She looked out the window at the moon. ’Twas only a tiny slice. A new moon. Clouds drifted in and out between the stars. It would be dark, and the ride would be difficult and dangerous.
Please God, let him be there. How many times had she uttered that prayer? How many more times before this night would be over?
She wore a comfortable gown that laced in front, one she could easily change. Underneath it, she wore a pair of breeches that she had found rummaging around rooms in the tower house. She had abandoned Jamie’s clothes prior to reaching Braemoor a week earlier. She’d had to cut these, and sew, but now they fit her, albeit loosely. But that was what she wanted. She then pinned a darkcolored shirt inside the cloak as well as a small bag to fit Black Jack into. She was not going to leave her dog here.
Not knowing whether she would return, she had also sewn the pouch of jewels into the lining.
It was after midnight when she left her room. She had the small bottle of laudanum with her, and she went to the empty kitchen. She poured a measure of ale from a small barrel into two tankards, along with a good dash of laudanum.
With Black Jack beside her, she walked out to the stable. Her husband had posted a guard there, and on several occasions she had offered them cider or ale.
Both were sitting inside, playing some card game. Both almost tipped the table to stand when she entered.
“I could not sleep, gentlemen,” she said. “And I went down to get some cider. I thought you might enjoy some ale.”
They would. They took a drink, then another.
“What are you playing?” she asked.
“Casino, Marchioness.”
“Will you show me how to play?”
They looked at each other dubiously. But then, how could they deny a marchioness? “’Tis complex, my lady.”
“I will try to concentrate,” she said dryly. It should be far easier to beat him than the marquis. But she would keep that information to herself for the moment.
The two men exchanged disgusted looks, then took another draught of ale.
A half hour later, their heads were on the table. She had a few more coins, and now a horse.
Rory readied himself for the night’s rendezvous with the mysterious lad. He’d debated over whether he should appear. He did not like the coincidence of the nearby location. And yet he could not fail to help someone who had assisted him.
Unfortunately, they had not heard back from the courier.
He used a cave in the hills above Braemoor to change. He did not want to go near Mary, in the event this … meeting was a trap. He planned to stay well away from the cottage, and he had different sets of clothes already here in the cave. Tonight he would be a sleepy shepherd.
He tried to keep his thoughts on tonight. But Bethia’s face continued to intrude, as did her look of disappointment and distaste at his obnoxious performance at supper several nights earlier. The disappointment had hurt the most. He had not liked what he’d done, but it had been necessary on several levels. He wanted her to have the pearls, and he wanted to reenforce his image of a man who considered his wife property. Her reaction had been crucial to the play. He wanted no doubt that his wife was fleeing from both him and his home, and that he would chase after her. It had been cruel and bullying and yet he had seen little alternative to it.
The devil take it, but he would be glad to stop this playacting.
He heard a soft whistle, then a rustling as Alister pushed aside the brush conveniently growing outside the cave.
His friend strode in, a peculiar look on his face. “The courier returned. I gave him the reward.”
“And?” Rory prompted.
“Your protector was not a lad at all, but a lass.”
“A lass?” Rory was incredulous.
“A lass,” Alister confirmed. “The innkeeper was reluctant, but finally admitted that the lad was no’ a lad at all, but a lass. She’d asked that no one reveal that fact, and they were all so awed by her that they agreed. It was only the urgency of the request that produced the admission. They are not at all sure she wasna the true Black Knave.”
“A lass masquerading as me?”
“Humbling, is it not?”
Rory shrugged. “It is no worse than an old woman.” He could not help grinning. “But such information would really infuriate Cumberland were he to learn of it. Mayhap, if it were not for the danger to the lass, I might well like word to spread. His Grace outfoxed by a lass. He would be thoroughly humiliated.”
“But what would she want with the Black Knave now?” Alister asked.
“Help of some kind. Or mayhap to join us in a more official capacity? Was any more said about what she looked like?”
“She had long, dark hair. It fell out from under a bonnet. ’Twas how they learned that they were following a lass.”
Dark hair? A suspicion dawned in Rory’s mind. “Was she well-spoken?”
“It was not mentioned.”
Rory swore as his thoughts tumbled over each other. They all led, however, to the same startling conclusion.
It could not be. And yet …
Bethia had disappeared for five days, exactly the amount of time necessary to reach the coast and return. No. It could not be.
Alister was staring at him. “What are you thinking?”
“That perhaps our other Knave may be closer than we ever thought.”
“But who and why?”
“A brother, mayhap?”
Alister’s eyes widened.
“My wife was gone for five days. She stayed with a crofter whose name she canna remember. She would not forget something like that.”
“But the ride to the coast would be too much for a lass.”
“She sent a letter just a week ago to the Innes lass. Their land is near the coast.”
“And the request came from the coast,” Alister said.
“Aye, and how many know of this loch?”
Alister’s eyebrows bunched together in thought. “That is why it was selected. Its proximity to her. Not because anyone knew the identify of the Knave.”
Rory lounged back against the side of the cave. “And I thought I was going to rescue her.”
“We canna be sure, Rory,” Alister cautioned.
“Nay, but I would bet my last pence on it.”
“But not your life.”
“Not yours, Alister. It may not be her at all. Or it could be a trap. Which is why I will play out this little masquerade.”
“How would she get a horse? You said yourself you posted guards.”
Rory grinned. “If she made it to the coast, talked some rough fishermen into trusting her, stole a boat and returned back here in a week, I wouldna think a mere guard or two would stop her now.”
Alister started laughing. “I knew there was a reason why I liked her.”
“Probably more like a dozen, my friend.”
“Are you speaking for yourself, my lord?”
“Aye. But I swore to myself I would let her go once I got her out of Scotland. She has a right to find a man she can love.”
“I would no’ so easily preclude myself, were I you,” Alister said.
“She dislikes me,” Rory said.
“Because you have been actively fostering that attitude.”
Rory shrugged. “I will have nothing after this. I plan to make my way as a gambler in some place where the English will never find me. I have no taste for France, and that is the place for Bethia. She will be among friends there, among her own kind.”
“What about the marriage?”
“She can get an annulment based on desertion. Some would not even consider it legal, since we were not married by a priest.”
Alister hesitated. “When she learns you are the Black Knave …”
“She may be grateful, but I do not want gratitude. I want her to be free.”
Alister regarded him skeptically but did not reply. Instead, he changed the subject. “We still cannot be sure that tonight is no�
� a trap.”
“For that reason, I do not want you anywhere around me tonight. If I am wrong, and it is a trap, collect Mary and Bethia. Get the boy, then head for the coast. Drummond is with the Harris family.”
“Aye,” Alister acknowledged.
“The French captain will be at the rendezvous at two hours past midnight on the fourteenth day of the month. He has already been paid.”
Alister nodded.
“See Bethia and the boy settled in France. She has enough jewels that they will have an income for a long time.” He hesitated, then added, “If I am taken, do not try to rescue me. You must look after Mary and Bethia and the lad first.”
Alister said nothing.
Rory used his trump card. “I do not want Mary to pay for our crimes, Alister. She will not go without you. And Bethia’s safety is far more important to me than my own. Swear to me you will see to the three of them first.”
Alister hesitated, then nodded. “I swear.”
“I could never ask for a better friend, Alister.”
“Nor I.”
“And that is enough of sentiment,” Rory said. He felt awkward with emotion. “’Tis time for me to go. Help me look like a shepherd.”
Bethia wondered whether she would ever reach the loch. The road was even steeper than she remembered. Fog had crept over the hill from the lake, and she finally dismounted and led the horse, afraid he might break a leg in a hole or go too close to a side that fell abruptly off down a hill.
A thousand things might prevent the Knave from appearing. Mayhap Anne hadn’t understood the message. The Knave may not have received it. He could even be in another part of the country. He might well have thought a lad not worth his time. The English might have captured him. Was she completely a fool to make this trek?
Two hours now. She had only four more before dawn.
The fog seeped into her cloak and mud into her slippers. Step by step, her doubts grew, her optimism waned. ’Twas a fool’s errand. And if she were caught, her brother’s life would be forfeit. She was sure of that.
If only she could have rescued Dougal herself. But she would not be allowed near him. Especially without her husband, and he had refused to take her. She was well known at the castle since she’d stayed there several days before being brought to Braemoor. No, she had to have help.
She finally reached the nob of the hill that looked down on the loch. She could not even see the loch, though, because of the fog. She only knew it was below her. Bethia continued to walk down what was only a narrow path. Then in the silence, she heard the quiet lapping of waves against the shore. She started taking her steps even more cautiously, not wanting to end up in the loch as Black Jack had.
He whined in the small bag she had made for him and tied to the saddle, just as if he knew her thoughts had gone to him.
“Nay,” she whispered, as she stopped to rub his ears reassuringly. “I do not want you to take another swim.”
“Nor do I,” came a voice out of the fog.
A voice full of amusement. A voice she recognized only too well. Deep-pitched, sensuous, seductive. A voice like no other’s.
Twenty-three
Bethia froze.
Black Jack barked excitedly and wriggled under her hands.
But she remained frozen. Had the marquis followed her? Had someone deciphered her note? Was it a trap for the Black Knave?
Hands reached out and took Black Jack. Strong hands.
She looked up. A shepherd had materialized in front of her. In the dark she could barely make him out in old clothes and a scraggly beard and white hair. But she could not mistake his stance, his height, the way even the air warmed when he was near.
The dog snuggled into his arms. Traitor. She had always heard dogs had instincts about people. Now she wondered.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
He was so close, she felt his breath.
“I might ask the same of my wife.”
“But you are not asking,” she said, suddenly very aware of the omission. “You know.”
“Aye, you are looking for a traitor of the state.” Pompous words from a figure who had little pomposity. He looked every inch a shepherd, a lone, isolated man.
No. It could not be.
Her husband could not be the Black Knave.
Yet now she could not dismiss it. He was either the man she sought or he was something far more sinister. She had to proceed on the assumption of the latter. And silence was a far better defense than lies. Let him continue, even though she wanted to punch him in a place it would hurt the most. “You did not answer my question.”
“You summoned me, lass. How could I refuse the request of someone who once helped me?” His voice held that mocking amusement she knew so well by now.
“You?”
“Aye. You are looking at the Knave, such as he is.”
Her head was hurting. Her heart was beating much too rapidly. Her breath sharpened, became painful. She wanted to murder him. Instead, she managed to spit out, “The true Knave?”
“Aye,” he said simply. “For better or for worse.”
She could barely sputter, “Why did you not tell me before?”
“It would have changed your attitude toward me. No matter how hard you try, my lady, you have never been a good liar.” He hesitated, then added, “There was something else. Your brother was being held hostage. I did not know in the beginning how far you might go to free him.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You believe I would have betrayed you?”
He shrugged. “I know now you would not. I was not sure when I first met you. Then it just seemed the safest—”
Bethia had never been so angry in her life. She recalled all the fear, the anger, the desperation she’d felt in the past months, all of it unnecessary. The fury knotted in her stomach. She did not think. She only reacted. Her hand went back and she punched him in his stomach as hard as she could. She heard his breath go inward, the startled “omphhhh” as he stepped back.
She reached out and jerked the puppy from his arms.
She felt as if she were breathing fire.
Then she heard him laugh. It started with a chuckle, then he nearly doubled over, and she did not know whether it was because of the blow or because he was laughing so hard.
Stiff with indignation, she weighed the option of hitting again. This time in the chin.
He seemed to sense the danger. He straightened up. “I was no’ laughing at you, lass, but at myself. We have been at cross purposes, it seems.” Still, the chuckle rumbled on. It had a warm, comfortable, vibrant sound. It echoed within her, settling around her heart.
Some anger remained, though, enough to keep her from joining in. “You knew it was I asking for help? Why did you force me to come up here?”
“I received the message saying only that a lad who assisted the Knave on the coast needed my help. I had no idea that it might be you until I received word just hours ago that the lad was a lass. Even then I could not be sure it was you. The only clue was your … unexpected journey and sudden lapse of memory about your Good Samaritan. It could well have been a trap. I can say with all sincerity, madam, that the sound of your voice scolding Black Jack was a bloody relief.”
She continued to glare at him through the darkness. She could not see his eyes but she suspected they were full of merriment. That irritated her, too. If only he had trusted her, so much anguish could have been avoided, including this nightmare ride.
The Black Knave.
The realization was just beginning to sink in. Her husband. The dastardly marquis. The coward. The fool. The … drunk.
“You were not drunk the other night, were you?”
“Not altogether,” he admitted. “It would have been unwise.”
“Why did you want to pretend otherwise? The Butch … Cumberland was not present.”
“There were good reasons, lass.”
“But you do not intend to explain them?�
��
“I will.” He paused, then leaned over. His lips just barely touched hers before he straightened. “At least now I can thank the mysterious young lad. We were well-trapped until you lured the English away.”
The anger in her dissolved like a lump of sugar in a hot drink. His voice no longer held amusement but a warmth that seeped through the chill and indignation she’d felt so strongly just seconds earlier.
But she felt a certain reserve. He had been her husband for months, and now she realized she still knew nothing about him. She believed he was indeed the Black Knave; she had no idea of the motives behind his … masquerade. Adventure? Principle? Honor? Or simply a game?
She wanted him to take her into his arms. She wanted him to kiss her doubts away. He did neither of those things, however, and curiously, she felt a greater expanse between them than ever, even when she had thought the worst of him. She’d thought she knew him then, but she had never known him. Not even during those few close moments. He’d only been a shadow.
“Bethia?”
She liked the sound of her name on his lips. But she was too shaken at the moment, too unsure to respond to it. “Did you enjoy your game?” she said bitterly.
“No. I did not like deceiving you. I thought—”
“You thought you could not trust me. That I would act the fool, that I would betray you on my own behalf.” She was humiliated to feel tears begin to fill her eyes. She’d had such hopes, such expectations of the mysterious Black Knave. Now all she felt was a kind of defeat.
“Bethia, I will get you and your brother out of Scotland. The plans are already made.”
“And when were you going to tell me? When did you feel you could trust me?” Hurt words came tumbling out. “But now you think I should trust you. Well, my lord, I do not.” Now the shock was gone; it was replaced again by anger and, even more damaging, by a wound so deep and wide that she wondered whether it would ever heal.
“Lass …” He reached out for her, but she jerked away, keeping a whining Black Jack in her arms. She moved blindly toward the horse and tucked the dog into the little bag she had made for him.
The she swung up into the saddle, grateful that she had not taken a sidesaddle. Bethia needed no assistance to mount astride, and she did not think she could stand his touch. She turned the horse back toward the trail. Despite her best intentions, she turned back. Her few steps had taken her away from the marquis, and he’d disappeared into the fog like the phantom he was and always had been.
The Black Knave Page 31
