Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  Now he wished he’d taken the time to find out what had happened so that he could have been prepared for this celebration. The members of the boisterous group of men were anxious to shake his hand and tell him how glad they were that he was no longer incarcerated in the Tolbooth and how someone would have to pay for this outrage. James thought that highly unlikely, but he kept his opinion to himself.

  He found his father in the crowd looking tired, but smiling. The other gentlemen stepped aside as he strode over to his parent. Or he imagined he strode. Actually, he shuffled, cursing his weakened muscles, which wouldn’t do anything his mind ordered them to. He was able to embrace his father though. That, at least, he could do.

  “Now,” he said, smiling, his voice rusty from lack of use. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Now, tell me what is this all about? How did you convince Harris to free me?”

  Grant laughed. “I didn’t, Jamie.” He glanced to one side. “Your father-by-marriage is to be thanked for that.”

  James looked past Grant, to the red-coated man standing a little apart from the rest. He straightened painfully, drawing himself to his full height. “General Tilton,” he said slowly, drawing out the man’s name, trying to decide how he felt about being rescued by an Englishman.

  Tilton nodded. “I would have been here sooner, MacLonan, but your Prince would not cooperate—”

  “Not my Prince!”

  Tilton smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, James, although it makes no difference now. The Pretender has returned to the Continent, where he is busy annoying the crowned heads of Europe and driving his father even deeper into despair with his antics. He’s not our problem anymore.”

  “Was he ever?”

  A rueful expression crossed the general’s face. Then he shrugged. “There were those who thought he was. It seems our ambassadors to Europe’s courts spend half their time tracking his whereabouts. The King’s ministers here in Britain feel it is necessary to know what he is up to, even if they can’t be sure where he is.”

  “So, General Tilton, the Prince turns up in Europe and you decide I can be released from prison. Am I supposed to thank you?”

  “James…” his father growled.

  “Here now,” huffed Harris indignantly, “That is no way to speak to Sir Frederick—”

  “Let the man talk,” Judge Denholm said cheerfully. “He’s a right to ask his questions. Not only that, but I’m interested, too. As I said before, Harris here had Mr. MacLonan put into the Tolbooth because he stabbed a man, not because he was suspected of being a Jacobite sympathizer.” Denholm produced a flask from his pocket and took a drink. “In fact, that was the only way he could have done it. Sympathizing with an out-of-favor prince isn’t a crime as far as I know. Following one in rebellion is, but sympathizing isn’t.”

  Tilton said quietly, “Harris had orders to keep the Highlands secure while the Pretender was about his silly game of hide-and-seek. He was in command here and how he chose to keep Scotland quiet was at his discretion. Even if I had rushed north demanding your release, James, he had every right to refuse me. I needed the ultimate weapon—the whereabouts of Bonnie Prince Charlie—before I could be certain that my interference would do any good.”

  The military man in James couldn’t fault Tilton’s strategy. Don’t waste limited resources on the futile storming of a heavily defended position. Wait until you have the weaponry to take it quickly and cleanly. James thought it was very possible that he would still be languishing in that dungeon now if the general hadn’t used his good sense and waited. James only wished it hadn’t taken Tilton quite so long.

  Brendon Ramsey stirred uneasily. “You still haven’t answered Denholm’s question, Sir Frederick. He’s right. James was in prison because of the duel. Is he still being held over for trial?”

  Tilton looked at Harris. “I suggest you answer that, Colonel.”

  Harris cleared his throat and looked at the sky. “As you know, Lieutenant Williams is returning to health. I recently had a long conversation with the lieutenant regarding his actions at Glenmuir. At that time, I learned that the complaint against the lieutenant was indeed a valid one. Taking that, and the testimony by Mr. Ramsey here about the way the duel was conducted, into consideration, I believe it is unnecessary to charge Mr. MacLonan with assault. He is free to go.”

  Judge Denholm made a sound between a snort and a laugh, then took another drink from his flask. James shook his head. It was an oddly unsettling conclusion to his stay in the Tolbooth.

  He raised his face to the clear dark sky and felt the cold wind caress his skin. Images of Glenmuir stirred in his mind, images he had deliberately suppressed throughout his time in prison when he’d feared he would never be free to walk his beloved Highland hills again. Entwined with images of Glenmuir were visions of Thea laughing at hardship, cocking her head to one side as she flirted outrageously with him, gently encouraging his clansmen through one crisis or another, weeping because some troubles were beyond her ability to help. Thea, bruised and shaken by the run-in with Williams, her world rent apart because of one renegade officer. Thea, paling when he’d used the rough edge of his tongue on her when she visited him in prison.

  He closed his eyes as shame washed over him. When the door had opened and Thea had walked into his tiny hell his heart had leapt at the sight of her. Then it had plummeted, for no better reason than his pride was hurting because she’d seen him dragged so low.

  Opening his eyes, he focused on Tilton. “If the passes are still open, I intend to return to Glenmuir as soon as possible.” His voice hardened. “Your daughter goes with me.”

  Tilton raised his brows. “Not my daughter, MacLonan. Your wife.”

  *

  While the men went to the Tolbooth, Thea returned to Grant’s house, where she had James’s room aired, his bed warmed, a fire laid, and the bath set up before it, ready for him. She knew he would want to wash the Tolbooth filth from him as soon as possible, for she couldn’t forget his comment about vermin. The cook was preparing a warming soup that would fill his stomach, but not overtax his system.

  She was upstairs, fussing with the way his bedclothes had been folded down, when she heard a commotion at the front door. She rushed to the stairs and almost ran down them.

  Her disappointment must have been visible when she saw it was only Grant MacLonan who had returned. He chuckled at her expression. “I came home in a chair, when Jamie decided to walk. He should be here soon, my dear.”

  Thea smiled a little shakily. “How is he, Grant?”

  “Glad to be out and just as stubborn as ever.” Again Grant chuckled as he dumped his cloak and hat into a waiting servant’s arms. He rubbed his hands together. “‘Tis a cold night out there. Is a fire laid in Jamie’s room?”

  “Of course. And a bath prepared, and his bed warmed.”

  Grant nodded. “Good. I’ll send some brandy up. Come to think of it, perhaps I’ll have a wee dram myself.”

  Thea laughed and Grant went off into the parlor. After she had told the servants to heat water for James’s bath, she went upstairs again, this time to her room so she could check her gown and hair in the cheval mirror. Though she fussed with a few stray strands, there was little she could do to hide the lines of worry and fatigue on her face. She sighed, wishing James would see her again at her best. Then her spirit lightened. It didn’t matter how she looked. James was free at last. That was what counted tonight.

  She had reached the top of the stairs when the door opened once again. This time it was her father and her husband who entered. Thea’s heart leapt. “James?”

  He looked up at her, his face expressionless. “Thea.”

  Tilton looked from his daughter to his son-in-law, then leaned over and said something in James’s ear that Thea couldn’t hear. To Thea’s complete surprise, James grinned, a ragged, lighthearted expression that eased the tension in his features. He looked up at Thea, the amusement still on his face. Tilton shot her a quic
k look too. Then he marched into the parlor and carefully shut the door behind him.

  Swallowing hard, she started down the stairs. Now that the moment was here, she was suddenly frightened of the form this meeting would take. James watched her, saying nothing, helping her not at all. Nervously, she smoothed the blue silk of the evening gown she still wore. The fabric rustled as she moved, and the light from the chandelier hanging in the hallway flickered on the silver fabric and embroidery. She wondered if James had noticed the special significance of the intertwined thistle and oak then dismissed the idea. Though his eyes bored into her, she doubted he was noticing details such as the embroidery on her gown.

  Two steps from the bottom she stopped. “I’m glad you are home, James.”

  He raised one dark brow. “Are you? I understand that you attended one of Olivia Ramsey’s parties tonight.”

  Thea gasped. “I did, but—”

  “Did you enjoy yourself, Thea?”

  “I did not go to enjoy myself! I went to try to help free you!”

  A smile flickered on his lips. “So I’ve been told.”

  Thea wasn’t sure, but she thought that perhaps there was a hint of pleasure in her husband’s voice. “James,” she said firmly, as she descended to the bottom of the stairs, “I wanted nothing more than to have you freed from that dreadful place. I would have done anything to achieve that end. Anything.”

  Raising his brow again, he came toward her, then stopped a few feet away. “I am truly fortunate that anything was not necessary then.”

  Thea’s temper flared and she took a step forward. James put out his hand. “Don’t, Thea. I’m verminous.”

  In that instant, his words brought back memories of her visit to the Tolbooth. She paled, remembering his anger and her distress. James must have remembered, too, for he cursed and stepped back. “I must bathe, Thea, so I can—”

  “Of course,” she said brightly, stepping to one side so he could pass. “What am I thinking of! James, a bath has been prepared for you in your room. One of the servants will attend you. He has orders to burn your clothes.”

  “A wise move,” James growled. He paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Thea, when I’m done, come up.”

  “I shall bring up some food for you,” she promised.

  “That’s not what I mean. I—”

  “You are tired. I understand.”

  James sighed. Amusement quirked his mouth again. “Stubborn woman.”

  Temper flared in Thea’s eyes and she curtsied. The blue silk pooled about her, making the entwined thistle and oak stand out clearly. “Have your servant tell mine when you are ready. I will be in my chamber.”

  James laughed. “I see we truly are fashionably wed, sleeping in separate bedrooms and communicating through servants.”

  Thea whitened. She reached out her hand. “James…”

  He shook his head. “Not now, Thea. Not yet.”

  Thea watched as he walked slowly up the stairs with the same careful deliberation that she had seen his father use. Realizing how weak he must be, she shook her head, angry at herself for forgetting that he was just now out of prison. He could not be expected to deal with her swings of emotion. Not now, not yet. Still, when he had disappeared into his room, she sank down on the bottom step and sobbed.

  That was how Grant MacLonan and her father found her a few minutes later. The two men fussed over her with concern, then called her maid and told the servant to take Thea up to her room and put her to bed.

  Thea allowed the girl to remove the gorgeous blue gown and clothe her in a simple linen bed gown and quilted wrapper. Then Thea settled before the fire while the powder was brushed out of her hair. As the girl chattered about how excited the servants were that young Mr. MacLonan was home again, Thea listened with only half her attention, for she was waiting for a knock on her door.

  When it came, the servant was apologetic. “Mr. James is finished, lady, but…”

  “But?” Thea coaxed, when the man stopped.

  “Well, he’s… he’s gone to sleep, lady. After he’d stepped out of the bath I shaved him, and after I put away my razor, I turned and there he was, stretched out on the bed naked, lady. He hadn’t even put on his nightshirt.”

  “Mr. MacLonan needs food more than sleep,” she said briskly. “I’ve had some broth prepared for him. Go and bring a bowl up from the kitchens.” She turned to the maidservant. “I have some ointment that is excellent for soothing wounds. Bring it, and some bandages, to Mr. James’s chamber.”

  Thea swept out of the room with the two servants following. On reaching James’s room, she had to smile, for she found her husband on his back, sprawled across the bed, using every possible inch of it for his comfort. When she sat down on the edge, he opened one eye and said drowsily, “Not now, Thea.”

  “I know,” she replied softly. “James, your servant is bringing you some food. In the meantime, I want to check your wrists. I have some salve to put on them.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” She signaled the maid that she could go, then examined the wounds. His skin was red and raw where the heavy iron bonds had chaffed it. She rubbed the ointment on gently, hating Harris, the Pretender, and Lieutenant Williams, then wrapped a clean bandage around the area. When she was done, she checked his ankles, eased them, then examined the new red scar across his chest, caused by Williams’s sword. Even though it had healed in the poor conditions of the Tolbooth, the wound had mended cleanly. She glanced at James’s face. His eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply. She bent and lightly kissed the scar.

  He stirred. “Thea…”

  “James, I—”

  The manservant flung open the door, then brought in a tray containing a bowl of broth. “I brought the soup, lady, but are you sure it is enough? Mr. MacLonan expressed a desire for meat before his bath and—”

  “It is fine. You may leave it beside the bed.”

  When he had gone, Thea fluffed up the pillows and James pushed himself up. Leaning against the headboard, he eyed his wife with some amusement. “I did ask for meat, you know.”

  Thea colored. “James, I sent good food to you every day, though I believe you received little of it.”

  “Unfortunately, true. “

  “Then your body will not be ready for a heavy meal. Eat the broth. Tomorrow you can have something more substantial.”

  “I hate broth,” he observed.

  “You also told me you didn’t want me to tend your wounds, but I did.” She held a spoon up to his mouth. “And you felt better afterward, did you not?”

  He took the soup, letting her feed him as if he were a child. “I do not have the strength to fight you.”

  “Then do not.”

  “Or the desire,” he added with a sigh. When he had finished, he slipped back down in the bed and let Thea fuss with his pillows and the covers.

  When she was satisfied he would be comfortable, she straightened. “I should make you put on a nightshirt, but I will not. Sleep well, James. We can talk in the morning.”

  Rolling onto his side, he moved into the middle of the bed, then lifted the bedcovers. “Thea, stay with me. Come to bed.”

  She hesitated. “James, you need to rest.”

  “I am not an invalid!” He added more calmly, “I will sleep much more soundly with you in my arms.”

  Still, she hesitated. He gave her a lighthearted grin and patted the sheets. Thea couldn’t resist. She slipped into the bed and curled into his arms.

  “I missed holding you like this,” he said, drawing his hand down her side in a caress that was like ambrosia to Thea. “There were nights when I reached out for you, but you weren’t there. I had nightmares that you had decided that life with a crude Highlander was more than you could bear and you had gone back to England.”

  “James—”

  He put his finger over her lips. “Shhh. I want to finish, Thea. I want to finish because I want you to know how I feel, now and forev
er. When you came to the prison I was both overjoyed and furious. The sight of you was enough to give me the strength to endure whatever I had to, but I hated that you had seen me that way, chained like a mad dog and as filthy as a wallowing pig. I set out from Glenmuir to avenge you, and what did I do but cause you more grief.”

  She stroked his smooth cheek. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. “You did what Harris should have done,” she said a long minute later. “You were a victim of the man’s incompetence as much as I was of Williams’s violence.”

  “Thea,” he murmured, “I should not have said some of the things I did in the Tolbooth. Forgive me?”

  A tear trickled down her cheek though she laughed shakily. “Tell me truly, James. Do you mind that you are married to an Englishwoman who is also a Whig?”

  “When I saw your father standing outside the jail and discovered that he had been the one who was able to arrange my release, I realized that it is not race or political beliefs that make the strongest bonds, but love, respect, and blood. You have had my respect since we first traveled to Glenmuir, Thea, and sometime during the summer you also gained my love.”

  “And soon,” she whispered, “our blood will be joined in the child we have made together.”

  James sat up. “What did you say?”

  Thea looked up at him mischievously. “Are you surprised, James? Good, I had hoped you would be.”

  “Thea, you aren’t teasing me? You are with child?”

  She nodded, smiling and laughing.

  “But that is marvelous! Tell me everything! When will he arrive? How long have you known? How do you feel?”

  Still laughing, she pulled her husband back down. “I feel fine now. I did feel a little nauseous at first, but now that has passed and I am ravenous all the time.” She hesitated, then said, “I was sure on the day that Williams killed Maggie MacLonan. I was going to tell you that evening. What happened to Maggie drove my own happy news from my head. Then afterward I wasn’t thinking sensibly. There just never seemed to be a moment when the time was right.”