The Highland Guardian

by Jarecki, Amy

  Reid glanced to the mantel clock. “Well then. ’Tis a good thing your practice woke me, else I’d still be abed.”

  “Do you oft sleep late, my lord?”

  “Only when I’ve been up until the wee hours setting quill to missives.” He gestured toward the door to the tune of his growling stomach. “Shall we?”

  * * *

  Once in the courtyard, Audrey placed her fingers in the earl’s outstretched palm and allowed him to assist her into the coach. Her fingers tingled as soon as she touched his hand. With a gasp, she met his gaze. The corner of his mouth ticked up while crinkles formed at the corners of his penetrating eyes—fathomless green eyes encircled by a dark ring around his irises. Those eyes were disconcerting to say the least, hawkish and cunning. What was it about this man that made her feel so out of sorts? He’d offered her a hand, the simple gesture as confounding as being among an entire hall of courtiers. Often she’d been aided into the coach by her father or by Gerald, and never once had she been so discombobulated.

  Though she preferred to sit riding forward, she purposely took the seat with her back to the team, because a man like Reid MacKenzie would definitely sit opposite. In no way did Audrey want to sit shoulder to shoulder with the earl. But when he took the opposing seat, she almost regretted her choice all the more. Now she’d have to endure the hour-long coach ride to Hartlepool staring at the man’s face. Oddly attractive with chiseled features, he didn’t seem to smile much. His fierceness mightn’t be as frightening if he smiled more often. Truly, with that sharp-eyed stare, he could fluster even the most courageous of maids.

  And Audrey wasn’t courageous in the slightest. In fact her behavior since the arrival of the Highlanders had shocked her down to her toes. She set the roses she’d picked that morning beside her and folded her hands. Staring at her fingers, she turned them over three or four times, wishing she’d brought some knitting, or anything to keep them busy.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked.

  Yes, and I’d rather be anywhere than inside this coach with a man as disconcerting as you. “No.” She snapped open her fan and cooled her cheeks.

  “Aside from playing the harpsichord, what do you enjoy? What fills the days of a bonny heiress?” He smiled politely, as if he cared how she filled her days. And as she’d predicted, his smile made him appear amenable.

  Audrey wanted to appreciate his friendliness, but now was not the time. “I paint fans.”

  “Fans?”

  She placed her fan in her lap and spread it open for him to see. This one had a circle of dancing nymphs—one of her favorite paintings. “I paint these for a merchant in London. He takes as many as I can send him.”

  “I am impressed.” Seaforth plucked the fan from her fingers and examined it, holding it to the light shining in from the window. “Look at the detail. You are quite talented, I’ll say.”

  “Thank you. Papa always said my hobbies kept me out of trouble.”

  “Did he now?” He folded the fan and gave it back. “Your father was a smart man.”

  She glanced down to her fingers and bit her bottom lip. “Tell me, my lord. How did you meet Papa?”

  “We were introduced by a mutual acquaintance in London.”

  “Oh? Whom, may I ask?”

  “The Duke of Gordon. Do you know him?”

  “I cannot say I do.” She drummed her fingers against her lips “Gordon? Does he not hail from the north of Scotland? And tell me, what does he have to do with French perfume?”

  “When did…?” The earl frowned, drawing his eyebrows together and looking rather dangerous—and rather like he saw straight through her ruse.

  Audrey smiled inwardly. Papa had, on occasion, taken her to the mine, and they’d discussed some of his business dealings. But surely, after the years of conversation, she must have picked up some of his acumen.

  And, there was no time like a dreary coach ride to test her theory. “I’d like to try a sample of the new fragrance from Cologne.”

  “I would have been able to give you a bottle if I’d salvaged anything from my boat afore it sank.” He arched his eyebrows. “Your father told you about the Cologne venture, did he?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, staring out the window at the rolling hills of pastoral land rather than hold his gaze.

  “I’m certain he did.”

  Nothing made a lick of sense. If she wanted answers, she would have to seek them out for herself. As far as she was concerned the earl spoke in riddles. And by the way he was now studying her from across the coach, she was quite sure he suspected her of listening in on his conversation with the captain.

  Nonetheless, Audrey didn’t care if Seaforth thought she was listening or not. She aimed to find out why her father was traveling with an earl from the north of Scotland, and why they were in France together.

  She didn’t believe the Cologne ruse for a moment. Papa was a coal man with little time to dabble in anything else. Especially ladies’ perfume.

  Something was afoot, and if the Earl of Seaforth found himself on the wrong end of these affairs—if he in any way was implicated in her father’s death—she would make him pay.

  * * *

  When the coach turned into Saint Hilda’s, a cold chill spread across Audrey’s skin. She looked out the window to see a grave with recently turned dirt, shaded by weeping willows. Her throat turned dry as a tear slipped from her eye. She pulled a kerchief from her sleeve and drew it to her face. “Merciful Father.”

  The earl reached out as if he might touch her knee, but swiftly snatched his hand away. “Would you prefer to wait a bit?”

  She shook her head.

  As Seaforth accompanied her through the wrought iron gate leading to the graveyard, they were met by the vicar. His black robes billowed as he approached, wringing his hands. “My heavens, Your Lordship, I didn’t expect to see you returned so soon.”

  Seaforth stopped and bowed. “Good day, Father Brown. Might I introduce Miss Audrey Kennet. She has been ever so distraught since I delivered the news of her father’s untimely death. ’Twas very important for the lass to pay her respects.”

  The vicar regarded her with a concerned frown. “Oh, my dear, you must be out of sorts by the shock of it all.”

  “Indeed I am.” She looked to the new grave. “You gave him a proper burial?”

  “Surely, we saw to everything. The earl’s instructions were to spare no expense.”

  She looked to Seaforth. “You paid the bill?”

  “He did.” Father Brown grasped Audrey’s elbow and led her along the path. “Walk with me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. Seaforth didn’t follow, thank heavens. “And you are certain the man you buried was Nicholas Kennet?”

  “Quite certain, miss. Your father was a benefactor of Saint Hilda’s, did you not know?”

  “I did not.” It seemed there were a great many things she didn’t know about Papa. And to think, at one time she believed there were no secrets between them.

  “Many miners attend this church. Your father always took care of them. He was a warmhearted man, loved by many. I do hope you intend to keep the mine open?”

  Honestly, in the past day Audrey hadn’t thought about anything but her own grief. Considering all the many things left untended by Papa’s passing made her head swim. “I intend to,” she replied, making a mental note to discuss the mine’s operation with the solicitor.

  They stopped at the grave and she stooped to place the roses on top. “Have you ordered the headstone?”

  “Indeed. A large granite stone befitting of your father’s importance to the community—ordered by Lord Seaforth, of course.”

  She nodded. “And the inscription?”

  “The year of birth and death, his name, and the words ‘loving father’ as requested by His Lordship.”

  She pursed her lips. She wanted to detest Seaforth ever so much, but she couldn’t fault him for doing the right thing by Papa. If only she could be certain th
e earl wasn’t the reason for her father’s untimely death.

  Death.

  The mere word made her want to crumble into a heap and sob. Dash it, for the first time that day, she couldn’t hold in her tears. Seeing Papa’s grave was like learning of his death all over again.

  Father Brown stood beside her in silence for a time, and after her tears abated and they prayed together, he led her toward the church. “Would it ease your pain to spend some time alone in the chapel?”

  “Please.” She sniffed.

  After she was seated in a pew and left alone in the small chapel, Audrey sat quietly with her hands folded. A hollow bubble expanded in her chest as her melancholy set in. In the distance, a muffled Gregorian chant of male voices brought a certain peace to the chapel with its stone walls. A cross hung over an altar, festooned with green linen and two candles, one on either end.

  There she sat, alone in this world with no one to love.

  She leaned forward and lowered the kneeling rail. Folding her hands in prayer, she stared at the cross with thoughts of her father and the times they’d shared. Perhaps they had grown apart in the four years she’d spent away at Talcotts. She hadn’t wanted to go to boarding school at first, but Papa had convinced her it was for the best. She’d learn refinement and how to be a lady—things Mother could have taught her had she lived.

  But Mama died of smallpox when Audrey was but four years of age. She barely remembered her mother. And now all she had left of Papa were memories. At least Audrey’s parents were together now. Her father had never remarried—a testament to the love he bore for his wife.

  Audrey prayed for a long time, asking for redemption for Papa’s soul. She prayed for strength to continue on and honor her father’s memory, not to bend to the earl’s will, but to discover the truth for herself. She prayed to be blessed with Papa’s shrewd acumen, for he would have wanted her to take an active role in his affairs. Finally, she asked for forgiveness for being unduly outspoken. Heaven knew why she’d been so brazen toward the earl. She should be mortified with herself, but for some reason she wasn’t.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been kneeling when a monk entered from the side door with two candles tucked under his arm. He wore a brown hood pulled over his head and went about his business changing the candles on the altar.

  Audrey slid back into the pew and sat quietly. Perhaps she should go find the earl before he came looking for her. She dabbed her eyes as the monk strode down the aisle, but rather than continue on his way, he stopped beside her. “I am sorry to hear of your loss, miss.”

  The man’s voice had a gruff tone, not at all serene like she would expect. It resonated with a nasally twang. Turning her face up to him, a gasp slipped through her lips. Shocking grey eyes peered from beneath a straight line of eyebrows. The monk had a thin moustache, and the beard on his chin was unkempt. But more unsettling was the track of his mouth. His upper lip disappeared into his lower, and the corners turned up as if in a sneer, almost as if he was judging her.

  Drawing a hand to her chest, Audrey snapped her gaze away. “Thank you for your concern.”

  He inhaled sharply like he intended to comment further, but after an uncomfortable pause, the peculiar monk continued on his way.

  * * *

  Before slipping out the postern gate, the monk looked over his shoulder to ensure he hadn’t been seen. Then he hastened into the shadows of the trees and continued to the dank alleyways where he knew how to blend in and move without notice.

  He didn’t expect Miss Kennet to recognize him. After all, they’d never been introduced, and until now, his station had been far beneath hers. She’d been born into wealth, had lived a life of privilege. And he? He’d led a life in the gutter.

  But not for much longer. The monk had a few secrets of his own and, now that Miss Kennet’s father was out of the way, he would seize his fortune.

  Nonetheless, this business with the earl was an unexpected turn of events. While her father was in France, the monk had set his plans in motion, acted on a number of dirty secrets he’d collected in the past year. If he’d learned anything in the gutter, it was that everyone had something they wanted to hide, and once he discovered what it was, it was easy to convince them to turn to his way of thinking.

  Fortunately, he possessed a tidbit of dirt on the Earl of Seaforth. He’d rather not take on a man as powerful as Reid MacKenzie, but if the behemoth didn’t return to Scotland soon, the monk would have no choice but to play his card.

  Thank God, he’d intercepted a letter from the earl to the lord high admiral. If that document had reached London, the monk’s every effort would have been foiled.

  Chapter Six

  After they returned from Saint Hilda’s, the earl excused himself to do whatever it was earls did with their men. He said something about sparring, which only made Audrey roll her eyes for the hundredth time. Doubtless, Seaforth would need to be skilled with all manner of weapons if he was constantly at odds with Her Majesty’s Royal Dragoons.

  Nonetheless, Audrey seized the opportunity to slip into the library where her father kept his books of accounts. She closed the door behind her, tiptoed to the desk, and removed the key from the secret chamber at the back of the top drawer. Ever since Audrey was a little girl, Papa had written in his journal at the end of each day. He’d always kept it locked away in the strongbox behind the portrait of his brother that hung to the side of his writing desk. She’d never been allowed to read the journal, but now she firmly believed it was her duty to do so.

  In the past two days she’d learned her father had commenced on a perfume venture in France, enemy territory, no less; had befriended a number of Scottish nobles; and sided with the Tory Party. Did she even know the man?

  As Audrey reached for the corner of the portrait, she paused. She’d never paid much attention to the painting of her uncle Josiah. He’d been a year younger than Papa and died a single man—when Audrey was a young child. Her father had rarely spoken of him, except to say that Josiah imbibed too much brandy and had an affinity for the ladies on the waterfront. It was only after reading about the woman at the well in Bible class at Talcotts that she guessed the profession of the waterfront ladies.

  Curious, she leaned nearer the portrait, taking in the stare of her uncle from beneath a line of dour eyebrows as if accusing her of some misdeed. Mayhap she was causing herself undue trepidation because she felt like a thief sneaking into the library and reading the forbidden journal.

  But I am the heiress and I have a right to be here. Besides, ’tis the only place I might be able to find answers.

  Steeling her resolve, she pulled open the picture, used the key, and peered into the strongbox. The journal sat upright against one wall. Near it were papers. Letters, deeds, and notes of payment, and heaven knew what else. She removed the journal, then replaced things as she’d found them, especially the portrait of Uncle Josiah.

  Since His Lordship had been using the library to set the estate’s affairs in order, Audrey most certainly didn’t want Seaforth to suspect her of meddling, and moreover, she didn’t want him to know about the strongbox. Not until he proved his trust beyond a shadow of a doubt, and not until Audrey learned what her father had been up to.

  Once she made her way to her chamber, she sat in the window embrasure and opened the journal on her lap and set to reading:

  20th April, 1708: The Earl of Seaforth arrived yesterday but didn’t tarry. Advised his sea galley will be sailing for Calais on the morrow. I have no choice but to accompany him. The plea for James to embrace the Protestant faith hath never been so crucial. The line to the succession must be defined, lest the entire country be forced into civil war upon the queen’s death.

  Audrey continued to read about the daily operations of the mines and a few snippets regarding the manor that she’d been aware of, until her finger stopped:

  15th April, 1708: My beloved daughter arrived home from Talcotts today. Lord, how I’ve missed my English r
ose. She has grown into a fine woman and looks so like her mother. I will enjoy her company this summer. But alas, the time has come for her to marry.

  Audrey’s jaw dropped. If marriage was so vastly imminent, why hadn’t Papa mentioned it? The mere thought tied her stomach in knots. Had Papa started the process of finding a suitor? Were any of the letters in his strongbox about her? Perhaps she should have been more thorough when she was in the library.

  Then another entry caught her eye.

  1st March, 1708: Returned from London, where I met with Lords Seaforth, Gordon, Tullibardine and many others in the Tory Party. We are all in agreement that it is our duty to defend the succession. The sooner the better, in my opinion. The taxes imposed by Her Highness to support her wars on two continents are bleeding my coffers dry. Had the queen received any education in the governance of a kingdom, things might be quite different. But we were forced to suffer the reign of her sister and now Anne. James must succeed to the throne, lest we all suffer the consequences of foreign rule and, no doubt, taxation that will send miners out of business.

  On and on Audrey read about her father’s political beliefs and problems of running the mine until she sat back and stared out the window. Papa had never discussed his political leanings with her, but with all she’d read, things began to fall in place. Though she never would have guessed, her father had been a Jacobite, a man who supported the descendants of James II and their claim to the throne, even though they followed the Catholic faith. At Talcotts the ladies were never permitted to utter such a word, nor were any of the ladies allowed to attend Catholic mass.

  But her father’s concerns had nothing to do with religion. He wanted fairer taxation. He disapproved of Britain’s involvement in the wars. Those two things alone made a great deal of sense to Audrey. And it was high time she started paying more attention to the administration of the mine and the estate…especially if she was to avoid being forced into an undesirable marriage.