by Amy Jarecki
He offered his elbow. “I ken just what to do. Leave the preparations to me.”
* * *
As Akira bumbled through her chores the next morning, her head ached like she’d been hit between the eyes. And from the sideways glances from her sisters, she had not a single ally in the cottage. Even Ma had been unusually quiet since they returned from market day.
Kynda came inside with an armload of firewood. She stomped across the floor and dropped it in a heap. “So, what is a mistress? And why does everyone keep whispering like you’re trying to keep secrets from me?”
“That is not your concern,” snapped Ma, looking up from her mending. “Stack the wood properly and then sweep up after yourself. Look at that, you’ve brought in a trail of rubbish.”
Annis bent down to help—odd behavior for her. “A mistress is a lady who has found favor with a gentleman.”
Kynda fetched the broom. “What does that mean?”
“She keeps him entertained,” Annis continued. “Helps him plan balls and gatherings and all sorts of important things.”
“Ah.” Kynda swept the bits of bark into a pile. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Annis, throwing a heated look over her shoulder.
“That’s enough.” Ma tied a knot and pulled it taut with added vigor. “I do not want to hear another word.”
Akira picked up the bucket. “I’m off to fetch some water for washing up.”
“Can I come?” asked Kynda.
“No.” Akira hastened outside, then broke into a run.
What is wrong with me? I should be thinking about the welfare of my sisters. I ken Geordie loves me. If he grows tired of me once I’m older, I’ll simply have to find my way. I can always work as a healer.
Mayhap Annis was right for once in her life. Akira had been acting selfishly. Why shouldn’t they all move to Huntly? Perhaps if Ma and the lassies were there, she’d not feel so out of sorts.
She stooped to fill the bucket, yet a weight still hung around her neck like a smithy’s anvil. Regardless of her lofty values, her life was far from a fairy tale, and she had no recourse but to face her lot. Akira’s dreams of finding a husband and helping him become prosperous were but the fanciful musings of a stupid girl. It was time to look at the positive side of Geordie’s offer.
Once they moved to Huntly, there would be innumerable opportunities for her sisters. Mayhap Geordie’s physician could help Ma, too.
“Well, well,” said a sinister voice from behind. “And I thought you’d give me a bit more sport.”
Ice slithered up her spine like a snake.
She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Filling the bucket, Akira tried to keep her voice level. “I thought you were heading west.”
“Hmm, a ruse to divert the duke’s men from my trail.” His nasal reply sent chills down the outside of her arms.
Akira’s eyes shifted, and she peered over her shoulder. Dear God, Captain Weaver was flanked by at least a dozen dragoons. She set the bucket on the bank. “You thought you’d need a whole retinue of men to capture me?”
He reached. “I—”
Akira sprang up and leapt across the burn. “Help! Ma! Help!”
“Dammit, after her!”
Running for dear life, Akira headed for the cottage, waving her arms and shouting for help at the top of her lungs.
Footsteps slapped the ground behind. “God damn you to hell!” the captain roared.
Sucking in sharp gasps of air, Akira pushed her legs harder. He grabbed her hair. Knocked off balance, she threw her hands out to break her fall as a shrill scream tore from her throat. Grunting with the jarring thud, Akira scrambled for her footing, but her feet tangled in her blasted skirts.
In the blink of an eye, the captain pinned her to the ground. “No one makes a fool out of me,” he growled in her face. “And now you’re mine.”
He dragged her arms together, slapping cold iron manacles around her wrists.
She struggled beneath his weight. “I have done nothing.”
“You can tell that to the Marquis of Atholl. I’ve had word with him to ensure he kens of all the duke’s misdeeds.”
“No. He’s innocent. You wretched man. Have you nothing better to do than bully innocent people?”
Weaver laughed. “If you were innocent, I’d be chasing after some other Jacobite upstart.”
The captain dragged Akira to her feet while her sisters hollered, running from the shieling.
“Stay back!” Akira cried. Merciful Father, she couldn’t pull her family into this mess.
“Remove your filthy hands from my daughter!” Ma shouted from the doorway.
All the lassies stopped, held back by the dragoons. “What are you doing with my sister?” demanded Annis.
The captain snorted through his enormous nose. “She’s been caught aiding Jacobite loyalists and will stand trial for her crimes.”
“How can helping someone be a crime?” Scota asked. “My sister is the kindest person in all of Dunkeld.”
“Aye,” Kynda agreed, stamping her foot.
Akira eyed her sisters. “Go back home. Ma will ken what to do.” She dared not utter Geordie’s name for fear it might be used against her—and even worse, against him.
“Don’t bother.” The captain pulled her along as dragoons fell in step around them. “I aim to make an example of this tinker, and anyone who stands in my way will receive the same harsh measures.”
Akira gulped. Queen Anne sat on her throne in London, leagues away from Dunkeld. What did it matter that Akira had helped a fallen Highlander?
I’ve committed no crime.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Forcing himself to wait in his chamber at the inn, Geordie read the gazette. He had read the same paragraph over and over, and still he couldn’t recall what it was about. Though anxious to return home, he needed to be patient. At least somewhat patient. If Akira needed time, he would allow her a day, mayhap two. This evening, however, he planned a gathering of all gatherings. Laini and her daughters would be overjoyed, for certain.
Geordie didn’t intend to use Akira’s family to influence her decision, but treating them with kindness couldn’t hurt his cause. He was turning the page when a clamor in the passageway caught his attention.
Shrill voices and multiple footsteps clomped over the floorboards beyond his door.
“What the devil—?”
Casting aside the gazette, he strode across his chamber and pulled on the latch.
“Oh, thank heavens.” Laini clutched her hand over her heart, leaning on her crutch and gasping as if she’d just run a mile.
Geordie took quick note of the faces staring at him, with Oliver behind the lot. “Where’s Miss Akira?”
“The dragoons took her, Your Grace,” said Annis, her voice shrill.
Scota clutched her fists beneath her chin and cringed. “They slapped a set of manacles on her like she was a murderer.”
Ma wobbled as if she were about to swoon. “Said there would be a trial.”
Geordie took Laini’s elbow and ushered her to the chair. “What? Who dares to be so rash?”
Annis fanned her face with her hands. “The officer looked mean and evil.”
“Captain Weaver, no doubt,” said Oliver.
Geordie’s gut twisted. “You said he was well on his way west.”
Oliver shrugged. “He could have doubled back.”
“Bloody hell, man. Why did you not stay on his trail?”
Of course, the soldier had no response.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, Geordie paced. “We must act quickly. I’ll try to see her and I’ll speak to the marquis. Mayhap I can set the record straight.”
“If it comes to a battle, we’re in trouble.” Oliver spread his palms. “We only have twelve men.”
“I bloody well ken how many men are in my retinue,” Geordie snapped. “Send runners. One to Gordon lands and one to t
he MacDonells.”
“What about Ewen Cameron?” Oliver asked. “His army is unsurpassed.”
“No time,” Geordie said. “Tell them to ride night and day—change horses when needed. No sleeping until their message is delivered.”
“Come straight to Dunkeld, Your Grace?”
“Nay. Tell them to skirt the village. We’ll assemble in the wood at Cally Loch.” He thrust his finger toward the door. “Go now—and haste ye back. You’ll be accompanying me to Blair Castle.”
After Oliver took his leave, Geordie placed his hand on Laini’s shoulder. “You and your daughters are not safe at the cottage. I want you under Gordon protection.”
“In the forest?” asked Kynda, her eyes wide.
“You’ll remain here for the time being—at least until I’ve had a chance to assess exactly what we’re up against.” He looked each lass in the eye. “But I do not want a one of you stepping outdoors without a Gordon guard escorting you.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said Annis, with a bit too much cheer considering her sister had just been arrested.
He shook his finger to ensure each lass listened well. “And you are not to leave the premises whilst I’m visiting the marquis.”
Laini wrung her hands. “But I need to see my daughter.”
“You must obey me on this.” He clutched Akira’s mother by the shoulders and met her gaze. “I swear to you I will see to her release, or the Marquis of Atholl will rue the day he allowed that contemptuous Captain Weaver to meddle in my affairs.”
* * *
Geordie paced Blair Castle’s enormous entrance hall trying not to jump out of his bloody skin while Oliver stood like a statue with his hands clasped behind his back. “How dare the insolent cur make me wait?” He snatched his pocket watch and opened it. “We’ve been here nearly an hour.”
A tall, slender lad strolled into the hall with his nose in a book.
Clearing his throat, Geordie regarded the lad while he replaced his watch. Dressed in a kilt of fine wool and a doublet of silk, his brown locks pulled back at the nape, he sported a particular aristocratic arch to his brow. A handsome lad, indeed.
With a start, the lad stopped and lowered his book. “F-forgive me, sir.”
“You’re addressing the Duke of Gordon, young sir,” Oliver said with a growl.
The lad formed an O with his mouth as his eyes grew round. They were unusually expressive eyes, a penetrating shade of moss green. Remembering his manners, the lad bowed. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Lord Aiden Murray here. Sorry, I wasn’t informed of your visit.”
John’s son, no doubt.
Geordie looked expectantly past the lad’s shoulder. “I’m here to see your father.”
“Right. Da was in the drawing room last I saw him.” Lord Murray stepped closer, examining Geordie from head to toe while a perplexed expression made his eyebrows pinch together. “So…you are the Duke of Gordon—the Jacobite Da has spoken about?”
Nothing like blurting out an accusation akin to blasphemy.
Geordie affected a stern scowl. “Your father has been spreading rumors about me?”
“I do not think so.” The lad drummed his fingers on his chin as if he regarded scowling dukes all the time. “’Tis just I’m trying to understand our present state of affairs. I mean, why is it the Protestants fear popery? It makes no sense to me at all for Parliament in London to refuse to name”—the lad peered around him, then cupped a hand to his mouth and leaned very close—“James Francis Edward Stuart successor on the grounds he is being raised a Catholic.” It seemed Aiden Murray might understand the sensitivity of such a topic—and he truly seemed curious.
Regardless, Geordie crossed his arms. He could not be played for a dupe. The marquis could very well be using his son to evoke a confession. “Many a man has asked the same,” Geordie said, seeking middle ground and admitting to nothing.
“It seems to me that Queen Anne is completely unprepared to rule,” Lord Murray continued in a whisper. “She hasn’t been properly educated. Her only qualification over James is her religion.”
Bloody oath, Geordie could carry on for a month regarding this very topic. “Have you posed these questions to your father?”
“Aye, but he only shouts and tells me my lot is to accept the edicts of the land and keep my nose clean.”
Geordie laughed. “Perhaps that is good advice for a lad of—pray tell, what is your age?”
“Eighteen, Your Grace.”
“You’re quite tall. Are you the heir?” the duke asked, steering the conversation away from anything that would see him accused of treason.
“Second son.”
Geordie held up a finger. “And second in line to inherit.”
“Och, my brother is better suited to inherit than I.” Lord Murray rolled his eyes with a wry grin. “He doesn’t ask so many questions.”
Perhaps the lad’s curiosity was genuine, though Geordie couldn’t take a chance and humor him. Instead, he opted to encourage the lad to talk. “And what do you aspire to?”
Squaring his shoulders, Aiden stood even taller. “After university I aim to seek a posting in the Royal Scots Navy.”
Geordie gave an appreciative nod. “A young man with an adventurous spirit, I see.”
“What better way to see Christendom?”
“Aye, and mayhap you’ll find the answers to your questions.” Geordie would have liked to invite the lad to the inn at Dunkeld and buy him a tankard of ale, if it weren’t for his paternity. Alas, some friendships could never be. Especially when standing under the roof of the most influential Whig in all of Scotland.
The lad bowed, but before he had a chance to excuse himself, the valet stepped into the hall. “Your Grace, the marquis will see you now.”
“’Tis about time.” Geordie beckoned to Oliver. “Come.”
The valet held up his palm. “His Lordship asked to see only you.”
“What? Does he think I’m planning to launch an attack in his drawing room?”
The man bowed. “This way, Your Grace.”
Geordie cast a backward glance at his man-at-arms and held up his palm, telling him to stay put. At least he hadn’t been asked to surrender his weapons.
“’Twas a pleasure meeting you, Your Grace,” called Lord Murray.
“And you,” Geordie said over his shoulder. “Perhaps we can share a dram of whisky should you ever pay a visit to Huntly Castle.”
The valet ushered him into a drawing room that rivaled his own. “The Duke of Gordon, m’lord.”
The insolent marquis sat in an overstuffed chair beside his hearth, wearing a tawny periwig and dressed to the nines, reading a missive as if he hadn’t a care in the world.
The smug bastard.
Geordie didn’t wait for him to rise. “Damnation, John, what the devil is going on under your very nose? Captain Weaver arrested Akira Ayres this morning and then forbade me to visit her. I swear you have pushed me to the brink. This is an unacceptable and preposterous state of affairs.”
The marquis opened his snuff box, pinched a bit, shoved it up an inordinately large nostril, then sneezed into a goddamned lace kerchief. “Are you referring to the lass I found in your company at the market?”
“You ken very well to whom I am referring.” Geordie strode straight up to the table. “What, exactly, are the charges?”
“Aiding a traitor.” The man didn’t even look up.
“But you yourself supported James—Jesus, man, you stood beside me when I held Edinburgh Castle.” Throwing up his hands, Geordie paced. “The way you’re behaving, you’d think Queen Anne has offered you a dukedom.”
The marquis smirked, picking up his missive.
Geordie lunged forward and slapped the parchment from his hand. “That’s it. You’ve been behind the miserable captain all along. What? Have you promised him a portion of my lands in return for my ruination?”
John studied his fingernails. “That’s taking things a bit far. But I must
say, the queen desires to rid the Highlands of all those who seek to dethrone her.”
I could wring the swine’s neck right here and now. “Right, so the childless woman on the throne wants to keep her arse in Kensington Palace? I fail to see where the queen’s wishes have anything to do with the wee lassie.”
Crossing his arms and his legs, John made a show of looking bored. Christ, he was as talented at the aloof noble act as Geordie himself—except he doubted the onion-eyed codpiece was acting.
The Marquis of Atholl frowned, as serious as a judge. “There are a litany of reasons why I agreed to Miss Ayres’s arrest. First, my captain believed she helped you escape when you rode against the queen’s men—after all, it was your flask found on the battlefield.” John leaned forward and shook his finger. “It might smear my reputation to arrest you, since you hold in your possession a document signed by my captain declaring your innocence—though written under duress.”
“You are wrong,” Geordie fumed, certain that steam was blowing from his ears. “Akira has done nothing illegal, nothing traitorous, and I will attest to it before a magistrate if I must.”
“Aye? But her name is Ayres.” John smirked like a boor. “Does that not strike a chord with you, George? We’ve both suffered at the thieving hands of tinkers.”
Geordie’s gut clamped into a knot. This man was insufferable. “Can you let nothing go? We cleared Scotland of the thieves—of those who were our true enemies. Any who remain have molded into society. They’re no more outlaws than I.”
The marquis chuckled. “I see you make my point so well.”
Now the cur had crossed the line. Sauntering forward, Geordie didn’t stop until he stood toe to toe with the marquis, towering over the seated stuffed pheasant. But he wasn’t about to start making threats—threats would only serve to show his hand. He wasn’t about to let the bastard know how much he cared for Akira, either, because that would give the marquis more power than he deserved. “Come, John,” he said in a low, pointed tone. “As one peer to another, I appeal to you to release Miss Ayres into my custody. I shall remove her and her kin to Huntly, where they will never bother you again.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
