The Flame on the Moor

by Fiona Neal

  “And mine as well,” Deirdre added, staring into her plate.

  “I agree.” Ian nodded. “Besides, we have something happier to speak about tonight.” He stood and raised his glass of whisky. “To Lady Ballanross, my future wife.”

  Everyone but Deirdre stood, and Ian observed that her face appeared uncommonly pale. Was his imagination playing tricks, or did she seem less than enthusiastic about the prospect? Furthermore, she had suggested they wait to wed. Why?

  Nevertheless, she had returned his kiss with an ardor that branded itself into his memory forever. Nay, something else troubled her. But what was it? Did she suspect the mortal peril surrounding her?

  “To Lady Ballanross,” her uncle said and raised his glass.

  “To Lady Ballanross,” the group repeated.

  Lady Mary took a sip of the rich, peaty-tasting single malt then set down her glass. “Well, Lord Kilbraeton, there is no backing out now, you declared yourself in the presence of witnesses, and the Lady Ballanross has not objected. For all intents and purposes, you are married, provided of course that you carry out the rest of the procedure.” The beautiful blonde’s eyes sparkled with humor.

  Strathaven guffawed.

  Lady Barbara’s eyes widened and her face blushed.

  Not believing his ears, Ian avoided his friend’s gaze. The elegant Lady Mary MacNeill referred to the consummation of their union.

  “Lady Mary!” Lord Robert’s face wore a shocked expression.

  “Oh, Robert, we are all adults here. The custom is ancient, well known, and has two essential requirements: declaration and consummation.”

  “We shall be married in the church, Lady Mary,” Deirdre stated quietly.

  Ian thought her voice sounded dull and flat. Furthermore, her face did not wear the happy glow of an eager bride.

  Lady Mary sighed, and her countenance dropped into a doleful expression as the beautiful blonde looked at Robert MacLeod.

  A hand to her forehead, Deirdre stood. “I pray you all excuse me. I suddenly feel unwell.”

  * * * *

  Deirdre stared up into the blank darkness of the canopy above her bed. Recalling the evening’s events, she had not been able to sleep. Perhaps that was just as well.

  She must soon rendezvous with Fergus and go to Effie’s cottage. Deirdre refused to let the manservant perform that errand alone. If he met the redcoats, they would search his person and discover the money. Squeezing her eyes tight, she banished the dreadful vision of the man being captured.

  Nor could she send for Effie. At this time of night, soldiers would surely apprehend the woman on her way home alone; for this time of year, it never really got dark. Because of The Flame, the king’s men patrolled late. Worse, the redcoats would have no scruples about abusing a poor Highlander.

  However, since rank had it privileges, Deirdre knew the king’s men would not suspect her. Therefore, she planned to go herself—and break her promise to her uncle.

  Besides that worry, the declaration of intention re-echoed down the labyrinth of her mind. Intellectually, she knew she must wed Lord Kilbraeton, but now, hearing him utter the words drove home the realization on a visceral level. She must marry into the family that had caused her father’s death. And now, they would hasten her demise and that of Fergus if Ian discovered she was The Flame and Fergus was her associate.

  Well, she must retire from her activities sooner than she had anticipated. After all, she couldn’t continue masquerading as The Flame forever. Fergus was right. A person possessed just so much luck. She had hoped theirs would prevail a short while longer, although she knew with dark fatalism that each time they rode out their chances of capture increased—dramatically.

  If she dangled from the end of a rope, she could no longer help the poor. Moreover, judging from the conversation she overheard between Lord Kilbraeton and her uncle, Deirdre suspected she faced another danger.

  Suddenly, the mantel clock chimed one, dispelling her analysis of recent events and reminding her that she must meet Fergus.

  Deirdre rose from bed and walked to the window. The fog had drifted, and the gray-blue light of the May night bathed the room. She wished the mist had prevailed a bit longer to conceal her and Fergus from the redcoats and other prying eyes.

  Furthermore, because the sun rose so early this time of year, the deep darkness of night never really arrived. Even well after ten o’clock, it was like twilight. It stayed like that until dawn splashed its red-gold splendor in the eastern sky.

  She must hurry.

  Clad in her chemise, Deirdre bounded from bed and quickly donned her jumps and petticoat. She then took up the purse of coins from the hiding place. Securing the money in a pouch, she tied it at her waist. She carefully placed her camouflaging panniers over it and then donned her riding outfit.

  Boots and riding crop in hand, she slipped out of her room and carefully made her way through the dark manor house, remembering this time to avoid the creaking floorboard. Her uncle suffered from insomnia and often sat up all night, reading until dawn. She had no wish to meet him now, for she had no excuse to give him for being awake.

  She quietly descended the back staircase to the ground floor. Cautiously, she opened the heavy oaken door of the sallyport, breathing a sigh of relief as it swung on its well-oiled hinges. Softly closing it behind her, she sat and pulled on her boots.

  Deirdre scrambled to her feet and ran pell-mell through the cool spring night toward the big sandstone and slate-roofed stable. The sweet scent of hay mixed with the odor of manure greeted her as she approached the barn. Fergus awaited her with two saddled mounts.

  “Fergus, I couldn’t get word to you,” she whispered urgently. “The soldiers will certainly question you. They are interrogating everyone.”

  “I’ve heard. Do not worry, my lady. I’ve dealt with their queries before.”

  “But my uncle told them about the cave, and they found our garb and flintlocks. The damage is done. It is best I go to Effie’s, alone. I do not wish to implicate you if the soldiers should see us. Besides, the other grooms might slip a word about us riding abroad at this time of night. We could arouse all sorts of suspicions.”

  “Nay need to worry. I gave all the grooms quite a few drams to drink. They’ll nay be waking anytime soon.” A mischievous grin split his face. “I needed something to keep their prying eyes shut.”

  “Oh, Fergus, how very wicked.” She giggled softly. “But, surely, you did not dose Connor.”

  “Nay, my lady, I did not. That wee lad sleeps like a rock, and as for the bloody redcoats, I’m ready for them, my lady. What could be more innocent than taking you to Effie because you’re ill?”

  “But she is the midwife who cares for the poor. No one would ever believe us. They know I would send a servant for Dr. MacDonald.” She shook her head. “I shall have to concoct another excuse. In the meantime, let us get on with the business at hand.”

  Fergus led the horses out of the stable. They mounted, trotting the beasts down the twilight lit escarpment. Mercifully, the fog began to thicken. The wind played a symphony in the trees, and the hoot of an owl sailed on the air like the plaintive notes of an oboe. The odor of damp bracken wafted around them, and the clumps of gorse lost their brilliant golden glow, veiled as they became in the thick mist. The cool air bathed her cheeks and prickled the tip of her nose.

  As they reached the glen, the swift, narrow burn flowed by, gurgling its way to the sea. Fording the stream, they traversed the meadow. Finally, they arrived on Hazlet MacLean’s estate and approached the stone thatch-covered cottage where Effie lived.

  Hazlet had improved the dwelling of late. The old miser said he intended to rent the cottage to a shepherd who would tend the flocks on MacLean’s land.

  Fergus knocked on the door.

  “It is certain we shall wake her unless she’s away tending a woman in labor,” Deirdre speculated.

  Fergus tried again, and from within, Deirdre heard a stirring and the scu
ffle of footsteps. A light shone in the window and from the narrow chink under the door.

  At last, the low door swung open. Candleholder hand, the gaunt woman bent. Her long bright braid falling over her shoulder as she passed beneath the three-foot-high lintel; a protective device, assuring that no one could enter the cottage with a drawn sword.

  As she straightened, the candle flame played over her pale face, making the hollows under her cheekbones deeper and her large eyes more haunting.

  “My Lady Ballanross,” Effie whispered. Curtsying, her curious gaze asked what her lips dared not say. “Come in please,” she urged with true Highland hospitality. “I’m sorry I took so long to answer. I had to make myself decent.”

  “I know It is late, Effie, but I hope you will forgive the intrusion.” Deirdre and Fergus stooped to pass under the low lintel.

  The clean fragrance of herbs permeated the snug cottage, and Deirdre inhaled deeply.

  “Please be seated, my lady.” Effie gestured to the wooden chair by the hearth.

  Deirdre complied while the midwife trod to the hearth and threw a slab of peat on the grate. Illuminated by the flames in the hearth, Effie’s one-room house appeared immaculate. No mud marred the surface of the recently installed flags. Not a speck of grime soiled the whitewashed stones of the chimney. Wooden bowls and glass bottles lined a shelf on the wall. Beneath that ledge, lay an assortment of pots and pans. A basket filled with carded wool stood next to the spinning wheel. A supply of drying herbs hung from the exposed blackened beams that supported the thatched roof. An apron, a square of linen, and a straw hat hung from pegs on the wall. A scrubbed table with more chairs and a trunk completed the furnishings. The bed, which was tucked in a small niche at a right angle to the hearth, stood rumpled, an indication that they had roused Effie from her sleep.

  “Fergus and I wish to give you something we hope will make life easier for you and your brother’s family.” Deirdre reached into the slit of her skirt to the pocket under her panniers and withdrew the pouch of coins.

  As Deirdre placed the funds in Effie’s hands, the midwife burst into tears. “Oh, bless you for your kindness. We did not know where we were going to turn. My brother and his family are taking shelter in the woods. Hazlet said he’d have him thrown in tolbooth if he ever showed his face here. I must go tomorrow, my lady.”

  “There, lass, it will be all right.” Fergus put his burly arms around Effie’s spare body, allowing her to spend her grief.

  Finally, the midwife disengaged. Taking the piece of linen from the peg on the wall, she wiped her wet face.

  “There’s a hundred pounds, here, Effie. The minister, Mr. MacPherson, makes twenty-eight a year so there’s almost four years of wages if you are frugal.”

  “Oh, my lady, it is a vast fortune to us.”

  “Aye, but things are expensive in the city, and you must be very cautious with the money,” Deirdre admonished. “Cheats and robbers lurk on the roads, to say nothing of redcoats who would thrust a bayonet into you in a minute.”

  “I know, my lady.” The woman nodded, fear in her huge hazel eyes. “I heard The Flame robbed Lord Kilbraeton.”

  “Aye, so he did. So you must be careful,” Deirdre continued. “Do not let anyone know you have these funds. This money will help you and your brother’s family get started somewhere else.”

  “Aye, he really longs for his own land.”

  “And what do you want, Effie?” Deirdre leaned forward in the seat. “What will you do?”

  “I’ll have to leave. I cannot be a midwife here. All the poorer women have gone with their men. My brother wants to sail to Virginia, but we did not have the brass to get there. Now we do, thanks to you, my lady.”

  “Good. You will all be able to make a new beginning, Effie, and no one must know how you came by the funds. Do you understand?”

  “I’ll never say a word, but I do not ken how I can ever thank you, my lady.”

  Suddenly, an inspiration dawned brilliantly on the dark horizon of Deirdre’s mind. “You can repay me, Effie. My uncle will be upset if he ever finds I have come here in the middle of the night. I have done my best to elude prying eyes, but you know servants are often about. Should Sir Robert question you, please tell him I have come for…” Deirdre turned and looked at Fergus, feeling her face burn hot.

  He frowned. “I’ll be waiting outside, my lady.” He stooped under the low door, leaving her with Effie.

  Deirdre leaned forward and whispered her request into Effie’s ear.

  Effie smiled. “I can aid you with that, my lady. In fact, I have some right here.” The midwife walked to the shelf and took up a small bottle secured with a cork stopper. “Here you are, Lady Ballanross. In case you’ll need to produce evidence.”

  “Thank you, Effie.” Deirdre took the bottle.

  “Nay, my lady, it is many thanks to you.” Effie curtsied.

  * * * *

  As she and Fergus returned to the stable, Deirdre anxiously watched the rising sun peep above the horizon like a highly polished globe of copper. Her mount had gone lame, and it had taken twice as long to return home.

  Fortunately, the snores from the other grooms could be heard from the loft.

  “I’ll walk you to your door. I must be sure your safe inside, my lady. Then I’ll come back and tend the horses,” Fergus said as they left the barn.

  “It is unnecessary now. I came here alone. I shall return alone. If anyone sees me, I shall say I could not sleep.”

  “If your uncle discovers you’ve been out here alone at this hour after he bade me to keep an eye on you, he will nail my hide to the barn door, my lady, and well you ken it.”

  “Did he ever say why he gave that order?”

  Fergus shook his dark head. “He doesn’t need to be giving a humble groom reasons.”

  “He certainly is discreet with everyone.” Deirdre sighed in frustration. “He does not even confide in me.”

  “And he does not like anyone to gainsay him, so I’ll be feeling much better if I see you safe inside the manor house, my lady.”

  “Oh, very well, Fergus,” she said.

  They reached the sallyport and stopped.

  “You’ve done a brave thing this day, my lady.”

  “We’ve done a brave thing. I could not have accomplished any of it without you, Fergus.”

  He smiled. “I’d like to believe that, my lady, but somehow, I think you could.”

  “Before you go, there is something I must tell you. Lord Kilbraeton and I will marry.”

  Fergus stared at her. “You swore you would not!”

  She quickly explained the reasons then added, “Lord Kilbraeton is bound to recognize you. I kept some money back from the robbery for you to buy passage to the colonies. I want you to go, Fergus.”

  “I told you once. I’ll never leave you. You’ve risked your neck for me, and I cannot desert you to contend with Lord Kilbraeton by yourself.”

  “I shall be perfectly safe. He does not suspect me, but he could remember you.”

  “I’ll stay, my lady. Besides, with this black hair dye you got for me to disguise myself, your intended husband will never guess who I am. As for swinging, we’ve both faced that prospect many a time.” He chuckled softly.

  “Is that your final word on the subject?”

  “It is.” His whisky-colored eyes gleamed merrily. “Besides, I cannot go when things are just getting interesting.”

  “Interesting?” She frowned, perplexed.

  “Aye, my lady, your marriage will be that and more.”

  * * * *

  Ian gazed out the window, watching the rising sun wink on the leaded glass of the casements. He had not slept well, thinking about Deirdre, unable to come to a conclusion about the dilemma confronting him. She faced horrific danger, but should he tell her? He had debated the question for hours. The more he contemplated the situation, the more confused he became. Usually, he would ponder a problem, reach a solution, and make his decisi
on. Nevertheless, he had never encountered a situation like this.

  Protecting her remained his prime concern. Ian simply could not bear to have the death of another woman on his conscience.

  Perhaps her uncle predicted correctly. Once married and inside Kilbraeton’s stout walls with his men patrolling the defenses, Deirdre would be safe. Then he would have no need to trouble her with such terrifying news.

  But her danger accounted for just part of his confusion. Deirdre’s attitude last night had changed direction like a weather vane in a stiff breeze. When he gave her the betrothal ring, she seemed distracted at first. Nevertheless, she responded to him, returning his kisses passionately. But at dinner, her conversation cut like the slash of a rapier. Her troubling comments bordered on sedition.

  Well, he never understood women anyway.

  All at once, his gaze focused on a couple emerging from the stable. Their manner seemed easy, familiar. Perhaps they were lovers, concluding a tryst. As they began walking toward the house, something about the woman seemed familiar.

  His stomach knotted as the rays of the sun struck her fiery hair. Nay, it could not be! Many Highland lasses had red hair. As she and the man walked closer, he noticed that she wore a riding habit. Who would have ridden out in the middle of the night, knowing The Flame might still hide in the area?

  He stared transfixed. Discovering the woman’s identity became urgent. The couple stopped and appeared to exchange a few words.

  Ian squinted then rushed to his trunk, pulled out his spyglass then hurried back to the window. Peering through the instrument, he saw them clearly now, and his stomach bobbed like a cork on a pond. The woman was Deirdre! And the huge lout at her side looked as dark as Satan himself.

  The rogue turned, returning toward the barn as Deirdre approached the house.

  Jealousy erupted like a raging volcano. Why was Deirdre with another man in a barn at this hour? They certainly had not been playing whist! Nay, their game hardly called for mental exercise. And she had feigned illness last night. Likely, she lied to keep the assignation. No wonder she had wanted to postpone their marriage.