The two women were jolted slightly as the hackney cab clattered and rolled across the city’s cobblestones toward Leith Street. Maisie gazed out at the wide avenues of New Town. She was always glad to be invited to Fiona’s house for supper after a meeting. Her friend’s two girls were sweet and funny, and Fiona’s mother-in-law made her feel as if she were part of the family whenever she came.
Maisie had an added reason for her enthusiasm tonight, however. Niall was also expected to join them for supper. Since their tête-à-tête in the tea shop the morning she was nearly arrested, they’d run into each other twice. The first time, he was waiting at the door of the Guild Hall after their Wednesday meeting and walked her home. She ran into him again on Friday when she needed to go back to the print shop on Bristo Street. Though she’d been very careful to make sure no one followed her, she emerged to find him on the street. Walking toward Nicolson Square, they’d gone into the same tea shop, sat at the same table, and talked.
He always asked questions about her—what she liked to do on her free evenings, what was her favorite food or book, did she have a best friend in Wurzburg, did she like to dance. He wanted to learn everything he could about her, about the Maisie that no one else really cared to know. And he’d also brought a journal containing some of his poems for her to read.
How vulnerable he seemed at that moment, though he tried to hide it with a look of quiet detachment. She knew he was exposing a part of himself that no one else saw and few knew existed. Niall was talented, eloquent, and the words on the pages were heartfelt. She told him so.
The way he looked at her, Maisie knew that she was falling for him, hard and fast. The touch of their hands, the brush of their knees. Everything was magnified.
Sitting there talking with the fire warm against her back and his handsome face across the table, Maisie realized that something special was happening, in spite of the terrible things going on in the world. During the celebration of Hogmanay at the New Year, the Scots sang together a song about auld lang syne. She wondered if—sometime in the future—she and Niall would look back on these as the “good old days.”
And later, as she tried to fall asleep at night, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Twenty years old, and she was enamored for the first time. And with a man her family objected to.
The days she wasn’t with him, Maisie was aware of the wet and icy Edinburgh winter marching relentlessly on. Because of the new laws passed in Westminster, more arrests were taking place all across England and Scotland. Ordinary people were growing increasingly fearful. Maisie found herself constantly looking over her shoulder. Overhearing the voices of the men meeting in her brother-in-law’s study, she knew there was a very real fear of spies and informers amongst the radical reformers. In the larger towns especially, citizens were being dragged off the streets and interrogated. At least, now she understood Archibald’s fears were real. Not that he should have a fear of Niall, but he had every right to be cautious about outsiders and strangers.
Reports of the brutality of the authorities circulated on a daily basis. Maisie didn’t need to hear secondhand stories about it. On several occasions in the past fortnight—once in the middle of the night—she’d witnessed newly released activists being carried into the clinic. They all bore marks of torture.
With all this going on, she saw how futile it would be trying to explain to her family that Niall’s past military service didn’t make him a collaborator in this new reign of government terror. For now, she had to let their relationship remain as it was. Perhaps the future would provide her with a better chance.
Arriving in front of Fiona’s house, the two women stepped out of the cab, but they hadn’t even reached the front door when the sound of screeching stopped them.
Fiona grinned. “Niall must already be here.”
Her announcement roused Maisie from her dark thoughts, and she followed her friend into the house. The joyous shrieking of the girls was coming from the drawing room.
“They’re playing Waterloo again,” Fiona said as they shed their coats and hats. “My brother has no idea of how to calm the children before their bedtime.”
The girls’ shouts and giggles were contagious, though, and both women were smiling broadly when they looked in from the hallway.
Niall lay on the floor with his eyes closed. Dead, Maisie presumed. Catriona and Briana stood over him, wooden sticks raised like a victorious army. Mrs. Johnston, her needlework lying in her lap, sat comfortably in a chair nearby, watching the battle with great amusement.
“We’ve done him, General.”
“Poke him. Make sure.”
“You poke him.”
“You.”
The children together finally edged closer and touched him on the arm. With a roar Niall sprang to life, eliciting screams and giggles from his nieces as he dragged them down on top of him. Maisie realized she was laughing as loudly as the girls.
The battle was far from over, however. They hugged him and held him down, sitting on his chest. Pure joy reflected in their faces, Niall’s included. Tender emotions squeezed Maisie’s throat. He was their uncle, their hero, their playmate, their friend. An unexpected pang of self-pity stabbed at her heart. She couldn’t remember even one moment like this in her own life.
She shook off the foolish thought. The three battlers noticed them as she and Fiona entered the room, and shouts of “Mama!” rang in the air as the girls rushed over to greet their mother. Maisie exchanged greetings with Fiona’s mother-in-law. When she turned around, Niall was standing, and his eyes were fixed on her.
His hair, wildly messed as it was, gave him the look of a very large, very handsome hedgehog. He’d cast aside his coat. His cravat was askew, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, displaying powerful arms. Regardless of the disarray in his appearance, Maisie was certain she’d never seen a more striking man in her entire life.
“Look, old Napoleon is alive,” Catriona cried out.
Brianna picked up the stick she’d dropped. “We have to get him.”
The girls rushed back to attack their victim.
“Stop, my heroic lassies. No more fighting. No more killing your uncle. It’s your bedtime.” Fiona took hold of the girls and frowned at Niall. “What happened to playing gentle, calming games? Or telling stories? Why must it always be war games?”
“These are hardly games, dear sister.” He pulled on his coat. “I’m teaching them survival strategies.”
“Survival, Mama,” the five-year-old Catriona protested as she stretched to retrieve her weapon.
“They’ve already eaten,” Mrs. Johnston offered. “How about if I take them up to bed and you three can have your supper.”
“I’ll come with you.” Fiona steered the older girl to her mother-in-law and led the younger one toward the door. She stopped and turned to Maisie. “I’ll be down shortly. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
When they were left alone, Maisie stared at the door, at the walls, at the two candles and the ornate Wedgwood urn on the fireplace mantel. A knot twisted in her stomach as Niall moved around the room behind her.
“I promise not to wrestle you to the ground if you turn around.”
His hushed words were like a caress, and she felt herself blush from head to toe before turning to face him. He’d obviously run his fingers through this hair to smooth it a little, and he was straightening his cravat.
“I thought Napoleon was shorter,” she said.
“I’m in disguise.”
“Very clever.”
They moved around the room, straightening up the battlefield. An overturned chair was righted. Toys that had been scattered were picked up. Only one of the swords remained, and the two of them reached for it at the same time. Their heads bumped. Their fingers touched. In her rush to stand, Maisie staggered. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she was suddenly in Niall’s arms. Her hands lay flat against his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her. Maisie looked into his eyes, scorched by the heat in their blue depths.
“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to—”
He kissed her. Not a true kiss. Not as she’d imagined it. A brush of their lips.
Time stood still, nonetheless. Her heart raced. Her lips tingled. Her body blazed, hot with the rush of excitement and anticipation.
At the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, he immediately released her and stepped back.
She smoothed her dress, but her heart continued to thump wildly in her chest. She was filled with the sensation one gets stepping out into a winter morn and breathing in that first hint of spring. Or inhaling the scent of the first rose. Or feeling the first drops of a summer rainstorm on your face.
He walked around the room, pretending to put away whatever was out of place. From the sidelong looks he sent her, from his flushed face, she knew he was also affected by their moment.
Fiona appeared in the doorway. “Come with me, you two. Supper is ready. Their grandmother is putting my little fighters to bed.”
Maisie followed her friend, and Niall was right at her side. He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and as she moved through the door, she was aware of her dress brushing lightly against his leg. The passage to the dining room offered its own temptations. Without looking at each other or talking, she could feel his mood. They walked behind Fiona, but the backs of their hands bumped and brushed and caressed.
They were seated across from each other. Fiona’s housekeeper, who also served as her cook, brought in their supper, and Maisie tried to focus on her plate rather than staring at the temptation seated across the table. Her cheeks still felt flushed. She didn’t want to draw her friend’s attention.
Fiona passed around a plate of oysters. “I read something quite interesting in the newspaper today.”
“Besides saving humanity, you had time to read?”
Fiona turned a fork threateningly on Niall, which caused him to feign terror before he broke into a smile.
“What did you read in the newspaper, my dearest sister?”
She stabbed a potato from the bowl on the table and slid it onto her plate. “I read today that Walter Scott has gone to London to be knighted by King George.”
“Indeed, for finding the Honours of Scotland walled up in some old chamber in Edinburgh Castle.” Niall looked across at Maisie. “Exactly what the Hanovers need, more jewels.”
She recalled the excitement that swept across the city at the discovery of the Scottish royal regalia. The crown, scepter, and sword had been locked away and forgotten for over a hundred years, since England and Scotland were joined together in the Union of 1707. And when the Prince Regent asked Scott to lead a delegation in the search for the crown jewels, the poet had proudly obliged.
Fiona dabbed at the corner of her lips with the napkin and leaned toward him. “I’ve heard Scott is actually being honored because he is the ‘anonymous’ author of the Waverley novels.”
“Mr. Scott doesn’t admit it publicly, but it’s no secret,” Maisie said. “Even in reviews, he’s identified as the author.”
“You see?” Fiona pointed her fork at her brother. “If you published your writing, you could be a baronet too.”
Niall snorted. “Our new king is handing Scott this title because he’s done a bang-up job of selling a fabricated romantic idea of Scotland. He tells stories depicting an imagined Highland that doesn’t exist.”
“When Rob Roy was published a couple of years ago,” Maisie added, “a number of reviewers complained that an anti-reform conservative like Scott had no business writing about heroic Highlanders driven to outlawry by the English.”
“I agree.” Niall sat back in his chair. “The man has divided loyalties. Do you ever read anything about the suffering and the deaths of our people in his work? Does he write about the bloody decimation of the clans and the clearances going on right now?”
Fiona shook her head at her brother and smiled. “I think you’ve been keeping company with the two of us for too long. You’re starting to sound like a true radical yourself.”
“I might be in the minority, but I don’t like the man.” He looked at Maisie. “What do you think?”
She loved listening to the discussion. She loved being part of it. She especially loved him for asking her opinion.
“There is another side to this, of course.” She put her hands in her lap. “Mr. Scott has written some excellent poetry and his newest novel, Ivanhoe, is a fine romantic tale. I would not read his novels to learn anything of history, but I know he perceives himself as a man with a good heart and honorable intentions.”
Niall cocked an eyebrow at her. “You sound as if you know him.”
“I’ve met him.”
“Where?”
“At home, a few years ago. He was a patient of my sister’s. He was carried to our house one evening after a carriage accident. My brother-in-law had gone to Glasgow for a fortnight, and Isabella saw to his injuries. She saved his leg,” Maisie explained, remembering the day. Because it was late and because Archibald was away, she had to pitch in. Even then, the man was a celebrity. But Isabella remained focused and professional, in spite of the chaos outside her operating room. That was the first time Maisie truly recognized her sister’s brilliance and expertise. “Since then, he always sends Isabella a signed copy of his newly published work. Of course, she doesn’t read poetry or novels, but I do. So I’ve read everything he has published so far … under his own name and anonymously.”
“What does he look like?” Fiona wanted to know.
“Tall. Well formed.”
“No military career,” Niall muttered critically.
“I don’t believe he could. Even before his accident, he’s suffered since childhood from lameness in one foot.”
“Ignore my brother. Tell me more about him.”
“He is neither fat nor thin. His forehead is very high. His eyes are very blue. Shrewd and penetrating.” Maisie couldn’t interpret Niall’s tight expression other than that he was pretending to be jealous. “He has silvery white hair.”
“So he’s quite old,” he suggested.
“Ancient.” He wasn’t really. When she met him, he was about fifty years of age. And despite his lameness, he was a robust and energetic man. But Maisie decided Niall didn’t need to hear any of that.
“Are you satisfied?” Fiona frowned at her brother.
“I suppose I must be.” He sent Maisie a quick smile.
The conversation about Walter Scott drifted onto other topics and news. Niall had a teasing remark ready for anything his sister said, but he was exceptionally polite when Maisie commented or brought up something new.
She sensed there was no hiding what they were feeling for each other. Fiona obviously knew, and she seemed to approve. Her own family’s reaction crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed the thought away. She didn’t want to spoil the magic of tonight.
When the dinner had been cleared away, the three of them sat, talking and waiting for the coffee to be brought in.
Fiona handed the decanter of wine to her brother. “I read in the Edinburgh Review that Queen Caroline wishes to take part in the coronation.”
Niall poured himself a glass. “As she should. She’s Queen of England.”
Maisie agreed. “But she hasn’t been allowed in the country for five years. I don’t see the king suddenly welcoming her home.”
“It’s not his decision.”
“If it were up to the people,” she said, addressing Niall, “I believe they’d crown her and send him away.”
Fiona nodded. “No one likes him, especially women. Everyone knows the king is a pig, chasing about after every skirt in sight. What self-respecting wife would put up with that? Not that I believe she ever had a choice.”
“They say it all started the day they married,” Maisie put in. “The king sent his Mrs. Fitzherbert away, only to start up with another one.”
“Aye. Lady Somethingorother.”
Niall looked from one to the other. “For anti-monarchists, you two are well-informed about court gossip.”
Fiona slapped him on the arm. “We’re not anti-monarchists. We’re against the wrongful behavior of our ruling monarchy.”
Niall put his glass on the table. “It’s well known that Queen Caroline is a strong supporter of Scotland.”
“And not simply to spite her husband,” Maisie put in. “For years, she’s been shifted about on the continent, from one city to the next, in an effort to silence her. And yet she continues to stand up for herself and for the very people the king and his ministers are trying to crush. I admire her.”
Fiona turned to her brother. “And what is your opinion of her, Lieutenant Campbell, as an officer in the most honored Highland regiment in the British military?”
Niall gazed at the framed print of the Death of General Wolfe, hanging over the side table. “Queen Caroline is the one with fight in her. If I were riding into battle and had a choice of which of them I’d want beside me, I’d pick her over Prinny any day. And so would my regiment.”
“Sentiments like that must surely aggravate the king even more.”
He frowned. “The queen has always shown courage, though. She’s not one to be bullied.”
Maisie thought about the talk of Walter Scott earlier. As much as Niall didn’t care for the author, he clearly respected the queen. “I hope she does come back to England. We need someone like her in London who will support our cause.”
Fiona brushed her hand over the tablecloth. “The question is, can she be trusted any more than the rest of them?”
“She could easily have gone off and lived her life without a care in the world,” Maisie asserted. “Instead, she draws the wrath of the king on herself, and she does it for our sake.”
“You’re quite right.” Niall held up his glass. “To the queen.”
They were still at the table sometime later when Maisie realized the hour. She didn’t want to stay out too late and draw attention to herself. She made her excuses but was pleased when Niall offered to take her back. She knew that he lived on Milne’s Court in the shadow of the castle. Still, he would pass close enough to Infirmary Street on his way.
Before they left the house, however, Fiona pulled her aside and whispered in her ear, “He’s tall and strong and thinks that he’s hard as flint, but Niall is still my little brother. You know already how he feels about you, I’m certain. He is not one to open his heart easily.”
Maisie blushed and her chest squeezed. Niall’s kiss had wiped away the last vestige of doubt in her. She felt the same way about him.
“With regard to your family, I respect your decision to keep our political work to yourself.” She looked meaningfully at Maisie. “But this is different. You need to have a conversation with your sister about him. If she has objections, you should tell him now.”
Fiona kissed her on the cheek as Niall joined them at the front door.
Maisie and Niall went out and turned their steps in the direction of Regent Street and the Shakespeare Theatre. As they walked, she thought about her friend’s words.
Fiona was right. She had to speak to Isabella. Her sister was the only person in that house who genuinely cared for her, loved her. It was time she knew about Maisie’s feelings for Niall. Changing Archibald’s mind would surely be a battle, but she recognized that she’d need her sister’s help to do it.
Before they even reached the theatre, they found a pair of hackney cabs. Niall helped her into one of them and climbed in after her.
Sitting beside him, she felt every touch of their hips, every bump of their shoulders as the carriage rolled along the uneven cobbled street. His legs were long and filled the limited space before him. One hand sat on his knee, close to hers. Maisie studied the strong, calloused fingers. Unlike other men, Niall rarely wore gloves. Still, his hands were always warm, and there was a gentleness in the way he held her hand that felt like a caress. Her mind kept returning to his kiss. They were alone in this carriage. She wondered if he would do it again. She wanted him to kiss her.
As the cab turned toward the Old Town, a wheel struck a hole in the road, jarring them and tossing her against him. When they were again settled, he brushed his fingers against hers.
“I’ve been waiting all evening to tell you something.”
“Oh?”
“About a prospect that has come up. A position.”
Maisie knew from Fiona that Niall had been thinking about his plans for the future.
“Before I accept it, I need to know your opinion of it.”
Asking her opinion. Maisie’s. He was speaking about their future. Neither had declared their affection. Neither had made any commitment to the other. But they both knew. She had no doubt. She looked up at him. His face was in the shadows, but his eyes shone as they stared into hers. She recognized the uneasy mix of excitement and apprehension.
“Something with one of the militias or in the government?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had offers, but I’m not interested in them.”
Relieved, she took hold of his hand. She couldn’t imagine how she would go about diminishing Archibald’s concerns if Niall had done either. “Tell me.”
“About a year ago, I was introduced to James Watt, the son of the inventor.”
Everyone in Scotland knew of the father, the engineer from Greenock who invented the steam engine. It was changing the world by providing power to run machines. It had been trumpeted about in the streets when he died recently.
“Watt took over his father’s company when the old man retired,” he continued. “In the course of our conversation, he mentioned a problem they were having breaking into the steam engine market of the industrial north.”
She paid close attention to every word. She wanted to remember every detail, for she intended to repeat all of this to her sister.
“I wrote to him recently, telling him I have funds I’d be interested in investing in his company.” Niall pressed her hand between his. “The long and short of it is, Watt has offered to take me into the company. He wants me to help him expand into the eastern Highlands. He thinks that as a Highlander and a former military man, I have a far greater chance of succeeding where others have failed.”
He would succeed. She had no doubt of it. Maisie knew almost nothing about engineering or any of the related sciences, but she spoke with weavers and brewers on a daily basis, and she knew every industry—from shipbuilding to mining to mills of every kind—was undergoing change because of steam engines.
She squeezed his hand excitedly. “Are you going to accept his offer?”
“It would require some travel. I’ll need to spend time in the Highlands, primarily in Aberdeen and Inverness.” He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. “And I’d like you to come with me.”
Maisie’s heart could have sung out her reply, and yet the words still struggled to leave her lips. “Me?”
“You. That is, if you’ll have me for your husband. I know … I know I’m not doing a very good job of asking. And this cab is not the most romantic place to be proposing to someone like you. And I already know that your family will disapprove. But I’m certain I can convince them that I’m worthy of you. I love you, Maisie, and I respect you. And I’ll forever protect you. And I promise to give you a life—”
She put her fingers against his lips. This impressive, beautiful warrior was nervous. “My answer is yes. A thousand times, yes,” she repeated. “I love you too. And you can leave my family to me. I’ll speak to my sister.”
She gasped when he took her by the waist and pulled her in one sweeping motion onto his lap. He kissed her, but it ended too quickly.
He pulled back. “You love me?”
Maisie didn’t move. Her face was inches away from his. She felt the heat of a blush burning in her cheeks. “I love you. And no one can stop me from becoming your wife.”
Her heart was beating so hard that she feared it would explode from her chest.
“I don’t want your family to turn against you,” he murmured against her lips. “We’ll convince them.”
She stared into his blue eyes, nearly black in the darkness of Edinburgh’s streets. They would convince them. He was the worthiest man she knew.
Niall brushed a finger across her cheek. He touched her bottom lip, still wet from his last kiss. She shuddered. His lips lowered to hers again, this time gently. Caressing, nibbling at the fullness of her lip.
“Maisie.”
He dug his fingers into her hair, cupping the back of her neck, bringing her mouth closer, teasing the seam of her lips with his tongue.
She surrendered. A soft moan escaped her throat, her eyes closed, and her hands moved around his neck as he deepened the kiss. She wanted him. She wanted this man in her life. The sharp words of Archibald echoed in her mind. Maisie pressed her lips harder against Niall’s. She wanted to forget the obstacles they would need to overcome. She wanted only to be lost in this moment, in this man.
Niall gathered her closer in his arms until there was not a breath of air left between them. Their mouths danced in a passionate rhythm that continued until the carriage finally lurched to a stop.
It took them a moment to break free of the spell both were caught in. Niall traced her lips with his fingers as if he were tempted to kiss her again.
“I believe we’ve reached your street.”
Her street, she thought. But not for much longer. Maisie’s hands withdrew slowly from around him, and she tried to move off his lap. But he held her there.
“Tell me when I can call on your sister and brother-in-law. I’m looking forward to talking with them.”
Maisie nodded, her fingers quickly going to her hair, tucking in tendrils that she imagined had come loose. She would have to do her own convincing. She was not about to let Niall be rejected or humiliated or treated in any way less than he deserved. She’d speak to them tonight, she decided. As soon as she went in.
“I’ll let you know when you can come.”