by Amy Jarecki
“Aye?” asked Marischal with a smirk. “How do you expect to achieve that?”
“We need someone to bend the queen’s ear.”
Lady Maddie pulled the missive from her pocket. “It seems something good may have come from my harp playing last eve. I’ve been invited to play for Her Majesty this very afternoon.”
“Excellent. You must make every effort to endear yourself to the queen’s good graces,” said Marischal.
She cringed and looked to Aiden. “I already have a black mark against me due to my illegitimate birth.”
Her father flicked one of her curls with his pointer finger. “If anyone can overcome adversity, it is you, my dear.”
“Indeed,” agreed Seaforth. “This could be the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”
The older man looked to his comrade. “Imagine what intelligence Maddie could garner as the queen’s harpist.”
The lady drew a hand to her chest, looking rather dubious.
Sensing her reluctance, Aiden thrust his palms forward, bidding the men to slow down. “Perhaps Lady Magdalen should set her sights on this afternoon’s performance before we turn her into a spy for the cause.”
The two men peered at him as if he’d just drilled a hole through his own head.
“I agree with Lord Aiden,” the lady said. At least someone remained in control of her sanity. “I’ll play for the queen and first see if I can find favor for my performance. Once accepted, I’ll request to be permitted a moment to speak, and only then will I make another attempt to explain about Da’s welcoming party.”
“If you have her ear, why not add how it would invite anarchy in Scotland if she decided to execute all the Scottish nobles held in Edinburgh?” said Seaforth.
Aiden shook his head. “I’m certain the queen is well aware that her popularity in Scotland is fragile.”
“Aye,” agreed Marischal. “Otherwise she would have introduced every last one of us to the headsman’s ax by now. Keep in mind, if Magdalen pushes too far, it will be the last time she will be granted an opportunity to speak.”
Seaforth let out a lengthy sigh. “And I suppose being overly zealous would hinder your plea for clemency.”
Rubbing his hands together, Aiden looked between the accomplices. It appeared as though they had the makings of a plan. “Then ’tis settled. Lady Magdalen will not put herself in harm’s way by spying, but she will work to encourage the queen to release her father and the nobles in Edinburgh.”
“Agreed,” said Marischal. “For now.”
“What say you, m’lady?” Aiden asked.
Maddie pressed praying hands to her lips. “I’ll do anything to see to Da’s release.”
“You are a brave woman,” said Seaforth, taking her hand and squeezing it—a bit too bold a move in Aiden’s estimation.
Grasping her elbow, Aiden tugged her away from the earl. “We must make haste. I’ll hire a coach to take us back to Whitehall. That shall afford you ample time to prepare.”
Chapter Ten
A Celtic harp stood in the drawing room awaiting Maddie when she and Aiden returned from the Tower. With the morning’s missive, and now the delivery of the harp, it appeared a scandal had been avoided. Thanks to Agnes’s shouting upon their arrival, everyone in London must know Maddie’s bedchamber door was being guarded by the stalwart lady’s maid.
Maddie followed Lord Aiden to the gaming hall as he carried the instrument as if it weighed nothing. Maddie had moved her own harp in Stonehaven enough times to know it weighed nearly three stone—not an inordinate amount, but lugging it through the long passageway and across the courtyard must be difficult without a wagon.
Now she knew why he hadn’t bothered to send for a valet to help. The commander had to be hewn from marble.
Walking behind him, she enjoyed the view—perhaps more than she ought. She liked that he didn’t bow to London fashion. His kilt accented his powerful calves and made him stand out as a proud Highlander. Though the Earl of Seaforth had broad shoulders, she liked Lord Aiden’s better. Solid but narrow hips supported his powerful shoulders, his waist fanning up into a V, sculpted perfectly by his well-tailored doublet. Maddie’s knees had turned boneless when, earlier that morning, he’d opened the door wearing nothing but a plaid clutched around his waist.
Merciful heavens, did all men have abdomens with such defined musculature? It had been all she could do not to stare. And now watching him from the rear was every bit as amusing. He stood well over six feet, and wore his dark hair neatly pulled back and tied with a bow. It accentuated his long neck—indeed everything about him was long and lean. Not to mention sturdy. She much preferred his leanness to the Earl of Seaforth’s burly form. Seaforth’s build reminded her of a blacksmith’s. Aiden? Well, the best way to describe him was as a stallion bred for the races. Especially when one was walking behind him and watching his kilt slap the backs of his legs with every step.
As they approached the hall, Lady Saxonhurst rushed toward them. “There you are.”
“Am I late?” asked Maddie. “The missive said one o’clock.”
“Regardless of what a missive says, you always arrive an hour early to any event requested by Her Majesty.” The lady sniffed. “Though I daresay I have no idea why the queen is wasting her time with the likes of you.”
“Perhaps she appreciates Lady Magdalen’s talent,” said Lord Aiden.
“Ha.” The countess flicked her fan through the air. “You are so quaintly chivalrous, Commander. Why on earth did you not call a valet to carry that mammoth thing?”
“’Tisn’t heavy.” Lord Aiden winked at Maddie over his shoulder. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to offer assistance to such a bonny lass as Lady Magdalen?”
Maddie had never seen anyone turn green, but Lady Saxonhurst appeared to grow chartreuse while she pursed her lips, apparently at a loss for words. And Aiden—er—Lord Aiden had again referred to her as bonny? Perhaps she just might float into the Great Hall on the coattails of such a charming compliment.
The countess cleared her throat and looked at Maddie with dagger eyes. “You shall proceed directly to the gallery. Speak to no one unless spoken to, especially Her Majesty. Keep in mind everyone at court is a person of great importance—there are very few bastards among us.”
Maddie looked to Lord Aiden. “How could I ever forget?”
“Shall I go in with you?” he asked.
“Absolutely not,” snapped Lady Saxonhurst. “You have not been invited.”
Hesitating, the young commander pointedly shot his own set of daggers at the countess. “At least allow me to carry the harp to the gallery.”
“Absolutely not, I say again.” With a clap of the countess’s hands, a servant came from the hall and took the harp. “Now up to the gallery with you, Lady Magdalen.” The woman said lady as if it caused her a great deal of pain to utter.
Maddie tried to brush away Saxonhurst’s impoliteness. It wasn’t the first time in her life she’d met with snobbery, and she doubted it would be the last. Goodness, when one’s own stepmother spurned one, what could one expect from the rest of society? Thank heavens she’d found allies in Lords Seaforth and Aiden.
After taking her seat in the gallery, she drew in a deep breath. Worrying about pompous and judgmental people would do nothing to help her free her father.
I must focus on that one thing only. Seeking Da’s release is the only reason for my presence in London.
Tension eased from her shoulders as she began to play. As the music resonated around her, everything faded into oblivion. Aside from Agnes’s care, playing the harp had been her only escape from her problems as a child. Music had kept her sane during her adolescent years, when she’d doubted her self-worth more than ever. In fact, the harp had probably kept her alive through those dark years when she’d believed herself an outcast from all of society. Then founding the Seaside Hospital for the Welfare of Women had given her purpose. Maddie’s work helping others gave her dignity,
and no one could take that away.
Her fingers plucking while her mind called upon the musical notes, she lost track of the time. But it didn’t escape Maddie’s notice when a woman ventured up to the gallery. Dressed in exquisite finery, the lass smiled. “I simply could listen to you play all afternoon.”
“Thank you… Lady…?”
“The Duchess of Marlborough.”
Maddie’s head swooned a bit. “Oh my, Your Grace. You’re the wife of the duke—the man who has been so instrumental in the war.”
She chuckled. “Yes, I am very proud of my husband. And while he’s away, the queen has employed me as lady of the robes—’tis the highest station a woman can hold.”
“Please forgive my impertinence.” Maddie straightened her harp, stood, and dipped into a curtsy. “It is ever so humbling to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
“And I wish I could play as well as you.” The duchess beckoned. “Come along. Queen Anne would like to have a word.”
Maddie gulped against the sudden thickening of her throat. “With me?”
“Yes. And when you address the queen, you must let her do the talking. You must not ask her questions unless she engages you in conversation. Do you understand?”
Maddie’s stomach squeezed. There was a topic she was ever so anxious to broach with Her Majesty. Life and death depended on it. “I believe so.”
With that, Maddie was whisked down to the queen’s card table, though the cards had now been put away.
“Ah, Lady Magdalen.” The queen smiled. “Tell me, where did you learn to play so beautifully? Did your father send you to the French court?”
“Why no, Your Majesty.” Maddie’s skin grew hot. With England at war with France, even she knew that admitting to having studied in King Louis’s court would be akin to summoning the headsman for her father. Thank goodness she hadn’t studied abroad. “My da gave me the harp when I was a wee lassie. Paid for lessons from an elderly gentleman in Stonehaven until I reached my majority.”
Her Majesty appeared pleased with Magdalen’s response. “Well then, you shall play for me in my antechamber every afternoon during your stay at Whitehall. Will that make you happy?”
“Yes, Your Majesty…” The queen had just asked a question. If what the Duchess of Marlborough had said was right, then the door was open for Maddie to ask one of her own. “But I would be a lot happier if my father were not incarcerated in the Tower.”
Whispers hissed from the ladies-in-waiting, but Queen Anne chuckled. “You are persistent, though I am not convinced of your father’s motives. What was it you said? He rode to Edinburgh with his army to welcome my half brother?”
“Indeed,” Maddie said with such conviction even she believed it. “I understand many other Scottish lords did as well.”
“Hmm.” The queen pursed her lips with a leery gaze.
“I think—”
Her Majesty sliced her hand through the air. “I do believe I’ve heard quite enough of what you think, Lady Magdalen.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Maddie curtsied, wishing she could run and hide under the nearest rock. “I shall return and play for you on the morrow.”
No matter how much she wanted to run away, she had a duty to help her father. She would return and play for the haughty queen as often as she could. In time Maddie would seize another chance to be heard, pray it wouldn’t be too late.
After leaving Lady Magdalen at the Great Hall, Aiden went for a long walk. Bloody hell, he’d been at Whitehall for all of three days and had already had a gutful of politics. His plans for his leave had been thwarted, albeit due to his own flapping mouth.
An hour or so after leaving the palace, he arrived at Blackwall Port. As scheduled, the Royal Mary was moored alongside the pier for needed repairs. Carpenters’ hammers echoed as he climbed up the gangway.
Captain Polwarth met him on deck with his fists on his hips. “Five and twenty years serving in the navy, and I’ve never seen an unwed officer return from a fortnight’s leave after only three days.”
Aiden feigned nonchalance. “Just thought I’d check on the repairs whilst I had a moment.”
“Cannot stay away, can you, Commander?”
“I reckon not.” Aiden shrugged with a smirk. “How is the hull looking?”
“Better than expected.” Polwarth clapped him on the shoulder. “Come, share a cup of whisky and tell me what’s ailing you, lad.”
Aiden followed the old man into his cabin at the rear of the frigate. He didn’t have a mind to talk about Lady Magdalen and his mule-brained goal for his leave, but a tot of smooth Scottish whisky would go down well.
After pouring two cups, the captain gestured to a chair. “Pull up a stump and stay awhile.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Polwarth took a seat behind his writing desk. “Now, tell me what a strapping young lord is doing mulling around a grungy pier when he has an entire fortnight’s leave for the first time in two years.”
Aiden groaned and turned the cup between his fingers. “This damned war with France is tearing all of Britain apart, for starters. Did you ken they have the Earl Marischal of Scotland locked away in the Tower of London?”
“I’d heard—read it in the gazette after we moored.”
“’Tis a travesty if you ask me.”
“Agreed, but you cannot do much about the state of affairs in a fortnight. Parliament isn’t even in session.” The captain sipped his whisky thoughtfully. “Devil’s fire, you’ve been working yourself to the bone ever since you came aboard the Mary. You should be languishing in some woman’s arms about now—I doubt a man with a face as bonny as yours would have difficulty finding a willing partner, if you ken my meaning.”
“Bloody hell, not you as well.” Aiden rolled his eyes. Damnation, the captain always had a way of driving straight to the point. “MacPherson has probably shagged every tart in London by now.”
“Och, that lieutenant is all talk and swagger.” Polwarth chuckled. “But if Fraser MacPherson thinks he has you fooled, a prankster such as he will squeeze every last drop of blood from you.”
Aiden snorted with his next sip. Had his cabinmate been telling tall tales all this time? Just for a laugh? Most likely. “I’ve bloody well been trying to drum up a bit of female—ah—companionship. ’Tis just things haven’t worked out the way I’d… imagined.”
He then went on to tell the captain about Lady Magdalen and the visits to the Tower of London, the harp playing, meeting Lady Saxonhurst, who had completely ruined his plans and made being a bastard seem like the basest curse known to man, er, woman… and the fact that he felt a ridiculous and overwhelming need to protect the Earl Marischal’s daughter.
When Aiden finished the confession, he didn’t sip, he swilled the damned spirit.
Dear God, why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut and bear his misery alone? He’d never spilled his guts like this to anyone—not even his brother, John. “Apologies, the whisky must have set my tongue to wagging.”
“Sometimes a man needs to yammer on a bit.” Polwarth took a thoughtful sip. “It seems it wasn’t the countess who ruined your plans, lad.”
“I suppose not. At first I was over the moon to see Maddie—I mean Lady Magdalen—again. It was as if fate had brought us together.”
“Perhaps it did.” The captain poured himself another tot, then pushed the flagon toward Aiden. “Does she have eyes for you?”
“I think perhaps she does.” But then she appears to look fondly upon Reid MacKenzie as well.
“Hmm.” Polwarth eyed him coolly, as he would an errant midshipman. “Mayhap I need to call the kettle black—did she kiss you back, laddie?”
A buzz twinged low in his gut. “Aye.”
“Then what’s your damned problem? Any lassie needs a man’s attentions just as he needs hers.”
Aiden choked down a hearty gulp. His damned problem? He was a miserable virgin, and before he tried to court Lady Magdalen, he needed
experience. How in God’s name could he say that to the captain without being laughed off the ship, demoted, and assigned to pumping the bilges for the rest of his naval career?
Polwarth held up his cup and smiled—not a friendly grin, but a knowing smile Aiden oft saw from a teacher who was just about to tell him the error of his ways. “Ye ken you’ve turned the color of my missus’s scarlet petticoats.”
Aiden closed his eyes and shook his head. “Och, it must be the spirit for certain. ’Tis potent.”
The captain simply shook his head and sipped again. “Tell me, have you ever slept in a woman’s arms?”
Aiden dropped his shoulders and stared at his palms. May as well have out with it. “No, sir.”
“That explains everything. I think I ken the cure for your misery.” The captain pulled open a drawer, a wry grin playing on his lips. “I picked this up in France back in ’97. I reckon it just might put that mind of yours to rest.”
“What is it?” Aiden opened the pamphlet. Christ, if he wasn’t red before, he certainly must be now. His entire body went hot. “Hell’s fire.” He stared, turning his head sideways, unable to look away from a drawing of a nude couple with their limbs crisscrossing in every imaginable direction.
“That’s about what I said when I first saw those sketches.”
“Is this how… do people… I mean… so many different positions?”
Polwarth waggled his brows. “Aye, there’s even a few maneuvers I haven’t tried.”
Aiden quickly folded the parchment and stuffed it inside his doublet. “Do you mind if I borrow this for—ah—a while?”
“Keep it as long as you need.” The captain leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Now go. I granted you leave because our next tour will be a long one. Could encounter a battle or two. I need you fresh and ready to weigh anchor, ye ken? I do not want to see you aboard the Royal Mary until we set sail.”
Aiden took his time meandering back to Whitehall and stopped at Boodle’s, a well-known gentleman’s club on St James’s Street. He’d been there once before with his brother, John, not long after he’d joined the navy. Tobacco smoke hung thick in the air while he found a green armchair in a dimly lit corner. He wanted to study the pamphlet in more detail, but he pulled it out only after the porter had brought his tot of whisky. After ensuring there was no one else nearby, Aiden drew the parchment from his doublet and unfolded it.
