by Aileen Adams
“We are in agreement, then. Though I knew we would be.”
“However.” Clyde held up one hand, which he knew would have completely engulfed the other’s face if he chose to do so. “I am no longer the man I once was. We both know this. I want no part of the fighting, and ye know why.”
“Please, allow me to finish. Surely, ye do not believe me so daft and uncaring as to ask you to fight, knowing everything you have suffered?”
Clyde shrugged. “When men are eager to have done what they need done, they might resort to any number of actions.”
“Still, I would think ye know me better than that by now.” Even so, Douglas turned his tam o’shanter around and around his hands. A nervous gesture. “I do not need ye to fight, man. I need you to train fighters.”
“I want nothing to do with that, either.”
“Not even if those fighters are women?”
Never would Clyde have imagined this, and his mouth fell open in surprise for a moment before laughter burst from him. Truly, he had not laughed so heartily in far too long. By the time he finished, he had to wipe tears of mirth from his cheeks with the edge of his tunic sleeve.
But Douglas was not laughing, and he never had been.
Clyde stared at him, aghast. “Ye are serious, then.”
“Very serious. There is a group of women in an old convent who are at this moment training as spies and assassins, planning to infiltrate English court.”
“To what purpose? Do not tell me anyone thinks women would be of service in times such as this.”
“Aye, they do. And you might be surprised, truly, what a woman can manage in such a situation.” The corner of his mouth twisted upward in a knowing smirk. “After all, you only just laughed yourself sick at the notion. Too many do not take these women seriously, and they come to regret it. That is, if they live long enough for regret.”
Once again, Clyde found his mouth hanging open. “They have already begun their work?”
“Aye, from what I understand more than one who’ve been trained have already practiced their skills, with great success. No one suspects a beautiful young woman of harboring dangerous intentions.” Then he chuckled. “At least, not those sorts of intentions.”
Clyde caught his meaning and chuckled along with him, but he was troubled. “How in the world would I ever train these lasses? And why, if the training they’ve already had is successful?”
“Ye see, it is one thing to know which poison to use in which situation, but another entirely to know how to defend oneself when the need should arise. The chances of none of these young assassins finding themselves in a situation calling for hand-to-hand combat are slim, at best. They must know how to defend themselves as well, and ye are the best man I’ve ever known when it comes to using yer fists or a blade.”
Clyde shook his head, waving his hands. “I have already told ye—”
“And I am telling ye, man. These young lassies need your help. Do you not wish to prepare them as best you could before they go off to fight on behalf of the crown? We both know why ye did not return to the Guard, and none have ever been more entitled to their peace. But it has been five years, and I believe enough time has passed that ye might put some of that behind ye and return to service which we both know ye loved so well.”
Clyde bristled at all of this. Especially at the truth in his friend’s observations. He had his reasons for what would have been referred to as desertion were the situation different, but years had passed, and he could no longer in good conscience use that terrible time as an escape from the realities of life.
But lasses? If anything, it was an insult to believe a man of his skill and experience would be satisfied to train a group of women. What would they think of next?
He shook his head, waving his hands again. “Nay, I canna do it. Though it does please me quite a great deal to know ye thought of me, and I am never unhappy to see ye. But I canna do what ye need.”
Douglas sat back, lips pursed, brows drawn together in a thoughtful expression.
Clyde knew this meant there was one last thing he’d saved.
“What is it, then?” he prompted, his patience growing thinner by the moment.
His old friend blew out a long sigh. “Mary is one of them.”
2
“Please allow me to understand you better.” Ailsa stared at the dark-haired, weathered stranger who stood before her, using what she’d heard described as an icy stare. The sort of stare she normally used when facing an unwelcome challenge.
Both the appearance of this man and the way he’d so carelessly announced the expectation of a new arrival at the convent had certainly made him unwelcome. How brazen he was!
And how very wrong if he thought she would simply step aside and allow him to tell her how to conduct affairs with the young women in her care.
The man sighed, which only served to inflame her all the more, but she managed to withhold her frustration.
“Ye need not take this as a personal insult to your ability to lead the lassies here,” he muttered, and in his voice she heard so many men who had in the past decided they knew her simply because she was a woman and because women could not be trusted to behave rationally, or so they believed.
Small-minded men. Such fools, all of them. They saw a small woman with delicate features and a great abundance of wind-swept hair and decided her to be a frail, worthless creature from the start.
She could almost hear her Thomas chuckling as if from far away, because he was far away. He had been for so long, leaving her alone. Alone in this world of men who did not understand her the way he had.
He had once enjoyed her flares of temper. In fact, she had believed secretly that he enjoyed it when she lost control and railed at him for whatever foolishness she’d perceived at the time. He had never quite been able to conceal a smile, though he had certainly tried to do so, for when she’d caught him smiling, she would only grow angrier.
Not as angry as she was at this moment, staring at a worn, weathered man who possessed the nerve to tell her how to manage something which had been left solely in her care.
Then, just as she was about to rain down fire from the heavens upon this foolish man’s head, Ailsa recalled her own instruction. Had she not only just earlier that day lectured the young women of the convent to never allow a man—or an enemy—to see what went on behind their eyes?
No matter how terrible or boorish the object of their mission happened to be, they were to be treated as if the mere act of being in their presence was an honor and a joy. This would make them comfortable, make them less likely to be on their guard against what was soon coming their way.
She had no intention of killing this man, though if he did not tread carefully, she might be convinced to change her mind. Still, it would behoove her to treat him gently at least until she learned the true purpose of the outsider whose arrival he had just spoken of.
Fighting back any sharp retorts, she forced a smile. “Just who is this man? He must be quite remarkable, indeed, if it has been suggested he join us in our work. To say nothing of his discretion, as it would hardly do for the wrong sort to learn of our activities.”
To his credit, this Douglas McTavish eyed her warily. He was not so easily fooled, it would seem. “Och, Clyde McMannis is the best I’ve ever seen at close combat. I have witnessed him avail himself handily time and again. ’Tis true, he saved my life on one occasion. I would not be standing before ye now were it not for himself.” His eyes gleamed with mirth. “I suspect that does not endear him to ye at the present moment.”
Clever man. To her chagrin, she blushed at being so easily read. “Do forgive me,” she murmured, all feminine innocence now. “You merely took me by surprise, and I knew not what to think of your announcement.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I am unsure what I would do at the sudden appearance of another if I were in yer place, either. It seems to me we are of a similar mind, though
ye may not know it yet.”
“And what would you do, then, in my place? What would you think if I came to you and told you that a man had been deemed better able to do your work?”
He appeared to give this real consideration, which she thought spoke well of him. He at least appeared to take her seriously when not many men with his experience tended to do so. Men who’d given over their lives in service to crown and country rarely had time for the concerns of women. She knew this well.
He laughed merrily, eyes twinkling. “I have long since stopped using such filthy language in the presence of ladies.”
She had to laugh in spite of herself, always respecting a man with a fine sense of humor. Thomas had been possessed of such humor. Nothing could ever affect him too deeply, or for too long.
There were moments when thought of him still brought an ache to her chest, and this was one of those moments. How she missed him.
She pulled out a chair for Douglas to take before taking one of her own, sitting across from him with a much warmer expression than she’d favored him with before that moment. “All right, let us begin again. Who is the man you suggest for this duty, and why are you certain he is the correct person for the task? Being skilled in combat is not enough, for I might easily find ten such men in a half-day’s ride.”
He accepted a cup of ale with an expression of relief, more than likely parched after his journey. “I’ve known the man for many years, and I know him to be one of the finest people to ever live.”
“High praise, indeed,” she acknowledged with a nod of her head, observing keenly the thirst with which he drank. He did not strike her as the type to be over generous with his praise.
“As I told ye, he is the best with weaponry used at close distance. He not only understands how to read a man’s reactions and use them to his advantage, but he will teach yer lassies how to defeat a very large man, one much larger than themselves. Ye ken, he is in all likelihood the largest man I’ve ever seen with my own eyes.”
The sense of what he said was lost, thanks to how he said it. Lassies? Did he realize how great of an insult that was? She supposed he might not have cared even if he had known.
Did he truly think they were playing a game here at the convent? That they were simply passing the time together?
“Your choice of words offends me,” she replied, her tone flat. “And if your man bears the same attitude, he would do better to remain far away.”
He grimaced, shifting in his chair as if uncomfortable. “I have never been one to express myself well. Ye must forgive me for it. Truly, I dinna wish to insult ye or make light of what ye do here. Ye young ladies might be what finally brings justice for all of us.”
This mollified her somewhat. He did not strike her as the type to use empty words to placate a woman, the way so many men did. She decided to hold her tongue and allow him to continue.
When she held up the jug of ale with brows raised, he nodded eagerly and spoke as she poured. “Clyde served with me in the Highland Guard for many years. He was one of my most trusted men, and a valued friend. As I said before, I would not be sitting here before ye now were it not for him. I was terribly wounded, knocked from the saddle, my legs broken when I couldna get myself out of the way of a runaway cart pulled by a poor, frantic beast.
“The filthy English…soldier who found me,” he continued, speaking slowly and clearly using a kinder word than the one which had first been on the tip of his tongue, “was moments from running me through with a saber. I was all but prepared to walk through the gates of Heaven. Or so I hoped,” he added with a wink.
She chuckled in understanding.
“Clyde was my savior that day,” he concluded.
There was a knock at the door to Ailsa’s private chambers, where she’d had their visitor brought so that they might have a quiet place in which to speak.
“Enter,” she commanded.
A slight golden-haired girl entered. Mary Kendrick, somewhat of a newcomer to the convent but a promising young woman. Devoted, which meant more than nearly anything when there was so much at stake every time one of the girls went out on a mission.
They’d not been on many yet, only a few to test their skills on rather unimportant men whose deaths would not raise much notice. Ailsa knew this Mary was eager to prove herself.
She stepped up behind Douglas, standing at ease but in full control of her body. Her posture was impeccable, the result of great discipline. “You sent for me?” she asked in a low voice.
“Mary, this man tells me you have a brother-in-law who served alongside him in the Highland Guard,” Ailsa murmured. “One Clyde McMannis.”
Recognition passed over her face, and, Ailsa was gratified to see, fondness.
“Of course, aye. Clyde was my sister’s husband. A good man. He has always seen to my comfort and protection, as she asked him to do before she…”
Discipline only stretched so far. Ailsa was well aware of this, for no matter how she had labored to discipline the impulse to wail every time her beloved Thomas came to mind, the mere thought of him was at times enough to break her.
She searched her memory for anything to do with Mary’s family. It was customary for Ailsa to question each young woman who wished to join in service to the crown. There could be no mistakes. No traitors, no English sympathizers. No one with questionable motives for wishing to be part of their group.
Nothing came to mind, however.
“Thank you, Mary.” Ailsa dismissed her, and once they were again alone, she fixed Douglas with another cold stare. “Tell me how you knew you would find her here.”
“I received word.” He shrugged. “I came to see with my own eyes whether ’twas true. I know Clyde well enough to know he’ll feel ill-used, being told to report here. If he knows his wife’s sister is one of your lot, however…”
“Just as you received word of our supposed need of a combat trainer,” she mused, hardly pleased.
“I would think ye would be glad to know yer lasses could protect themselves.”
“My husband taught me a great deal about combat, I would have you know.” It was becoming more difficult all the time to hold her temper in check. Her cheeks flushed; she felt them burning. Good. Let this man know how he’d upset her.
He snorted. “Aye? Do ye believe ye could defeat me, then, if I chose to attack ye now? And myself a broken-down thing with aching knees and legs which never quite recovered from that fall I described earlier?”
There he was, right in the trap she’d set for him. Silly man.
She leaned in, unable to suppress a smile. “How was that ale you just enjoyed?” she asked in a whisper. “Did you take note of my not having enjoyed any of my own?”
His smile slid, but did not entirely slip away. “What of it?”
“And young Mary Kendrick,” she added. “Did it occur to you that you sat with your back turned to an assassin? Did you know she would have pressed a blade to your throat if I had so much as snapped my fingers?”
She sat back, watching him stammer.
“The fact is, Douglas McTavish, you might have died a half-dozen times since you arrived. I could have poisoned you. I did not, and you would have gulped that poison down without thinking twice. My lassies, as you called them, are never unarmed. Even here, behind these towering stone walls. See, what we have in our favor is the attitudes of men such as yourself. We are no threat. There is little chance of our entering into combat when we perform our duties as designed.”
His face was roughly the color of the sky at sunset, nearly violet with embarrassment and frustration. Anger, perhaps. “Just the same, ye need yer lassies to learn how to fight anyone who might come across them while they are doing their duty. That is the decision that was made by those paying for this endeavor, and that is the final say.”
He had her there. She knew friends of the crown had provided the funds for the use of the abandoned convent, for their food and clothing, for all they would need when it
came time to outfit the two dozen young women in finery suitable for blending in at court.
There was no room for her to fight. Not any longer.
“So be it, then,” she snapped with a wave of her hand. “But you would do well to warn your man against taking such an attitude as you have today. I will not put up with it.”
He rose with a wince—his complaints about his legs came to mind—but he was smiling as he went to the door to see himself out. “I shall warn him to think twice before drinking yer ale, as well.”
3
“I shall tell ye,” Douglas concluded once he’d finished his tale of visiting the convent before riding to the MacIntosh farm. “She is not one to be taken lightly. I was all but certain she’d call upon some of her lassies to dispatch with me before I made it beyond the convent walls.”
Clyde could hardly make sense of anything he had just heard. “What would possess her to do such a thing?” he murmured, staring at the ground as they trod through the mud to reach his cottage. This was not the sort of conversation everyone in the main house needed to be privy to.
“Mary?”
“Who else?” he asked, on the verge of misery. What would Janet think if she knew what her precious sister had come to? What he’d allowed her to come to?
“Ye canna blame yourself, man,” Douglas grunted. “Besides, she didna seem ill-treated or abused or any such thing. From what I saw of the lass, she was healthy and glad to be there.”
“Glad? Who could possibly be glad?”
“Were ye not glad to serve in the Guard? Or did I miss my mark all those years?” Douglas fixed him with a shrewd look.
“That is different.”
“How?”
“It simply is.”
“I see.”
“Ye dinna see at all.”
“Dinna mistake me, man.” Douglas snorted. “I believe the entire thing is a misadventure. The worst sort of foolishness. But someone must find value in the notion, for they have put their fortunes behind it.”
