Taming His Rebel Lady

by Jane Godman

  “Your beloved Edwin is terribly moral, you know. I’m amazed you ever got into his breeches in the first place. I have given him a task that will occupy not only his time, but also his principles. He will be so much at war with himself he will scarce notice when I snatch his little vixen out from under his nose. She’ll be mine within the week.”

  “Lud, you are devious! I’m glad you’re on my side.” They walked arm in arm back into the building. “My room or yours, Garwen?”

  “It had best be yours. Did you not observe that my wife is here with me?”

  “Good heavens! I did not. How is dear Lady Hendry?”

  “Dull. How’s your husband?”

  “Rich.” Her laughter rang out as they entered her bedchamber.

  “Tell me about Jack Lindsey.”

  Iona paused in the act of spreading honey on an oatcake and regarded Edwin in surprise. “Why?” Her tone was suspicious, and he hated knowing that there were still some things about him she felt she couldn’t trust. When it came to her family, Iona remained fiercely protective.

  “He intrigues me. You loved—” she raised her brows and he corrected himself, “—love him very much.”

  She smiled and there was a world of memories in the expression. “Jack is our cousin, but we spent so much time together as children that he might almost have been another brother. Quite simply, when Jack comes into a room, it lights up.”

  “And in looks? Is he like you and Fraser?”

  “Och, no! Jack’s a blue-eyed, blond-haired wee Sassenach. Speaks wi’ an English plum stuck in his mouth, just like you.”

  “You must miss him.”

  “I do, but it was worse when I thought he was dead. I would like to think that one day he might lead a normal life once more. That we will meet and talk, and he’ll make me laugh as he used to. Laughter follows Jack wherever he goes.” She bit into the oatcake. “I still don’t understand why you are asking about him.”

  “No reason. By the by, I need to go to Inverness for a few days on some business.”

  “Oh.” He noted the flare of disappointment in her eyes, and his heart beat a little faster at the thought that she would miss him while he was away. “When will you go?”

  “As soon as I’ve packed a few things. I won’t be away any longer than necessary.”

  “Will you call at Lachlan? ’Tis on your way.”

  Edwin shook his head. “I’ll get a room at an inn in Inverness. My business is in the town itself.” He rose from the table. “Oh, and, Iona?”

  “Yes?” She looked up at him.

  “I have employed a new groom. His name is Williams and he was a private in my company before I left the army. I have given him instructions to guard you in my absence.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “D’ye not trust me, Edwin?”

  “It is Sir Garwen Hendry I don’t trust. Williams is charged with keeping you safe from him. While we are on the subject…will you be able to stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”

  She smiled. “I will do my best. But console yourself with this thought… If I don’t succeed, there will be plenty of your legendary taming to be done on your return, will there not?”

  He groaned. “Don’t say such tempting things to me, wench. You make me want to throw you down and take you here and now, but I really must get away this morning.” Leaning over her chair, he pressed a kiss to her lips. Normality. Married life. Iona. Could he make them all his? He trusted he would find the answer to that question in Inverness.

  He had plenty of time to think during the two-day ride. He spent the night at the rough inn where he had stayed with Iona on their way to Lachlan. Lena, the landlord’s daughter, remembered him and made a fuss of bringing him broth and beer. She was full of a story about the Falcon’s latest daring rescue.

  “The soldiers were rounding up all the villagers and preparing to set fire to their houses. Unbeknown to the redcoats, the Falcon and his men had taken advantage of the confusion to go along and cut through all the saddle girths on the soldiers’ horses. They rode through the village at the gallop, firing their pistols into the air. The soldiers, of course, dashed away to mount their horses and give chase. But guess what?”

  “They couldn’t because their saddle girths had been cut.” Edwin was too tired to play the game of pretence she clearly wanted from him.

  “Oh. You guessed it. Well anyway, while the soldiers were all milling around trying to discover what had happened and cursing each other for their foolishness, the Falcon and his men loaded the villagers onto wagons and carried them to Inverness.”

  “And I take it they are now all bound for the Carolinas?”

  “How did you know that?” She regarded him admiringly.

  “It would seem to be something of a signature of the Falcon’s. The Carolinas must be quite full of those who owe their lives to him. I expect there will be a new town of Falconville there all too soon. Tell me, when did this interesting event take place?”

  “Oh, only a day or two since. The soldiers led their horses past here on their way to Fort George. A sorry group they were and in a mighty stooshie over what yon butcher boy Cumberland would have to say about their carelessness.”

  So the Falcon had been at large in the vicinity just a few days ago, Edwin thought, as he rode into Inverness on the following evening. That was a hopeful omen for his forthcoming mission. He handed his weary horse over to an ostler in the yard of the White Hart, a large coaching establishment close to the harbour. Having secured a room, he ordered dinner to be ready in two hours, then set off in the direction of the quay. He had ridden through relentless rain, but now the squalls were over and the darkening skies were clear of cloud. A gentle breeze carried the scent of the sea and a faint rolling fog with it. The first lamps of evening were being lit as he stepped onto the cobbled dock.

  Edwin’s experience of other cities had already taught him that dockland areas never quietened. This one was no exception. Sailors, released from their duties on board, lounged or lurched—depending on their current state of drunkenness—on the quayside and eyed the unprepossessing group of strumpets who paraded their wares before them. Rats and mongrels heaved and fought over discarded food in the open gutters. Several barefoot urchins swelled their numbers briefly as they snatched up the crusts thrown out from a baker’s shop doorway before disappearing down an alleyway.

  Edwin picked his way through stacks of cargo, coiled ropes and nets. The masts of the great ships around him raked the sky, creaking and swaying with their own gentle rhythm as though signalling their impatience to be free of restraint and onto the open seas once more. An aging tar sat mending rope outside one of the rough taverns bordering the waterfront. Edwin paused beside him.

  “Which of these ships are bound for the Carolinas?”

  The old man squinted up at him, then spat on the cobbles close to Edwin’s feet. He muttered something under his breath about the English. Edwin withdrew a coin from his pocket and held it up to the light. The man’s eyes gleamed, his demeanour changing in a flash. “Yon Highland Queen is bound for Charleston.” He nodded in the direction of the biggest of the vessels.

  “When does she sail?”

  “Five days hence. Weather allowing.”

  Edwin tossed him the coin and strolled along the quay toward the graceful ship. She was a large, three-masted vessel, and a number of men swarmed about her decks. Since the light had almost completely faded, they seemed to be finishing up the day’s tasks. Every now and then, one of them would come down the gangplank and onto the quayside. Edwin scanned each man’s face thoughtfully. Darkness had fully fallen, and he had still not seen what he was looking for in those hardened countenances. He needed a mind open to persuasion. He was so hungry his stomach was starting to think his throat had been cut, and the thought of dinner and a warm fire back at the inn plagued him. Just as he had decided to give up for the night and return in the morning, a young lad ran down the gangplank, whistling loudly.

  “A
fine eventide.” Edwin stepped from the shadows into the boy’s path.

  The whistling stopped. “Oh, aye, mighty fine.” The lad grinned as though delighted at being spoken to by such a fine gentleman.

  He would do, Edwin decided. “I wonder can you help me? I’m seeking a friend of mine, an Englishman. Fair haired, softly spoken, always laughing? Ah, I see you know of whom I speak. Yes, he comes here often to arrange passages to the colonies…”

  From there it was easy. The sight of a large roll of banknotes with the promise of more to follow was all it took to clinch the deal. Edwin returned to the White Hart secure in the knowledge that the next time Jack Lindsey set foot on the Inverness quayside, his eager new friend would swiftly get a message to him.

  It took only half a day before word came. Edwin made his way back to the quayside.

  “He is even now aboard the Highland Queen, talking wi’ the cap’n.” The lad, who went by the interesting literary name of Gulliver, pocketed the money Edwin handed over.

  “You have done well,” Edwin told him.

  “If ye have any more such tasks, think o’ me.” Gulliver went away, whistling loud delight at the success of his venture.

  It was some twenty minutes before the man Gulliver spoke of emerged from the captain’s cabin aboard the Highland Queen. From his vantage point across the dock, Edwin observed him. Gulliver had indeed done well. The man who shook hands with the captain before making his way down the gangplank was just above average height and of slender build. He wore plain clothes with his hair tied back and hidden under a tricorn hat. A glimpse as he turned his head allowed Edwin to see that it was a dark-blond colour. His face was handsome in repose and laughing when he spoke. Although he was slight, his graceful movements were suggestive of a sinewy strength. There was no doubt in Edwin’s mind. He was as certain as he could be that he was looking at Jack Lindsey.

  Keeping a discreet distance between himself and Jack, he followed the other man through the town. Their path took them along the main artery of streets and through a bustling market square, where Edwin almost lost sight of his quarry as traders and customers jostled around him, while Jack weaved an effortless path through them. The streets narrowed as they progressed into the older part of the town, and Edwin dodged cats, chickens and the occasional goat. Many of the dwellings here more closely resembled the farm labourer’s cottages around the Great Glen than any town house, and Edwin wondered if Jack had become aware of his presence. Had Iona’s cousin lured him into an ambush? As that thought struck him, the lane widened into a square, and Jack entered the Elizabethan inn that occupied one of its four sides.

  When Edwin attempted to follow him, he found his way barred by a giant of a man who appeared to have been carved from stone and wedged into place in the doorway. “State your business.”

  “My friend Jack just came in here.” Edwin tried to peer around the man’s bulk. It was impossible. Not even the smallest sliver of light managed to sneak between him and the wooden frame.

  “No-one of that name here.”

  “I saw him come in.” Edwin wasn’t prepared to get this far only to give up.

  The giant’s face loomed closer to his. “’Tis mistaken ye must have been, laddie. Weigh anchor and get ye gone from here.” A hand like a sledgehammer hit Edwin in the chest sending him reeling backward. It was fairly obvious the means by which the Falcon’s refuge here was kept safe.

  Before the door could close completely, Edwin called out, “Tell him I come with word of his cousin, Lady Iona.”

  The big man paused. “If he’s no here, how can I do that?”

  “He won’t thank you if I leave here and he doesn’t get this message.”

  A debate seemed to rage behind the impassive features of the giant’s face. “Wait here.” The door closed. Edwin stepped back, scanning the mullioned windows. He knew he was being watched, and he wanted Jack, and whoever his companions might be, to see that he was alone.

  After some minutes the giant returned. “Ye’ve to follow me.”

  Edwin obediently followed the lumbering figure through the inn’s taproom, past a variety of unsavoury-looking characters who eyed him speculatively, and up a short flight of stairs. The big man threw open a door and jerked his head for Edwin to enter.

  “Do you think we will ever succeed in our efforts to teach Wee Tam to knock?” A drawling voice met Edwin’s ears. He was surprised to see the giant flush red.

  “Begging your pardon, sire, but this here is the feller I told ye of.” Tam—who was definitely not “wee”—bowed his way out again.

  Two men occupied a large sitting room overlooking the square. The smaller of the two sprang forward as Edwin closed the door behind him. He had discarded his hat and coat, and his hair shone gold. His blue eyes were piercing as they searched Edwin’s face. “Tam said you had news of Lady Iona Roxburgh? What of her? Is she in danger?”

  “She is well. I confess, I used her name to gain entry so that I could have speech with you—” He broke off, finding himself staring into the barrel of Jack’s pistol with no very clear idea of how the other man had managed to produce it so quickly. Edwin held up his hands. “I am Edwin Roxburgh. If you have any doubt about my allegiance, surely you must know how deeply I am in your debt following your rescue of Iona in the forest above Lachlan?”

  Jack studied him further. Apparently reassured by what he saw, he lowered the gun and placed it on a side table. “I’m Jack Lindsey.” He held out his hand.

  “I, on the other hand, prefer to remain anonymous.” The tall man who lounged in a chair by the window, from which he had been watching the street below, spoke for the first time since Edwin had entered the room.

  Edwin regarded him caustically as he shook Jack’s hand. “’Tis bloody difficult for you to do so, however, given that I have known you for years and, therefore, I already know your name.”

  “I’m hoping you will strive to forget it, old chap.”

  Edwin laughed. “Very well. My memory can be quite dreadful at times.”

  “I always thought you were a good sport, Roxburgh, even back in the good old days when we were at Eton together.”

  “Did you? As I recall, you spent much of that time getting me to act as an unpaid servant, running your errands and polishing your boots,” Edwin retorted.

  The Falcon studied his gleaming top boots with a critical eye. “And heartily do I wish you were still available for such tasks, Roxburgh. You may laugh, but ’tis true. No-one could ever achieve a shine on them quite like you did. These Scots, you know, they do their best but they have no understanding of the importance of good blacking.”

  Jack cast a reproachful look at him. “Somehow I doubt that Sir Edwin has travelled all this way in order to discuss boot polish. But first, pray tell me. How fares my madcap cousin Iona? Is she still the fairest lassie in all of the Great Glen?”

  “And beyond.” Edwin smiled. “And, yes, she is still a madcap.”

  “Not for all the world would I change her.” Jack’s eyes held a challenge.

  “Nor would I,” Edwin assured him.

  “What can we do for you?” The Falcon spoke up again. “I should warn you that our diary for heroic deeds and daring rescues is fairly full for the next few months. We are like the fairest maidens at the ball, always in demand.”

  “I’m hoping you might help me put a little plan into action. It involves a gentleman I think you know…one Sir Garwen Hendry.”

  The Falcon sat up straight, his air of languor instantly vanishing. “You interest me greatly. Jack, send for brandy. Roxburgh, pull up a chair and tell us more of your plans for the so charming Sir Garwen.”

  “There is a lady here to see you, my laird.”

  Fraser glanced up and regarded the footman with a frown. Due to its remote location, Lachlan was hardly the sort of place an acquaintance happened to be passing. “What is this lady’s name?”

  “Lady Hendry.”

  Fraser’s frown deepened. He ha
d not known that Sir Garwen had a wife, let alone one who was with him in Scotland. “Show her in.”

  The woman who entered the room a few moments later was not what he expected. Her dark hair already showed signs of grey, and her features were sallow and drawn. Once, she might have been pretty. Now she was drab. Marriage to Sir Garwen appeared to have drained away any youth and beauty she had possessed.

  “Please be seated, my lady.”

  She took the seat Fraser indicated, moving with quiet grace. “I will not take up much of your time,” she said, refusing his offers of refreshment. Her voice was soft and cultured. Try as he might, Fraser could not picture this dignified creature with Sir Garwen. It would be like mating a dove with a hawk.

  “What can I do for you?” He resumed his own seat.

  “It is more what I can do for you, my laird. You know, I am sure, that my husband is here in Scotland at the orders of the Duke of Cumberland. You may also be aware that Garwen feels he has two duties to fulfil while he is here. His official task, of course, is to capture the bandit known as the Falcon. The other role is not one of which his superiors are aware. He has taken it upon himself to bring to justice the murderer of his brother, Augustus. My husband does not consider those tasks mutually exclusive, my laird. He has come to believe that the man who killed his brother is the same man who calls himself the Falcon.”

  “This is an interesting theory, my lady, but I do not see how it affects me.” Fraser attempted to keep his expression and tone neutral, yet his instincts made him deeply suspicious of her motives.

  She smiled, and he caught a glimpse of her former beauty. She must once have been stunning. “Let us not pretend. You will shortly see why we don’t have much time. My husband believes you killed his brother and that you are also the Falcon.”

  “I regret to inform you that Sir Garwen is wrong.”

  “Wrong or not, he believes it with such conviction that he has laid a trap for you.”

  “Am I to believe you have come here to warn me?” Fraser was incredulous. Did she really expect him to fall for this story that she was working against her husband? These English must truly consider him to be a great Scots fool, all brawn and no brain.