Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  He watched the unspoken denial flicker on the other man’s face. “Yes,” he murmured dangerously, “I thought as much.”

  He closed the door quietly behind him, not at all dissatisfied with the way the interview had gone.

  *

  As James had expected, he soon received confirmation that Williams had not gone on leave. He began to plan how he would force the lieutenant into a duel. That particular feeling of excitement and reluctance that he always felt in the buildup to a battle began to take hold of him. Gradually, he pushed thoughts of everyday life to the back of his mind where they would not distract him. A man thinking about how much he would lose in death was sure to find himself on the brink of it. It was the man who focused on the moment who survived the battle.

  There was one part of his life that was too big and too important to be easily forced from his thoughts, though. Before he challenged Williams, before he dueled with the man, he must ensure that Thea understood how his feelings for her had grown since their marriage. He had tried to tell her by actions, but now was a time for words.

  He sought her out on the afternoon of the day he’d earmarked as the one when he would challenge Williams. She was seated in front of the fire in his father’s drawing room, holding her belly with one hand and leaning her chin on her other. Her skin was pale. At the sight of her, he was immediately concerned. “Thea! Are you ill?”

  She lifted her head in surprise at the sound of his voice. Then she smiled with real pleasure. “No, James, I’m—”

  Relief flooded through him. “Good! Thea, I must talk to you.”

  He didn’t understand why the blaze of pleasure in her eyes quickly burned itself out, or the closed expression that followed.

  “What did you want to say to me, James?” She studied his features. “You look, oh, I don’t know, elated somehow.” Her eyes widened. “James, have you had word from Colonel Harris? Did he agree to punish Williams?”

  “No.”

  She frowned as she searched his face again. Slowly, she said, “Then I do not understand. What is it you want to say to me?”

  He pulled a chair up so that he could sit opposite her. Catching her hands, he stared down at her soft, slender fingers. They reminded him that Thea deserved better than the little cottage at Glenmuir, or the burden of a husband whose rebel past would never leave him. He looked up and said more abruptly than he’d intended, “Harris knows that I would rather be at Glenmuir than here in Edinburgh and that with the winter coming on the passes through the mountains will soon be closed. He realizes that I must see this incident resolved soon. That is why he claims Williams is on leave and why he tells me that he cannot find the man.”

  “Perhaps he cannot. James—”

  “Thea, I’ve learned that Williams is here, in Edinburgh. If I can find him, Harris certainly can.”

  She turned her hands, so that she was able to clasp his fingers with hers. “James, I know Williams is guilty and I know that what he did was reprehensible, but I fear for your safety if you should take his punishment into your own hands.”

  “What would you have me do, Thea? Return to Glenmuir with nothing more from Harris than the promise that he will look into the matter?”

  For a moment her expression said that she would like exactly that. Then she sighed heavily. “No, I know you could not do that, James. But I have written to my father. Can you not wait until he replies? It is possible that he will be able to order Harris to punish Williams.”

  James pulled his hands away and stood up. He stared into the fire. Part of him knew that Thea had a good point. Part of him wanted to agree with her, if only to make her happy. Another part wanted to avenge the wrong done to her, without the help of her father and despite the reservations he knew she felt. “Your father may not reply for weeks. He might not be able to make any arrangements in London. Or he might not be willing to help.”

  “Why would he not be willing to aid us in this matter?” Thea asked, frowning.

  James turned to face her. “Like it or not, I am a Jacobite rebel, Thea, and all of this has come about because Prince Charles Edward Stuart decided to visit England to see if his former adherents would be willing to rise again. You father is a career officer. He may not want to acknowledge that he has allied his family with a rebel.”

  Thea stood slowly. Though her eyes flashed, her voice was cool as she said, “My father has far more honor than that, sir! You can be sure that when he agreed to our marriage, he thought over all the issues very carefully. Ours was not some mad, impetuous love match, James MacLonan.” She hesitated, turning her face away.

  James winced. What she said was true, up to a point. He had not married Theadora Tilton for love, and yet…

  She looked back at him, lifting her chin proudly. “We were married for a purpose. And we married with the government’s full knowledge of our match. My father has nothing to hide. Moreover, he has made a commitment to you and he will not abandon it on the mere supposition that you might be involved with the Pretender.”

  “Is that how you see our marriage, Thea?” When she raised her brows and continued to stare at him, her eyes cool and fierce, he said briskly, “So be it.”

  At that she frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing and everything. Thea, I know how deeply you trust your father. I will bow to your judgment in the matter of his willingness to help us, but even if he is willing, I am not prepared to wait for someone else to do what I should be doing.”

  “And what is that? Challenging Lieutenant Williams? Surely you would find that petitioning the Scottish government to aid you would be a more effective use of your time. Men like Judge Denholm would be shocked to hear what Williams did. I am sure they would act on your behalf.”

  James grasped her shoulders. “Thea, in normal circumstances, I believe you are correct, but these are not normal circumstances. If the Pretender is loose somewhere in England and on his way to Scotland, then Harris has the right to ignore any demands the civil government might make. Denholm and the others know that. They may protest. They may demand that Williams be tried for his crimes, but if Harris doesn’t want to do it, they cannot force him to act. Only orders from London can do that.”

  “Orders my father can have issued!”

  “Damn it, we’ve been through that!” He dropped her shoulders and stood back.

  Thea shivered and sat down. “I know.” There was silence for a time. Then she said, “We are at an impasse, are we not?”

  “We are.”

  She crossed her hands over her breasts and hugged her shoulders protectively. “Nothing I have said will stop you from calling Williams out, will it?”

  “No.”

  “If I told you that I could not bear to have you lost to me because you felt you must defend my honor, would you change your mind?”

  He stood stiffly for a moment, then knelt beside her. Taking her hands, he said, “Thea, I do this for you. If we returned to Glenmuir without this issue being resolved, you would never feel comfortable there again. I want Glenmuir to be your home. I want you to be happy there.”

  “Glenmuir will never be my home without you, James, and I am dreadfully afraid that this duel will only bring you trouble. Please, please! Do not challenge the lieutenant.”

  “I must.”

  She shuddered. “When are you going to do it?”

  “Soon. Before Harris does somehow spirit him out of Edinburgh.”

  She sighed and squeezed his fingers before she freed her hand to cup his cheek. “James, I will not retract my reservations, but as I promised before, I will do all I can to support you.”

  He turned her hand and kissed the palm. “Thank you, my love.”

  She drew her breath in audibly. “What did you say?”

  Now was the moment to voice the words he’d planned to, but he could not. This evening he would challenge Williams, and within a few days he might be dead or in exile once again. He could not burden Thea with an admission th
at she did not want to hear. “A turn of phrase, nothing more,” he said with a light smile.

  Thea frowned, but then she nodded and smiled faintly. After a moment, she said, “Will you tell me when the duel is to take place?”

  James raised his brows and laughed. “I fear that if I did so, I would find that my lovely wife is a determined observer.”

  Thea laughed too. “You are probably right.”

  “No, Thea, I will not tell you when it is to occur. I know that you would worry from the time I told you until the time I returned home. I don’t want you to do that. You have worried enough.”

  Thea sighed and said softly, “I shall always worry about you, James.”

  It was a statement that he was to use as a talisman in the days and weeks to come.

  *

  The evening was well advanced when James groped his way down the dimly lit stairs that led to the tavern where he knew he would find Williams. It was a mean little place in the basement of one of the tall houses located on a narrow wynd just off High Street. Though it was dark, smoky, and rather dirty, the tables were always full with men from all classes.

  Even though he knew he would stand out from the rest of the patrons, he had dressed in a sumptuous costume of velvet and silk, better suited for a fashionable party in Paris than for a public tavern in Edinburgh. He had considered wearing the full regalia of a Highland chief, but reluctantly, he had decided that he would frighten Williams off if he presented himself in a kilt and sporran. Whether Harris had warned him or not, Williams must know that James MacLonan would be looking for him. From what James had learned of the Englishman, the man delighted in taunting and deriding the Scots he met, but he always found a way to avoid defending his position. Instinct told James that he would have far more success in his challenge if he was dressed in the trappings of a fine gentleman and played upon Williams’s expectations.

  He stood for a moment in the shadows at the back of the taproom scanning the close-packed tables, looking for his quarry. Williams wasn’t hard to find. As expected, his clothes immediately set him apart from the soberly dressed Scots. He was engaged in a heated debate with a middle-aged man all dressed in black. Beneath the fellow’s old-fashioned, unpowdered wig, his long, narrow face was twisted with contemptuous ire as Williams adamantly expressed his opinion on some subject and waved his forefinger under the Scot’s nose for good measure.

  When he was seeking out information on the Englishman, James had discovered that Williams was well known in Edinburgh, although not for his better qualities. He was consumed by a hatred of the Scots that was so intense as to be irrational, and his favorite pastime was to visit the taverns where educated Scots met to do much of the commerce that made Edinburgh a wealthy city and to debate the great issues of the day. Williams would join a group, unasked, and deliberately taunt the worthy Scottish citizens. The man was thoroughly loathed, and demands that he be reposted outside of Scotland were beginning to be heard. James could easily see why.

  He waited until the Scot had walked away from the table, his back stiff with contempt, before threading his way through the tables to where Williams sat. Conversations stilled, then rose again as he passed. Like Williams, he stood out from the regular patrons of the tavern, but that was all the better. He wanted to be noticed.

  When he reached the table he sought, he stopped and said politely, “Lieutenant Williams?”

  Williams looked him up and down, noting the suit of pale blue velvet, the coat braided on the lapels and cuffs with gold thread, and the gold satin waistcoat. Slowly, he nodded. Around them voices hushed as interested onlookers waited to see what this meeting was all about.

  The readiness for battle that had been growing in James peaked and steadied, locking his emotions in place to allow his mind to work even more rapidly than usual. He watched the lieutenant’s gaze fix on the diamond solitaire nestled in the folds of fine lace at his neck. The gem winked in the flickering candlelight, and its exquisite cut fairly shrieked of wealth and refinement.

  While Williams stared and considered, James examined the Englishman in his turn. This was the first time he had seen the man whose stupidity had caused Maggie MacLonan’s death, and whose wanton use of his power had intimidated and harmed a woman James had come to respect and care for very deeply. He had not expected to find a man of strength, but he was surprised to see that Williams was thin, with little physical presence. He must have used his sword, his horse, and the troop of dragoons to enhance the authority he did not naturally have.

  He was dressed in a coat of puce velvet with a white laced waistcoat and mustard velvet breeches, a combination that did little for his pale coloring. Moreover, the lace at his throat and wrists and the linen beneath were coarse and none too clean. The image James had created of the man altered subtly. Lieutenant Williams might be related to dozens of officers in the English army, but he was most likely from a poor cadet branch of these wealthy families. Without a doubt, in allying himself to this man Harris had erred.

  In the middle of James’s scrutiny, Williams gestured negligently to an empty chair. When James made no move to accept the offer of a seat, Williams demanded truculently, “Do I know you, sir?”

  “We have some business together,” James replied softly.

  “Business, sir? I think not. I do not indulge in commerce.” Williams managed to lace contempt into his voice. It went well with the sneer on his narrow lips.

  James bared his teeth in a smile that was closer to a snarl. “You may wish you did before I am finished.”

  Williams frowned. Evidently he heard the threat in James’s words, but could not understand the reason. “Tell me your name and state your business then, but be quick about it.”

  “My name, Lieutenant, is James MacLonan. Do you remember that name? It belongs to a woman you struck across the cheek. Do you remember a valley called Glenmuir? Or a simple clanswoman you terrorized, then murdered?” Williams stared at James, his expression frozen into a blank stare. “No? You remember none of these? Then perhaps I can help you regain your lost memory.”

  James picked up the wine glass resting on the table in front of Williams. He held the stem disdainfully between his forefinger and thumb as he allowed anger to build into rage that surged against his senses, demanding an outlet. Then, with a deft movement, he flicked his wrist and tossed the contents of the glass full in the face of the shocked Englishman. “You wanted to know my business, Williams? This is my business!”

  The rich red claret drained slowly down the lieutenant’s cheeks and dripped from the end of his sharp nose, but he made no effort to wipe it off. He sat immobile, horror clearly written on his features as he stared at the elegant man before him.

  The whole room had fallen silent. Men craned their necks to watch the drama unfolding, and there was a murmur of support when James tossed the wine in the Englishman’s face. Silence fell again as they all waited for Williams to respond.

  Into the dire quiet Williams shouted, “The Devil! You can’t be MacLonan! You’re nowhere near the Highland brigand I expected.”

  There was a subdued murmur of disapproval.

  James ignored the insult and said calmly, “Coward.”

  Williams reddened. “How dare you!”

  “I dare,” James informed him in a low voice that nonetheless carried to those around them. “I dare because I know the truth of you, Williams. You prefer to attack innocent women rather than fight a man armed as you are. And you’re afraid to stand and face the consequences of the deeds you have done. Like the coward you are, you flee the scene of your misdeeds, then use the hint of family power to bully support from your commanding officer for an action no honorable man would condone.”

  There was a charged pause as Williams frantically glanced from side to side, looking for support, but finding none. Finally, he said disdainfully, “If I remember correctly, you are a Jacobite.” His lip curled. “I don’t deal with rebels!”

  James smiled that dangerous smile
again. “There are no rebels here, Williams, only honest Scots and a cowardly Englishman.”

  “Damn you! Name your second! You will regret this, MacLonan, but I will not. I’ll enjoy feeling my blade slip through your ribs to your heart!”

  As he pulled a card from his pocket, James laughed. “An unlikely occurrence, Lieutenant. You haven’t the capability. Here is the name of my second.” Deliberately, well aware of his listening audience, he added, “He is Brendon Ramsey, a man of some standing in this community. He will be waiting to be contacted.”

  James bowed infinitesimally and turned, raising a mocking brow at the rapt attention of the crowd before making his way through the close-set tables, well satisfied that Williams would not be able to find a way to squirm out of the duel. If he did, no one in Edinburgh would allow him to forget it.

  *

  The Forest of Drumselch was a large tract of land to the south of Edinburgh, a park ceded to the city by King David I in the twelfth century. Paths threaded through the clusters of trees, but otherwise the forest had been left in a natural state. The wildness of the area and the feeling of isolation the thick forest cover brought had made the place a favorite for duels and other private assignations.

  Brendon Ramsey, acting as James MacLonan’s second, had naturally suggested the forest as the site of the duel, and the English officer who served Lieutenant Williams in the same capacity had made no objections. He was newly posted to Edinburgh and his knowledge of the city—and of his brother officers—was extremely limited.

  The precise location was a small meadow deep in the woods reached by a series of winding trails, making it unlikely they would be disturbed. Brendon couldn’t forget that dueling was an illegal activity, albeit one routinely practiced by the upper classes. Being a man of few illusions, Ramsey had decided that it would be wise to take particular care in the arrangements for this duel.

  The duel was set for six in the morning a mere day after James extended his challenge. It had rained the night before, and the grass covering the hard ground was slippery. As Brendon Ramsey, James, and Lord Staverton waited in the quiet of the early morning, James tested the footing, advancing in a lunge, then stepping backward to parry as he warmed up.