As she glided toward the door, she took a reading on the officer's character. Nearing forty, he was an honorable and experienced soldier who had hated the atrocities against civilians after the battle. He would not flinch from doing his duty, but neither would he look for excuses to make arrests. Good.
�Welcome to Dunrath,� she said warmly. �After this long, horrid winter, you cannot imagine how glad I am to see a civilized face.�
The colonel bowed politely. As he straightened and looked into her face, he blurted out, �Lady Brecon! What are you doing in Scotland?� His expression showed both recognition and stunned admiration.
She must have met him somewhere in London. Yes, years ago at some grand ball. They had danced, unmemorably, but he must be wellborn to move in such elevated circles. �It's good to see you again, Colonel. I am Lady Ballister now. My dear Brecon died two years ago. I never thought to marry a barbarian Scot, but Ballister quite swept me off my feet last summer.� She laughed wryly. �I picked a poor time to move to the north, I fear.�
�Yet the north agrees with you, Lady Ballister.�
�You flatter me, sir,� she said with a hint of reproof in her voice. He needed to think of her as a virtuous woman. The sort who wouldn't hide rebels in her cellar.
A deeper insight into Ormond entered her mind. He was recently married to a young beauty, and he needed to believe that a beautiful wife could be virtuous even when her husband was away for months on end. Instantly Gwynne adjusted her enchantress power so that the colonel would perceive her as a faithful and loving wife�the kind of woman he most approved of.
She could feel his subtle reaction to the change in her energy. He still admired her, but accepted her as a chaste married woman, the kind deserving protection. Glancing around, he said, �Most of the Scottish castles I've seen are stark fortresses, but here in Dunrath's private apartments, I can imagine myself in England.�
�I am not the first English bride brought to Dunrath, so the Macraes have created an oasis of civilization.� Gwynne hoped that also implied that the family had plenty of English blood and would have no Jacobite leanings.
Glancing past the colonel, Gwynne made a little shooing motion with one hand. �The refreshments, Annie. And make sure the colonel's men are invited into the great hall and served something warm. 'Tis not fit for man nor beast out there.�
When the maid was gone, Gwynne sank onto the sofa with a luxurious flounce of silk skirts. �I swear, these local servants are in a fair way to driving me mad. They simply have no concept of their proper place. Pray sit, Colonel, and tell me all the news.�
He took a chair opposite her. �The news is good, as I'm sure you've heard.�
�This horrid rebellion! I seriously considered returning to London, but I could not bear to be driven from my home by that foolish Italian adventurer.� She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirts. �It's such a relief to know that the fighting is over. They say that Cumberland has crushed the Jacobites at a great battle near Inverness. Is that so?�
�He did indeed, Lady Ballister, but the rebellion won't be over until every last Jacobite has been rooted out of the Highlands.�
Annie entered with a tea tray that included a small flask of whiskey and food substantial enough to appeal to a hungry soldier. Gwynne poured tea, then raised the flask over the officer's cup. �Colonel Ormond?�
After a moment of hesitation, he said, �That would be most welcome, ma'am.�
She added a healthy dose of whiskey before passing him the cup. �If you are rooting out Jacobites, what brings you to Dunrath? We are all good Whigs here.�
He swallowed half his tea in two thirsty gulps before bracing himself to say, �Does that include Miss Jean Macrae? It's widely known that she raised a company of rebels and personally led them to the Pretender, and that she stayed with the rebel army till the end. It is even said that she was seen on the battlefield carrying a sword.�
�How deliciously the truth can be twisted!� Gwynne said with indulgent amusement. �Yes, Jean did travel to the rebel army despite my pleas for her to stay here in safety. She's a headstrong girl who has been raised here in the wilds, and she won't listen to reason, but she's no Jacobite. Now that the rising has been put down, I really must take her to London so she can acquire some polish.�
�Being a woman will not save her from being charged as a rebel,� he said bluntly. �If even half the stories about her are true, she will be tried and transported. Or . . . worse.�
Gwynne didn't have to pretend to shudder at the thought. �I can't deny that she acted foolishly, but she didn't run away to the rebel army because she was a Jacobite sympathizer. She simply wanted to be with her betrothed, Robbie Mackenzie of Fannach. I only met the boy once. He seemed a pleasant youth except for his foolish politics. I begged Jean to break her betrothal, but she was sure that she could persuade him to abandon the rebels and return home.�
�What of the troop of men she raised for the prince?� Ormond said skeptically.
�That must be a rumor created because the truth is uninteresting. A mere girl could hardly journey alone across Scotland, so she traveled with a group of volunteers who were heading to the army.� Gwynne bit her lip as if troubled. �Though I hate to admit it, there were two or three men of Glen Rath in that group. My husband and I did our best to stamp out rebellious talk, but there are always a few hotheads.�
�Have those hotheads returned to the glen?�
�Not that I know of.� She sighed. �Perhaps they died during the campaign. That might be for the best since there would be no future for them here. The Pretender is not popular in Glen Rath, Colonel.�
�Yet he called here at the castle, I'm told, not long after he landed in Scotland.�
Ormond was dangerously well informed. �The night Ballister and I returned from England, he walked into the middle of the welcome-home celebration and tried to enlist my husband's support. We were amazed, but I suppose that adventurers must be bold. Ballister refused and sent him away, of course.�
�It might have been better for all concerned if your husband had taken the prince prisoner,� he said dryly.
Gwynne shrugged gracefully. �Hospitality is sacred in the Highlands. It's an ancient custom, necessary in a harsh land. It is unthinkable that Ballister would behave dishonorably to a guest, even an uninvited one. Would you, Colonel?�
Ormond grimaced. �No, I suppose not. At least not all those months ago, before there was a real rebellion. But if I saw the prince now, I'd capture him in a heartbeat. He deserves to pay the price for the havoc he has caused.�
�I couldn't agree more.� Gwynne could feel that the colonel's skepticism was fading. She glanced at the window and saw that Duncan had stopped the rain and sunshine was breaking through the clouds. With luck, she would feed Ormond a few more lies and he would be ready to go on his way.
�Miss Macrae might not have been a Jacobite when she left Dunrath,� Ormond said, �but if she fought in battle with the rebel army, she must have become one.�
Gwynne laughed again. �Absurd! Jean is the merest slip of a girl. Besides, she was here during the battle. She returned home five days ago, having finally despaired of changing her betrothed's mind.�
�You say she's here at Dunrath?� Ormond said, startled.
�Of course. Tired and very sad, of course, but safe. It's hard to be angry with her after all she has suffered. Do you wish to speak with her?� After the colonel nodded, Gwynne rang for the maid and gave orders for Jean to be summoned.
While they waited, Ormond said, �What of Ballister? There have also been rumors that he is a Jacobite sympathizer.�
Gwynne arched her brows with a hint of contempt. �Is he also supposed to have gone into battle with the Jacobites? I assure you, Colonel Ormond, my husband was nowhere near Inverness.�
�Then where was he, ma'am?� Ormond's eyes narrowed. �A man who fit his description was observed in the vicinity of the rebels during their invasion of England. It has been s
uggested that Ballister was acting as a scout for the rebel troops.�
It was time for another major lie. �I will be honest with you, Colonel Ormond. Though a loyal servant of the Crown, it grieved my husband greatly to see his homeland torn by rebellion. At my urging, he did indeed travel to England, though certainly not as a Jacobite scout. He had business there, and being away from Scotland was less painful for him. He also took with him several young men of the glen. Not rebels, you understand, but high-spirited youths who might have been tempted to join in that Jacobite nonsense if not diverted.�
�Is that why there seemed to be few young men as we rode through the glen?�
The colonel was perceptive. Gwynne said, �Yes, we packed off as many of them as possible. Several lads from Glen Rath are serving with the government forces.� Which was even true. �Better for them to be busy and interested somewhere else than to stay here and be preyed on by troublemakers.�
�Ingenious,� the colonel said thoughtfully. �Young men are like tinder, and it is well not to expose them to fiery ideas. Has Ballister returned to Dunrath?�
�No, but I hope he will be home soon.� Gwynne smiled wistfully. �It was hard for us to separate when we were so newly wed, but people of rank must take responsibility for our dependents.� Most of the Macraes of Glen Rath would have been outraged at being called dependents, but the colonel nodded approvingly. With luck, after he spoke with Jean he would be ready to continue his pursuit elsewhere.
Gwynne refreshed their teacups and was urging the colonel to eat more when the door opened and Jean entered the morning room. Gwynne mentally applauded. Hair powdered and wearing a pale silk gown with lacy trailing sleeves, Jean appeared delicate, ladylike, and about sixteen years old.
Eyes downcast, she swept the colonel a deep curtsey as Gwynne performed the introductions. Ormond stared incredulously, obviously unable to reconcile the description of a warrior maiden with this fragile, demure young lady.
�Jean, sit down beside me,� Gwynne said soothingly as she poured another cup of tea. �I know this will be difficult, but Colonel Ormond must ask you some questions.�
The officer cleared his throat, uncomfortable at asking hard questions of a girl barely out of the schoolroom. �Miss Macrae, you are accused of raising a troop of men from Dunrath and joining the Jacobites. It is even said that you fought on Drummossie Moor and escaped with a group of rebels. These are very grave charges.�
Jean raised her head and stared at him with great, startled eyes. �Me, a mere woman, lead a band of soldiers? What a bizarre thought! I did go to the Jacobites, but that was to join my sweetheart, Robbie Mackenzie. I . . . I had hoped to persuade him to return home and marry me before it was too late.�
�Lady Ballister said that you returned home almost a week ago. If so, you might not have heard that your young man died in the battle.� Ormond delivered the news gently, but his gaze was shrewd as he watched Jean.
�Dear God in heaven, no!� Jean began to sob. �I dreamed he would be killed but I prayed I was wrong. Oh, Gwynne!� She cast herself into her sister-in-law's embrace, her body shaking with sobs as she channeled her genuine grief into her performance.
�Be strong, my dear,� Gwynne said with compassion as real as the girl's misery.
Uncomfortable with making a young lady cry, Ormond said, �Captain Mackenzie fought bravely, Miss Macrae. I hope that is some comfort to you and his family.�
Jean raised her head, tears blurring her small face. �It is no comfort at all! He gave his life for that . . . that vile Italian mountebank! My Robbie was worth a thousand Stuarts. If he had to die, I wish he had chosen a cause worthy of his courage.�
Her furious words were more convincing than any number of calm disclaimers. Looking shaken, Ormond said gravely, �I . . . see, Miss Macrae. You have my sympathies on your loss. I am sorry if I have upset you with groundless accusations.�
Jean pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to blot her eyes. �You must do your duty, Colonel,� she said with a heartbreaking attempt to smile. �Scotland is in chaos now. We must all cooperate to restore peace.� That, too, had the ring of truth.
Thinking that the colonel was well and truly convinced of their innocence, Gwynne said, �Have some tea, my dear. It will steady your nerves.�
At that moment the door swung open to reveal another red-coated officer, accompanied by a roughly dressed local man. Jean made a barely audible hissing sound when she saw the new arrivals.
Gwynne was more concerned by the officer. Where Ormond was a reasonable, honorable man, this newcomer liked blood. He had wallowed in it recently, too�she could feel a miasma of death and pain around him. He had enjoyed slaughtering fugitives. Worse, he had a faint spark of power and would not be easy to deceive. A good thing he was the subordinate, not the commander, because his glance slid over Gwynne with unmistakable insolence. There was nothing gentlemanly about his admiration.
The colonel rose. �Have the men refreshed themselves, Major Huxley? Now that the rain has stopped, we must be on our way to find that band of Jacobites. Apparently they turned off before entering Glen Rath.�
�Not according to this fellow,� Huxley said tersely. �Say your piece to the colonel, Geddes.�
The shabby man shuffled forward, his bonnet in his hands. �I hear ye be paying for information.�
�If the information is good,� Ormond replied. �What do you know?�
Gwynne whispered to Jean, �Who is he?�
�A good-for-nothing tinker who wanders through this part of Scotland selling rubbish and stealing when he can get away with it,� Jean said grimly. �I should have thought of Geddes when you asked if anyone here would betray our own. He is not one of us, but he comes by often enough. Too often, in this case.�
If Geddes was a �foreigner,� his accent said he was still a Scot. Whatever his origins, he radiated untrustworthiness and opportunism. To the colonel, he said, �Last night late I saw a band of rebels come into the glen on the north road.�
�That's nonsense,� Gwynne said calmly. �Ask this creature how much whiskey he put away last night.�
Geddes's head swung around to her, his bloodshot eyes gleaming maliciously. �I know what I saw, and it was 'er over there leading 'em.� He pointed a filthy finger at Jean. �She's one of Charlie's whores, I hear. I followed 'em, and the whole lot marched right up into this castle, and they ain't come out again.�
�I see.� Ormond's energy shifted from gentlemanly consideration to flinty soldier. �Some of my men are already searching the glen, and now we must search the castle as well, Lady Ballister.� He studied Jean more closely, clearly wondering if she was what she appeared to be.
Biting back her fear and frustration, Gwynne said calmly, �Of course you must investigate any such accusations, Colonel. Even if they're nonsense.� Her glance at Geddes was contemptuous. �But I wish my husband were here to teach that creature a lesson for the insult to my sister-in-law. How dare he suggest a . . . a liaison between Jean and the Pretender!�
�As you said earlier, rumor sometimes embellishes the boring truth,� Ormond said, clearly wishing he were somewhere else.
�Geddes might be confused about some things,� the major said, �but he gave an accurate description of a troop of rebels sneaking into the glen. More accurate than one would expect of a drunken sot.�
Geddes looked mildly offended, but not enough to protest when there was money in view. Looking harassed, the colonel said, �I appreciate your cooperation, Lady Ballister. Not everyone would accept this . . . difficult situation with such grace.�
�Dunrath has nothing to hide.� Gwynne was almost embarrassed at how well she was lying. The desire to protect her own was a powerful motivator. �I shall accompany you on your search, since I know the castle better than you. Though I still do not know it all! This is an ancient and confusing place.�
Ormond's brows drew together. �This will be a dirty, tedious business, ma'am. No place for a lady, much less one i
n such a fine gown.�
�Never let it be said I have shirked my duty,� she said firmly.
�You are an example to all ladies,� Huxley said with what sounded like an undertone of mockery.
As Gwynne had thought, he was not easily fooled, but she inclined her head graciously as if she took his praise at face value. To Jean, she said, �You go and lie down, dear, there is nothing to worry about.�
�As you wish, Gwynne.� Though Jean's gaze said she wanted to do more, she accepted that it was best for her to be as meek and compliant as possible. She curtsied to the officers. �Gentlemen, I bid you good day.�
After Jean withdrew, Gwynne asked, �Do you have a preferred place to begin searching? A good housekeeper starts at the top and works her way down, since that is the direction that dust travels.�
The colonel smiled, glad for her good humor. �Then we shall begin in the attics.�
As Gwynne led the way, she examined the colonel's emotional energy. He wanted to believe that she and Jean and Dunrath were innocent. They would be safe enough, as long as the government troops found no trace of the rebels.
But heaven help them if Major Huxley found anything suspicious.
THIRTY-SEVEN
A dozen cells lined the dank old corridor. Duncan had commandeered the one closest to the door that led to the rest of the cellars. Nearness made it easier to maintain the illusion that disguised the door so that possible searchers would see only rough stone. For now the illusion took only a modest amount of power. He would strengthen the spell if anyone approached.
The cells were quiet, most of the men still in exhausted sleep as they recovered from their long march through rough country. Jean had pushed them hard, and they had been tired and hungry even before the battle. He was proud that his sister had walked the whole way with her men, using her horse for the most gravely wounded. She had the soul of a warrior.
Yet despite the near-absolute quiet of the corridor, the atmosphere thrummed with tension. There wasn't a single man who didn't know that government troops were in the castle, and what would happen if the rebels were discovered.
As he waited, Duncan had used his restored power and scrying glass to scan the battle and its aftermath. The horror of what he found renewed his rage at his wife. Damn Gwynne for imprisoning him! He could have changed the outcome of the battle and spared the survivors from pointless slaughter. Despite his allegiance to the uprising, he was still Guardian enough that he would have protected the Hanoverians if they had been the ones fleeing in panic. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives would have been saved.
Gwynne would burn in hell for what she had done.
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