped to wed the Earl of Desiglow to my sister, but I… fell in love with him before such an event could take place. As such, I cannot return home.”
Forgive me, Mama. Forgive me, my sweet sister.
With Camdyn’s life on the line, it appeared there was nothing she would not say or do to prevent him from falling into the hands of the English soldiers.
“He always spoke of us spending the winter of our lives beside a lakeshore,” Victoria continued. “I hope to fulfill that legacy, that we were never able to undertake together. Nor can I remarry, for who would have me, when I have not the capability to bear children?”
She hoped the lawyer would feel uncomfortable enough at the thought of her barrenness, not to press that particular topic. She could sense that would be his next suggestion, after she had cast aside his first.
Mr. Galloway eyed Camdyn for a moment, making Victoria’s heart lurch. “Might I ask what’s brought on this sudden desire to purchase land elsewhere? If I am nae
mistaken, yer husband passed a fair while ago, yet ye’ve lived here without issue since.”
“It was not an appropriate time,” Victoria retorted. “It cannot have escaped your notice, Mr. Galloway, but there was a war raging between a faction of Scots and the English, until rather recently. It would not have been safe for me to purchase land then, but I should say it is now, as the conflict has ended.”
Mr. Galloway smiled coldly. “That’s a touch naïve, wouldnae ye say?”
“How so?” She did not like to be spoken to as though she were beneath him.
“The warring might’ve ended, but the animosity has nae.” Mr. Galloway tapped the end of his quill on a blank rectangle of paper. “I really do think ye ought to return to England. Find a nice manor there, even if it is nae near yer family. Scotland is nae a place for a lone widow, and I dinnae expect it will be for a long while to come.”
Highlander's Fallen Angel : A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 17
