Even as she thought this, Arabella recalled images of Francis fighting, she recalled his temper, and the darkness that dwelt within him.
It was true, he was not the most patient man and he sometimes allowed his insecurities to get the better of him, knocking him off track and causing him to make grave mistakes. In spite of this, though, he was still the only man she could ever imagine herself loving. He was still a man who had captivated her heart in ways she had never thought it could be captivated.
Yes, it was easy to look past all the rest.
“Francis, there is something I’d like to ask ye about,” she said suddenly, broaching the subject she had wanted to discuss with him.
“Aye? What’s that?” he asked, breaking his gaze from the stars in the night sky and planting them back on her face. Arabella felt that his eyes would rather be looking at her than any sky. She saw in them his need for her.
Before she could speak, Arabella felt her stomach doing flips. She was not sure what was causing her more anxiety, the conversation she was soon to have or the knowledge that Francis had feelings for her that she returned.
He was completely captivating and she knew that he was captivated by her in turn. How could it be so good that they were able to enjoy one another like this? Was this how it always was for men and women who had fallen in love in times past? Had they all understood this silent connection?
“Well, I ken it’s a hard thing for ye to talk about, but I wanted to hear more about yer mum,” Arabella finally said, holding her breath and feeling her heart pound a little harder. She wondered how he would respond and whether or not she had just opened a door to that dark side of him.
Indeed, she saw Francis’ face cloud over. He did not appear to be angry at her, but the very thought of discussing his mother was such an agony to him that she sensed how hard it was going to be to get any information out of him.
“Well…” he began. “If ye want to hear about her, what is it ye want to ken? I imagine ye didnae ask me about this out of the blue. Something to do with that card ye received?” he asked.
Arabella sensed a tone in his voice, something that bordered on distrust. She wondered if she had made a mistake. “Perhaps…” she replied.
“Some enemy of me faither’s? Someone asking ye to find out for certain whether or not I’m a bastard?” came the words, a borderline accusation.
“Francis, please. I ken this isnae something ye want to talk about, but ye’re wrong. It isnae that. I’ve done nothing to harm ye,” Arabella replied softly.
“I cannae imagine that ye would,” Francis said, looking at her more intently. “But this is something that has haunted me all me life and I’ve had plenty of folk try and use it against me. In fact, it’s been those close to me, those I ought to call family, I suppose. They’ve been the worst of it,” he added.
Arabella understood why Francis had no reason to trust her, yet she saw that it was difficult for him. She was glad to know that she had his trust, even when others didn’t. Knowing that Francis trusted her made her truly believe that perhaps he loved her. Deeply, even. That he cared about her more than she had ever anticipated and that all of their emotions with one another was beyond what she had seen from the outside for her friends and their husbands.
Did they love one another like this? Did they love each other enough to trust when trust was impossible? To care when it didn’t make sense and to share things that could just as easily wound as heal?
“The card I received was from a woman I met at the party. The one I met with today. She was very kind and she invited me to her home, and has just invited me once more, to dine with her tomorrow evening…” Arabella said. She spoke slowly and deliberately, hoping to clarify any misunderstandings or barriers to the trust that was growing between herself and Francis.
He nodded, still looking at the floor. It was clear that he felt ashamed of himself even for considering something different, even if he had not come out and accused her of betrayal.
Arabella waited, patiently, for Francis to give his own response, for him to share what was on his mind and be at peace in whatever he felt. It seemed to take a while, but he finally opened his mouth again.
“Forgive me for considering anything different, Arabella. Ye ken I trust ye. And I do. I just forget sometimes that I have the luxury of trust,” he said.
“Well I am thankful that ye are making a choice to honor me with yer trust and I understand when it’s difficult. But I ask ye to bear in mind that I’d never do anything to hurt ye. I promise,” she declared.
“Anyway, what was it ye wanted to ask me about me mum?” he said finally, knowing it was time to change the course of the conversation.
“What was it ye said her name was?” Arabella inquired, knowing in her gut that it would be the same as she had recalled.
“Jeanne. Her name was Jeanne,” Francis replied in a bereaved exhale. As if her name was some potent weapon, something forged of pain and anxiety and madness and the contradicting relief of a mother’s arms.
“Aye. A lovely name,” Arabella replied and the corners of Francis’ mouth twitched a bit, as if he could almost smile at the thought of her. However, the smile was still shrouded in pain.
“Where was she from? Did she grow up in yer faither’s clan? Was she from the Clan Inveroch?” she asked, believing herself to be certain that Jeanne was not from there.
“No, indeed, she was not. Me mum was born near Queensferry. The coast,” Francis confirmed. It was just as Arabella had suspected from her conversation with Lady Anisette.
“Truly?” Arabella prodded, remaining casual.
“Aye. She came to join me faither’s clan after their marriage was arranged,” he explained.
Arabella always felt a sense of relief when Francis referred to the laird as his faither. She knew that when he thought about it, he always called him by his title, or tried to correct himself. For now, she saw that he was relaxed enough not to worry.
“Francis, is it possible that yer grandmother is Lady Anisette?” she finally asked him outright. Arabella had no doubts by this point, but she had a need to confirm it with him before she proceeded and further.
Francis looked at her with wide eyes, as if stunned by the question.
For a moment he blustered through syllables, trying to answer. “Y-yes, aye. She is…” he finally managed to say.
Arabella smiled with satisfaction. “That is the very lady I have been going to see. I thought as much when I spoke with her, but felt that I ought to confirm with ye before I mentioned anything about ye and yer mum,” Arabella informed him.
Francis breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, I guess it all makes sense now,” he laughed.
Arabella was glad to see such relief on his face. He understood why she had been asking such questions, why she had been curious and why she had an invitation from Lady Anisette.
“So it’s true. She is yer grandmother. That does help clarify things just a bit,” Arabella said with a laugh.
“Aye, I suppose it does. But it doesnae explain why she came to the reception…” he added dryly.
“What do ye mean?” Arabella asked, confused at this and also the way in which Francis said it.
“Lady Anisette and my faith—the laird—dinnae exactly get along,” he said, hinting at something more.
“Oh, truly?” Arabella prodded. Generally she was uninterested in gossip, but this seemed a good deal more intriguing.
“Aye. Lady Anisette and the laird got into it a few years back. I wasnae ever told why, but I ken it was something big. Ye see, I wouldnae be surprised if it was over the accusations me uncle made against me mum. I dinnae ken why it would’ve taken so long after her death for it all to come to a head, but I cannae think of any other reason for it,” Francis explained.
“Ye think yer faither accused yer mum to Lady Anisette?” Arabella asked in shock.
“Och, no, he would never do something so outright. But maybe his brother would. Or maybe
he simply refused to deny the rumor. Something like that would surely set off my grandmum,” he reasoned.
“I can imagine. The poor lass! Having to hear such things about her daughter when it cannae possibly be true,” Arabella said.
Francis looked at her sadly. “Arabella, thank ye for being so supportive. But ye ken, it could be true. Dinnae look at me like that. Ye ken I dinnae want to believe it either. Ye ken it pains me even to consider it. But I’ve got to be realistic. Good people do bad things sometimes. Why should me mum, or me ‘faither’, or even me be any different? I dinnae want to think about it, but maybe it is true…” Francis confessed.
Arabella didn’t know what to say next. She hated seeing him so downtrodden over a scandal like this. She couldn’t imagine that it had been true, but to hear Francis say this, she realized that he was right. It was possible. Even Francis, a man she thought to be so incredible, had deep flaws and a darkness she couldn’t deny. Was it possible that maybe all the scandal…was true?
On the other hand, Arabella felt that no matter what, she could not concede to the possibility. She had to remain supportive no matter how much evidence was riding against them. If Francis ceased to believe in his mother’s innocence, she would not. She would remain the voice of support.
“Aye, maybe it is true,” she began. “But I refuse to believe it. Until another man comes forward, a man who looks more like ye than the laird does, I cannae abide the rumor,” she stated with determination.
Francis gave her the sweetest, most endearing smile and, with a quick glance back inside to make sure they were alone, wrapped a hand around Arabella’s waist and pulled her close. Arabella felt the warmth of him and internally indulged in the warmth his smile had given her. She rested her head on his shoulder and sensed the comfort of his appreciation.
They remained silent, but Arabella realized that she had to maintain her relationship with Lady Anisette. Knowing that she would be going to the lady’s house the next evening for dinner, it would be an ideal opportunity to bring Francis and Jeanne into the conversation. The possibility that she might learn some truth was enticing.
If there was any way that she could bring Francis a modicum of relief, she would take it. He deserved more than this. He deserved to be confident in his identity as the laird’s son and the future Laird of Inveroch. Whatever she could do to assist him, she would make it her life’s work to do it.
In some ways, Arabella felt a little foolish. After all, she ought to focus on her own future. There was something about Francis that she simply could not push away. He gripped her in every possible way. Her heart was his and she trusted him with it. Why should she not devote herself to him when he was the thing she wanted most in this world? Was she being foolish? Or was it alright to fall so deeply in love with someone that it was alright to be a fool?
Just as her thoughts took this turn, she felt Francis’s hand lift her chin and turn it so she was facing him. Their eyes locked and Arabella inhaled the scent of him before he placed his lips on hers again. Gently. Sweetly.
Yes, this was worth her devotion. This man was worth her efforts to find the truth. Truly, Arabella cared little for anything else.
Chapter 21
The Work Still To Be Done
“Thank ye. I’m just headed upstairs now,” Francis said, nodding to one of the maids, who had delivered a letter to him.
The moment he was in his room, he collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes. He was still clutching the envelope and hadn’t read it yet, but saw that it was from his superior.
It was early in the afternoon, but to Francis it felt as though a week had gone by. He couldn’t believe that it had been a mere six hours. When so much had happened, how was he to process it all in a short time? How was he to pretend that he could understand the energy he had just spent as a spy, lying to survive and to help his side win a war?
He knew he had work to do, knew that there was so much still that would have to take place before the Scottish lands were returned to Scottish men as they ought to have been. England was a greedy mistress and she wanted the lands of everybody. People the world over had fought her, just as the Jacobites were.
If only their army were a bit bigger…
Forcing his eyelids open, Francis raised his hands above his chest as he lay and opened the envelope. Indeed, it was from his superior.
The letter was not harsh, but it was a demand. Francis was glad he was able to respond today, when the letter had arrived. He would be able to put ink to paper.
If he could ever get up from the bed…
Giving himself a little bit of grace, Francis allowed for a short nap, knowing that at any time he would hear the sound of people mulling about downstairs.
He hadn’t seen Arabella the whole day and it was agony, but at the same time, Francis knew it was likely for the best. He had work to do. She would be spending the evening with his grandmother. This was a fact that still surprised him. However, it was good and it meant that he had no excuse not to complete the tasks at hand.
As his thoughts drifted into sleep, Francis was imagining Arabella’s face, imagining her lips and her exquisite beauty.
When he woke, realizing it had been a shorter time than even he had anticipated, Francis forced himself to raise his body and make his way to the desk. He sat on the wooden chair and began composing his thoughts.
He had seen much that day. Now it was time to put it all on the paper. The defenses at the Edinburgh garrison, for starters. The snippets of plot he had heard and the conversations he entered into with careless soldiers who assumed him to be one of their own.
His false accent and his clothing gave away nothing. Francis was confident that no one had suspected him. Indeed, he was certain that none had, or he would be spending this evening waiting for the gallows, most assuredly.
Francis finally decided it was time to stop delaying and put pen to paper. He wrote about the things he had seen that day, the ways his cover got information, and what he had learned of the plans to come.
It was a difficult time for the Jacobites, but with this information from a spy, they would be able to get ahead of the plans the Hanoverians had in play. Francis was relieved that they would manage to thwart at least one attack that he had learned of that day. If he was able to be of any sort of service to the Jacobites, he felt satisfied.
Francis added details about the Edinburgh garrison, things that their troops probably wouldn’t know about yet or learn about without his help. Now they could form a defense, and potentially even take back their castle, although that would require significant rallying and preparation.
With the final step of signing his false name to the paper, Francis completed the letter, aware that he had done something useful. He may not be much of anything, he may not be as important as he was thought to be, but he could do this and that was important. He could aid his people and help them achieve something magnificent.
Francis took the paper and blew gently upon the ink to make sure it dried well before folding the letter and placing it in a small envelope. He would have to keep it well concealed.
While his own family was involved in all of this, even they could be impacted by finding the letter or being associated with Francis if he were caught with it. He could not allow any harm to befall Arabella if the letter were discovered in his possession.
Francis tucked it into his shirt, where he hoped no one might notice it under his layers.
Still tired, Francis leaned back, weary and exhausted. He needed more sleep. He could take advantage now, indulge in a bit of rest.
Soon he had to get the letter to a messenger who could transport it subtly. While he knew the right man for the job, it would still not be easy and it required risk just to get the letter there, aside from the risks of the letter being found after the fact.
False name or no, a messenger could be paid or tortured into giving information, and Francis was not guaranteed safety in this method of delivery. He was hardly guar
anteed safety in anything these days.
He was merely the possible, but unlikely, son of a laird who was a spy for his own people and could be used for so many purposes. His association with the laird could make him valuable to the enemy. However, Francis knew that his faither could just as easily deny him as a bastard, leaving him in English hands.
Indeed, it was a difficulty. Francis had been through much and was unafraid of what was to come though. He knew that he could handle it, whatever the challenge.
As he rested his eyes momentarily, Francis allowed his thoughts to drift to another matter. One that very much depended upon his parentage. One that he could not let go of for anything.
He wanted to marry Arabella. Amidst all the challenges and chaos of his state, Francis was unable to let go of that one desire, unable to stop thinking about her.
Since they had shared those secret, stolen kisses, she had become even more potent to him. Her face was ever present, and his thoughts of their future were overwhelming.
Francis dreamt of asking for her hand, he had thought about it, fantasized about the proposal so many times. He had considered her replies, all of them delighted, of course. He knew she would have every reason to refuse him, having seen the worst of him, but she had chosen only to see the best.
If she saw the good in him, then why should he not be a fool and ask for her hand in marriage? Why should he not beg her to be his wife?
He knew why not. The reason for his hesitancy was everywhere and Francis simply couldn’t escape it. A young woman like Arabella, from a family of breeding and close to the laird, could never wed herself to the bastard of a fallen woman. It simply wasn’t done. Their marriage would never be recognized or accepted.
What was he to do? He was determined to wed her. He couldn’t simply toss aside those feelings. He couldn’t ignore the fact that he and Arabella were made to be one, united in marriage.
Love Saves A Highland Spy: Ladies of Dunmore Series (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 14
