Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  “Yes!” snapped Thea. “I am straightforward and open and I am used to people with like natures…”

  “We’re getting into deep waters here,” Tilton announced. “Thea, have a care what you say.”

  James was so outraged at Thea’s description of his personality that he ignored the general’s comment. “I am not moody!”

  “How else would you describe a man who refuses to discuss problems, then pretends that they do not exist?”

  “The decision was made. I didn’t need to explain or discuss!”

  Thea’s eyes blazed. “I am your wife, not one of your soldiers! Your partner, not your subordinate! I wish to be part of the decision, not the victim of it!”

  “Precisely,” General Tilton interjected. He walked over so that he stood before the warring partners, forcing them to look up to him and remember to mind their manners. “In the earlier part of our discussion we considered what was important in a marriage.”

  James and Thea both glared at him. Isabelle sat wide-eyed, her mouth open in a small O of surprise.

  “Now, it seems to me that you two are talking again, and that is good. Now what you must do is reflect on how to get yourselves back to the liking you had for each other before Thea learned that she was to live at Glenmuir.”

  “Do you not think this discussion should be private?” James drawled after a moment. His blue eyes were narrowed, hard and watchful.

  Tilton frowned. “We are private. No servants here tonight. I told ‘em not to bother us unless we rang.”

  “I think James means that he and Thea should talk over these issues without the rest of us listening,” Arabella offered in a conversational tone.

  “Perhaps James is right, Papa—” Thea began, looking at James uneasily.

  “No,” Tilton said quickly. “If we allow that, you’ll just end up at each other’s throats again. You’ve a temper on you, Thea, and you tend to be stubborn when you set your mind to it.” James grinned until Tilton thoughtfully turned to him. “And you, MacLonan, carry too many scars from old battles to be able to consider things dispassionately.” His comment wiped the smile from James’s face. Tilton nodded grimly. “No, you both need help until you’ve learned to deal with each other.”

  “What are you suggesting, Papa?”

  “That we fight out this problem about moving to Glenmuir here and now, as a family, then you both live with what is decided.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” James said shortly. “I will be living at Glenmuir and Thea will live there with me.”

  “I will not!”

  “You are my wife, Thea! You will live where I live and I choose Glenmuir!”

  “Let her walk by your side, MacLonan,” Sir Frederick said mildly. “You’d be surprised how much more useful a partner is than a subordinate.”

  “Thea, why don’t you want to go to Glenmuir?” Isabelle asked innocently.

  “A good question,” James muttered.

  Forced to put her objections into words, Thea hesitated. She looked around at her family. Her father’s expression was encouraging, her mother’s faintly amused. Isabelle looked concerned, but also quite delighted by the whole argument.

  Most important of all, James was watching Thea with narrowed eyes and the predatory gaze of a hawk. She glared at him and took a deep breath. “I have heard that the Highlanders are dangerous, unpredictable, and warlike.”

  “Careful, madam!” James growled.

  Thea didn’t look at him. “And that they do not accept strangers in their midst. They are a most inhospitable people.”

  “Untrue!”

  After James’s outraged outburst, Tilton said mildly, “I did not fight in the rebellion, but I’ve policed this region for well on three years now and I cannot agree with your description, daughter. The people of the Highlands are proud, aye, that’s true enough, and that can be dangerous at times, but they are no more unpredictable or warlike than many another race. As to inhospitable, I think you have been listening to Olivia Ramsey’s tales. She’s got a remarkable dislike of the Highlander, why I don’t know—”

  “She’s Lowland bred,” Arabella said. “The Lowland Scots have always feared the Highlanders. ‘Tis a long tradition in this country. The rebellion has only added fuel to a fire already set.”

  “Mama…”

  “I wish you had come to me with your fears earlier, Thea,” Arabella continued mildly. “Is it true that Mrs. Ramsey has been putting these bleak ideas into your head?”

  “She and others,” Thea said in a small voice.

  “Is there more than this nonsense?” James demanded.

  Tilton shook his head. “Too early for a frontal attack, boy,” he murmured. James glared at him.

  “Yes, there is more!” Thea snapped. “You didn’t tell me about the move, James, you told someone else, and that is how I learned of it.”

  “We’ve talked about that,” James retorted.

  “Yes, we have, but I wish to feel as if my contribution is of value! Having someone other than my husband tell me that I will be uprooted within weeks was more than infuriating.” She paused, then added quietly, “It was upsetting.”

  James shot a look at his father-in-law, then said gently, “Thea, has it happened again?” At her puzzled expression, he explained more fully. “Have I made any arbitrary announcements? Or allowed you to learn of some important subject from someone else?”

  “No, but…”

  “And I will not.”

  “Excellent,” said Tilton. “We are making progress. Now, Thea, have you any more difficulties about living at Glenmuir?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, biting her lip. “The location.”

  “I cannot move the valley!”

  “No one expects you to!” Thea retorted, stung.

  “What is it about the location that concerns you, Thea?” Arabella asked.

  “I am told that it is deep in the mountains, that the roads are poor, making travel difficult, and that there is little polite company. Once we reach the estate we will have to remain there.” Thea stared down at her skirt, rubbing her hands together as if to somehow gain reassurance. “Those few people who might consider visiting us will change their minds when they learn of the state of the roads and the distance involved.”

  James stared at her, his expression incredulous. “You fear loneliness!”

  Thea looked up at him, nibbling her lower lip. She didn’t confirm or deny his statement.

  “You consider living in Glenmuir a form of exile.”

  At the amazement in his voice, Thea stiffened. “I suppose I do.”

  James slapped his hands on the arms of the chair in a gesture of frustration and stood up. Turning his back to Thea and her family, he stared at one of the paintings that adorned the wall, “Damn,” he said softly, before he turned to her once more. “Of all people, I understand what it means to be an exile. Thea, you need not fear that will be so for you.”

  “Do you understand? I think not. Glenmuir is your home, one you have been away from for a number of years, and one you ache to return to. Your exile is over.”

  “And yours need never begin! Thea,”—he came over to her and took her hands—“just because we make our home at Glenmuir does not mean that we cannot visit Edinburgh—or London—occasionally!”

  “And we shall visit Glenmuir, Thea,” Isabelle added enthusiastically.

  “I think it is time that we retire to our chambers, and leave these two to settle their problems on their own,” Tilton said quietly to his wife and younger daughter. Arabella nodded and swept Isabelle out with her. As he passed, the general said quietly to James, “Now’s the time for the frontal attack, my boy. Good luck.”

  Thea was very much aware of the silence when the door closed behind her family. Her eyes scanned those of her husband, seeking the truth there. “James, is that how you felt, angry and frustrated and—I don’t know, helpless—when you found yourself forced to travel to France
, fearing that you would never return to Scotland?”

  He looked down at her hands. Slowly, reflectively, he turned them palm up, then caressed them gently with his thumbs. Finally, he looked up into her face. “I was not at Culloden. I was wounded at the Battle of Falkirk. By the time I was well enough to move about, Staverton and my brother, Neil, had concluded that the rebellion would never be anything more than that—the Prince was not the man to lead the Highlands into victory. They put me on a boat for France. I protested, but they refused to listen. Neil died at Culloden, Staverton fought, but escaped, and all the while I kicked my heels in France, not knowing what had happened, or the fate of my friends and family.” He drew a deep breath. “I hated France, Thea. I hated the way the officers treated their men, like so many slaves, not the free men they were! I hated being an outsider, and a powerless one at that! And yet, I saw it as my fate, one I could never change.”

  He dropped her hands to catch hold of her shoulders. He kneaded them gently; then his hands slid upward to cup her face between his palms. “I would wish that fate on no one, Thea, but least of all on you!”

  “James…” Thea placed her hands on his chest. As she looked up into his face, reading the sincerity there, her eyes began to fill with tears.

  “Glenmuir is my home, Thea. I want it to be your home, too.” His voice was soft, but rough with emotion.

  She smiled, a little tremulously. “I will try, but I will need your help.”

  “I will give it with pleasure.” He bent, touched her forehead with his for a short minute, then slowly began to kiss her. The caress was tentative, almost questioning. Thea responded by relaxing against him, surrendering her loyalty and trust into his care. James recognized what she offered, and gathered her closer to him. The tentative element in the kiss deepened into tenderness, admitting without the use of words the very real affection that was creating a bond between them.

  Thea’s hands crept up to his shoulders as she pressed her body more closely to James’s. Surrender became demand, and the passion that burned between them flared into life. James pulled his lips from hers to take a deep, searing breath. “Thea, be advised, I will come to your bed tonight.”

  “Is that a promise?” She rose up onto her tiptoes to nibble enticingly on his lower lip.

  He groaned. “How can it be otherwise?”

  This time it was Thea who began the kiss, and there was nothing gentle or tender about it.

  *

  They set out from Edinburgh on the afternoon of a fine warm day, with many false starts and tearful farewells to hold their leaving back from the early departure James had planned. The fine weather stayed with them for the first few days, but one morning they rose to find the sky darkened by huge black clouds. They were already in the coach and on the road when the drizzle began. By noon it had become a downpour. The land was rising, with rolling hills becoming steep rises, so that there hardly seemed a spot where it was level. At the steeper slopes Thea and James were forced to walk beside the carriage to relieve the horses, who strained to pull the heavy coach up the slippery roadway.

  Thea was soaking wet and cold down to the marrow of her bones. The pelting rain seemed to be an unending downpour, rather than a squall that would soon be over. Once again, the coach came to a halt. Thea suppressed a sigh. She glanced down at the green velvet of her traveling gown, plucking wearily at its damp nap. On the last hill her cloak had ceased to hold out the rain, and her gown now felt clammy against her skin. Absorbed by the physical discomfort she refused to acknowledge, she didn’t notice the concerned frown on James’s face as he scrutinized her expression.

  The driver appeared at the door beside Thea, pulling it open as he politely tipped the curled brim of his tricorn hat. A cascade of water sloshed into the coach, part of it further dampening Thea’s gown.

  “Watch that!” James snapped. Thea set her teeth over her own impatient criticism. They were all wet, cold, and tired. She would not complain over a trifle.

  “Sorry, sir,” said the driver, abashed. “We’ve come to another hill. You must climb out again.”

  James made an irritated noise in his throat. Thea shivered. “I’m afraid it’s a long one,” the man continued cheerfully. “We’ll need your assistance with the coach, sir.”

  When Thea stepped out, she understood why the driver requested James’s help. On a clear day after a stretch of fine weather the road would be difficult to ascend. On a gray, wet day like this one the steep grade made it nearly impossible. As Thea picked her way to the side of the roadway, the mud sucked at her boots and turned slippery under her feet. She paused, turning to watch the progress of the coach.

  The driver was busy soothing the horses and preparing them for the task ahead. His outrider and James were behind the coach, intending to push the vehicle from the rear. Ordinarily, servants would have handled this sort of activity, but the old-fashioned carriage carrying the luggage, Thea’s maid, and James’s manservant, was lost somewhere behind them in the sheeting rain and heavy mist that obscured the horizon.

  At a word from the driver, the horses strained at their traces, moving the coach bare inches. Frustrated, the lead horses whinnied and shook their heads. One even attempted to rear up onto its hind legs. The coach slid backward to the spot where it had rested a few minutes before. They would take hours to reach the top of this hill, Thea thought numbly after watching this scene. She turned and began to fight her own way up the rise.

  Though she tried to walk on the grass that edged the road, she found her footing was even less secure there. After slipping several times and only just retaining her balance, she resigned herself to slogging through the mud.

  She paused for a short rest after climbing steadily for a time. Panting in a most unladylike way from the exertion, she looked back at the coach. Even though she had not gone as far as she had expected, the carriage had made even less progress. She waited until the horses drew near, then continued on her slow climb up the hill.

  Her gown and cloak were heavy with rain, throwing off her balance. Halfway up the hill her foot slid out from under her and she fell to her knees. Thrusting out her hands to save herself, she felt the mire squelch through her gloved fingers. Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she knelt in the mud and slowly tried to wipe the muck from her hands.

  She was surprised when she felt a hand on her shoulder and saw her husband crouch down beside her. His eyes scanned her face. “Are you all right?”

  She smiled at him, too weary to do much more. “Yes, just filthy.”

  A flicker of relief showed in his expression. “When you didn’t stand up I thought you had injured yourself.”

  At his concern she managed a faint smile. “I’m sorry, James. I didn’t mean to worry you. For a moment I didn’t think I could continue any further.” Her dimple appeared as she gestured at the crest of the hill, still some distance away. “This wretched mountain makes me quite impatient! How presumptuous of it to continue on for such a distance! The next time we travel this way I shall expect—no, I shall demand—better weather.”

  Respect flickered in his eyes and he laughed softly. “Take my hand, Thea, and I’ll escort you to the top. Together we can conquer this mountain.”

  “But what about the coach?” she asked as she took his outstretched hand. “They still need your help, don’t they?”

  “Presently,” James replied, helping her to her feet. “Now, watch your step.”

  Thea sighed and abandoned her attempts to persuade him to follow the dutiful course. “I will admit, sir, that I feel easier with your support.” They had begun to climb. She slipped, and would have fallen but for James’s strong arm helping her. She flashed him a smile. “A perfect example to my argument.”

  He laughed and said, “I needed no persuasion, you know.”

  They slogged slowly through the muck and finally reached the summit, but it was barren of shelter. James was reluctant to leave Thea standing alone in the pelting rain, but she
smiled and urged him to go back to the coach.

  “The sooner it reaches me, the sooner we will be able to get out of this wet!” she said with a cheerful smile.

  Reaching out, he tenderly brushed back several strands of wet hair that had escaped from the fashionable knot that bound her long hair. “I will return as quickly as I am able.”

  Thea nodded. Watching him slip and slide down the hill, she felt as if the only ray of light had gone out of her day.

  Eventually, after much effort, the carriage made it up the hill and they clambered aboard once more, but Thea found that it provided little physical comfort as she sat in her cold, wet garments. She began to shiver uncontrollably.

  James reached over to her, catching her waist and drawing her close to him. After untying the fastenings of her cloak, he pushed it from her shoulders, then wrapped her in his arms and cuddled her against his body. Even through her damp gown, Thea felt his warmth. With a weary sigh, she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “We should reach our destination soon,” James murmured gently. “It’s a fine inn, run by a man named Chisholm. The rooms are clean and the beds well aired, and he has a cook who makes magic with the simplest of ingredients. You can rest there.”

  Snuggled against him, Thea smiled, closed her eyes, and savored the thought of a hot, well-cooked meal. It was a very appealing fantasy.

  *

  “You must be Mr. and Mrs. MacLonan. Welcome to my house! I’m Charles Chisholm, the innkeeper here.”

  Chisholm was a square, stocky man dressed in plain, well-made clothes. A smile of welcome creased his chubby features.

  “You received my note?” James remarked, holding his hand to help Thea from the coach.

  Thea stepped down, every inch of her aching from the travel difficulties they had encountered that day. While James spoke to the landlord, she looked around curiously. The large courtyard faced a two-story building that was made of gray stone as weathered as the hills that rolled away to the north of it. Like its owner, the establishment was prosperous and well kept. Ostlers were already at work, leading the carriage horses away to a corner of the large yard where the carriage would be parked for the night.