A Traitor's Touch

by Helen Dickson

  But never had he met a female who possessed so much freedom of spirit and courage, who was so open and direct. He knew she would never be anything other than honest, and the brightness in that steady, often disconcerting gaze was an intelligent brightness that proclaimed the agility of an independent mind. There was an untamed quality about her that found a counterpart in his own hot-blooded, impetuous nature.

  Unfortunately, the realisation of what was about to happen on the political scene and that he had no time for affairs of the heart banished his pleasure. But he could not escape the fact that from the moment she had shed her masquerade she had fascinated and intrigued him.

  * * *

  Henrietta’s stomach tensed at the memory of what had occurred in the garden. Having breakfasted in her room and dressed in the clothes of a youth once more, ready to begin the journey and waiting for Simon, she was seated in a window recess in the hall, watching the servants as they bustled about. Wearily she rolled her head against the pane. She knew with certainty that she would never be free of Simon Tremain. With each day he grew bolder. It was a good thing they were leaving Barradine for Edinburgh and then on to Perth, where they would part company and she would go on her way alone to Inverness.

  Aware of someone walking towards her, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. It was Simon. His masterful face was set in taut, unreadable lines. As he approached her she looked into his eyes, which were startling and distracting. So many conflicting and unfamiliar emotions were at war within her—anger, humiliation, hurt pride—but also frightening and exciting emotions that were bewildering, weakening her resolve to remain detached from him to the point where restraint ended and submission to his will began. No longer could she maintain her indifference towards him, or ignore the strange forces that were at work between them, drawing them together.

  What had he done to her? What had happened to her? Was she wanton and shameless for wanting him to repeat the kiss—and more? They were not romantically attached and yet she was not so naive as not to recognise that his kiss had been given out of passion. His behaviour towards her had been both playful and serious, and he seemed to delight in her confusion.

  As Simon approached her, her look of nervous apprehension took him aback. Her smile was turned inward to a sweet, imploring look of appeal. How different she suddenly appeared from the young woman who had revealed herself to him on the night they had arrived at the house—that proud, controlled creature whose beauty and self-possession filled him with longing. He thought that perhaps she was feeling unwell—but then he realised that what had happened between them the previous night had affected her in a way he had not realised.

  To lighten the mood between them he said teasingly, ‘Coward.’

  Immediately her eyes widened. ‘Are you calling me a coward?’

  He nodded, looming over her and challenging her with a direct stare.

  Indignation flared in Henrietta’s eyes at the slur. ‘Please explain to me why you accuse me of such. I have done nothing deserving of the insult.’

  Simon shrugged slightly, a gleam of humour in his eyes. ‘Last night when we kissed, you obviously assumed the worst—that I was bent on seducing you into further submission. Rather than wait and see, you ran from the garden as if your petticoats were on fire.’

  A rush of colour brightened her cheeks. ‘At the time it didn’t seem advisable to stay. Now please forget what happened between us and concentrate on today.’

  Not wanting her to see that he was concerned, he poured her a glass of wine, hoping it would fortify her for the journey and help her to compose herself. He was glad to see the return of her proud smile, but though her assurance and confidence returned, that glimpse of her vulnerability drew forth emotions that he had never known before. He felt the desire to protect her, to keep her from harm, but how was he to do that when she was hell-bent on going to Inverness?

  Standing up, Henrietta set the empty glass down. ‘Are we ready to leave?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m relieved to see the clothes fit you.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. They are surprisingly comfortable, although the breeches are a little tight in places.’

  Simon’s gaze travelled with satisfaction over her boyish garb. She had looked so appealing and accessible in her feminine dress and in her boy’s clothes he had thought he’d be able to ignore her better. But the lad’s breeches had deftly conspired to make her look all the more feminine and desirable. They showed every detail, cleaving to her legs and buttocks like a second skin. When she bent over to stroke the silky ears of a small dog running about the hall, he found himself viewing a very fetching derrière stuck up in the air like a flag of truce. He could gladly have accepted Henrietta’s surrender almost on any terms, yet he was prone to wonder if he was having another lewd fantasy involving her.

  ‘They belong to my brother Edward.’

  ‘I hope he won’t mind you giving them to me.’

  ‘He has no need of the clothes. By the time he returns to Barradine, he’ll have outgrown them.’ When she made to walk past him to collect her bag he took her arm, halting her. His relentless gaze locked with hers. ‘Will you not reconsider remaining here, Henrietta? My home is at your disposal and you will be quite safe.’

  ‘No. I’ve told you,’ she said, finding it difficult to continue looking into his eyes, ‘I must go on. You won’t stop me, will you?’

  ‘I won’t, despite my own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you here. Neither of us has anything to gain by pretending the other doesn’t exist—that the kiss we shared in the garden never happened. I remember it, and I know damn well you remember it, too.’

  Henrietta wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t lie to him. He was right. The burning memory of that kiss lay between them, which had become a source of hideous anguish to her now. ‘I haven’t forgotten. How could I?’ she added defensively.

  ‘I do realise that you must go to your uncle—and I have the serious business of joining Prince Charles. But you could stay here as long as you need to.’

  He spoke in that cajoling tone that charmed Henrietta. She shivered when she recalled the touch of his lips, which she was consciously yearning for. Glancing up at him, she found him gazing at her with a look that was questioning and much too personal, almost possessive. It disturbed her greatly for she could not ignore it. She could feel the power within him and sensations of unexpected pleasure flowed through her. However, she had too many complications in her life just now and had no intention of becoming emotionally entangled with him. At this time of uncertainty she could not afford to.

  ‘No, Simon. Your offer is indeed generous, but I cannot accept it. I must be cautious, lest I forget who you are and why I am here in Scotland.’ She became thoughtful, observing him with earnest attention. ‘I don’t want to fall in love with you.’

  His expression became grave. ‘I have no intention of making you.’

  ‘I am relieved.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that would never do. I admit I am attracted to you and it’s the hardest thing trying to resist you—you can be extremely persuasive. But I trust you understand why I must go. I don’t want you to feel rejected, spurned—anything like that. You are very special to me. I like and respect you too much. You do understand, don’t you?’

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘You are also a Jacobite, about to rise in arms against the Protestants, against the king. You remind me of my father—and the misery the cause he worked for brought to the lives of my mother and me. I will not go through that again. I don’t think I could bear it. You must forgive me if I seem ungrateful, but please understand that I would feel uncomfortable staying here. I am beholden to you enough as it is for letting me accompany you to Scotland and stay here—and the clothes you have so generously given me.’

  ‘Beholden? What a strange woman you
are, Henrietta Brody. However, I have no wish for you to feel beholden to me—for anything,’ Simon said, clearly at pains to control his mirth.

  ‘Good. And don’t mock me,’ Henrietta reproached, glaring at the wicked humour she saw dancing in his bright blue eyes. ‘But I really must thank you for allowing me to accompany you to Scotland.’

  Simon looked at her, his smiling face setting in grave lines. ‘It was my pleasure.’ He meant what he said. Beneath the heavy fringe of dark lashes her eyes were mesmerising in their lack of guile and her smooth cheeks were flushed a becoming pink. ‘You are refreshingly open and honest, with a gentle pride I admire. I want to kiss you again—very badly, in fact—to hold you in my arms. But you are right. You are wise to resist me and I understand your reasons perfectly. What do I have to offer you? Only myself and a life that is at best precarious.’

  His reply had a deep, hypnotic quality. Henrietta gave a wistful, almost shy smile. ‘There you are, then. We are agreed on that.’ His handsome face was sombre. She was acutely aware of his powerful male body looming over her, tall and strong—of a man who had gallantly taken care of her and shouldered all her burdens for the past two weeks. The combination of that was becoming dangerously appealing. When a lump of emotion rose in her throat and tears threatened, helplessly she met the probing gaze of the man. Considering how resolutely she had defied Jeremy’s attempts to see her humiliated and destroyed, she could hardly believe that she could lose control just because someone was showing a bit of kindness.

  Henrietta didn’t know how explicit her expression was—like an open book, exposing what was in her heart. Simon saw it and was immediately wary and in that moment he realised that eliminating her from his life when they reached Perth was going to be harder than he’d imagined. He looked at her hard, tracing every line of her face, every warm, beating part of her. He breathed in the essence of what lay between them, as if to imprison her image into his memory.

  The words she had spoken were sincere and heartfelt. She was right. She couldn’t waste one moment of her life believing she was in love with him and he had done well, not letting her know how much he had come to care for her, how much she belonged in his heart. There was no time or place for love in his life, he asserted to himself. No room for it as long as Charles Stuart called the faithful to arms. But it was hard, no matter how he tried, to still his emotional rebellion against the rational reason of his mind.

  ‘Now come along,’ Henrietta said, picking up her bag and hoisting it to her shoulder. ‘If we dally much longer we’ll be hard-pressed to reach Edinburgh before nightfall.’

  Simon followed her out of the house. At the door she turned and looked back at him. It was a special look just for him. It seemed to beckon with strange energies. It seduced him absolutely and left him bewildered in the most sensual way. He was intrigued by the enigma of this young woman, whose naive personality concealed a mysterious core of which Henrietta herself was perhaps not aware of.

  He followed her, heeding her words and forcing himself with an effort to shift his thoughts to who she was and why she was here, but somewhere in the caverns of his mind, he knew there would come a day when he would possess her completely.

  * * *

  The sky was clear and blue as Simon and Henrietta continued on their journey. On Simon’s advice Henrietta left her horse at Barradine. Mounted on a sturdy, short-legged, shaggy Highland garron—essential for the route they were to take, for they were admirable for travelling over distance and rough ground, but not so fast—she was less conspicuous.

  The countryside was wild and desolate, just as Henrietta remembered. She tipped her head back to catch the warmth of the midday sun on her face and breathed deeply of the cool, fresh breezes that brought the tang of the heather to her from across the moors. There were two buzzards soaring high in the blue sky, while far below them the martins dashed about in droves, hunting their dinner.

  Henrietta had left Scotland as a child, but seeing the gently undulating Cheviots in the north and seeing the familiar shaggy cattle and black-faced sheep was like balm to her soul.

  They followed drovers’ and packhorse tracks, tracks that had been followed for centuries. Henrietta felt secure in the presence of her companion. Having lived there all his life, Simon knew the area well and, looking fearsome astride his huge horse, with a pistol at his belt and a sword hanging from his saddle, he would instil caution in the meanest robber. He pointed out places of interest, enthusing at length about each and every one of them. It was clear to Henrietta how much he loved this country, that it was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.

  They finally reached Edinburgh, Scotland’s capital city, the glowering presence of the castle on its rock dominating the town with its massive structure. The long days of summer were drawing in and lamps had been lit in windows. They found themselves on the Royal Mile with its wynds and closes, the cobbled street climbing from Holyrood House to the castle.

  The town was crowded to suffocation point and reeked of humanity. All but nauseated by both what her eyes and her nose told her, Henrietta was astonished that Simon seemed not at all affected.

  ‘You shall grow accustomed to it,’ he remarked, noting her discomfort, his lips curved into a slight smile.

  ‘I doubt that very much,’ Henrietta said, shaking her head. ‘I feel as though I cannot breathe.’

  ‘It takes some getting used to for the first few days. But I assure you that in a day or so you won’t notice. There’s so much going on in Edinburgh, so one stops worrying about the stench.’

  Henrietta was not convinced of that. Continuing to hold the handkerchief to her nose as they rode, she glanced at the buildings that soared on either side of them with a feeling of being boxed in. The whole town was thronged with the Highland army and men gathered and talked in earnest, stirring the embers of rebellion. Others had their heads bent as they went about their business and women watched their men and kept their children close. There was a general air of excitement and speculation, and in many homes weapons hoarded since the rising in ’15 were excavated from hiding places and burnished and sharpened. Scottish chieftains—Glengarry, Clan Ranald and McDonalds to name but a few—had all declared their loyalty and staked their lives and reputations on the success of Charles Stuart.

  Impatient to join the main body of the army, Simon lost no time in renting rooms above an alleyway in Canongate. Fortunately they were spacious and relatively comfortable.

  ‘Get some rest,’ he said to Henrietta. ‘You look exhausted.’

  ‘What about you?’ she asked, shoving her hand through her hair.

  ‘I’m going to the army’s headquarters to find out what’s happening. But with things as they are and the town full of Highlanders, I am cautious for your safety. The owner of the rooms will see that someone sees to your needs, but make sure that you lock the door when I’ve gone.’

  * * *

  When Simon returned, the hour was close to midnight. He found the welcoming warmth of a well-banked fire awaiting him and a goodly supply of wood had been laid up on the hearth. Pulling a chair close to the flames, he slowly worked his boots from his feet. Adding another log to the fire, he strode about the room, removing his jacket and loosening his shirt. Knowing he would have to leave Edinburgh before dawn and reluctant to leave Henrietta, with nothing to occupy his roaming mind he was restless to a fault.

  He went to stand beside Henrietta’s door, there to listen for a long moment. He could not hear even the faintest breath of a whisper or movement. Curiously he reached out to test the door, pushing it open, and in his stocking feet, crossed the room with noiseless tread. In the light from the open door he looked down upon Henrietta’s sleeping face. Her long lashes lay like dark shadows on her fair cheeks and her soft lips were slightly parted as she breathed long and slowly in deepest slumber. Her hair curled on the pillow in deep golden hues while her ar
m rested in a flawless ivory curve above her head, leaving her shoulder and the higher swelling curves of her bosom naked to his gaze.

  He allowed his gaze to linger on her face and the tempting fullness of her breasts, as one who had chosen to savour a special treat. In sleep she seemed indeed most innocent with her delicate features and creamy skin and yet, when awake, she seemed to exude the very essence of life. Though the sight inflamed his passions and started the blood coursing through his veins, Simon reminded himself that he was not there for a lover’s tryst.

  As if in response to his musings, the long lashes fluttered open and, when she turned her head on the pillow, he found himself gazing down into the green depths. She stared at him calmly, as if her thoughts were readily at her disposal and not dazed by the confusion of sleep.

  ‘Simon?’

  ‘I did not mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.’

  Her gaze passed slowly over his naked chest to the breeches that clung boldly to the manliness of him. He made no attempt to hide evidence of his arousal, which prompted Henrietta to lower her gaze. ‘You are leaving, aren’t you? When must you go?’ Her voice was small and timid.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Would you have wakened me?’

  He nodded. ‘I would not have left without talking with you first.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Protecting her modesty with the sheets and sitting up, she reached for her shirt and dragged it over her head. ‘What is happening?’ she asked, shoving back the covers and getting out of bed, pulling down the shirt to cover her nakedness.

  ‘The Highland army is ready to stand against the English.’