The Devilish Lord Will: Mackenzies, Book 10

by Ashley Jennifer

  “I know,” Will answered quietly.

  They exchanged a look of understanding. Wilfort could have destroyed the Mackenzies at one time, and he had not, for love of his daughter.

  Then Wilfort sighed. “But you are right about Macdonald’s deviousness. He sold plenty of information to the British during the Uprising and hunted down Jacobites himself, but I know damn well he sold plenty of information to the Jacobites as well. But he was never caught at that. In return for his help to the crown, he was given amnesty by the king, as well as the pickings of the spoils of deposed Highlanders.”

  “Including Kilmorgan Castle and its lands.”

  “Just so.”

  “I will never let him have it,” Will said in a hard voice. “I think you understand that.” He shook his head and changed the topic before his anger could rise too high. “What about the Louis d’or?” he asked. “Was Macdonald given that for safekeeping? Or as payment for services rendered?”

  Wilfort spread his hands. “That I do not know. No one ever found the gold—not the Jacobites waiting for it, nor the British sent to seize it, nor the French captain who ferried it from France. It was unloaded from the boat, and simply vanished.”

  “I believe Macdonald has it,” Will said. “Or at least part of it. He might have stumbled upon it, or stolen it, or been entrusted with it, unbeknownst to you, and hidden it away. No matter what, he’s decided the gold is his to do with as he pleases.”

  “I can have him raided,” Wilfort said with a quiet authority that was chilling. “I can suggest to the right people that he might have been a traitor after all, and have his home searched, none too gently.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” Will said. “Though I doubt he’s hiding the bulk of it there. What he gave Josette and me was only a tiny part of the whole—if the sum a man in France told me was sent here is to be believed. Macdonald’s too canny.” He rubbed his hands together, cheered. “But do raid him. Should be entertaining. Do Sir Harmon’s as well. I looked and found nothing, but I did not have time to search properly. Also … the lad, Henri. Sir Harmon stole that estate from a Scottish family called Dunbar, good people, according to Henri. They took in the lad when he had nowhere to go. They were arrested—Henri believes they were executed, but he’s not certain. It seems they objected to Sir Harmon making his fortune on the backs of slaves, and this irritated him.”

  Wilfort nodded. “I can inquire. Sir Harmon himself is … irritating.”

  And when Wilfort was irritated, heads rolled—sometimes literally.

  “About Malcolm,” Will said. “It seems I won’t be letting him turn me in. It was pointed out to me that this was not well thought.”

  Wilfort’s cool stare said he agreed. “What you want is for Malcolm Mackenzie to be the only survivor of Culloden. For it to be proved he was not a traitor, and for Kilmorgan to be handed back to him. You would forgo any claim to it.”

  Will lifted his hands. “Aye. Malcolm loves the place, and as embarrassed as a Scottish warrior is about softer emotions, I love Malcolm. The Runt deserves to be happy. Me, I’ll do with a corner to tuck myself in. ’Tis easier for me not being Will Mackenzie, if you understand me.”

  “I think I do, though I’ve never really understood your motives. What about Mrs. Oswald?”

  What about her? Will warmed as he remembered waking up next to her, nearly nose to nose, how her flush and smile had heated every space inside him. “If I have anything to say about it, Mrs. Oswald will be in that corner with me.”

  “I meant, will she be happy in that corner?” Wilfort said severely. “With a man of no name? Or should I invite her to stay with me as well, and make arrangements to send her wherever she wishes to go?”

  No, was Will’s instant thought. He did want Josette to be safe and sheltered, with her daughter, and he knew full well that Wilfort could arrange that. But after last night ...

  Will wanted it all—Kilmorgan for Mal, the French gold to help all who needed it, Josette and Glenna free of threat, and Josette by his side. His family. It extended beyond the Mackenzies now.

  “It will be up to Mrs. Oswald,” Will said. “I promise ye, we’ll have a discussion, probably a loud one, and she will do as she pleases. She always has,” he finished proudly. “There’s a man in Edinburgh, name of Chadwick. An English infantry colonel.”

  Wilfort gave him a nod. “I have heard of him. Widower. Wife was the daughter of Sir Rufus Addison, knighted for lending king and country an enormous sum of money and mustering a regiment to fight Louis of France. A formidable man—Addison. Chadwick is very much under his thumb. Why do you wish to know about him?”

  “Keep a watch on him for me, will you? If he moves, send word.”

  Wilfort raised his brows. “Send word to where? And why are you interested?” His suspicion grew.

  “Find Bhreac if you can’t find me. The message will reach me. And I will be sending word to you. About many things. My interest in the colonel is not for me, but Mrs. Oswald. He is a threat to her, and I want him where I can put my hands on him when I am ready. I’d ask for your help, but this is personal. Please see that he stays put.”

  Wilfort watched him carefully. He was a shrewd man, and probably was fitting pieces together. “Just so.”

  “Meanwhile, I’m back to a castle full of ladies—poor me. You’ll look into their circumstances?”

  “I can guarantee nothing, but I will make inquiries,” Wilfort said. “If the men in question were coerced or threatened into taking up arms, as I know many in the Uprising were, a case can be made to release them. They might have to go into exile—are their ladies prepared for that?”

  “They are. ’Twas not well done, some of the recruiting.” Will had watched Jacobites threaten to burn down crofters’ homes to force the men inside to join them in the fight. “These ladies need their menfolk—it’s heartbreaking to see them remain so brave in their uncertainty. Besides,” he finished briskly, “if they have to wait much longer, they might rush to London and tear down the Tower themselves.”

  Wilfort acknowledged this with a small smile. “I have become familiar with Scotswomen. If more of them had led the Jacobite army, I might even now be cowering in my home in Lincolnshire with a Scottish king on Britain’s throne.”

  “Aye, you are catching on.”

  “One thing I do know,” Wilfort said, sobering. “The husband of Lillias McIvor. I’m sorry to say, he has died. There was a fever in the prison where he was kept, and almost all the men there perished.”

  * * *

  Josette journeyed back to Strathy in the company of Will, Bhreac, and Henri, but she did not share a horse with Will this time. She rode in a saddle that was more comfortable than the horse’s rigid backbone, and had resumed the breeches and skirt. A packhorse carried the casket of gold, carefully hidden in their baggage.

  She breathed a sigh of relief as they left Edinburgh behind. Will had not tried to find Colonel Chadwick either to kill him or give himself up or anything else nonsensical. He hadn’t mentioned the colonel since their fierce argument, which was fine with Josette. She’d take Glenna out of the man’s reach and then make sure he never put his hands on Will.

  Captain Ellis remained behind as Lord Wilfort’s guest. The captain had not wanted Josette to ride off with Will, but he did not stand in her way. He did agree to Will’s suggestion to write to Sir Harmon and claim Sir William and his wife had indeed asked him to escort them for a while, and now they’d gone south to England.

  Josette knew Will had given Captain Ellis as well as Lord Wilfort further instructions, but as usual was cryptic about them. How Will managed to wrap a cavalry captain as well as one of the foremost earls in Britain around his finger, she didn’t know, but he’d done it. Whatever he’d asked them to do for him, they’d do.

  Will and Bhreac wore the clothes of crofters, Will slouching under his broad cloak to make himself look smaller. Henri dressed as their servant, though it was clear Will did not consider him one. All thre
e men packed and saddled the horses every morning and unsaddled them every night, none doing more work than the others.

  On the first day, they passed several Highlanders and their families traveling toward Edinburgh. The men had packs on their backs, their breeches and homespun shirts threadbare. They’d draped themselves in cloaks pulled around their bodies like great kilts, but there was no tartan fabric in sight. The women looked ragged, exhausted from trudging.

  Josette surmised they’d been turned off their land, or had fled when Cumberland’s men came. The city might give them employment, or at least a place to huddle until they decided where to go next.

  Bhreac addressed their leader. “Unwrap yourself, man,” he advised. “They’ll arrest ye even for looking like you’re wearing a plaid. They mean to stamp out the national dress entirely.”

  “Should I take the word of a Lowlander?” the man asked in a flowing Highland voice, but he sounded more tired than resentful.

  “He’s right, lad.” Will said, at last raising his head. “Go cautiously.”

  The Highlander gave Will a flinty look, and then he blinked, his eyes widening. Will shook his head ever so slightly, and the man dropped his gaze.

  “God go with ye,” the Highlander said in a low voice.

  “And you, my friend.”

  Will and company reined their horses aside to let the Highlanders by, and they were gone.

  Josette saw the lead Highlander glance back at them sharply. “Did he recognize you?” she asked in worry.

  “He did,” Will answered. “Not a surprise. He’s one of me dad’s crofters.” His eyes burned with resolve. “It’s why we need it all back, love. They shouldn’t have to work in the factories and never see their lands again. At least I’ll know where to find them when this is finished.”

  Josette reached across the space between them and caught his hand, squeezing it. Will drew their mounts close, and kissed her.

  Their horses objected and jerked apart. Will laughed, true gladness in the sound, and led them up the road to the Highlands.

  * * *

  As soon as was possible, Will headed them off the Wade roads and over the mountains, moving westward.

  They sheltered with crofters in hidden valleys, or beside rushing streams, or high on mountainsides, keeping well away from the British forts and encampments. The peak of Ben Nevis sported snow on its very top even in summer, the wind rolling down its slopes chilling.

  Will turned north along Ben Nevis’s eastern side and skirted the end of Loch Ness, just out of sight of Fort Augustus and the blue-black waters of the loch. From there they entered rough hills, making their slow way to the open Highlands and Strathy Castle.

  The air had turned cold by the time the glen that held Strathy was in sight. Midsummer had passed, and autumn rapidly approached.

  Josette heard Glenna before she saw her. The girl held the neck rope of a long-haired cow and was swearing at the beast in a mixture of French, English, and what Josette recognized as Erse.

  The dog, Beitris, wandering near Glenna, caught their scent. She jerked her head up and let out an earth-rumbling woof.

  “She’ll not give up much milk if you yell at her like that,” Josette called down the hill to her daughter. “You have to coax her, gentle like.”

  Glenna dropped the rope. “Mum!” she shouted and charged at her.

  Josette slid from the horse, joy in her heart. She caught Glenna in a fierce embrace, and they held each other hard, Josette’s world complete once more. Beitris gamboled about them, rushing from Glenna and Josette to the men and back again.

  Glenna, her dark hair in a single braid, raised her head and scowled at Josette. “Why were you gone so long? I missed you!”

  “We had to travel all the way to Edinburgh and back,” Josette said, trying to sound as though such things were of no great moment. “I’ll not ask you where you found the cow—I’m only happy you’re safe and sound.”

  The ladies of the castle, hearing Glenna’s shout and Beitris’s barking, tumbled out the front door. At the sight of Lillias, Josette’s heart constricted. Will had told Josette of Lillias’s husband’s fate.

  Josette swallowed and gently pressed Glenna aside. “Lillias, love,” she said. “Let us walk.”

  * * *

  Will heard the moan that wrenched from Lillias as she and Josette moved into the heather, Lillias slumping against Josette’s side.

  A vision of Josette receiving the same news of Will came to him, Josette sagging as grief gripped her.

  What a cruel world we were born to love in, Will said silently. But it doesn’t stop us loving.

  Henri shook his head as they led the horses into the courtyard, followed by a curious Beitris. “Poor lady.”

  Bhreac watched Lillias, sorrow in his eyes. He handed Will his reins and picked his way along the trail the two ladies had taken. His words floated back as he put his arm around Lillias’s shoulders.

  “There now, lass. I knew your husband. He was a good man. A good man.”

  Will watched the three a moment longer, his heart heavy, before he and Henri took the horses into the shelter at the back of the castle.

  Later, when everyone was safely inside and the supplies they’d picked up along the way unpacked by the grateful inhabitants, Josette reappeared. She wore the practical but lovely gown Will had seen her in when he’d woken here the first time, and had dressed her hair in a tidy knot. No more frilly garments and jewels glittering in long curls.

  “I put Lillias to bed and gave her something to help her sleep,” Josette told Will in a low voice. He nodded, still angry he’d been too late to save the man.

  They joined the ladies, Bhreac, and Henri, in the kitchen for a meal at the long table. Beitris gnawed on meat Will surreptitiously passed her. The mood was somber, though with an undercurrent of excitement. Will and Josette had found some of the gold.

  “It will take some time to arrange things,” Will said. “But I have the word of an honorable man that he will speak to the right people and try to get your lads released. He’s got such a silver tongue, ye might not need the money to bribe their way free. Ye can use it to buy yourselves passage to the Continent and set up there.”

  “Thank you,” Mysie said with true gratitude, and the others agreed.

  “Don’t expect them next week,” Will warned. “Next month, perhaps, or the month after. Wheels turn slowly.”

  “Will it be enough for all of us?” Mysie asked glancing at the casket that sat in the middle of the table.

  “Probably,” Will said, “But don’t fret yourself. I know where to find more.”

  He felt Josette’s sharp gaze on him. He hadn’t told her everything, and he had the feeling she’d be most unhappy with him when she discovered what he intended.

  * * *

  “Are you mad?” Josette demanded.

  They stood alone atop the tower, in the same spot they’d argued upon Will’s arrival. Will’s golden eyes glinted in the dying sunlight as he finished relating his next insane scheme.

  “I knew you’d be angry with me,” he said, not looking very remorseful.

  “How could I not?” Josette planted fists on her hips. “I knew when you were looking at that map I couldn’t stop you from going. Even if it means your death.”

  Will’s tone remained infuriatingly reasonable. “I didn’t plan to print it in the newspapers and shout it in every village square, love. None will note my passing.”

  “Mr. Macdonald has been nosing about the place,” Josette reminded him. “Or is that the true reason you want to go? To keep him from taking over Kilmorgan?”

  “It is one reason,” Will admitted. “I have several more. But no matter what those reasons are, my beautiful lass, I want you to come with me.”

  Chapter 23

  Will and Josette traveled to Kilmorgan alone, though Will decided at the last minute to take Beitris along. Bhreac, this time, chose to stay behind.

  “The ladies need looking af
ter,” Bhreac said. “Protecting.” His gaze strayed to Lillias, his expression troubled.

  Henri asked to stay as well. “I can help here,” he said to Will. “You won’t let me kill Sir Harmon, and this is a good place. But hurry back.” Henri’s eyes sparkled with angry determination. “I won’t wait forever.”

  “We won’t be long,” Will promised, meaning it. He was ready to destroy both Sir Harmon and Macdonald. That such men should be living in soft comfort while Lillias’s husband had succumbed to a fever in a hard prison drove him on to the final stage of his plan.

  He took Henri aside to explain a few tasks he had for the lad. Henri looked mollified when Will finished, and promised to do his best.

  Will had spoken to Bhreac too, Josette knew, given him who-knew-what instructions. She knew Will wouldn’t share these with her until he was ready, so she didn’t bother to ask.

  Glenna wanted to accompany them, and was furious when Josette refused. Will waited while mother and daughter argued in the courtyard, their voices echoing up to the hills and down to the loch.

  Josette hated to leave her, Will knew, but Kilmorgan would be far too dangerous for Glenna. She’d be much safer in this remote ruin, with Bhreac and the fierce ladies to look after her.

  It was far too dangerous for Josette to come as well, but Will didn’t want her out of his sight. He also knew that he needed her help.

  Glenna lost the argument. She burst into tears and stormed inside, but a moment later was back to fling her arms around Josette, her face wet.

  As Will helped Josette mount her horse, Glenna turned on him. “If you get her killed or hurt, I will hunt you down.”

  “If I do,” Will said, drawing the girl into his embrace. “I’ll deserve it, lass.”

  Glenna’s tears continued, but she waved them off with the others. Will turned them northward, his body humming with the knowledge that he was going home.