by Jane Godman
“It all comes of swearing loyalty to these damned Hanoverians, in my opinion.” The Falcon swung down from his horse. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and even through the slits of his mask, Iona could see a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “They have no class. But what can one expect from a bunch of provincial German dukes? Why did I dismount? My memory is quite damnable at times. Oh, yes.” He held out a gloved hand to Sir Garwen. “I will relieve you of both your pistol and your sword, my amorous friend.”
“Go to the devil!” Sir Garwen ground the words out.
“I probably shall one of these days.” The voice hardened. “But I believe I will find you there before me, Sir Garwen. Do be a good chap and hand over your weapons without any theatricals. My friend here—” he indicated the silent figure on the horse, “—is really quite desperate for an excuse to shoot you.”
“Please shoot him,” Iona begged, turning to the man on the horse. He remained impassive.
The Falcon laughed at her words. His eyes twinkled appreciatively behind the mask. “In normal circumstances, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to oblige you, my lady. Today, however, I have need of Sir Garwen’s services.”
“You’ll kill me before I assist you, Falcon.” Sir Garwen spat out the name.
The Falcon confirmed his identity with a flourishing bow. “I do not recall asking for your agreement in the matter, Sir Garwen. Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Your weapons.”
Muttering a curse, Sir Garwen flung his pistol and sword onto the ground at the Falcon’s feet. “You’ll pay for this.”
“People keep telling me that,” the Falcon said to Iona in a tone of mild complaint. “It’s going to cost me a fortune one day. Bring me his saddle bags, would you?”
Eagerly, Iona went to where Sir Garwen had tethered his horse. After unbuckling the bags from his saddle, she brought them over to the Falcon and emptied the contents onto the ground at his feet. Swiftly, she tossed another pistol and a lethal-looking dagger to the Falcon. The only other items were a hefty roll of banknotes and a folded packet of letters. The Falcon passed the money to his companion and scanned the documents.
“Interesting. Your superiors will be most displeased with you when they learn you have misplaced these, will they not? ’Tis quite alarmingly careless of you to allow these details of which villages are next for clearance to fall into the wrong hands. Particularly as the charges to be brought against the men of each clan are listed here.” He tucked the packet of letters into the pocket of his coat. “Since each charge is fabricated anyway, I now have a chance to warn the men concerned and get them and their families away safe. A good day’s work for which I thank you, my friend.”
Iona turned the full force of her loathing on Sir Garwen. “You sat at my brother’s table with those vile orders in your possession. How could you accept our hospitality knowing you were going to leave Lachlan only to wreak devastation on our people?”
His sneer was more pronounced than ever. “One day, Lady Roxburgh, ask your fine husband to tell you about his past. Before you dare to judge me for doing my duty, ask Edwin Roxburgh if his conscience is clear.”
Iona was about to demand to be told exactly what he meant by those words, but the Falcon spoke first. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could stay here chatting in this charming manner all day? Sadly, I have other things to do. You speak of your duty, Sir Garwen. I am glad it gives you such pride. But you see, by boasting so long and so loud about how well you would fulfil your orders and how swiftly you would bring about my downfall, you threw down a gauntlet. Behold me. I pick it up.” He stepped closer to Sir Garwen and drew off his glove. In an insolent action he struck Sir Garwen across the face with it. “Challenge accepted, Sir Garwen. Not here. Not now. The time and place will be of my choosing.”
Iona shuddered slightly. The veneer of affability was gone. In its place there was pure menace in the Falcon’s voice and stance. The fear on Sir Garwen’s face turned his attempt at a smile into a ghastly grimace. “Any time.”
“Excellent. Now, Sir Garwen, reluctant as I am to sully Lady Roxburgh’s eyes with such a sight, I must ask you to remove all your clothing.”
“Never,” Sir Garwen declared.
The Falcon sighed. “I thought you might say that. Lady Roxburgh, would you mind holding our horses? I hear you are a notable horsewoman, so I have no fear that the task may be beyond you.”
The Falcon’s companion dismounted and handed both sets of reins to Iona. Although she looked directly at him, he bent his head and tilted his hat lower over his face. Iona wanted to reassure him that they were on the same side. That, even if she learned of his identity, his secret would forever be safe with her. Since Sir Garwen chose that moment to make a break for it and try to run off into the forest, she did not get the opportunity.
The next few minutes were not a pretty sight as, with ruthless efficiency, the Falcon and his companion captured Sir Garwen, pinned him down and stripped him of his clothing. Had it been another man, Iona might almost have pitied Sir Garwen as he writhed and shrieked curses, then sobbed and begged for mercy. When he was naked, they carried him to his horse and placed him face down over the saddle, so that he hung limply there. Deftly, the silent man tied Sir Garwen’s hands and feet securely together and looped the rope under the horse’s belly, securing it there so that there was no possibility of Sir Garwen slipping from the animal.
The Falcon observed this piece of handiwork with a nod of satisfaction. “I have a letter for you to take to your superior officers, Hendry. Just a few pleasantries from me to them. But where to put it?” He regarded Sir Garwen’s exposed buttocks speculatively for a moment, then shook his head regretfully. “I’m going to place it here, just under the saddle. Be sure to deliver it, won’t you, old chap? Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but I really mustn’t keep you any longer.”
He gave the horse a slap on its hindquarters, and with a protesting whinny, it set off along the path into the forest.
“He may never find his way out of here,” Iona warned.
“We can live in hope, I suppose. I find, however, that the devil tends to care for his own. And I try to do my bit for the other side. Speaking of which, perhaps we should try and get you back to your husband, Lady Roxburgh?”
As she mounted Aoidh, Iona pondered on those words. Was the Falcon trying to tell her that he and Edwin were on the same side? But how could that be? Edwin was English. He might have left the army, but he had been one of Cumberland’s most trusted men. That was the reason he had been given Cameron House. Don’t be foolish, Iona. You want to endow Edwin with virtue because you still cannot believe it is possible to share such searing rapture with an English butcher. Believe it. Get used to that truth. The only difference between Sir Edwin Roxburgh and Sir Garwen Hendry is the method each man employs to make you swoon.
“You appear lost in thought, Lady Roxburgh.”
“How do you know who I am? And so much about me?” Iona responded to his statement with the question that had been troubling her, turning her head to look at the Falcon who rode behind her on the narrow track. The other man rode in front and seemed sure of his way. They had been following this path for some time, and the slope was gentler now, the trees less dense. Iona could hear the sounds of the birds in the trees. She thought she could smell the fresh, clean scent of the loch mingling with the tang of the pine needles.
“I know many things.” The Falcon smiled down at her. “Fear not. I contrive to forget most of them.”
A little further on, the track opened out and curved to follow the lines of the loch edge. Iona knew where she was. Around the next twist in the rugged landscape, Lachlan would be in view.
“We will leave you to ride on alone. But fear not, we will be watching until you are inside the castle.” The Falcon bowed from the waist with flourishing courtesy.
“Thank you.” She shifted in the saddle so that her words took in the silent figure who had drawn his horse up just behind the
m. “Both of you.”
The other man spoke for the first time. Even muffled by his scarf, his tones were equally cultured, equally English.
“Be safe, Iona.”
Chapter Thirteen
Inside the great hall, Edwin was approaching the point where the tight rein he had on his temper was about to snap. Having failed to find Iona on the forest track where he had lost sight of her, he had turned back and, more by luck than good tracking skills, rejoined the main hunt. The day had not been a success. The stag had escaped, the hounds were confused and the hunters weary. When Edwin had expressed his concern at Iona’s absence, Fraser persuaded him to return to the castle to find out if she was there. The discovery that she was not had deepened his concern into a serious fear for her welfare.
“I don’t care what you say, Fraser, I am going back out there to look for her.”
“Edwin, I tell ye Iona knows those woods better than anyone alive. Give it an hour, and if she has not returned by then, we’ll take a party of men out in search of her.”
“An hour? When she could be lying injured in a ravine or gored on the tusks of a boar?” Edwin swung away toward the castle doors just as Iona walked in. The urge to sweep her up into his arms, crush her to him and never let her go was so overwhelming that he actually had to clench his fists hard at his sides to stop himself. Instead he walked forward and took her hand, drawing her close to the fire. She came with him meekly, like a child following an angry parent. This circumstance alone was enough to make him realise that she was in a state of shock.
“Bring whisky at once.” He barked the command over his shoulder, and Cora scurried away to do his bidding.
Iona stood like a statue as Edwin untied her cloak and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her gently onto a stool at one side of the grate. Kneeling in front of her, he took her icy hands in his. She looked over his shoulder, her gaze taking in Martha’s and Fraser’s concerned faces. Cora handed Edwin a goblet containing a hefty serving of whisky, and letting go of Iona’s hands, he took it with a murmur of thanks. He lifted the goblet to Iona’s lips and was relieved when she began to sip the fiery liquid.
“Iona, my sweet, what has happened to your face?” Martha leaned over to smooth Iona’s unruly curls back from her brow. Her right eye was swollen completely closed and a deep cut marred the smooth flesh just above her cheekbone.
Those guests who had stayed for the hunt were making ready to depart so the four of them were alone in the great hall. Nevertheless, Iona’s glance took in all the corners and angles of the huge room. Almost as though she feared to find something—or someone—hiding in the shadows. Her open eye found Fraser’s face and her lip trembled. “Jack…”
“Not here.”
His swift response seemed to restore some of Iona’s composure. “No, ye’re right. Edwin, will you come with me to our bedchamber?” She flashed Fraser and Martha a meaningful look, and Fraser nodded once in response, signalling they would follow.
Iona rose to her feet, murmuring a protest as Edwin swept her up into his arms. He ignored her, carrying her like a child up the staircase to their bedchamber and depositing her on the bed.
“Although I was shaken at first, indeed, I am fine now.” Iona made a movement as though to rise, but Edwin forestalled her.
“You will allow me to be the judge of that.”
“You are very domineering, husband mine.” There was a hint of mischief in her smile, and he was inordinately glad to see it.
The door opened to admit Fraser and Martha, and Iona was able to tell them her tale in privacy. Quickly she recounted what had happened up to the point where she became lost.
“When I reached the ridge, I dismounted to get a clear view of the landscape below. That is when Sir Garwen found me. Seeing me riding through the forest alone, he had followed me.”
“Did he do this?” Edwin gestured to her bruised face. “What more did he do to you?” He could feel the blood pounding at his temples. Not again. Not another part of his life torn apart by a man named Hendry.
Iona placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Naught. And he came off much the worse from our encounter. Not, I’m sorry to say, because of anything I did. I was rescued.” She looked directly at Fraser. “The Falcon and one of his aides just happened to be riding by. Was that not a fortuitous circumstance?”
Before Fraser could answer, Martha broke in to exclaim over this information. “That is wonderful indeed. And Captain Fleetwood left in a tearing hurry, not an hour since. A note was waiting for him when he returned from the hunt. Do you think the two things might be related?”
“I strongly suspect so,” Fraser said. “’Tis known that the Falcon has been active in this immediate area recently. He is known to enjoy a jest, perhaps the notion of ridding us of our unwanted guests suited his humour?”
Edwin was aware of the warning glances that were flashing between brother and sister, and he knew it was because they were wary of him. A flush of rage burned up from beneath his shirt collar to his face. Unable to contain himself any longer, he broke in on the conversation. “Have done with this caution! You can trust me. Believe me when I say I would not inform on the Falcon…not when he has rescued Iona from Sir Garwen’s vile clutches this day. He has earned my undying gratitude.”
“’Tis glad I am to hear it.” Some of the gravity of Fraser’s expression lightened slightly, and he dropped a hand onto Edwin’s shoulder. “I’ll speak openly then. I knew the Falcon was close by. I got word to him about our unwelcome visitors and asked for his help. He’d a score or two of his own to settle with Sir Garwen. The Falcon was following Sir Garwen through the forest today, and just as well, given the blackguard’s intentions. Fleetwood will, I expect, have suffered no worse fate than the loss of his horse and belongings on the road between here and Fort William.”
“Is it wise to antagonise Sir Garwen so?” Martha’s expression was concerned. “I fear he could be a vengeful man.”
“My love, Sir Garwen needs no provocation. ’Tis vengeance he seeks already. He has made it clear he knows ’twas I who killed his foul brother. He himself has sworn to kill the Falcon rather than bring him to trial. Would you have us attempt to reason with such a man?”
“I would have you stay safe.” Martha’s gaze encompassed them all.
Iona’s gaze challenged Fraser. “D’ye not wish to ask me about the Falcon’s companion?”
“I’ve a feeling I’m about to hear of him, whether I wish it or no.” His expression was rueful.
“You knew it?” Martha and Edwin watched the exchange between brother and sister in some confusion. “You knew Jack was alive? Yet you did’nae think to tell me even though I grieved for him as sore as you?”
Martha raised a hand to her mouth. “Jack was the other man? Iona, are you sure?”
“Aye. He spoke to me in the forest when the Falcon came to my rescue. It was only three words, but I know Jack’s voice as well as I know Fraser’s.”
“Can we speak of this another time?” Fraser’s gaze was on his wife’s face, but Edwin knew the words were about him. The big Scotsman still wasn’t sure he could trust his English brother-in-law with a secret of this magnitude.
“Of course, my love.” Martha, as always, was completely in tune with her husband. “Let us leave Iona to rest after her ordeal.”
After they had gone, Iona got up and bathed her face. When she had finished, Edwin went to her and, taking hold of one long, bright strand of hair, curled it between his fingers. The thought of Hendry laying his hands on her caused hot bile to rise in his throat once more.
“You recognised Jack Lindsey, but did you also know the Falcon?” Would she tell him if she did?
“No, I have never met him before. He was accompanied by one other man, a man who spoke only once. That man was Jack. They were both masked.” Her expression was open. He decided she was telling him the truth. The knowledge that she could trust him enough to do so, and to even mention Jack’s name i
n front of him, warmed Edwin.
“Would you know the Falcon if you met him again?”
“I think so. He was relaxed and unhurried. He seemed—” she paused as though seeking the right words, “—entertained by the situation. It was almost a jest to him. It matters not. If I met him a thousand times, I would never own to knowing him. He saved my life.”
He knew she was keeping something more from him. He sensed it was something she feared rather than knew for sure. It was his fault she could not completely trust him. He had built the walls around his heart too well. They were strong and high. Even if the time had come to allow another person to scale them, he had made it nigh on impossible to do so. But a part of them had crumbled when Iona walked into the great hall earlier and he saw her bruised face. Would he rebuild that part? Could he…or was it gone forever?
Tenderly, he drew her into his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Sir Garwen told me I should ask you about your past, Edwin.” He was glad she couldn’t see his face at that moment. He was sure her words had prompted a shocked change in his expression. “He was talking about duty, and he told me to ask you if your conscience was clear.”
This was the moment he had been dreading for ten years. An image of Augustus Hendry’s sharp features, so like his brother’s it was impossible to know them apart, flashed into his mind. He had been running from this question ever since that fateful day. Even so, the stench of fire, torture and death had remained in his nostrils.
Iona’s voice drew him back from the brink of hell to which his memories had taken him. “I will never ask you to explain what he meant by those words.” She lifted her head and took his face between her hands so that he was forced to look directly at her. “I understand war and the things it makes us do. I was born into a line of warriors, I married a Jacobite soldier. I have even, as you know, fought a few battles of my own. I’ll not be asking you to account for your deeds in battle or beyond. But, Edwin—” she drew his head down further so that his lips were almost touching her own, “—I do know there is something in your past that has scarred you deep. And I think that whatever it is makes you frightened of me. No, din’nae pull away from me or laugh at what I’m saying. I scare you.” She tapped his chest. “Here, where it matters. Well, you know what? I intend to go on scaring you.”
