The chill wind cutting along Bristo Street stung at Niall’s face. Ice from the earlier sleeting rain gleamed dully on the paving stones.
The past few weeks had brought him no closer to deciding on his path, and that was beginning to bother him. The future was as bleak and uncertain as the blasted weather. His living arrangements were temporary. His current financial situation was secure, but he needed to do something with his life. He was finding it increasingly difficult to think about leaving Edinburgh, even though it had been more than a month since he’d given up his military career. But as it stood now, he didn’t know what he’d be doing or where he would be in a year.
Passing the children’s poorhouse and the adjacent Bedlam at Lothian Street, he was reminded that he was far better off than many. He had his health, money saved, and his wits to take him into the future. That didn’t put him any closer to what he wanted, however.
The image of Maisie Murray’s face flashed before him now. As it was, he had no right even to consider deepening his relationship with her. She was beautiful—there was no arguing that—but she had something more that set her apart from anyone else he’d met before. She had rare intelligence and passion. She’d been polite enough to him the night he’d walked her home as the snow fell. But when he suggested calling on her, her response had conveyed that she was a woman possessed of good sense. He was in no position to court her. Niall had no permanent future to offer her. And permanence was what she deserved.
Still, since he’d last seen her, there’d been so many times when he wanted to show up at one of their meetings. He knew their schedule because of his sister. But he’d held back and made himself stay away. Maintaining a little distance from Maisie, he was able to behave as he should. But when he was in her company, his good intentions flew out the window.
Angry shouts in the street drew his attention. A carter was trying to drive his loaded wagon through an intersection, but he was hindered by a half-frozen shepherd and his flock.
Beyond them, across the way, he was surprised to catch a glimpse of her. Maisie.
As she disappeared into a shop, he considered crossing over and joining her. He quickly changed his mind. A man with long, bushy side-whiskers and the flattened nose of a brawler followed her to the door. He glanced inside before backing away and signaling to the driver waiting up the street. The men were in civilian clothes, but the wagon was an army transport, its canvas bonnet recently painted black.
They were waiting for her to come out.
In the decade since the formation of the Edinburgh police force, many soldiers had found employment with the city. But these men were not wearing the distinctive black coat and white trousers of the constabulary.
What he’d learned from Sir Rupert Burney and Colonel Tolley came back to him now. They were setting up an organization to infiltrate and entrap radicals and reformers. But they also planned to arrest and prosecute the organizers of the protests. Niall already had warned his sister, but Fiona scoffed at his concern, telling him that what she and Maisie did was insignificant. Any forcible government suppression would surely exclude them, she said.
But she was wrong. These blackguards were part of that gang, and a hot flash of fury coursed through him. If Flatnose harmed a hair on Maisie’s head, if he so much as touched her, he’d be ankle-deep in his own blood so fast that Waterloo would look like a schoolyard by comparison. Niall raced across the street, thoughts of tearing this man limb from limb blotting out every rational thought.
Before he could reach the other side, Maisie emerged from the shop. She was carrying a satchel that hung from her shoulder. Immediately, she was confronted by the man. He said something and gestured to her satchel. She shook her head and stepped back.
“You’re coming with me,” Flatnose growled. “And you’ll be bringing what you picked up at the printer’s shop.”
“I’ll not go anywhere with you. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
As he reached out to put his hand on Maisie’s arm, Niall stepped between them, wrenching it back and shoving him away bodily.
The bruiser staggered back a few steps and quickly righted himself, glaring fiercely at Niall. They were similar in size and build.
“Out of the way, you.” From inside his coat, he drew a short, weighted truncheon. “This is government business. Step away or it’ll go worse for you. That I promise.”
Niall pushed Maisie behind him, never taking his eyes from his opponent. “I’ll not have you or anyone else lay a hand on my wife.”
“Your wife, you say?” Flatnose sneered before glancing past him. A flicker of doubt passed across his battered face.
“My wife.” Niall leaned toward him, his voice sharp, barking at him with a voice he saved for reprimanding soldiers under his command. “Neither you nor I are in uniform, but I could pick you out for a regular with my eyes closed. Do you know who I am?”
“Now, how would I—”
Niall blasted him. His full name. His rank. His regiment.
Every foot soldier, militiaman, and dragoon in Scotland knew of the 42nd Royal Highlanders. They knew how much French blood Niall’s regiment was responsible for spilling and the honors its men had received. And this one was no different. With each word, his eyes grew wider. Niall pressed forward, encroaching on his space and backing him off, inch by inch. “And when we’re done here, I’m going to drag what’s left of your carcass up to the Governor’s Office in the castle, where I’ll be filing a complaint with General Gordon, a friend of mine, about you personally.”
Flatnose paled and took a step back.
“What do you have to say to me?” Niall barked.
“I … I … My apologies, Lieutenant.”
“And what do you have to say to my wife?” he bellowed in the same sharp tone.
The man whipped off his hat and bowed politely. “My mistake, Mrs. Campbell. My sincere apologies, ma’am. We were following the wrong … we were given bad information, ma’am.”
He bowed again and backed away, hurrying down the street and climbing onto the wagon. Niall continued to glare at them as they turned around and rolled down the street.
He turned and saw Maisie was as pale as a corpse.
“Do you understand what almost happened here?” He wanted to shake her, but he had a stronger desire to take her in his arms and hold her. Fighting both inclinations, he did neither. “They have spies everywhere.”
“I know.”
“For a ha’penny, they turn folks against each other. They’re arresting everyone who speaks out.”
She nodded, but he wondered how much of what he’d said had gotten through to her. Her eyes were huge, and they continued to stare after the wagon.
“We can’t stand here.” He wasn’t confident that they wouldn’t come back.
She made no protest when Niall took her by the arm and led her in the direction of Nicolson Square.
“Did he ask your name?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He was following you. I wonder for how long,” Niall mused aloud.
Maisie glanced over her shoulder and shivered. “I put a handbill up on the side of a building on my way to the printer. He might have seen me do it.”
He gestured to her satchel. “You have more in there?”
“I have a hundred.”
“Get rid of them,” he ordered.
“I can’t. They cost too much to print, and we need them for the meeting tonight.”
He stopped short and turned to face her. She wasn’t getting it. The same way that Fiona wasn’t understanding just how dangerous the game was they were playing.
“I’ll show you what’s on these pages.” She started to reach into her bag. “There’s nothing illegal. I don’t think so, anyway. It’s simply an explanation of the Six Acts. It’s no different from what the Edinburgh Review printed.”
Niall stopped her from producing one of the handbills. He had a good understanding of the legislation. The newly minted laws—the work of Lord Sidmouth and his allies—aimed at suppressing all opposition to the Crown and to Parliament itself. One of the laws, the Seditious Meetings Act, made any gathering that was held for the purpose of radical reform tantamount to treason. What Fiona and Maisie were doing fell far outside what was now permissible by law.
“If it’s in the newspapers, why the deuce do you need to make flyers?”
“To hand it out to our people. They need to know how to avoid getting in trouble for it. We have to know what the law is, so we can fight it.”
“But the very act of holding your meeting is now illegal. Don’t you see that?” He shook his head. “Throw the blasted things away.”
She put a hand on his arm. “I’ll not waste our money.”
He wanted to tell her, in explicit detail, what would have happened to her in that wagon on the way to the castle or to Bridewell Prison, wherever they were taking those they arrested. He’d said as much the first day he’d met her. And nothing had changed.
They were standing on a narrow sidewalk, and people trying to pass by were jostling them. When he was bumped a second time, Niall—already beyond annoyed—nearly grabbed the unfortunate clerk by the collar.
Maisie motioned toward a nearby tearoom. “Let’s get out of the cold for a few minutes. I’ll explain.”
Niall didn’t know if he’d be calm enough to listen, but getting off the street was a good idea.
The shop was small but looked clean and decent, and a warm coal fire gave the place a snug feel. Only half of the tables were occupied, and Niall led Maisie to a far corner, where he seated her with her back to the door. He wanted to keep an eye open for anyone following them in. A thin, balding waiter with bulging eyes and bowed legs took their order and hurried off. Only then, did she speak.
“This is the second time you’ve saved me. Thank you.”
Niall wasn’t about to be distracted by her large, blue eyes and the prettiest face in Edinburgh. He motioned to the satchel she was holding on her lap. “You think what you do is harmless. You think that the authorities are reasonable men who play fair. But they’re not. They’re men who don’t care who is hurt by what they do.”
She planted her elbows on the table, staring at his mouth. He forced himself to focus and not lose his train of thought.
“They have unlimited power under those laws that you hope to explain to your Society. And brainless dogs like the ones who nearly dragged you off are even less likely to care. There is no negotiating with these curs once you’re in their power. Their job is to gather up bodies and drag them back to their masters. Innocence or guilt means nothing to them. They are truly little more than animals. And when a woman falls into their vile hands…” He left the thought hanging.
Her hand slid across the tablecloth and touched his. Her fingers were shards of ice. He clasped both of her hands in his to warm them, drawing a breath to continue with his harangue.
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
His eyes fell on her upturned lips. They were full and red, and he thought of what it would be like to kiss them. He shook his head to break the spell. “Don’t distract me.”
“You’re very impressive, you know.”
She certainly knew how to defuse his temper. It was impossible to look at her and stay angry. But that didn’t make the reality of the dangers disappear.
“‘Do you know who I am?’” she said in a gruff voice, mimicking him.
Niall wanted to remain stern, but he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t only the voice, but the way her expression changed. Eyebrows pulled together fiercely, chin jutting out, eyelids closing until the blue eyes were mere slits. She’d been behind him the entire time, and yet the way she imagined his face during the confrontation almost made him laugh out loud.
“‘What do you have to say to my wife?’” she growled.
“Enough.” He gestured behind her. “You’ll terrify this poor fellow.”
Maisie withdrew her hands as the waiter arrived with cakes and tea that he poured out of a worn pot lined with a spiderweb of cracks. When he was gone, she continued to talk.
“I can honestly say I’ve never been more impressed by a man than I was at that moment. Even more than in the Grassmarket that day.” She looked tenderly into his eyes, and he felt his heart melt a little more. “Impressed by you, Lieutenant Campbell … Niall.”
Perhaps she was toying with him, trying to make him forget he was angry. If she was, it was working.
She smiled. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” he grouched. He wasn’t blushing. “If you knew me, you’d recognize that I don’t blush. What you see is the heightened color of justified aggravation.”
“Actually, I’ve known about you for ages. Your sister talks endlessly about your kindness and generosity, to her and to your nieces. And she even read me parts of your letters when you were a soldier.”
He wasn’t comfortable with compliments. What he did for his sister was his responsibility.
“Fiona also says you reserve your shows of temper for strangers.” She poured milk into her tea.
“She’s never seen me with soldiers under my command.”
“She says, with those you care for, you’re actually soft as custard.”
“I’ll need to have a talk with my sister. She’s obviously intent on destroying my reputation.”
As she put down her teaspoon, he reached out and took her hand again. “And what makes you think I care for you?”
She glanced across at him, and a lovely shade of rose crept up her neck into her face. She reclaimed her hand and took a sip of her tea.
He leaned forward and whispered, “Now you’re the one who is blushing.”
“I’m not blushing. I don’t blush. What you see is…” She put the cup down. “The warmth from the tea.”
He did indeed care for her. Too much. She was the only woman who had ever put thoughts of a family of his own in his head. When it came to that kind of stability, Niall’s mind was always on Fiona and her daughters and their future. Maisie was different from anyone he’d ever met. Her stubborn idealism and independence drew him in as much as it frustrated him. She needed saving from the troubles she could get into. And Niall felt perhaps he was the man for it.
They sat there in silence for a few moments, and he watched her sip her tea.
He lowered his voice. “My Love is like a red, red rose, that’s newly sprung in June. My Love is like the melody, that’s sweetly played in tune.”
Niall watched her cheeks turn shades redder. Her jaw softened. Her eyes glistened.
“Now you can’t deny it, lass. You are blushing.”
“How can a woman not blush when a man recites Robert Burns to her?” She took a deep breath and sat back, her gaze still fixed on her tea. “Is he your favorite poet?”
“Ha! Do you take me as a man who reads poetry? Everyone knows that poem.”
“Liar.” She laughed, and Niall felt all barriers drop away. “I happen to know that you not only read poetry, but you write it too. And you write stories as well.”
He feigned a glare. Not many people knew of his interest in writing. “Let me guess. My flap-tongued sister again.”
Maisie leaned toward him as if she were about to reveal a great secret. “Before you returned to Edinburgh, Fiona let me read some of the poems and tales you wrote and included in your letters to your nieces.”
“A soldier’s life is one filled with very large, empty spaces. The stories are slight things, and the poems … well, it’d be a kindness to call them doggerel.”
“The poems are lovely, and I found the stories, in particular, to be quite gallant. In every one of them, whether you depicted a child or an animal in distress, you created a woman warrior to act heroically and save them.”
Niall wasn’t about to share it, but he always named the heroines after one of the two girls or their mother or their grandmother.
She straightened the spoon and knife at the side of her plate. “I thought they provided a precious lesson, coming from a man they adore and know to be a warrior in real life.”
“My nieces are being raised by two women. Two courageous women.”
“But it takes a very special man to give credit where it is due. And what better way to illustrate to those little girls the value of such loving effort?”
As the tips of Maisie’s fingers absently caressed the rim of her plate, Niall tried to make sense of the tumult that had erupted inside of him. She made him feel … what? She made him believe he’d done something right. No tributes from battles he’d fought, no acknowledgment on the part of his superiors, no honors for serving God and country meant more to him than her recognition of these small things he’d created for those two girls.
“Are you still writing?” she asked, looking up at him. “Since you’ve been back?”
“I am writing,” he admitted.
“I know this is a bold thing to ask, but may I read your work sometime?”
“Perhaps. Sometime.” He was surprised by the quickness of his response. Niall always told himself that what he wrote was for himself and not for an audience, with the exception of those things he’d written for his nieces.
He stretched a hand across the table. She paused for only a heartbeat and then placed her own hand in his. She was opening doors inside of him that he didn’t even know existed. From the feel of her fluttering pulse, he knew she was experiencing something quite similar.
“Enough talk of me. I want to know about you.”
“I believe you already know everything.”
“I don’t think so.” He brushed his thumb across the back of her soft hand. “You lead two lives. You pretend to be someone else when you’re with your family. From what I can see, you only show your true self when you’re away from them. Why is that?”
Shyness overtook her again. She began to slide her hand from his grasp, but he gently pressed his other hand on top.
“I’ve already shared my deepest, darkest secret,” he whispered. “Don’t you think it’s time that you confessed as well?”
An eyebrow arched, and the corner of her lips quirked playfully. She looked up at him from under her lashes. “That was your deepest, darkest secret? Really?”
“What self-respecting Highland warrior admits to writing poems and stories for a pair of wee nieces? An officer needs to be seen as hard as shoe leather. Do you think that bruiser out there would have given way if he had any idea that I’m a custard?”
“You have a point.” Her smile bloomed.
“But I know that you’re a writer, as well. You’re educated and well read. You’re an idealist and reformer and…” He lowered his voice. “A radical who espouses universal suffrage. But you live in a household that supports those same causes. So why the secrecy?”
The smile disappeared from her face, and she pulled her hand out of his grip. She leaned back in her chair. “What do you know about the political positions of my family?”
Niall understood her question and, considering the times they were living in, he was glad she understood that not everyone was to be trusted. “You know that I’m no informer. What I said was simply from observation.”
“You’ve been in my home only once.”
“True, but I’ve seen the flyers and handbills at Fiona’s house. Some of the information obviously came from the weavers’ organizing committees here in Edinburgh. I know you wrote those flyers. You’re not a weaver. That tells me you’re getting your information from someone else. Someone close to you. Someone in your family.”
She frowned as she considered his words.
He had more information, but Niall wasn’t willing to share it with her. It would be too distressing. Several times while dining with old friends in the officers’ mess recently, he’d heard references to names of possible radicals in the city. Niall always listened for fear of hearing Fiona’s name. This past week, however, he’d heard a belligerent windbag of a lieutenant with the 10th Hussars mention Dr. Archibald Drummond as someone who was clearly in league with the “troublemaking weavers.” Niall had paid close attention to the conversation, knowing he was Maisie’s relation. But nothing more was said.
“My family knows nothing of what I do. I want to keep it that way.”
“And why is that?”
She took a deep breath before replying. “Expectations. I am what they expect.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that they see me in a way that suits them. To my family, I am a docile, mindless young woman who is meandering through life until the right man comes along and takes her off their hands.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
Niall realized that was the wrong thing to say as her hand fisted on the table.
“I was only joking.”
“I don’t find it amusing.”
“Then why allow it? Your family should know you better than anyone. Why should you pretend to be someone you’re not?”
Maisie paused a moment, and he could see it was difficult for her to talk about this.
“So that I don’t need to compete,” she said finally. “A long time ago, I grew tired of the constant comparisons. With my sister. And then with Morrigan. By allowing them to see me this way, I don’t have to live with the daily disappointment of knowing that whatever I do, it won’t be good enough. Important enough.”
Niall still didn’t understand. He grew up with only one older sister. There was no element of competition between them. What Maisie was describing was completely foreign to his existence. His confusion must have been obvious.
“My sister, Isabella, is fourteen years my senior. My mother was the second wife. By all accounts, she was a young, pretty woman from Wurzburg who had no family. I don’t know how they met, but she died in childbirth. A nurse was brought in and later, as I grew older, a governess. They raised me.”
“It’s obvious that they did a fine job with you.”
“Thank you. But whatever my accomplishments were in those years, they weren’t enough. My father’s attention was completely fixed on his older daughter, his favorite. With good reason, of course. Isabella is brilliant. They had a shared interest in medicine. She was on her way to becoming a pioneer in a profession where women aren’t allowed.” She picked up her teaspoon and stared at it. “Early on, I realized that no command of languages, no ability to recite a passage of prose or poetry, no proficiency in music or art, no clear expression of my own thoughts had a chance of impressing anyone in that household. So I stopped trying. I no longer attempted to share my accomplishments. I kept my opinions and interests to myself. And when we moved to Edinburgh, after my father’s death and my sister’s marriage, I continued on in the same way.”
Niall considered her words. Fiona had explained to him that Maisie lived a life that was fairly detached from her sister’s husband and his daughter. But this existence that she described lacked affection.
“But your sister, Isabella,” he began. “After meeting her, I would have thought she cares for you, deeply.”
“She does care for me. She loves me. She always has. And I love her in return. But she was also a product of our father’s single-mindedness. Isabella’s life was arranged to study, to learn, to practice. She never had much of a childhood. By the time I was old enough to understand, I could see that she had no room in her life for any of the youthful fancies that other young women enjoyed.” She placed the spoon next to the plate and looked up. “She was twenty-eight years of age when she married Archibald. He was a widower, fifty-four years old. She did that in part for me, to secure some kind of future for me. I have no complaints whatsoever when it comes to my sister. I don’t blame her for anything. Her life has always been hectic. Her days have never been her own. I love her, and I know she loves me. So I try not to make her life more difficult. I don’t want her to worry.”
“Don’t you think what you’re doing now could add considerable worry to her life?”
“It would if she knew. That’s why she mustn’t know. But at the same time, I owe it to myself to live my life the way that best suits me. Perhaps it’s the rebel in me.” She placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her clasped hands. “Which brings me to this moment and to you, Lieutenant Campbell.”
He waited as Maisie studied his face in silence. He didn’t know if she was trying to brand his features into her memory, or if she was trying to decide whether she liked what she saw or not.
She reached across the table and took his hand, entwining her fingers with his. “I was directed by my brother-in-law not to see you again. Not to speak to you. Not to encourage any correspondence between us. What do you say to that?”
He brought her fingers to his lips. “I’d say, Maisie Murray, that I’m very much taken with the rebel in you.”