‘At least the inns are still in business,’ remarked Grant, looking around him. ‘Let us see if we can find suitable lodgings for the night.’
They found two hostelries that looked in reasonable order and visited both for a tankard of ale, in order to decide which would be the most salubrious for their night’s stop. They both agreed the one on Bridge Street was the best, the servants better dressed and the public rooms cleaner. An enquiry of the landlord produced the information that the inn was almost full, but by dint of a little charm and a few extra coins Grant was able to procure a private room for them, with the luxury of a peat fire burning in the hearth.
A bath, however, was not possible. The landlord could spare no more than two jugs of hot water and with this Maddie had to be satisfied.
She sent Grant away to the taproom while she stripped off her clothes and by the time he returned her shirt was hanging up to dry before the fire and she was wearing the fresh one from her saddlebag like a smock over her breeches.
She coloured when he came in, aware of her very informal attire, and rushed into speech.
‘The boots has taken my coat off to be brushed and said he would do the same for yours, if you wish.’
‘When we retire, perhaps, but for now we need to prepare for dinner. The landlord refused to have it brought to our room and I did not like to press the matter as that would only draw attention to us.’
Maddie looked about her.
‘To be truthful, there would be no room here, would there? We should have to sit on the bed to eat.’ That brought to her mind another delicate matter although she pretended such things were an everyday occurrence for her: ‘And talking of beds, we should decide upon the sleeping arrangements.’
Grant waved a hand. ‘That is all taken care of. I have asked them to bring in a truckle bed. I told the landlord you were a restless sleeper. Prone to kick.’
She smiled in response to the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Quick thinking of you, sir.’
‘On the other hand, the bed is quite large enough for both of us, if you would like to try it...?’
‘I shall do perfectly well on the truckle,’ she told him.
‘Are you sure?’
The twinkle in his eyes had deepened. Maddie snapped off the smile and gave him a cool look instead.
‘Perfectly,’ she replied sweetly. ‘Unless you would prefer to sleep in the stable?’
Grant opened his mouth to reply in kind, but he was silenced by a scratching at the door. Madeleine barked out a gruff and impatient ‘Yes?’ as she opened it.
The serving girl outside bobbed a nervous curtsy.
‘Your coat, sir,’ she muttered, handing over the garment before hurrying away.
Grant chuckled. ‘Well, Duncan, I can see I shall have to teach you how to turn a maid up sweet if you are ever going to be a success with the ladies.’
She threw him a fulminating glance. ‘I have no doubt you are an expert, Ross!’
‘I am not sure about that, but I am happy to teach you what I know.’
He saw from the widening of her eyes and the sudden bloom of colour in her cheeks that the thought disturbed her. She was remembering that kiss, as he was, and it set alarm bells ringing.
Hell and damnation, if we do not take care, neither of us will sleep tonight!
He abandoned his teasing and turned away. ‘Have you left me any clean water? Good. You had best make yourself presentable while I wash.’
Chapter Nine
They went downstairs to eat their dinner in the large public room. There was a constraint, but it was different from the tense awareness that had set them both on edge earlier. Grant had pulled the bed hangings together to provide a modest screen between them while he washed and Madeleine tucked in her shirt and finished dressing. However, when he had asked her if she was ready to leave the room her answer had been so timid, her look so conscious that he knew the disguise would not hold unless her spirits improved.
He gave a little tut of irritation.
‘Hmm. I cannot possibly allow my little brother to go abroad looking like a ragamuffin.’
She took umbrage at that, as he knew she would.
‘What is wrong with my appearance?’
‘Your cravat is all wrong. Here, let me tie it for you.’
By the time he had rearranged its folds, muttering irritably all the time, the martial light was back in her eyes and she was glaring at him with ill-disguised indignation.
‘There.’ He stepped back, critically surveying her. ‘That will have to do.’
‘Do? We must look a hundred times more respectable than most of their customers!’
‘And how else should a gentleman look? Appearances are everything, little Brother.’ He opened the door and stood back for her to precede him. ‘Come along, Duncan, jump to it!’
As he had hoped, her eyes flashed. She rose to the challenge, striding out of the room and descending the stairs with all the swagger and over-confidence expected of a young gentleman.
* * *
They found an empty table and were soon supplied with drinks and the food, when it came, was good.
‘Not difficult to see the reason,’ said Grant, when Maddie commented. ‘Most of their customers are from the military. Officers with money to spend. Which is in our favour. They will not expect to find fugitives in their midst.’
‘Fugitives!’ She grimaced. ‘Yes, I suppose that is what we are now.’
‘I have been one since the army fled from Culloden.’ He kept smiling, for the benefit of anyone looking their way. ‘If we are caught, you would be condemned for merely being in my company.’
‘Then we had best not be caught,’ she replied, reaching for her tankard.
* * *
Any doubts Grant had that Maddie would be able to carry off the deception were soon put to rest. She took a chair opposite him and maintained her relaxed air, drinking confidently from the tankard in front of her and only the slight flicker of her lips disclosed she was not accustomed to supping ale. He had wondered if her hands were too dainty to bear scrutiny, but she had rubbed a little soot on the backs to disguise her smooth white skin. She had also applied the merest smudge to her chin and cheeks and, in the dim light, it gave a very convincing impression of the first emergence of an adolescent beard.
* * *
They enjoyed their meal uninterrupted and afterwards ordered coffee and more ale. They were both reluctant to return to their shared room, but thankfully, they had no trouble in finding topics of conversation. Around them the customers came and went, some to make their way home, others moving to the taproom once they had finished their meal until eventually only a few tables were still occupied. Two of these were in the far corners, where the men talked in low voices, but a third table was surrounded by a group of soldiers who had been drinking freely all evening and were now in boisterous mood. One, in an officer’s uniform and with his wig askew, hailed the landlord and demanded more wine.
‘We have the means,’ he said, waving a fat purse in the air. ‘We all took a share, didn’t we, lads? After all, the poor fool won’t be needing this now.’
‘Or his timepieces, Major!’ declared another, laughing and patting his pocket.
‘Aye, they were a welcome bonus, eh, lads?’
Their host was approaching and the officer’s companions tried to shush him, but he was in his cups and refused to be silenced.
‘Why should I not say it? Damned traitor deserved to die!’
Another officer glanced up at the landlord and gave a nervous laugh.
‘Old man who resisted arrest in Castle Street,’ he explained. ‘Tragic accident.’
Grant wondered if he should remove Maddie from their presence. She was sitting with her elbows on the table, hands around her tankard and a look of concentration on her face.
The innkeeper, stony-faced, placed three more wine bottles on the table and turned to leave. As he passed their table Madeleine put a hand out to stop him.
‘Another flagon of ale here, landlord, if you please.’
Grant’s brows shot up.
‘Is that wise?’ he asked her, keeping his voice low. ‘It is time we retired.’
‘Not yet.’
Her frowning glance flickered to the noisy group on the next table. Grant gave an inward shrug. The longer they remained below-stairs the less time they would have to spend alone in their room together. The less time for awkward moments.
The group beside them continued to drink, pushing their chairs back, untying stocks and loosening cravats as they sank lower in their chairs. It was clear to Grant that they were settling in for a night of drinking and he was about to suggest to Maddie that they should retire when something dropped to the floor. The soldier sitting nearest had drawn out a handkerchief to mop his face and the snuffbox caught up in its folds tumbled out.
Maddie swooped to pick it up.
She tapped the man’s arm. ‘You dropped this, Sergeant.’
‘Why, thank ’ee, young sir. Much obliged.’
‘Think nothing of it, sir. Always glad to be of assistance. ’Tis a fine piece.’
‘Aye.’ The Sergeant held the box up to the light. ‘I won it from a young corporal back at Carlisle. At cards. Fair and square.’
‘Cards, eh? My favourite pastime.’
Grant sat up, tense and alert. What the devil was she playing at?
Across the table the Major called out merrily.
‘What is it, Sergeant? What is going on over there?’
‘The young gentleman in the corner noticed I’d dropped my snuffbox, Major Albright,’ replied the man, holding it up.
Maddie touched her hat. ‘We were discussing cards, Major.’
‘Cards, eh? Now there’s an idea.’ The officer cast a bleary eye about the table. ‘Who is for a game?’
Most of the number laughed and shook their heads. A couple bade the company goodnight and left the table to stumble up to their rooms.
‘There’s still four of us. Wake up, Lieutenant.’ Major Albright prodded his neighbour, who was head down on the table and snoring loudly, but got no response. ‘Although only three of us are awake.’
‘If we joined you, we might enjoy a game of Lanterloo,’ offered Maddie.
‘Loo?’ The Major’s brows shot up. ‘Now what would a young fellow like you know of such things.’
She gave a modest shrug. ‘Only the rudiments of the game, I admit, but I should like to play a hand.’
Grant began to feel some alarm. He said quickly, ‘You must excuse my brother, Major, I fear his wits have gone a-begging. Come, Duncan, it is growing late and we should retire.’
‘Nay, Brother, we have time for one game, surely?’
The look that accompanied this statement was so fierce that when the Major invited them to join him at the table Grant capitulated. He had no idea what Maddie was about, but he was intrigued. He was not overly worried; he judged they were not yet in so deep he could not extricate them.
‘I think we have the opportunity here to win a little money,’ Madeleine muttered as they rose from their seats. ‘Suggest to them that we play five-card loo.’
Introductions were performed, the sleeping soldier was pushed to one side and Grant and Maddie took their seats around the table while Major Albright straightened his wig and sent one of his companions to find a pack of cards and counters.
After the cut Grant had the lowest card and dealt first, finally putting the remaining cards down and turning the top one for trump.
‘Spades,’ muttered the Major, studying his hand and shaking his head.
Grant won the first round when everyone passed, but in the next he failed to win a trick and was looed. As the game progressed the room became quieter, the players concentrating on their hands. Maddie, he noticed, was playing solidly, passing or exchanging her cards with considerable skill. She won several tricks, was looed once and did nothing to rouse suspicion in anyone but himself.
Since she still held the purse strings, he considered he was justified in being a trifle concerned. The light of battle was in her eyes and such a look of determined concentration on her face that he knew she was up to something. He just hoped it would fall short of ruining them.
He continued to play while keeping one eye on Maddie. More ale was called for, but he was relieved to see that she barely touched her tankard. Their companions, however, continued to drink steadily and, by the time the Major laid down his cards, face up, with a shout of triumph, he was the only player besides Maddie and Grant to be still awake and sitting upright at the table. Grant was not sure if it was by skill or good luck that they had managed to lose so little.
The Major nudged his companions to rouse them, but when he suggested another game they swore drunkenly and shambled off to their billet.
‘You’ll play again, Malcolm,’ he declared, scraping together the cards.
‘Three players is not enough.’ Grant tried to keep the note of relief from his voice. ‘I think it is time my little brother and I bade you goodnight, sir.’
‘What? Nonsense!’ Success had energised the Major and he was already calling for a fresh pack of cards. ‘Another game. We will manage with three—’
‘That would not be a fair contest,’ Madeleine objected, her voice gruff.
‘What shall it be then, Quadrille, if I can rouse my Sergeant?’
‘Piquet,’ Maddie suggested. ‘Just the two of us. My brother would prefer to sit by the fire with his pipe, isn’t that so, Ross?’
Major Albright laughed. ‘Young Duncan is a spirited lad, Mr Malcolm, but you need to put him on a tighter rein. Keep him from trouble.’
‘The boy is bent on his own destruction. He will not heed me.’ There was more than a hint of truth in the words, Grant realised bitterly. ‘But hark me now, Major. I will not be held responsible for any losses he may incur.’
He frowned at Maddie as he said it, but she responded with nothing more than an innocent look and a bland smile.
The officer looked disappointed. ‘Would you not prefer to play in his stead, Malcolm?’
‘Do you think I won’t be a match for you, Major?’ Maddie exclaimed, a laugh in her voice. ‘I think I might surprise you.’
Grant shrugged. ‘If the boy wants to lose his money to you, I’ll not stop him. It will teach him a lesson.’
He drew a chair close to the sluggish fire and pulled out his pipe, then he stretched his legs before him and pretended to doze, but all the time he was watching, alert.
Madeleine, or Duncan as he should call her, had shrugged off her coat and was expertly dealing the cards. Despite this slight advantage, she lost the first partie of six hands. Grant groaned inwardly. It did not bode well. The next partie went better, with Maddie scoring a repique. The Major called for more wine, but Grant noticed that ‘Duncan’ was still drinking almost nothing.
His spirits rose when Duncan declared he held a quatorze of aces, only to be dashed again when a series of poor discards saw him lose the hand. The other tables emptied and the room was silent save for the players as they kept score. Grant’s nerves were at full stretch. He wished he had insisted at the outset that Maddie let him take care of their funds, then he might have had some sway over her impetuous decision to play. Grant heard her declare a tierce, which the Major contested, cursing, and he noticed the pile of coins at her elbow begin to mount.
The landlord came in to replace guttering candles, but neither of the players paid him any heed. They were on the last hand of the final partie and there was little difference in their scores, although, having watched the game closely, Grant was confident Maddie would not lose. In fact, he thought her play had been near perfect and she migh
t have doubled her winnings, had she wished to do so.
Where the devil had she learned to play like that?
The Major asked the same question as Duncan won the final trick. He swung around to glare at Grant. ‘Were you helping him?’
‘Not in the least. You will see that I deliberately set my chair so I could not read your hands. Neither could my brother see me without turning about.’
Grant kept his voice calm and unconcerned, but he was ready to act if necessary. If the mood turned ugly, this could all go very wrong.
The Major acknowledged his words with a grunt and turned back to the table. He scowled for a moment, then gave an uncertain laugh.
‘I vow ’tis the first time I have been bested by such a youth! You must have had an exceptional teacher.’
‘I have a good memory and I paid attention to mathematics at school,’ said Maddie, gathering up the coins from the table and putting them in her purse. ‘I am adept at calculating the odds, that is all.’
‘Well, well, it has been an education to play with you, young sir, although my purse is a deal lighter for the experience!’ Major Albright drained his wineglass and refilled it, clearly intending to finish the bottle before he retired.
Grant rose and put his hand on Maddie’s shoulder. Time to get out of here.
‘We will bid you a goodnight, then, Major.’
‘Goodnight to you, Mr Malcolm. And I’d advise you to keep this young whelp under your eye. Such a gift for gambling could prove his undoing.’
‘I am all too aware of that,’ muttered Grant, only giving his young ‘brother’ time to put on his coat before ushering him out of the room.
He did not speak again until they had reached the seclusion of their bedchamber, where he locked the door before turning on Maddie.
‘What the devil do you think you were playing at tonight?’ he demanded in a furious whisper.
Rescued by Her Highland Soldier Page 11
