Journey to Enchantment

by Patricia Veryan

  “What in the name o’ our sainted Queen Mary has that tae do wi’ it?” she stormed, jumping up and glaring at him. “I’m a Scot, sir! And you’re a Sassenach! And—”

  “And he is also Ligun Doone,” interjected her father, quietly reproachful.

  Her bubble burst. She mumbled, “Oh … aye,” and, blushing, sat down again.

  MacKie chuckled. “We seem to hae but one volunteer left.”

  They all looked at his lordship, and he stood and bowed extravagantly.

  With slow reluctance, Delacourt said, “Thad, this is not your fight.”

  “No more ith it yourth, dear boy.”

  “I made it mine because Cumberland’s damned butchery sickened me. I am involved with this confounded treasure only because many innocent families may starve without their belongings are returned to them, and because it galls me to think of some greedy bounty hunters—or dragoons—living in luxury at their expense.”

  “No need to hog all the glory for yourthelf, Geoff. I think I have not been completely idle on the other thide of the border.”

  “No, indeed. And fought in Holland right valiantly,” Delacourt agreed warmly. “In fact, I could tell—”

  With grim menace, Briley interrupted. “But will not, do you ever hope to thee England again!”

  Amused, Prudence saw his grim theatrics replaced by consternation, his pleasant features becoming very red as he shot a dismayed look at Miss Clandon. That young lady, noted Prudence curiously, was glaring at him as though she might cheerfully have strangled him.

  Sir Matthew laughed. “I’ll nae deny I think it grand o’ ye tae volunteer fer such a chancy business, Lord Thaddeus.”

  “Well, gentlemen,” asked Delacourt, “are you all willing to entrust our vital cypher to this thimblewit?”

  “A little more from you, my lad,” warned Briley, “and I will forget you are an invalid.”

  Despite the banter, a sudden gravity fell upon them. They all knew that Briley risked a horrible death, and that because of his rank there was no power in the land could save him if he was caught with the cypher. The ayes were uttered with reluctance, and as each man voted he stood and crossed to shake Briley’s hand, a procedure that left the shy peer scarlet with embarrassment.

  “Very well,” said Delacourt, refraining from adding to his friend’s panic by gripping his hand. “Now for our other problem: We’ve to devise a means for getting our wounded out of the pyramid. It’s a splendid hiding place for a week or so, but the poor devils are cramped and stifling, and the sooner we get them away, the better. Any notions?”

  “I’d gladly take them wi’ me in my carriage,” said MacKie, “but they’d be no more safely hid at my hoose than where they are. Besides which, I’ll admit I’ve a groom I’d nae trust wi’ a silver coin, much less wi’ six hundred pound!”

  Prudence gave a shocked gasp.

  Interested, Delacourt said, “No, has my worth increased again? Gad, but Cunningham did not tell me.”

  “Had ye no twisted his tail by gripping his hand,” growled Lockerbie from his post by the door, “he might’ve found the time tae.”

  Sir Matthew enquired, “What’s all this?”

  “Nothing, nothing,” said Delacourt hastily. “Now we must—”

  “Something, something!” Lockerbie interposed with the assurance of a trusted retainer. “Yon nasty Colonel said he’d soon lop Ligun Doone’s head could he but bring him in his grasp. And what must Captain Reckless do, but go and shake his hand and tell him he’d live tae brag on’t!”

  A shout of laughter went up, but Prudence frowned, vexed by such heroics.

  Briley, grinning broadly, said, “And you call me thimblewit!”

  “We’re no closer to a solution,” Delacourt said with a smile. “I’ve a plan we might attempt, but it’s so chancy I’d as soon not try it unless nothing better offers. Thad, when do you mean to return home?”

  “I ethcort Mith Clandon to her father next week. I might be able to move the date up, if there ith a boat thailing.”

  Delacourt shook his head. “That won’t do. For Elizabeth to journey all this way to see her grandmama and then turn about in only a few days must cause comment. And were you to go back without her would excite even more attention. We shall have to wait.”

  “Dare we?” asked Sir Matthew, anxiously. “The other couriers were away weeks since, and—God willing—are likely close to their destinations already.”

  “If I am not becalmed, heaven forfend, I’m like to make jolly near ath good time,” lisped Briley. “Quicker by water, y’know, thir.”

  Mr. MacKie, who feared water travel, shuddered. “Sooner yourself than I, my lord,” he said. “I prefer a good fast team or a good fast horse!”

  “The Highlands are not for an Englishman,” Delacourt pointed out. “Some clans are still up, and even a Scot is as liable to be slain by an enemy clansman as not.”

  “How true,” sighed MacTavish. “Our poor bonnie land, ever torn by these cruel clan wars.”

  “It’s little short o’ a miracle ye came through safe yourself, lad,” remarked Sir Matthew.

  “None of my doing, sir.” Delacourt indicated the silent Lockerbie, who dozed in a chair at the rear of the room. “That gentleman, his many—nay, innumerable relations—and their combined knowledge of your beautiful mountains brought me safe here.”

  “For which there’s many a Scot will call doon blessings on his head,” said MacKie with feeling.

  The immediate chorus of “Ayes” brought a flush to Delacourt’s thin face and also roused Lockerbie, who took out his timepiece, rose, and announced determinedly that it was past time for his master to be abed. The girls also said their good nights, MacTavish accompanying them to the stairs and handing each her candle. Prudence went with Miss Clandon to her door, and they parted, their friendship a little more firmly established, each to climb gratefully between the sheets as soon as possible, and then to lie there, unable to sleep, though for somewhat different causes. Elizabeth’s ruminations had to do with two gentlemen: one a loved and lost young Scottish fighter, the other an Englishman with tawny eyes that seemed ever to hold a smile. Prudence lay staring blindly at the silken bedcurtains, her thoughts turning back to the afternoon of this crowded day, to the old shed behind the stables and Geoffrey Delacourt’s long sensitive fingers caressing her. She shivered to the recollection of his lips upon her mouth, her eyelids, her bosom. How ever could she have been so vulgar as to allow it? Perhaps, because this was a time of war, which always, so she’d heard, imparted an air of urgency; a clearer awareness, maybe, of the transience of life—and love. She might not even be in love. Not really. It would be very well if it faded away. Quietly. Delacourt seemed uninclined to offer for her. And even if he should, she had no wish to leave her beloved land. Certainly, he would never consider moving up here. ‘What a muddle,’ she thought. And, sighing, saw his grave eyes and the smile that would so unexpectedly creep into them. She sighed again. Yearningly.

  ‘You, Prudence MacTavish,’ she thought sternly, ‘have become enchanted by a foreigner. That’s what it is. It willnae last, so dinna fash yersel’. ’Tis just an … enchantment.…’

  Smiling, she drifted into sleep.

  IX

  Life at Lakepoint settled into an outwardly quiet pattern. James MacTavish, who promised to bend his every faculty to come up with a scheme to smuggle their fugitives aboard some ship, had postponed that task so as to concentrate on researching his forthcoming talk in Edinburgh. With the best will in the world for his persecuted countrymen, he was a scientist first, and a patriot and plotter variously second and third. It was because of his absent-minded response to a remark of his sister-in-law that Hortense became suspicious and was of necessity admitted to their traitorous circle. Discovering that there were wounded men in the pyramid, she contrived to wander unobtrusively to that structure at least once a day, smuggling food, fruit, and medical supplies under the hoops of her voluminous skirts, and co
ming away with aching heart and tearful eyes because the fugitives endured their sufferings with such fortitude.

  Lord Briley remained at Lakepoint, to the delight of Hortense, because he was fascinated by her astrological prowess and spent long hours listening to her explain the celestial bodies and marvelling at her expertise, until Miss Clandon, who had returned to her grandmother’s castle, arrived—this daily visit occasioning some remark among the servants, and awakening conflicting emotions in Prudence’s troubled heart. She was becoming very fond of the forthright, golden-haired girl, and she was more and more drawn to Lord Briley’s bashful whimsicality. It was pleasant to think that Miss Clandon was developing a tendre for the young peer—unless that possibility would create more havoc with Captain Delacourt. She discovered, however, that nobility was not for her, and more and more her inclination was to wish that the friendship between the nobleman and the girl he so obviously admired would blossom into lasting devotion.

  The weather, meanwhile, continued unusually fine. In the afternoons Prudence wheeled Delacourt outside and took him for leisurely strolls around the estate. Sometimes, Mrs. Cairn would pack them a hamper and Delacourt would balance it on his knees until they arrived at a suitable site, when they would picnic and talk in perfect harmony amid the quiet peace of the countryside.

  As they grew to know one another better, they chatted on many subjects: Delacourt learned of her devotion to her brother, and listened with amusement to the tales of their childhood escapades. He was quick to realize that she had led a surprisingly sheltered life, and he noticed how avidly she hung upon his words when he spoke of London and the Polite World. He regaled her by the hour with descriptions of fashions, manners, balls, and parties (to most of which he had not gone). Her rapt attention was his reward, and he began to envy the fortunate man who would introduce her to such delights. Occasionally he would grow silent and withdrawn after such an interlude, and Prudence, guessing him to be tired, would betray no awareness of his shift of mood, but sing softly to herself as she puttered with the plates of food, or went off to collect flowers. Delacourt found her surprisingly knowledgeable on the subjects of music and art. Politics they mutually avoided, but he told her, rather shyly at first, of his passion for gardening. They shared enthusiasms for horses, dogs, and cats, although his interests were more catholic in this last regard than were hers, for he had a deep-rooted reverence for all living creatures and could watch a spider with as much interest as a kitten, whereas she withdrew, shuddering, from the eight-legged creatures. This aspect of his nature puzzled her, and she asked him once how he could bear to have fought in the war, when he would protest if she squashed an ant that encroached upon their luncheon. He answered with his slow smile that he had fought because he believed Prince Charles would be wrong for England, and seeing her swift frown, added whimsically, “No—do not eat me, I beg! I promise you there was no wanton killing by my men, and in my only large battle we were quite hopelessly defeated, you know.”

  She shrank inwardly, reminded that it was during that battle he had been so badly wounded, and trying not to picture how it must have been for him. She concentrated upon stringing together the daisies she’d picked. “And yet,” she murmured, “loving England as much as you do, you now turn against her.”

  He was silent for so long that she glanced up, thinking he had dropped off to sleep as he sometimes did during their outings. He was staring with frowning eyes at a hovering butterfly. “Do you think me a traitor?” he asked slowly. “I have wondered if I am. But I do not fight against my countrymen. I merely try to outwit Butcher Cumberland.”

  “The men who do his murdering are English, forbye.”

  “Yes. And I fancy many of them despise what they do, yet dare not disobey.”

  Her lip curled. She said with scorn, “A typical wail of humanity. Men cry out against the horrors of war, against cruelty and killing, yet they go on making war just the same!”

  “Not all men dislike warfare, Miss Prue. To some it is a way of life. Others are biddable and accept it as their inheritance. I suppose, for every thinking individual, it is a decision based on moral ethics. If you believe in something with all your heart and it is threatened, you should be willing to fight to defend it. If it is not worth that effort, then you must be prepared to give it up.”

  “But it should not happen in that way! Men should sit down and talk aboot their differences. Nations should be willing to reach solutions across tables instead of slaughtering all their young men and ruining one another to achieve their aims. It is not always the wisest or the best who are the strongest, and—” She broke off, laughing at herself. “Only listen to me making speeches!” She thought, ‘He looks tired,’ and said, “Sir, I have thought to hear men coming late at night. Do they?”

  His nights had been busy this week, and he was very tired indeed, but he only said, “Why, they cannot pop in and out during the hours of daylight, you know.”

  “Jacobites?”

  He nodded.

  “Are there many of them? How do they know where to find you?”

  “There are quite a number, poor fellows. And the word is carried from one to another.”

  Afraid for him, she murmured, “You must go constantly in fear of betrayal.”

  “Oh, no. I think not. Most of them in fact would dread my capture, for if I were put to the question, I might place them in jeopardy.”

  If he were put to the question. Tortured is what he meant. Her hands on the daisies trembled. Long fingers closed over hers. He was leaning down, looking at her in the way she remembered from the old shed but that she had not glimpsed since, and her heart began to beat frenziedly.

  “Prudence,” he said, his voice low and husky, “do you know how very beautiful you are?”

  She sat motionless, scarcely breathing, waiting for him to leave the chair and kiss her as he had done before; longing for his arms about her, for the touch of his lips on hers. He came closer and, reaching out, touched her cheek. He drew back abruptly. She was seized by disappointment and dimly heard him saying something about the need for a solution to the problem of the men who still languished in the pyramid. Somehow gathering her scattered wits, she said threadily, “I still do not see why they must come to you. You say you have many brave gentlemen who help you. Cannot one of them take command?”

  He answered hesitantly, “Yes, of course. Only … the men trust me, Miss Prue. They say they feel safe with me. It’s only foolish superstition, but—well, they seem to think I am their good luck. I’ve had a few successes, so—”

  “A few! Sir, how many rebels have you slipped through Cumberland’s lines?”

  “Why, I’m not really sure. Upwards of—fifty, I suppose.”

  “Oh, how splendid! Over fifty lives—fifty families spared heartbreak!”

  Watching her, his face flushed. He looked away, saying gruffly, “Do not look at me in that way. Can you not see that—I’m trying very hard, but…” The words ceased. He left the chair and walked quickly away, pausing at the edge of the shade cast by the tree, gazing out at the distant scene, but seeing it not at all.

  Prudence followed. “Captain Delacourt? What is it?”

  He spun around. His eyes were strained and she cried, “Oh, dear sir! I know these are desperate times, but—”

  He gripped her shoulders strongly, and said in a harsh voice, “But you do not know, little Highland lass. It is all pointless. You know I must go away and— There is so little time.”

  Her lips felt cold and stiff. She said, “Yes, of course. I am silly. Shall we go back to the house?”

  He returned to the chair without a word, put back his head, and soon went to sleep. Prudence left the picnic hamper for the servants to bring. She pushed the chair as smoothly as she was able, her heart heavy. It was very plain that the Captain was attracted to her, but he either wanted Miss Clandon more or was betrothed to an English lady. That last thought came as a staggering shock. How stupid that she had not considered the p
ossibility before. Had he guessed that she had a tendre for him? She felt shamed and embarrassed and as soon as she reached the house surrendered the chair to a waiting Lockerbie and walked hurriedly to the stairs.

  And did not know that, obedient to the commanding lift of one thin hand, Lockerbie halted and stood patiently while a pair of dark eyes watched until Miss MacTavish disappeared from sight.

  * * *

  “Sir,” said Little Willie Mayhew, propping himself on one elbow, his drawn face reflecting anxiety, “we dinna like biding here. We ken well that the whole countryside’s swarming wi’ redcoats, and we’re no wishful tae bring doom on the MacTavish and his kin. Nor y’sel’, neither.”

  The hidden room in the pyramid was a crowded place with three cots practically touching, two candles providing the only illumination, and the air that entered by way of cunningly concealed vents hot and barely adequate.

  Delacourt, seated on the foot of Mayhew’s cot, gently cuffed the big man’s toes and said with a cheerful grin that he had no wish for such a grisly happenstance. “Now what’s this I hear about Cunningham’s troopers having a look at this place last night?”

  “’Tis true, sir,” said Jock Campbell, his bandaged right foot protruding from beneath the sheet on his cot. “It was warm, ye’ll recall, and we’d taken a chance and opened the door a mite.”

  “Damned near didn’t get it shut in time,” croaked Ensign Harry Stephens, an English Jacobite aged eighteen, and the only officer among the fugitives. “We could hear ’em through the vents, Captain. They were as curious as they could stare, and I heard one of the perishers say that this would make a good hiding place for any rebs who were skulking about.”

  Up went Delacourt’s dark brows. “Did you, now? Anything else?”