Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate

by Keeping Kate (lit)

  Seeing the easy mingling of social levels here, Kate felt keenly and suddenly proud of Scotland and its peo­ple, both Highland and Lowland. She felt, too, a re­newed sense of purpose and dedication—the Jacobite cause must prevail for the good of the Scots, she thought, and her mission with Alec and the rest, but a small piece of the grander puzzle, must prevail also.

  Hearing a series of bells chiming out, she startled. "The bells of the Canongate Kirk, just there. They ring throughout the day," Alec said. "You'll get used to hearing them."

  She nodded, having been to the city before. "I'm a bit iumnv. Is that the Tolbooth?" she asked in a hush, as

  they passed a massive facade that hulked over the cob­bled street.

  "Aye, the city jail," he murmured. "The Lord Advo­cate's house is across from it. Hopefield House is a little way ahead, just below Castlehill, on the right. You'll see the Chocolate House, and behind it in the close, Hope-field House."

  Kate drew a deep breath. Then she saw the brown fieldstone front of a building with rich brown trim, and a neatly painted sign in gold lettering on black: fraser's fancy chocolate house.

  A woman was outside sweeping the steps, and as they neared and began to turn, she waved exuberantly. Alec lifted a hand, smiling, and she dropped her broom and ran inside.

  "Effie," he explained. "Euphemia Fraser—my un­cle's wife."

  Kate felt even more anxious as Jack guided the horses into the close, one of the short alleyways com­mon throughout the city. The chaise entered the shad­owy chasm between two multistory buildings and followed the sloping pavement downward to a little open court tucked behind the main street.

  At the far end of a tree-lined plot, a sandstone man­sion of modest proportions and graceful design, with gabled roof and cupolas, rose behind an iron gate.

  "That's Hopefield House," Alec said. "The family lives there, and the shop is located in our other build­ing, just on the High Street."

  Nodding, Kate drew up the wide hood of her dark brown cloak and smoothed her skirts of forest ereen

  wool, which she wore with a close-cut jacket of green-and-blue tartan over a white, ruffled shirt. Sophie had lent her the outfit, encouraging her to wear something more a la mode than Kate generally preferred.

  Alec exited the chaise and turned to help Kate down, his hand taking hers. Then he kissed her cheek under the shadow of her hood and tugged the rim down.

  "Keep it like that if we see soldiers, my love," he said. "There's always the chance that someone could recog­nize you."

  "Her fairy beauty will blind 'em, and she'll charm the breeches off 'em," Jack quipped as he came toward them.

  "Let's let them keep their breeches, shall we?" Alec muttered. He turned then, and waved. "Aunt Effie, good to see you! And hello, what's this?"

  He smiled and bent down as three little girls in ruf­fled pink gowns raced toward him from the back door of the building facing the street. Passing the tall red-haired woman in black who stepped outside with them, the children ran across the cobbled yard, the lit­tlest one toddling so fast that Alec stretched out an arm to catch her before she fell forward.

  "Miss MacCarran," he said, looking up at Kate. "I'd like you to meet my nieces, and my aunt, Euphemia Fraser."

  He stood to embrace his aunt, who was nearly as tall as he was and perhaps close to his weight, and so de­lighted to see him that she near picked him up off the ground. Explaining quickly that he had injured his arm during a sword practice, but that it was healing nicely, he then turned to Kate.

  "Aunt Euphemia, this is Katherine. Kate," he said. "I've brought her to meet you and Uncle Walter."

  "Aye? She's special, then?" She smiled, brown eyes dancing under a crown of unruly red hair barely tamed by a cap, her hair either dyed or still possessing a great deal of natural color despite her age.

  "Oh aye, she's quite special," Alec answered.

  "Welcome, Miss Katherine—?" Effie waited for the rest.

  "It's Fraser, Aunt. Or soon will be," Alec said.

  Euphemia gaped at him. "I'll hear this now, and so will Wattie! Come inside, we'll no' stand outside with this news!"

  They were beautiful, each one, like an assortment of fairies, Kate thought as she was introduced to each child: Rosie, with straight dark hair and serious green eyes; Lily, whose pale blond locks, big blue eyes, and a dazzling dimple gave her an enchanting air; and Daisy, the youngest at two, with bronze curls and eyes as blue as her sister's. Greeting each child, Kate was entranced by their charming personalities as much as their appearance—serious Rosie, ethereal Lily, and bouncy little Daisy.

  "Such bonny lasses," she said brightly, looking at Alec.

  He smiled, nodded as he looked at them. Rosie stood near him, Kate saw, looking up at him every few mo­ments, and shy Lily tucked her hand in his quietly. Noticing how quickly he took the girl's hand, and notic­ing how Daisy pulled on the hem of his kilt, watching him with adorine eves. Kate felt her heart simnlv melt.

  "They've missed their uncle Alec," Euphemia Fraser said.

  "And I'm sure he's missed them." Kate glanced up to see a flicker of uncertainty, even vulnerability in Alec's eyes. Then he smiled, and it was gone, and he rested a hand on Rosie's dark, shiny locks, so straight they would not stay in the yellow ribbon that held them back.

  "She looks more like her mother each time I see her," he said, looking at his aunt.

  "You should see her more often," she said with a huff. "Perhaps then 'twouldna be so much of a shock to you each time that you keep away. Come inside, and we'll take some chocolate. It's early yet, and we've just finished breakfast, though you both may want a bite to eat." She gestured for them to follow, and they headed toward the mansion, while Jack, behind them, turned the horses and took the chaise to stable it and the ani­mals down the street.

  "What does she mean, come here more often, Alec?" Kate asked as they walked across the yard—cobbled areas and garden plots, lined with fruit trees, com­pactly arranged—toward the house.

  He was silent, letting the children run ahead with their great-aunt, though Daisy fussed and wanted to stay with her uncle. Alec stooped to pick her up, hand­ing her to Kate because his left arm was still in a sling, and the child came readily into her arms to ride there sweetly.

  "Their mother was my betrothed. When I returned

  from Leiden, I found her married to my brother and al­ready with child."

  Kate sighed out. "You mentioned something about it once, but—seeing the girls now, it gives me a stronger sense of what you must have endured."

  He shrugged. "Amy and Edward were better suited, perhaps, than Amy and I, for he was a wilder sort and she and I were both a little staid. He needed her calm­ing nature, and she needed ... well, perhaps some un­predictability. They had these three lovely lassies," he said, glancing at Daisy, who never took her eyes from him as they strolled along. Kate knew, in a way, what the child felt. She, too, had fallen under the spell of Daisy's uncle Alexander, and could not look at him of­ten enough.

  "And the more babes they had, the happier they were, and the more I stayed away," Alec went on. "Amy passed away with the birth of that lovely bairnie in your arms."

  "Oh, no," Kate murmured. She tucked her head against Daisy's. "I'm so sorry."

  "For years, I dreaded coming here, so much so that I avoided it as much as possible. After Edward died early this year, it only grew worse for me. And a few weeks ago, I would have dreaded this visit as much as any other ... but it feels different now."

  Kate glanced at him, and he stopped with her in the yard, just inside the iron gates, while Euphemia let the other two girls into the front door of the mansion, then turned to wait for Kate and Alec. "What has changed this time?"

  "I am not sure. I do not feel such... fear of them, somehow, if you can understand that."

  "I do understand. I know you must love them very much."

  "I always have, but the hurt was a powerful thing, lasting over years. And now ... it's as i
f it has cleared it­self away. It has changed ... I have changed."

  Kate gazed at him thoughtfully. "You have changed, Alexander. You have let go some of the locks you kept on yourself, I think."

  He gave her a little, rueful smile. "I have, my love, and it's thanks to you and your magic."

  "Oh, no, not me. It's within you, sir—perhaps it was time to open up your heart again."

  He laughed softly and reached out to touch Daisy's reddish curls. "Whatever it was, it's gone now, Miss Daisy Fraser," he said, and the child laughed as if they shared a fine joke. "I've been such a fool."

  "Foo," Daisy said, and Kate laughed.

  "Love, Captain Fraser," Kate said, "makes its own magic."

  "So the MacCarran fairy sort like to say." He put an arm around her. "And it may be true."

  "Oh, it is," she murmured, looking up at him.

  "But what we do not yet know, Miss MacCarran, is whether your special sort of magic can extricate three men from prison without putting you in their place."

  "Let's hope it can," she said, thinking of their plans with keen trepidation. "Or you and I will be back to chains and manacles, sir."

  "Let's hope we at least share a cell," he said, in a wry tone as he led her toward the front door.

  As she set Daisy down and greeted Euphemia at the door, she lifted a hand to the crystal at her throat. Love had been born in her life and must be given the chance to thrive. Somehow, they must prevail in the dangerous task that faced them. The plans were in place, and she and Alec and the others had only to carry them out— while presenting a pleasant facade for Alec's family.

  Chapter 27

  %% ^^^Tarried!" Euphemia stared at Alec.

  J.V.M. "Well," Alec said, sliding a glance at Kate, who turned a bright blushing color. "Kate and I are, ah, married by Highland tradition, and will be for­mally wed as soon as we can manage."

  "I canna believe it," Effie muttered, and looked at her husband, Walter, who sat in a high-backed chair in Hopefield's drawing room, a cozy place with brocade sofas, embroidered draperies, and children's toys scat­tered in a corner of the room. "What do you mean, mar­ried by Hielan' tradition?" Effie had been raised in the Lowlands, and her Scots accent was thick with rolling r's and abbreviated words.

  "You dinna want to know." Walter said bluntlv.

  while Effie gasped and put a hand to the shelf of her bosom. He pushed his brass-rimmed spectacles higher on his nose. "I think 'tis a fine thing, and you'll no' bother them aboot it any longer. Felicitations to you both," he said, nodding.

  "Thank you, Uncle," Alec said, and Kate murmured the same.

  "It's time you decided to marry," Walter said. "They're happy, Effie, so leave it be. She's a fine lass, and he was lucky to find her, is my thought."

  Effie stared at Walter in silence, then sighed and nodded.

  "We've only come to stay a day or two, and then we'll be returning to Kate's home for a while. We'll come back here for a longer visit," Alec went on, lifting a hand to his aunt's protest. "I have some important business to take care of in the Highlands," he added in a loud whisper.

  "Och, something for Mr. Keppick? Good!" Effie used the code name she had created for MacDonald of Keppoch—a lamentably obvious one, Alec thought. Effie looked at Kate. "And you are from the Highlands? Aye? Do you know a place called Jacob's Ladder up north, or Jacob's Stone?" She spoke in a loud whisper.

  Kate looked blank. "I suppose they are not near my home—"

  "Those are signals from one Jacobite to another," Alec told Kate. "Aunt Effie, it's fine. She shares our sympathies."

  "Ah! Verra good. And where did you meet?"

  "In London, months aeo." Alec said.

  "Did you visit White's Chocolate House at the bot­tom of St. James's while you were there?" Effie asked, folding her hands. "It has a fine reputation."

  "Aye, as a gathering place for Jacobites and anyone of a rebellious nature, be it politics or poetry," he said. "Jack and I went there to make a comparison with your establishment here in Edinburgh. We recognized no one else frequenting the place, but I did try a hot choco­late drink in the Spanish style."

  "Aye, pepper makes the difference!" Walter looked pleased. "And it's most authentic."

  "No one makes it quite like you, Uncle," Alec said tactfully. "I also rather enjoyed the hot chocolate that Kate's friend Mrs. Murray made for me," Alec said. "Hot cocoa made with plenty of thick cream and extra loaf sugar."

  "Och, that's for bairnies, that," Walter said. "Pepper is the thing!"

  Alec smothered a smile as he looked at Kate. She was blinking madly, trying to keep pace with his two eccen­tric relatives.

  "I like it the Roman way, if you take my meaning," Effie hissed loudly to Kate, who leaned back, a little startled.

  "Iced with milk, madam?" Walter asked his wife, as if deliberately misunderstanding. "You used to like it hot and spicy—"

  "Hush!" Effie waved her hand at him. "I mean, I like James Stuart's Roman court," she emphasized. "Do you, Miss Kate?"

  "Ave. it's nice. Well, a bit dull, to be honest. I lived

  there with my parents for a few years. There was a great deal of praying and reading, and not very much in­trigue, which I found so much more interesting." She wrinkled her nose a little, and Walter laughed, low and hearty.

  "You were in the court of exiles?" Effie sounded as­tonished.

  "Aye, my father was sent to France, and we went with him. He followed the court to the Muti Palace in Rome, so we lived there, too, as well as in France and Flanders at different times."

  "Her father was exiled for crimes of rebellion," Alec said.

  Effie clasped her hands together rapturously and leaned over to grab Kate in a hug. Alec's aunt was a tall woman and nearly twice Kate's weight, with a gener­ous bosom and a powerful hug, and she nearly en­veloped the girl for a moment. Kate emerged, half-laughing, glancing at Alec as she straightened the little lace cap on her head.

  "I like her!" Effie announced as she stood. "You should marry her!" She swept toward the door. "Now, you two will need to rest and refresh, and the maid will have your rooms ready by now. And I'll go fetch the wee lassies. We all need to rest before luncheon, after the events of this morning!" She nodded at all of them, and left the room.

  "She's drinkin' too much brown sherry before lunch­eon, that one," Walter drawled, as the door closed with a theatrical thud. "After you've had your chance to rest and refresh, come downstairs, and I'll show you the chocolate shon," he told Kate.

  * X- *

  Easing open the door that adjoined his room and Kate's, Alec stepped in quietly, expecting to find Kate resting. But she stood at the window and turned, haloed in sunlight softened through curtains, as if she had been waiting.

  He knew she had, then, for she wore only a chemise, only that, so that the light behind her gently filtered through the fabric to show her delectable shape. He caught his breath silently, feeling himself surge and harden just at the sight of her. He walked toward her over Oriental carpets that added quiet luxury to the bedchamber.

  She moved toward him, the rhythmic sway of her body telling him what she wanted, for it was the same desire he had. She lifted her arms to him as he reached her, and without a word, he took her by the waist, drawing her forward to kiss her. Under his hand, smoothing up and down her back, he felt her warm curves, felt her body press against his own.

  Her lips were luscious beneath his, firm and know­ing, and she opened for him quickly, the small tip of her tongue sweet and willing. He sucked in a breath and pressed her even closer. Earlier, he had removed jacket, sporran, all but his shirt and plaid, and he could feel her shape meld against his through the layers of fabric, could feel the heat and hardness building in his own body.

  She pulled back, then, glancing up at him, glancing at the door. "They're all asleep," Alec told her, "nap-nine in their rooms. Thev think we are. as well."

  "And so we will do," she whispered, "in a little while. But for now,"
she went on, as her mouth traced over his lips, along his chin, her breath warm and de­lightful upon his skin, "for now we have a promise to fulfill."

  "Aye, what is that?" he murmured, his lips caressing hers.

  "First, a promise of marriage," she whispered against his mouth, "and after it, a fixing of the bargain between us."

  "Ah," he said, "a bargain we can both agree on."

  She laughed softly and took his hand, leading him to the bed. He saw that she had turned down the covers, and as he reached up to draw shut the bed drapes, she sat on the mattress and he sank down beside her, then paused to strip away the cloth sling that encumbered his bandaged left arm. He took her into his arms and reclined in the cool, deep nest of pillows and linens.

  As she leaned forward to kiss him, as he returned it and rolled her to her back, where he could most easily sweep his hand up under the long chemise that veiled her body. He felt excitement mounting in him, its beat strong as a drum, but he paused, nuzzling against her ear, licking the delicate lobe.

  "I promise to marry you, Katherine MacCarran," he whispered, "as soon as you like. And will you promise the same to me?"

  "Oh, aye," she whispered, "I will."

  "So that is all we need for the matrimonio part of it," he murmured, tracing his lips over the softness of her cheek. "And now for the consummato, if vou will."

  "I would dearly love that," she breathed.

  He laughed softly and kissed her throat, her upper chest, his next exhalation pooling hot between her breasts. He glided his tongue over one soft mound and found the nipple, and Kate sucked in a breath of plea­sure, arching for him. He reached upward with his hand under the chemise to strip away the fabric and draw it over her head. A moment later, she lay nude and exquisitely lovely in his arms, and he let his gaze caress her, creamy skin, golden hair like ripe sunlight, the graceful allure of her body making him pulse and throb for her until he could bear it no longer.