“I should think so. From what you told me the fellow you crowned was not likely to be able to give the alarm before your Monster was halfway across the loch. Did you see if those ruffians wore uniforms, Prue?”
She frowned. “The man I hit did not, I know. He wore the—the very oddest sort of tunic.” She felt sleepy and settled her head more comfortably against him. He urged her to have another sip of the brandy, then did the same.
Watching him drowsily, she asked, “What did my mean father aboot—I—er, that is, what did my father mean about Ligun Doone?”
Delacourt, bathed in a pleasant glow, said amiably, “What about him?”
“You ’member. It was the day th’ Colonel frightened me so much when I met him oot riding. And Papa said ye shouldnae hae used the name Ligun Doone, and Liz’beth said—” She hiccuped, and apologized. “Liz’beth said—”
“Yes, m’dear,” he said huskily, his lips against her ear. “Wha’ did Eliz’th say?”
Prudence shivered but not from the cold. “She—she said—Geoffrey!”
“Did she now? Well, proves sh’ knows m’name,” he chortled.
“No. I mean— Oh, never mind. Now sit up straight, do.”
“Cannot,” he argued, leaning against her even more closely.
“Yes, you can.” She put both hands against his chest and held him back, and he let his head sag and giggled foolishly into her hand. “You’ve had too much of that horrid brandy,” she accused.
“No such thing!” He drew back and said in a firmer voice, “Eliz’beth was talking to Ligun Doone.”
“Elizabeth said that you used the name Ligun Doone to thumb your nose at Cumberland. Is it truth? What does it mean?”
He chuckled. “It’s truth the gentle Duke would be very cross. Means the Long Down.”
“Long Down?” she echoed, mystified. “Why should that upset the Butcher?”
“Because.” He swooped suddenly to kiss the end of her nose. “Sorry, ma’am. Fell li’l bit. Where was I? Oh, yes. It means, at least, they say it was one of the early names…” He began to laugh softly, then hilariously. “For—”
“For what? Oh, Captain, please do not tease!”
“That rhymes!” He kissed her ear, a little off-centredly, but improving his aim with the second attempt.
Prudence said a breathless, “Geoffrey Delacourt!”
“Wrong! Delavale! Geoffrey Dela-vale!”
She pulled away with an irked exclamation.
“Now y’r cross,” he said owlishly. “Doan be cross.”
Because of his weariness and his weakened condition the brandy had made him silly. Faith, but she’d begun to feel silly herself there for a minute or two. But at least he was not slumped and listless, or sinking into one of those terrible swoons, and what could be sweeter than his kisses? She said gently, “I’m not cross, dear sir. But—no! Geoffrey, you must behave! Now tell me, what is the Long Down said to be a name for?”
“Very bad grammar,” he said, waving one long finger under her nose. “London.”
“My God! If Cunningham ever learns that!”
“Wouldn’ he be in a pucker!” He gave a whoop of laughter that made her clap a hand over his mouth.
She hissed, “Yes, he would, sir! And he’d know who Ligun Doone is, pucker or no!”
“Don’t see that,” he argued, drawing himself up in aggrieved fashion. “Lots o’ Englishman in Scotland just now.”
“Yes, but you’ve been up here for just the right length of time, and, oh, Geoffrey! What on earth possessed—”
She was pushed aside, and Delacourt leapt to his feet. She saw the gleam of a pistol in his hand, and she realized in a shocked way that, although the wind seemed to have dropped a little, the rustlings around them had been increasing.
“All right,” he said in a harsh, unfamiliar voice, “come out. And tread carefully, friends, this pistol has a set-trigger.”
Prudence stood and edged closer, and he reached out to sweep her behind him.
A taut second of stillness. A cautious Scots voice: “Sir…? Is that yesel’, Captain?”
“Kerbie!” exclaimed Delacourt.
A dark figure rushed at them. “Of all the bonnie luck!” The two men gripped hands strongly, and Lockerbie went on, “What happened, sir? We’d word there was a signal light and we came so fast as we could. Whisht, sir, but I—I was afearin’ ye’d wear the hempen cravat a sight too soon, and then that fool Cole says—”
“Cole! Where is he? Cole?” Delacourt peered into the darkness, and a shrinking form materialized to edge forward reluctantly. “So here you are! Damn you. What the devil went wrong?”
Cole, head downbent, evaded the hand Delacourt held out despite his wrath and said shamefacedly, “I failed you, Master Geoff. You as I’d cut off my arm for! Failed you—”
“Oh, don’t be a gudgeon. If you failed I know blasted well it was not deliberately. Lord, man, you’ve looked after me all my life! Had you run to the commode, or some such major emergency?”
Cole uttered a choking laugh. “I’d saw ’em coming, sir, and I run, all right, but that damn cat was right under my feet. Down I went and give my head a crack on the side of Miss Prue’s table. By the time I came round, all hell had broken loose and I got downstairs just in time to see the lights go out. I had to fight my way after that. I had the idea you might try and find his lordship, so I struck out down the road on one of Mr. MacTavish’s hacks and a little while ago I was challenged by some Scots. Turned out to be Lockerbie. Sir—I’m sorrier than I can say!”
Delacourt slapped him on the back and said bracingly, “Not your fault, old fellow. Luckily, Mrs. Hortense went up to the roof to look at her stars, else we all might have had rope collars, I’ll own. We all got away, I think, one way or another. Now, Kerbie, what’s gone amiss? Did Briley run into trouble?”
“That he did, sir. A ragtag group o’ Highlanders were oot tae avenge poor Johnny Robertson, and took yon butler and his lordship fer the military before Angus and his lads could reach ’em.”
Dismayed, Delacourt gasped, “Oh, Jupiter! They never killed old Thad?”
“No, sir. But one of ’em grassed him wi’ a club and he didnae come to until yesterday afternoon. He’s a good man and was fair detairmined tae ride oot, but every time he gets up, doon he goes again.”
“Concussion, likely,” muttered Delacourt. “Well, I’m glad it’s no worse. How many are with you?”
“Three, Mr. Doone,” came a growl of a voice from the trees. “And we’re all at yer service the noo. Or whenever.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. Cole, did you see who attacked us? Were they army?”
“If so they wore civilian clothes, sir. And a more rough and ready lot I never hope to see!”
Lockerbie said, “If they were bounty hunters they must know who you are, Captain.”
“I’m afraid you’re in the right of it. But they’re not likely to share what they know with friend Cunningham and risk losing some of the reward.”
Prudence ventured, “And at least they will not have all the power of the redcoats after us.”
Delacourt reached for her hand and gripped it strongly. “Very true. Can we get to the cavern, d’ye think, Kerbie?”
Lockerbie sighed. “The countryside’s fair alive wi’ military, sir. We’ll get ye there if it can be done, but it’s a fair piece fer ye tae ride.”
“If I fall, you must throw me across the saddle. Let us be on our way.”
The horses were saddled and brought up. As they started off, Delacourt asked, “Lord, I forgot about poor Sidley. Is he safely confined?”
“Aye, sir. He took a fair ding on the nob during the little misunderstanding, but he’s going along well enough, though he’s not in the verra best o’ spirrrits, y’ken. Angus told the lads tae let the others think he really is a Captain. Losh, but I sometimes think he believes it his own self.”
“Has he seen you? Is he aware of how we used him?”
“Nae, I think not. I’ve kept oot o’ his sight.” Lockerbie gave a dry chuckle. “He’ll rumble us when ye come, Captain!”
They went along steadily, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves beginning to lull Prudence into a doze. After a while the drizzle started again, but it was very light and the wind had dropped, which made it bearable. She glanced to Delacourt and found him watching her anxiously. He leaned to her and asked, “How do you go on, ma’am? I promise you’ll be warm and dry just as soon as we can manage.”
She was about to respond that she’d been wet before in her life and would do very nicely, but in the nick of time, restrained herself, and thanked him. “I shall do my best to keep up, though I’ll own I am rather tired, sir.”
“Stay close to me. If you start to drop asleep I’ll take you up on my horse. You’ll be warmer then.”
She smiled into the darkness, pleased by the confidence in his voice. For a while Lockerbie and Delacourt talked in low, guarded tones, but aside from an occasional muttered remark the other men were silent. Prudence caught herself on the brink of sleep several times as the night wore on, and awoke fully in the first grey light of dawn to see Delacourt bowed forward against his horse’s mane, and Cole riding very close, keeping him in the saddle. Even as she watched, he stirred and pulled himself upright. At once, she bent forward and closed her eyes.
Delacourt said softly, “She’s asleep, poor little soul. Nothing must harm her, Cole. Promise me—whatever happens.”
“She’ll not be touched, sir, not while I draw breath. I swear it!”
* * *
The sun was coming up when they clattered into the yard of a lonely croft. Prudence was so stiff and cold she could scarcely lean to the broad-shouldered Scot who reached up to help her from the saddle. Lockerbie had his arm about a staggering Delacourt, and then the front door swung open and the crofters were running out to them. Lockerbie spoke to them briefly, and from that moment Prudence was treated as though she were royalty, these honest folk so in awe of Ligun Doone that anyone in his train was to be venerated, however great the risk they ran in sheltering him.
The gaunt little woman of the house whisked Prudence into a tiny bedroom and scurried about, providing hot water and clean towels. She was almost too tired to wash, and all but fell into bed, sound asleep the instant her head touched the pillow. Fortunately, she had always been a good horsewoman, and despite the rigours of the night, awoke to less discomfort than a more sedentary lady might have experienced. A delectable aroma enticed her. She found her clothes, dried and neatly ironed, draped over a chair at the end of the bed. She dressed hurriedly and made grateful use of a clean but mutilated comb that had been left near a small, cracked mirror propped on a battered highboy. Surveying herself ruefully, she thought it ridiculous to be wearing an evening gown before breakfast, but at least her complexion did not come out of a pot, and if her lemon silk was inappropriate in a humble croft (and even more so on the back of a horse!), it did not cover hoops, and thanks to the kindly farm wife, was not now too badly muddied or creased.
She went to the door and opened it cautiously. She looked into the small parlour that she vaguely remembered crossing last night—no, this morning! It was empty save for a man wrapped in his plaid and sleeping on the floor near the far wall. She heard a low mutter of talk and, so as not to disturb the sleeper, tiptoed across to the kitchen door.
Her hand was on the latch when the sound of her own name caused her to check.
Delacourt was saying, “… and assuredly the prettiest lady I ever saw. I never thought to find her like when you hauled me up here from Prestonpans, Kerbie.”
“She’s fond o’ ye, I’m thinking.”
Prudence stiffened. Lockerbie’s tone had been disapproving. Her chin lifted angrily. Wretched creature! Did he fancy her beneath Delacourt’s touch, perhaps? The MacTavish was equal to any man in—
“I have made a great effort to restrain my natural, er, impulses,” said Delacourt.
‘You have?’ thought Prudence.
“Not always quite successfully, alas,” he admitted with a sigh.
“Aye. Well—well, ye’re a mon. And if ever a mon deserved a bit o’ happiness in his life, ’tis yersel’.”
Prudence smiled and prepared to enter, but decided she had best wait a minute lest they worry that she might have overheard this heartwarming little exchange.
“No man,” said Delacourt heavily, “has the right to snatch his own happiness without consideration for the feelings of another.”
Lockerbie said, “I suppose … ye could tell her.”
“Lord, no! Besides, I’d intended to leave when Briley returned, and I had no slightest thought of ever seeing her again.” He gave a sudden bitter laugh. “Once again, Fate circumvented me.”
Prudence stood very still, her eyes fixed in a blank, unseeing stare at the rough wood of the door. ‘Papa,’ she thought, ‘was right. Listeners seldom hear well of themselves.’ She turned away.
“Ye mustnae gie up, Captain,” said Lockerbie stoutly. “Ye’re nae worse than ye were a month since.”
“Liar. Oh, never fret. I can face it. But I do not delude myself. The dizziness—that damnable weakness—comes upon me more frequently.”
“Aye, because ye listen tae the doctors—dammem! They’re wrong, I tell ye! Ye’ll verra likely outlive—outlive us all!”
The Scot’s voice shredded, and the last word was barely audible, yet it might have been bellowed in Prudence’s ears. She stood numbed with shock, unable to move. Vaguely, she was aware that Delacourt had said something, but now there was a roaring in her ears and the floor seemed to swing under her feet. She put out a hand blindly and clasped the other over her mouth, staring at the small window in horror and anguish. It wasn’t true! It could not be true! ‘No!’ she thought, frenzied. ‘No! No!’
Dimly, she heard them speaking again. She covered her ears and fled in panic back into the little bedchamber. She sat on the bed, but she was cold with shock, and shaking, and she could not be still. Standing again, she began to pace up and down, wringing her hands, fighting to control the wild jumble of thoughts that crowded her bewildered mind. So many things came back to her; so many little incidents that—despite her tearful repudiation—began to fit into place like the pieces of a living puzzle. Lockerbie’s almost tender solicitude for his master; the troubled look she had seen in Dr. Cauldside’s eyes from time to time; Geoffrey’s frightening swoons and frequent exhaustion. She could see Elizabeth suddenly, glaring at Thaddeus Briley—it seemed so long ago—when he’d teasingly threatened Delacourt, “… if you ever hope to see England again.…” She could hear again Elizabeth saying, “He’s made haste backwards.…” She could see her, running from the room almost, when she herself had confessed a tendre for the Captain. It all fit! And how could she not have seen? How could she have been so dense?
She went back to the bed and sat there, crouched over, beginning to weep helplessly. They’d told her that Geoffrey had suffered a relapse after his terrible flight north. It was apparent now that his health had gradually deteriorated instead of improving. And yet he had refused to bow to illness, very obviously. He had fought on, seeming always so full of fun and mischief. Thumbing his nose at the approaching shadow, even as he’d thumbed his nose at Cunningham. How bright and cheerful he had been in the Monster, how sure of their success, inspiring them all with his confidence. It was said that adversity brought out the best in the British; perhaps that was the way with him. She wiped away tears with the heel of her hand, remembering how he had laughed when they’d frightened Cunningham’s soldiers away. How could he have laughed—knowing he was soon to die?
The tears came again, scaldingly. Lockerbie had said the doctors were wrong. That was it, of course. They were wrong! Only look at how Geoffrey had managed to stay in the saddle all these miles. She closed her mind to the recollection of his tumbling so startlingly to lie in her arms on General Wade’s Road and, gritting her teeth, she whispered fier
cely, “I shall stay beside him. No matter what comes, I will be with him.” Her chin came up. If he had the courage to face so dreadful a threat with his head held high and a laugh on his lips, if he could exert every effort for others, knowing he himself was doomed, then she would be courageous, too.
She crossed to the cracked little mirror and poured some cold water into the washbowl. For several moments she bathed her reddened eyes, then dried them cautiously. She looked wan and haunted, so she pinched her cheeks for colour and practised a smile. They would likely only think she looked tired, which was logical enough.
She drew a steadying breath, then walked resolutely from the room, across the parlour, and into the kitchen.
* * *
“I dinna ken who they were, or whence they came, sirrr,” said the footman, his eyes round and shocked as he stood amid the wreckage of the withdrawing room. “’Twas nice and peaceful one minute, and the next the hoose was fair swarming wi’ fighting men.”
Colonel Cunningham, a cold fury lashing him, leaned back in James MacTavish’s favourite chair and ran his keen gaze around the shambles of smashed furniture and ripped draperies. “And all this took place yesterday evening?”
“Aye, sir. We’ve no had the time tae clear it all up.”
Cunningham thought cynically, ‘Probably too busy drinking your master’s wines and eating his finest foods!’ He asked, “Where is Sidley?”
“I dinna ken, sir.”
“Where is Mrs. Cairn?”
“Gone, sir. They’re all gone!”
“Gone where?”
“I dinna ken, sir.”
The Colonel folded his hands and smiled the smile that caused subalterns to shiver before him. “What may your name be?”
“Abercrombie, sir.”
“Will you tell me, Abercrombie, why the authorities were not notified of this—this debacle?”
Startled, the footman exclaimed, “Och, but we couldnae do that, whatever!”
“Why could you not do that?”
“The MacTavish might nae like it.”
Journey to Enchantment Page 22
