Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

by Ann Lethbridge

  Drew cursed as the men closed in on him.

  Morris wagged the rifle and grinned. ‘Now, there’s blasphemy for you.’

  ‘I’ve verra little coin,’ Drew said. ‘And only the clothes on my back and the horse. It’s no’ a verra good horse, but you are welcome to it.’

  ‘It’s not what you have that McKenzie cares about. It’s what you Gilvrys already cost him.’

  Drew gave him a level stare. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’

  ‘Edinburgh. O’Banyon,’ the man said, as if those two words held all the information he needed.

  Ian. It had to be some underhanded dealing his brother was involved in. ‘I’ve not been in Edinburgh in six years. I have never heard of O’Banyon.’ He started lowering his hands.

  ‘Hands up,’ the man said. ‘Take his pistol,’ he ordered.

  One of the other men sidled up to him and took his gun. Drew dropped his hands and let them hang loose at his sides, aware of the knife nestled against his spine beneath his shirt.

  ‘There’s also the matter of Geordie.’

  At Drew’s blank look, he grinned, revealing two missing teeth. ‘The man you killed at McRae’s.’

  ‘You don’t blame a man for defending his lady, surely?’

  ‘Your lady, is she? Then, where is she now?’

  He gritted his teeth. Of course, Rowena wasn’t his in the sense the smuggler meant. ‘She employed me to see her safe to her destination. And I have.’

  ‘Sandy, take charge of that there sad-looking beastie. You—’ he grinned at Drew ‘—start walking. That way.’ He pointed up the steep valley side. ‘It seems there’s more than McKenzie who wants a slice of your hide. And is willing to pay handsomely for it, too.’

  ‘More than one? Who would the other be, then?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Not your business, my lad. On ye go.’

  Could Ian have heard about his return? It was possible. Did that mean his brother intended to finish the job he had started six years ago?

  * * *

  The next morning the skies over Mere were clear. Having nothing to do while she waited for her new clothes, and needing some fresh air, Rowena slipped down the servants’ stairs and out into the gardens. As long as she avoided any guests, who were unlikely to be abroad at so early an hour, she couldn’t see how a walk in the grounds could cause any problem. Since her cloak was black, she wouldn’t be offending anyone’s sensibilities even if she was to encounter someone.

  And if she just happened to run into the duke, that would not be such a bad thing. If only she knew what he looked like.

  According to Pockle, the park stretched for miles, but since it was covered in snow, Rowena confined herself to the formal gardens she had seen from her window.

  She toured the rose garden, laid out with fine gravel walks between the beds. Not that there were any flowers or leaves to be seen. It was simply a matter of stretching her legs and getting some fresh air into her lungs. It was something she always insisted on for her pupils, winter and summer.

  As she turned a corner of the leafless hedges that formed a maze, she saw two men deep in discussion in the parterre. Mr Jones and someone she did not recognise. The duke? If she could be sure it was he, then she might consider approaching him, but if it was not the duke, it would be highly embarrassing. And Mr Jones would have no hesitation in reporting her to Lady Cragg.

  The men were deep in conversation and had not noticed her. It would be rude to interrupt, so she slipped into the maze where she found a stone bench. She would sit here until they were gone and then return to her room.

  The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel on the other side of the hedge brought her to her feet.

  ‘He seemed a decent enough man,’ Mr Jones’s voice said.

  She should not be listening. It was extremely rude. She started to move deeper into the maze, away from the men.

  ‘A pity about the scar, though.’

  They were talking about Drew. She couldn’t help it; she stopped to listen.

  ‘His face won’t matter where he’s going,’ another voice said. A deep voice with a strong Highland burr. ‘You are sure McKenzie’s men have him?’

  ‘They do, my lord,’ Jones said. ‘I spoke to their leader this morning.’

  ‘They know they are to take him to Edinburgh and put him on the convict ship leaving for Botany Bay next week? He survived my efforts to be rid of him once. He won’t do so again. They are to let McKenzie know he’s to leave the rest of them to me.’

  Who did he mean by the rest of them?

  ‘And Mrs MacDonald?’ Mr Jones asked.

  Rowena stifled a gasp with her gloved hand. She tiptoed closer to the hedge, which despite its lack of leaves was tangled and woven and so wide she could not see either man with any clarity.

  ‘I’ve already advised Lady Cragg on the matter. Get her married off to a relative of Mere’s and furnish him with a nice competence. I’ll provide the land in America. There can be no possible objection to such generosity.’

  Really? No objection?

  The sound of gloved hands rubbing together filtered through the hedge. ‘With all legal concerns put to rest, I’ll expect those who owe allegiance to Mere to support me against Gordon, when he speaks in the House in the new year.’

  ‘Have no fear of that, my lord.’

  What legal concerns was he talking about? What possible harm could she do to a duke? The footsteps crunched away. Rowena sat down to wait until she was sure they had gone.

  Marry her off? Send her to America? Why on earth would they think they needed to do that? All she was asking for was what was rightfully hers, so she could go about her business. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure there was anything left from her husband’s estate. Who was this other man who had spoken with such authority, dishing out orders as if he was in charge? At first she’d thought he must be the duke. But Mr Jones had called him my lord, not your Grace.

  But she could not worry about that now, not when she knew the smugglers had captured Drew. She had to find him before they put him on board a ship bound for Australia.

  Chapter Eleven

  When she got upstairs to her room there was no sign of Pockle. Just as well given her plan for immediate departure. She picked up her reticule with its few coins and changed into a pair of sturdy shoes. She looked regretfully at her valise. Anyone seeing her with that would guess at what she was doing and she had the feeling that letting them know she was leaving might be a bad idea.

  Reluctantly, she removed her cloak and hoped she’d be warm enough in her riding habit. When she opened the door a footman was standing outside.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

  Shocked, she stared at him. ‘I...er... Yes, do you think you could direct me to the library?’

  ‘Certainly, madam.’

  She ignored his unspoken question. It was none of his business if she was bored and wanted a book to read. ‘Please, lead the way.’

  He set off down the hallway and she followed along. They went down one flight of stairs, which brought them to the first-floor landing. He opened a set of double doors. ‘The library, madam.’

  She stepped inside. ‘Thank you. That will be all.’

  ‘I’ll have Arthur let Mrs Pockle know where you are, shall I, madam? She was in a bit of a taking when she discovered you were not in your room. Luckily one of the gardeners saw you taking the air and was able to set her mind at rest.’

  So that was why they had posted a footman outside her door. ‘Thank you. Have him tell her I will expect at least one of the gowns to be ready by noon.’ Hopefully that would keep her plying her needle instead of checking up on Rowena’s whereabouts.

  The footman went out and she heard him conversing with one of his fellows in t
he hallway. Was it normal for ducal footmen to follow guests around? Or was it something they were doing especially for her? It would make slipping away far more difficult, but then she supposed that was their purpose.

  She went to the door and, as she suspected, her footman was standing just outside. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ he asked politely.

  ‘Oh, no, thank you. I am just going to close the door to keep out the draught.’ She swung the door shut and eyed the key. Should she lock it? He would hear her do so and that might make him suspicious.

  She hurried over to the window and looked out. The library overlooked the back of the house. Beyond the balcony and down a set of stone steps was a large expanse of lawn. Off to the right she could make out the gardens where she had walked earlier. And to the left the stables.

  There was no one in sight.

  She ran to the shelves and pulled a book at random. If anyone came in she wanted to be ready with her excuse. Then she went to one of the French windows leading out to the balcony. After a bit of a struggle with the latch, she managed to get it open. She shivered in the cold blast of air. She waited to see if the footman noticed anything and decided to take a look.

  Nothing.

  Drawing a deep breath, she stepped outside on the balcony, and, preferring not to know if anyone was watching from the windows, she walked briskly to the stables as if she had every right. With each step, she expected to hear a cry of alarm, until finally she entered the building.

  The smell of sweet hay, manure and warm horse filled the air. Now to find the beast she brought with her. To her surprise, there was a horse saddled and waiting. Not her horse, though. A big chestnut gelding. The groom must have readied it for one of the guests and then gone off on another errand.

  Hanging on a peg nearby was a rather ratty-looking frieze coat and an old battered hat. Belonging to one of the grooms, she supposed. Just what she needed to keep her warm. She slipped the coat on and after a moment’s hesitation put the hat on, too.

  ‘Caleb,’ a rough voice shouted down the length of the stables, ‘get a move on. Her ladyship won’t be best pleased if she’s ready to go riding and that horse be misbehavin’ for want of a run.’

  Lady Cragg’s horse, then. She touched a hand to her hat, hopped up on the mounting block and climbed aboard. Would the groom giving the orders notice her skirt? She glanced his way, but he had already disappeared back into one of the stalls.

  Praying her luck would hold, she rode out of the stables and headed for the gates at a canter. She didn’t dare look back to see if she was pursued, but she couldn’t help straining her ears for a shout. It wouldn’t be long before Caleb returned and discovered the horse missing.

  Wind whipping her cheeks, her breath rising in front of her face, she dashed through the gates and out into the road, where she turned the horse in a circle. Which way?

  Well, she’d come from Dundee and it lay to the right. Ergo, Edinburgh lay in the opposite direction.

  She put her heels to the horse and set off.

  * * *

  As a lad, Drew had spent many nights outdoors in the Highlands and thought nothing of it. But it wasn’t the cold that had his nerves stretched to their limit. It was his anger at being hog-tied for the second night in a row.

  Last night their leader had left him in a small cave in the hillside while he went off to confer with someone he called the chief. He’d come back and announced they were headed for Edinburgh. Away from Dunross. Completely the wrong direction as far as Drew was concerned. But he’d said not a word. All day, as they’d walked parallel to the road, he’d done his best to allay any fear they might have that he’d run, and they’d still tied him hand and foot.

  One of the men got up from the fire and kicked him in the ribs.

  Drew grunted at the pain and cursed him foully.

  The man grinned, his teeth gleaming red in the light of a fire too far away for Drew to feel much of its warmth.

  ‘Tha’s for the merry chase you led us in Edinburgh.’

  ‘I told you. You’ve got the wrong man. I haven’t been to Edinburgh in six years.’

  ‘I’d know that face anywhere. It cost us a lot of money, even if it did get all scarred up.’

  ‘The scar is old, you fool. The man you met was my brother Logan.’

  ‘Brother, is it? Well, one Gilvry is just as good as another.’ He drew his foot back.

  Morris, the leader of the ruffians looked up. ‘Leave him be, Sandy. Break his ribs and you’ll be carrying him tomorrow.’

  ‘Why don’t we just kill him and leave him here?’ his tormentor asked.

  ‘Because that’s not what we are being paid to do,’ the leader said, getting up from the fire and pulling a brand from the flames.

  He sauntered the few feet to where Drew was lying on a blanket on top of hard-packed snow. He held the brand high. The warmth of it on Drew’s face was welcome even if it destroyed his vision for the moment.

  ‘It’s not the same Gilvry,’ he pronounced. ‘He’s older. Darker skinned. And the scar has been there a very long time. Now get back to the fire, Sandy, and leave him be.’

  Sandy stomped off.

  Morris crouched down. ‘So what is your name, Gilvry?’

  Surprised, Drew looked at his unshaven face and dark eyes and saw pity. He forced himself not to react. ‘Andrew. They call me Drew.’

  ‘Never heard mention of you. I thought there was only three Gilvry brothers.’

  A pang twisted in his chest. Dead and forgotten, then. His rage against Ian sparked to life. But that was no one’s business but his own. ‘I’ve had naught to do with any of them of six years. I’ve no love for my brothers and mean no harm to you or McKenzie.’

  ‘I suppose you think I should let you go?’

  ‘There is no reason you should not.’

  ‘Sorry, laddie. That’s not what I’ve been told. But even though you shot one of my men back at the inn, I’ve no quarrel with you. We both did what we were paid to do.’ He bent down and cut the rope around Drew’s ankles. ‘Come closer to the fire. There’s no sense in having you frozen by morning.’ He untied his hands from behind him and tied them loosely in front.

  ‘You mean you want to ride the horse, rather than have it carry my lifeless body,’ Drew said.

  The man chuckled. ‘Smart lad.’ He helped Drew to his feet, picked up the blanket and rolled it, before setting it down near the fire. ‘Sit there and Sandy will give you some bread and cheese to fill your belly and a mug of tea to warm you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Drew said. He’d have preferred to hit him over the head, but that wasn’t going to get him anywhere. Having his bonds a little less tight did, however, give him a huge advantage for when it was time to leave.

  The tin mug warmed his palms and he let the heat steep into his skin before putting it down to eat the bread and cheese that Sandy had tossed into his lap. It had been a long day of walking, but he was used to rough going. He picked up the mug to take a drink and Morris leaned forward and splashed a drop of whisky into it from a flask. ‘That’ll help keep you warm.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Drew said and meant it. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to your friend.’

  ‘He was an idiot. He could have killed you or the woman, and that was against our orders.’

  They’d been lying in wait for them? Drew tried not to show his shock. Or his fear for Rowena. ‘Whose orders?’

  Morris chuckled wryly. ‘Everyone’s.’

  ‘My, I am a popular fellow.’

  Damn it all. He thought he’d left Rowena safe with her family. This didn’t sound good. He and this group of ruffians would have to part company, and soon. Thank goodness for the knife he had hidden away in his boot when they were sleeping.

  The other man jerked his chin. ‘How did you come by suc
h a nasty scar, lad? Properly put paid to those good looks of yours.’ Drew felt an echo of the old pain he’d felt when he first saw the results of the near miss. It hadn’t been a physical pain, but something much deeper and more permanent. And it had been nowhere near as bad as it was now. Just to torment him, she’d made it much, much worse.

  ‘A woman,’ he said.

  ‘Cheated on her, did you?’

  He’d refused to cooperate. To be her idea of a good slave. To his shame he’d given in when he realised she meant to have his eye on the point of her knife if he gave her any more trouble. His gut roiled at the recollection of the nights of service he’d given in exchange for his sight. ‘She thought so,’ he said.

  Ian was going to pay for that, too. He swigged his tea and welcomed the heat of the whisky sliding into his belly. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘What do you hear of my oldest brother, Ian?’

  ‘The Laird of Dunross, is it?’

  ‘Aye.’

  Morris grimaced. ‘Got himself a rich wife and a castle in the bargain, I’m hearing.’

  Drew stiffened. ‘What rich wife?’

  Morris shrugged. ‘Albritten?’ He shook his head. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Albright?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it.’

  The image of a tiny blonde girl sitting beside Ian on the sand in Balnaen Cove flashed into his mind. ‘Lady Selina,’ he breathed.

  ‘Aye, that’s her. Got a babe, too, they say.’

  The slow-burning anger inside Drew quickened, flaring hot. His fists clenched. ‘The bloody hypocrite.’

  Morris looked at him curiously. ‘Not to your liking, then?’

  ‘Not much.’ Ian had apparently married the daughter of his family’s enemy. And Alice’s friend. It was she who had betrayed him to Ian before he could carry out his plan. And Ian had married her, curse him.

  His body shook with the effort of containing the blistering rage consuming his thoughts. ‘Is it a son? The child?’