Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  Briley laughed and launched proudly into the bloodlines of his mare.

  Prudence could breathe again, for horse talk was a sure way to please the gentlemen. The rest of the meal passed off without incident, but when her aunt stood to withdraw, Prudence asked to be excused, admitting that she was rather tired this evening.

  The gentlemen were all on their feet, of course, and were unanimous in urging her to rest.

  She caught her father’s eye and said, “I am not too tired for you to come in and say good night as you always do, dear sir.”

  The Colonel and Lord Briley smiled at this evidence of family affection, but James MacTavish was surprised by it. He was devoted to his children, but not so devoted as to make a nightly pilgrimage along two long halls and up two flights of stairs so as to say his good nights. He gave no sign of anything untoward, however, and assured Prudence that he would be up within thirty minutes.

  He was as good as his word. Prudence had just settled into her bed when he scratched on the door. She dismissed the nervous Kitty, then stretched out a hand to her father as he sat on the side of the bed. Clasping it, he asked, “What is all this about, miss? You know I should not leave my guests.”

  “I know, I know. But, Papa, I had to speak to you. For Kitty’s sake.”

  He frowned. “Kitty? Oh, your abigail. Surely it can wait for—”

  “No, sir, for she is in a dreadful state. Her beau was out with Prince Charles and now they’re hunting him to his death. You’ll recall Bill, Papa? They called him Little Willie.”

  “Hmmnn, yes. Mayhew. They’re hard after the boy, and he’s wounded, though ye’d best not tell your woman that unhappy fact.”

  “She already knows, sir. And she says—Papa, is it truth that Ligun Doone helped our Rob to escape?”

  MacTavish started. “Now where did she hear that?”

  “I don’t know. But is it truth?”

  He hesitated, looking dismayed. “I cannot answer, Prue.”

  “So you gave your word. I understand, and I’ll not ask you to tell me aught of it, for I’d sooner die than endanger such a gallant gentleman.”

  “Easily said, my dear.”

  Anxious, she searched his face. “Do you mean because of my wretched temper?”

  “We’ll be charitable and call it spirit, rather, but ’tis a dangerous trait when one plays a game of life and death.”

  She admitted sadly, “It is my besetting sin. I said something foolish at dinner, did I not? I saw that I’d vexed you when we were speaking of Robbie, but that beastly Cunningham looked so sly, as if we’d a secret reason for allowing Captain Delacourt to stay here. I thought if he knew that Rob had cried friends with the Captain—” Her father still looked stern, and she said, “And I really dinna ken what’s sae bad aboot having said it, Papa.”

  He hesitated, then answered slowly, “I’d not mentioned Rob for fear Cunningham would at once begin to be curious as to his whereabouts.”

  Remorseful, Prudence gripped her hands together. “And I had to do exactly as you feared and set the Colonel’s brainbox to working! Oh, Papa!”

  He patted her dainty lace-trimmed cap. “Never mind. What’s done is done, lass, and I believe we shall survive your unruly tongue. Thanks to Lord Briley. How fortunate was his horse blathering.”

  “Yes, but”—she clutched his cravat—“Papa, you should have seen him this afternoon. He was not at all the dandy. In fact, sir, he frightens me! I think he is here to watch us.”

  MacTavish looked at her frowningly. “Why?”

  “Because the Ensign called him Major Lord Briley! Major, Papa! And he pretends to be such a milksop.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Prudence! He’d not be the first dandy ever to don a uniform, or to revert to type when his fighting days were done. Only look at Delacourt. He’s scarcely a military type, either.”

  “No, but he’s so ill one cannot imagine how he might have been in his prime, and there are inconsistencies about the Captain also, sir, that—”

  “Child,” he said impatiently, “I vow you’re beside yourself! I wonder you don’t suspect the butler. After all, Sidley is English. You must not allow yourself to jump at every shadow.”

  He tried to get up, but his daughter tightened her grip determinedly and he sat down again, perforce.

  “Papa, please listen to me! For a moment this afternoon, Lord Thaddeus looked every inch a Major. I could see the Ensign was terrified, and spoke to him with such respect! Now, why would he primp and posture and act the fool as he does, unless it is to deceive us?” Lowering her voice, she whispered, “Papa, I am sure it is a plot to entrap us! Perhaps they are after Robbie. Does he mean to come home?”

  “Heavens above!” MacTavish disentangled her grip from his laces. “D’ye take your brother for a caper-wit?”

  “No, sir. But, well, now there’s this business with Little Willie. Papa, can you get word to Ligun Doone?”

  “Even could I, he cannot help every hunted rebel. Oh, never look so glum. If Doone comes nigh to Mayhew and learns of his plight I fancy he’ll render whatever aid he may. Perchance he already has done so.” He stood, wondering in an irked way whether he’d ever have time to get to the notes for his lecture. “You’ve had a wearying day, Prue. Go to sleep. And you might try remembering Mr. Doone in your prayers.”

  “I do, Papa. They say he is one of the bravest gentlemen in all Scotland, but I fancy he walks on thin ice every day of his life and can use all the prayers sent up for him.”

  “I’m very sure of it. Now get to sleep, and do not be lying there worrying about nonsense.”

  Prudence sighed, blew out her candle, and lay down. At once her thoughts turned to Delacourt. She closed her eyes and concentrated on sleep. He had looked very pale and tired this evening, but she did not believe for a moment that he was expiring. He enjoyed the part of the long-suffering invalid, was all. And could there be anything more reprehensible? Oh, pox on the man! She tossed onto her right side. What a widgeon, to be fretting about the Southron when she’d forgotten to have a word with God in behalf of an heroic Scot. Her feet were cold. Perhaps the Lord would forgive if she spoke to Him from the warmth of her bed, instead of upon her knees, as she should. “Dear Lord, will Ye no accept my apologies for addressing Ye in this lazy way? ’Tis in the matter of Mr. Ligun Doone…”

  * * *

  Prudence awoke with the dawn. She lay in her warm cocoon for a few minutes. Worrying. And it would only get worse if she stayed there. She got out of bed and went to the window. The sky was a blushing soft coral wherein floated a few fluffy clouds. Perfect weather for a ride—if she dared.

  Half an hour later, having washed in the frigid water of her pitcher and dressed herself, she crept along the hall. The house was hushed, but in the stables the grooms were busily at work, and in no time her favourite dapple grey was saddled and ready. She guided the big horse across the park, skirting the woods and taking the path that led eventually to General Wade’s Road. She had told the anxious grooms that she would not leave the estate, but there was a mystery about this early morning that lured her on, and after all, the redcoats would not dare harm her again after what had befallen their coarse Sergeant. She rode on. The birds were twittering now, but no other sound disturbed the still air. The waters of the great loch were smooth as glass, the roseate heavens reflecting in that mirror. A gull came cawing in from the east to swoop low over the water and settle down, leaving a long wake behind him. Prudence kicked her heels home, and the grey leapt eagerly into a gallop. She followed the shore for a while, then turned southwards, climbing into the hills until the wild beauty of the Highlands was all about her: lonely vales, tree-clad slopes, rushing, clear burns, rugged crags, and the air so pure that far to the north she could glimpse Ben Wyvis lifting mighty shoulders against the opalescent skies.

  Prudence was alert for any sign of other riders, but she saw no one until she came upon a shepherd guiding his small flock to a new pasture, the sheep hurrying and b
leating to the urging of the dogs. She stopped and spoke to the man briefly, but he was a taciturn individual and eyed her with marked suspicion so that she soon left him and turned for home.

  The sun was higher now, the sky a deep, clear blue. With luck, thought Prudence, she would reach home before the MacTavish arose. Assuredly, if her luck was out, she would be subjected to a severe scold for having ventured out alone. She’d done so because of a pressing need to get into more rarefied air; to try to sort out the problems that distressed her. She’d done little of sorting, but the peace of the high places had soothed her, and she did not want to go home yet. She reined in her grey as she came to a promontory that presented a fine view of Loch Ness and the surrounding countryside. She smiled proudly as she viewed the majestic panorama. And then she caught sight of a horseman far below, riding very fast and superbly. She watched him admiringly as he turned uphill, but then she reined back, alarmed, for he seemed to be coming straight for her.

  About half a mile downhill from her, he halted his mount and turned back to scan the view, even as she had done. She strained her eyes, trying to identify him. A slim man, tall, and wearing a moderate wig and a tricorne. He had a good pair of shoulders and an easy swing in the saddle as his magnificent black sidled restlessly. Even as she watched, another man appeared as if from the face of the crag; a stocky individual, clad in shabby clothes and a scratch wig. The rider dismounted and they gripped hands.

  Prudence caught her breath with excitement. There must be a hidden cave there, in which case the stocky fellow was likely a fugitive. If the rider had come to help him in broad daylight, it was daring that approached the level of foolhardiness. She could see them clearly—others might do so. Yet now came a third man, and she gasped because he wore the red uniform of an English officer.

  A dog barked. A big collie raced up the slope, tail waving. The horseman bent to stroke the dog and take something from his collar. A note, Prudence surmised. The others stepped closer. A moment later, one gave him a leg up into the saddle. He waved and rode off, disappearing in seconds amongst the cut-up ridges and gullies. Prudence’s gaze had followed him, and when she looked back the others had vanished again, only the collie remaining in sight, bounding down the slope from whence it had come.

  If the men she had seen were fugitives, the rider had come to give them news or money. On the other hand, sad though it was, there were Scots who were traitors to their Prince, or who had never followed him. Perhaps she had witnessed a gathering of bounty hunters pooling information on some poor hunted rebel. The English officer could very well be a deserter. She remembered the shifty-eyed shepherd and the suspicion he had evidenced, and fear touched her. Suddenly, these loved and familiar crags were menacing, the peaceful silence a deadly hush. Oh, why must she always be rushing into situations that seemed simple and straightforward, but suddenly became— Not very far away a branch snapped. The grey danced, his head turned towards the sound.

  Heart in her mouth, Prudence drove home her heels and urged him in the opposite direction. They went down the slope at reckless speed. Twice the grey skidded, and Prudence thought he must fall, but somehow they survived that mad scramble. She thought she heard a shout, which added to her fright. She applied the whip sharply to the horse’s flank. It was not a familiar sensation and he sprang into a powerful gallop, the countryside blurring past as though he had acquired the wings of Pegasus.

  Not until she was on MacTavish lands did Prudence slow their pace. She leaned forward, patting the grey’s foam-streaked neck and murmuring gently to him. After a few moments she trotted him sedately across the field and into the grove. She had come home by way of a wide westerly loop to avoid any who might have lain in wait for her, and she was returning much later than she had hoped. When she reached the stableyard, however, the only person in evidence was the last man she expected to see.

  Captain Delacourt watched from his invalid chair as the grooms rubbed down a magnificent black mare. He turned a surprised face as Prudence rode in. She also was surprised. He looked weary, but his face was flushed and perspiration beaded his upper lip and his temples.

  Allowing Haggerty to lift her down, she murmured her polite good mornings to the Captain and went over to the mare. The horse she had seen from the hilltop had been a fine black. It was silly to think this was the same animal, and yet the mare had obviously been ridden. She said idly, “Lord Briley was up betimes, Haggerty.”

  “Aye, miss.”

  “I’d no idea he meant to ride. We could have gone out together.”

  “Mmmnn.”

  “Has he been back very long?”

  “I dinna ken.”

  She gave it up and turned her attention to the Captain. He was peering through the yard gate. She asked, “Are you expecting someone, sir?”

  “Eh? Oh, I was wondering where your groom can have got to, Miss MacTavish.”

  His eyes were bland and innocent.

  Hers became wary. “Which one?”

  “I fear I have not learned their names. I meant whichever one accompanied you.”

  She thought, ’That’s what I thought you meant, wretched spy,’ and she said with a gentle smile, “I prefer to ride unaccompanied, Captain.”

  “Good gracious.” He leaned back in his chair as though overcome. “You are a bold one, ma’am!”

  Prudence drew herself up to the last fraction of her insignificant height. “Sir?”

  “Oh, dear.” The wistfully expiring look was brought to bear. “Have I offended again? It merely seemed—ah, not very—er, wise to venture into those dreadfully wild-looking mountains alone.”

  Her lip curled. “It would be very unwise for you to do so, I own. Especially since you seem to be feverish this morning.”

  “Egad! Do I?” One white hand trembled up to feel his brow. “Alas, I think you are right! I should not have come out to see the horses, I suppose. But I do rather miss being able to go for a little trot, you know. If only—”

  “What the devil…!” Lord Thaddeus, booted and spurred, marched into the yard, his stride a far cry from his customary mincing gait. He went straight to his mare, not noticing Prudence, who had drifted back into the shade cast by the open stable door. “By God, Geoff!” he exclaimed, swinging around to glare at his friend. “Did you have the infernal—”

  Delacourt waved a languid hand. “No language, if you please, Thad. We’ve a lady present.”

  Briley jerked his head in the direction indicated, and looked comically guilty. “Oh, by Jove! Your pardon, Mith MacTavith. I wath provoked to find Geoff down here. Never will obey hith doctor.”

  “Most unwise,” said Prudence. “And you see what has come of it, my lord. Poor Captain Delacourt has taxed himself into a fevered condition.”

  His lordship levelled a searching look at the invalid. “Idiot,” he said pithily.

  “No, how can you be so harsh,” scolded Prudence. “It is but natural for the Captain to desire a—er, little trot. You can understand that, my lord, when you yourself had such a nice gallop this morning.”

  He adjusted his impeccable cravat. “Had I known you were out riding, ma’am,” he said, “I’d have begged leave to accompany you. Will you conthole me by telling me why there ith a jolly great pyramid in your garden?”

  ‘Oh, neatly done,’ thought Prudence. “My father is an archaeologist. While he was working in Egypt a few years ago, he was able to prevent the looting of a pyramid, and the government was so grateful they built a replica of it for him. I doubt anything ever pleased him as much, and it is become quite a point of interest for the area, as you may well imagine.”

  Briley’s personal opinion was that it was an eyesore for an object so foreign to the environment to be dumped on the shore of a Scottish loch, but he said courteously that it was ‘very interesting.’ “Dashed good size,” he said. “About half the original, ma’am?”

  “I think it’s more like one-twentieth the actual size,” she replied. “But very true as to detail.�
�

  Delacourt chuckled. “Even to the treasure in the burial chamber?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said with unshaken aplomb. “We found gold in the chamber, and a mummy.”

  Awed, Briley stammered, “Jupiter! A—a real live one?”

  “No, you dolt.” Delacourt grinned. “A real dead one! May I be so crass as to ask if there was a deal of gold, Miss MacTavish?”

  She returned sweetly, “I don’t mind your being crass, sir. There were two golden amulets. My father keeps them in a display case in his study, and if you are interested in Egyptology I know he will be most pleased to show you both the pyramid and his other artifacts. Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen.” She left them, and walked over to the house.

  The maids were bustling about, and the smells of breakfast drifted enticingly from the kitchens. There was no sign of her father, but Prudence had quite forgotten her fear of encountering him. Deep in thought, she went slowly up the stairs. From the remarks Briley had made on his first visit here, and to the Colonel last evening, he had met Delacourt only when he arrived at Castle Court with Lady Ericson’s granddaughter. And yet Prudence had somehow gained an impression of a deep and long-established attachment. Only an old friend, she thought, would have the right to say in such a proprietory way, “Idiot!” as Briley had done just now.

  Then again, the black mare had certainly been ridden, and it appeared that Briley held Delacourt responsible. Could Delacourt really have been the rider she’d seen? Very troubled, she paused on the landing, and shook her head at nothing in particular. That he was exaggerating his illness she had no doubt and had attributed it to a reluctance to rejoin his regiment. But if he was capable of riding so well, and was concealing that fact, then he was up to more mischief than a simple evasion of active service. She remembered the several times of late that she had woken in the night thinking to have heard riders outside. Twice she’d run to the window and seen nothing, but now she wondered if Delacourt was creeping out under cover of darkness. It would explain the fact that he so often appeared to be very tired, and slept the day away. It fitted neatly enough. And there could be but one logical reason for an officer to feign incapacity, be billeted in the home of an enemy family, and creep out secretly. Geoffrey Delacourt was a spy. He had been placed here by that horrid Colonel so as to watch them. The English probably suspected the MacTavish of being linked to Ligun Doone! By now halfway up the second flight, Prudence’s hand flew to her throat as she had a sudden mental picture of her father standing before a wall in his shirt-sleeves, his wrists bound behind him, his proud head high-held, facing twelve redcoats with muskets aimed. She shrank, trembling, against the stairs, sickened by the very thought of it. Whatever could she do? There was no least use trying to warn the MacTavish, he would only chide her again. He was completely taken in. But she could not simply sit back and wait for them all to be arrested. She stared blankly at one of her aunt’s scarves lying in a bright puddle of sunshine on the next stair. Taking it up, her lips tightened. She would watch the treacherous Sassenach. Like a hawk, she would watch him! But he must not know she suspected. He must be lulled into a false sense of security. He would make a slip, then, and she would pounce—like a snake! She mulled that over for a minute. No, not like a snake, exactly. But certainly she would pounce! She hastened to her room, planning her next move, but experiencing also a quite unaccountable sense of hurt and betrayal.