“You?”
“Indeed. I saw and spoke to MacGillivray in the lower hallway just after our meeting in the library. He had already paid his respects to the dowager Lady Forbes and was begging my leave, as he had a matter of some urgency to tend to in Clunas this morning and wanted an early start. I believe he said it was to do with the health of his fiancée, Lady Elizabeth of Clunas, who was prevented from attending last night because of illness. He was quite beside himself with worry, which would explain his seeming distraction. I believe they are to be wed next month, though he has been singularly smitten with the lovely lady for some time now. At least, she was all he could speak about the previous evening—to the point I was damn near distracted myself.”
“Ahh, yes.” Worsham's eyes took on a predatory gleam again as he confronted Anne. “I believe we were discussing your whereabouts Thursday evening when we were interrupted last night.”
Anne, remembering MacGillivray's warning that someone had followed her and Eneas away from Dunmaglass, hesitated a fraction of an instant with her answer, long enough for Angus to release another impatient huff of breath.
“And I shall interrupt you again, sir, by reiterating the fact that my wife and I were both at home Thursday evening. If you care to recall, I told Lord Loudoun that John MacGillivray was also with us, playing cards until the small hours of the morning, at which time the pair of us, having consumed several”— he glanced uncomfortably at Anne who was, in turn, staring wide-eyed back at him—“well, yes, all right, rather more than several bottles of strong spirits, both had to be carried to our beds. If you saw my wife whispering with MacGillivray last night, and if what she said to him was anything like the dressing-down she gave to me earlier in the day, I can promise you it would have scalded your ears red.”
A muscle jumped in Worsham's cheek as he looked from Angus to Anne. She barely noticed, for she was still staring at her husband. He had done it again. He had lied for her and MacGillivray, giving them both alibis that only a man with absolute, incontrovertible proof would dare challenge. It was clear the major did not have any such proof, and Lady Drummuir wasted no time in taking advantage of his hesitation.
“Shall I have Gibb show ye out, Major, or can ye find yer own way to the door?”
Worsham looked from one face to the next, obviously not pleased with the way things had gone. His fists curled momentarily as he considered his options, but in the end, he merely offered a curt nod and strode out of the drawing room, his boots sending an angry echo back along the hall.
The dowager waited until there was silence before she spoke again. “I'm not thinkin' ye made a friend there, Angus, love.”
“He's a pompous fool and lucky I did not draw my sword.”
“Aye, ye're a real threat to a man who likely picks his teeth wi' his saber.” Her sarcasm earned a stony glare and she moved toward the door. “I've a rare need for a morning tot of uisque. Shall I have Gibb fetch some coffee, or would ye prefer something stronger as well?”
“Nothing for me,” Angus said. “I will not be staying long.”
“As ye like.”
When his mother was gone and the door was firmly shut behind her, he turned his attention to Anne, who held his gaze for all of two seconds before averting her eyes and staring out the window.
“You should be embarrassed,” he said with ominous silkiness. “You have more nerve than—” but an adequate comparison failed him and he settled for a heavy sigh. “I am almost afraid to leave the two of you here alone, for fear of the plots you and Mother might hatch together. Please tell me, at least, that last night's stupidity was unplanned.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You don't actually believe him, do you, that MacGillivray and I stole away for a secret tryst!”
“A tryst? No. But I do believe you were engaged in some sort of foolery, though whether it was before or after you picked the lock and stole the papers out of Duncan Forbes's desk, I do not know. And please, do not waste both of our time denying it; I was there, I saw you.”
Someone else might have fainted dead away from the shock, or at the very least reddened with guilt, but to Anne's credit—and Angus's grudging admiration—she merely gazed at him across the beam of sunlight that was slanting brightly through the window between them.
“It was you in the alcove?”
“I thought I had seen movement behind the curtains, a shadow at the bottom that was blocking the sliver of moonlight one moment and gone the next. After we left, I watched the door for a few minutes to see if anyone came out, and when no one did, I went back inside. My hand was an inch away from the damned curtain when you squealed and started dancing about, and when I realized it was you, my first instinct was to rip the curtains down and see if you were alone; the second was to step aside and save you the embarrassment if you were not.”
“Save me the embarrassment? After what I had just heard, I should think you would be the one who was shamed beyond measure. Or was it someone else I heard who sounded pleased to be joining General Hawley in Edinburgh, someone else who claimed he was bored with his wife's politics? Someone else who lied when he promised me so sincerely that our clansmen would not be involved in any real fighting?”
“Do not attempt to steer the conversation away from your own actions,” he warned smoothly, not even having the grace to answer any of the charges. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you had you been discovered skulking behind that damned curtain eavesdropping on official military business? Can you even conceive of how lucky you were that it was I who came back to the library and not Worsham or that other bastard, Garner?”
“At the time, I can honestly say I was not feeling anything but betrayed.”
He looked away for a moment, not completely successful this time in stanching the flow of heat that mottled his throat and cheeks.
“Do you still have the dispatches or did you give them to MacGillivray?”
“Do you not even intend to defend yourself?”
“Against what? You have already made up your mind that I am guilty of all charges.”
“You have left me with little choice. You made me a promise; you broke it. You lied to me after swearing you would never do so. And at the time you swore it with such passion and conviction, I… I almost thought…” The words broke off as she caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard. “I almost thought you meant what you said. That was, of course, before I discovered how much my … antics … bore you.”
“At the time I made you that promise, I honestly believed it was possible to keep it.”
“It has only been two days. Has so much changed since then?”
Angus raked his hand through the dark locks of his hair, scattering whatever semblance of order remained of the stylish waves and curls. “Yes. Yes, by God, it has. It changed the instant I had to swear to Colonel Loudoun that MacGillivray was with me on Thursday night, that it could not have been he who attacked Worsham's men. You can see how well the major believed me, for it directly contradicted his report that stated MacGillivray was at Dunmaglass, under the close scrutiny of his crack troop of dragoons.”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Not to sanction his actions in any way, I promise you. I did it because more than likely there were soldiers at Culloden House waiting to arrest him. Because he was once a friend as well as a clansman, and because I thought if he was implicated in any way, the charges would eventually spread farther afield and end up on the doorstep of Moy Hall. That was, of course, before I stood in the library and watched my wife take a hairpin to the Lord President's locked desk. And before I saw her remove papers and military dispatches that could earn her an extended stay in a gaol cell if, indeed, she avoided the executioner's ax long enough to enjoy prison. For that reason, my dear, you will have to forgive me if I do not feel as though I should be standing here defending my actions.”
Anne's chin revealed the first hint of a tremor, and her eyes had grown so wide and ha
d achieved such a piercing shade of blue, it seemed some of the color tinted the whites.
“I did not know about the attack on Worsham's men,” she insisted softly. “I did not know John was involved, not until later, when he told me he had been shot.”
“Shot?”
She nodded. “In the shoulder.”
Angus clenched his jaw and pursed his lips, visibly drawing on all of his strength to keep a flood of invectives from exploding forth.
“Do you,” he asked through his teeth, “still have the dispatches?”
“No. Your mother thought it best not to keep them in the house.”
“Dear God.” He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his temple. “What did she do with them? Where did she send them?”
Although her voice was fiercely steady when she replied, “I do not know,” the lie was in her eyes and Angus did not need a map to follow the course. The courier who brought the dispatches had come directly from France; the papers he carried were from one of the spies Forbes had planted high in the service of King Louis's royal court. Fearchar Farquharson would know exactly what to do with the documents once he opened them and realized what he held in his hands.
“What do you plan to do now?” she asked softly.
The question drew him away from his thoughts for a moment. “Do?”
What he wanted to do was throttle her, but he clasped his hands behind his back instead and avoided her gaze the way she had avoided his earlier. He looked out the window in time to see a falcon glide past, floating effortlessly on the wind currents, its wings outstretched and motionless. Only the head moved, the eyes searching relentlessly for prey, the wickedly hooked beak open in anticipation. It required no vast stretch of the imagination to compare the falcon to Major Roger Worsham, for the officer's eyes held the same carnivorous gleam, his expression the same calculating stillness as he studied his quarry.
If Worsham suspected Angus of lying about MacGillivray or Anne, the question that should concern them more became: What would he do about it?
Angus knew Anne was watching him, waiting for his answer, and he took a further moment to settle his emotions before he faced her. “What am I going to do? I am going to go home and make the necessary preparations to depart for Edinburgh.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Because I do not see where I have a choice, madam. I am an officer in His Majesty's Royal Scots Infantry, and if I refused to obey a direct order, I would likely find myself a fugitive skulking about in the hills alongside your grandfather and cousins.”
“Or you could say the word, and a thousand good men would join you in marching to meet the prince. If you did, and if you asked me to go with you, I would proudly ride at your side every step of the way.”
“Would you?” He moved forward, his body cutting through the shaft of sunlight as he reached up and took her face between his hands. “What if I asked you to leave with me now? What if I asked you to come away from here and sail with me to France?”
Her eyes grew even more impossibly wider, bluer. “France?”
“I have friends in Paris; we could stay there until things settled down again. This will all be over in a month, two at the utmost.”
The brief shimmer of hope that had flared in her eyes faded again. Her sense of disbelief and confusion was as easy to read as nearly every other volatile emotion that crossed her face, and for once Angus wished she could be more like the Adrienne de Boules of the world, a blank page on which nothing was written that one did not want to see.
“This is my home,” she said, reaching up to gently but firmly extricate herself from his grasp. “It is where I belong. Running away will not change anything, nor will it do anything to breach this wall you have thrown up between us.”
Her rejection, her condemnation cut him to the bone, and he doubted she would listen now even if he did attempt to explain that the wall had been put there deliberately to try to save her from the very pain she was feeling now.
He stared at her mouth, remembering how willing and eager it had been to answer his whispered pleas only two brief nights ago. How in God's name was he supposed to just turn around and walk out that door knowing that if he did so, she would hate him? How would he be able to close his eyes again and not see her, not hear her, not be haunted by the image of her body moving urgently beneath his?
His arms dropped down by his sides. “I'm sorry. I should have known better than to … well, I just should have known better. Please forgive me, and forgive this intrusion. I will not disturb you again.”
“Angus—?”
“All things considered,” he added curtly, “perhaps it is for the best that you stay here. There are no battlements or cannon mounted on the walls of Drummuir House, but I warrant you will be safer here with my mother blocking the doors than you would be anywhere else. And … if you can … I suggest you get a message to MacGillivray; convince him to remove himself from Dunmaglass for a while. He might not be too open to taking advice from me at the moment, but Worsham is as bloody-minded as they come, and it would be wise if John put himself out of reach.”
“I will send a warning to him,” she said, bowing her head, refusing to let him see how close she was to tears. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me, Anne. If he was standing before me right now I would be more inclined to give him to Worsham myself than expose you to any further risk.”
Startled, she looked up into his face, but there was nothing there to ease the tightness in her chest. The mask was firmly in place, his eyes so cool and distant she could scarcely believe he had just asked her to run away with him to France.
The constricting pressure became too much to bear and she turned her face away, missing the action of his hand as it rose toward her shoulder. It stopped the width of a prayer away from touching her before the long, tapered fingers curled into a tight fist and withdrew.
“If you need anything while I'm gone, you know where I keep the strongbox.”
“I will be fine. I bid you have a safe journey to Edinburgh. An unsuccessful one, to be sure, but safe.”
He studied her profile, saw the bright jewel of a tear trembling at the corner of her eye, and he knew if he did not leave at once, that very moment, he would not be able to leave at all.
“If there is nothing more—?”
“No,” she whispered. “There is nothing more we need to say to each other.”
Angus nodded. Moving woodenly, he retrieved his hat and gloves from the chair, then glanced back at the window. Anne had not moved. She stood fully in the path of the sunbeam, the light turning her skin luminous, gilding the flown wisps of her hair fiery red and gold.
“Shall I write from Edinburgh?”
“If it pleases you to do so.”
He expelled a breath and put his hand on the doorknob. “I'll write, then.”
The door opened easily enough but his feet could not seem to make it fully across the threshold without stopping again.
“Anne … I know I have been somewhat of a disappointment to you lately, that I have likely not proven to be the husband of your dreams. But regardless of what happens or does not happen in the coming weeks, I do not want to leave without telling you that I have considered myself a very lucky man these past four years. Extraordinarily lucky, in fact, and I … I want to thank you for that. Perhaps some day, when this is over, you might even be able to find it in your heart to forgive me.”
Anne said nothing—she could not; she was crying too hard—and a moment later, the door clicked softly shut behind him.
Chapter Nine
John MacGillivray woke to the sound of whispered voices. They were low and indistinct, clouded by the quantity of harsh spirits he had downed the night before. He had barely made it home to Dunmaglass from Culloden, and when he'd stripped off his blood-soaked waistcoat and shirt and seen the torn stitches, he had known there was only one way to seal the raw edges of flesh. As luck would have it, he had found Gillies MacBean curled
up on the floor in front of the hearth fire, his plaid wrapped around his shoulders, the prodigious depth of his snores indicating he had not been sleeping long. Following the skirmish with the English soldiers, it had been his duty to escort Fearchar Farquharson deeper into the hills and to settle him with a strong guard of clansmen. Jamie Farquharson had returned to Dunmaglass with Gillies and was stretched out beside him on the hearth, his plaid likewise pulled over his head.
Before the whisky had taken hold of MacGillivray's senses, he had ordered Gillies to thrust the blade of a knife into the fire and heat it red hot. When the steel was glowing and the bottle of whisky was empty, John had gripped the side of the table and ordered Jamie to hold his arms. He had snarled at MacBean to do it right the first time, for he had his hand on his sword, a fine pistol on his hip, and he would not hesitate to use them on the two fools if they blundered.
The smell of burning skin and sizzling blood had set every iron-hard muscle to trembling, every nerve screaming, but the pain had been mercifully brief before he had slumped forward into a drunken stupor.
Now he was hearing the whispers. They overlapped and seemed to echo within themselves, the words becoming a muddle of shushes and wheeshts and soft feminine sighs. He remained very still, afraid to open his eyes lest he find himself suspended on white clouds with heaven above and the fires of hell below and a flock of serious-minded seraphs debating whither he be sent, up or down.
Something icy cool touched his forehead and he opened his eyes a slit, relieved to see no bright lights, no diaphanous wings hovering over him. The whispering had stopped as well, but he sensed he was not quite in the clear yet, for there was a lingering specter standing by the side of the bed. For half an eternity, he just stared. If it wasn't an angel then it was something sent by the devil: a wee spookie his mother used to call them, a vision of something you dreamed about so long or wanted so badly that the devil used it to torment your soul.
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