37
In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.
HERODOTUS
Everard left the castle to escape one lass only to run into several more. Too late to change rein and go another direction. He’d already been seen. Alison was nothing if not eagle-eyed.
She galloped toward him feverishly over open moorland without heed of fox hole or footbridge. She leapt flawlessly over a stone dyke, a trio of her younger sisters in close pursuit. If this was any indication of Alison’s current temper . . .
He gave Lancelot his head, and the stallion found a meandering burn to slake his thirst. Everard had had an enjoyable hour’s ride, covering his favorite parts of the Merse, and had been about to return to the stables.
“At last,” Alison said as she drew up in front of him. “What an opportune meeting. I’ve not seen you in an age.”
“Stretching the truth does not become you.” He rested his hands atop the pommel. “I thought you’d be back in London by now.”
“I’m needed more at home than in the city.”
He gave a nod to her younger sisters, who smiled and blushed until Alison sent them packing. “Go on with you three. Mama will wonder why we’ve been out for so long. I must speak with Lord Wedderburn in private.”
They departed in a fit of giggles, casting a last coy look over their shoulders. When they were out of earshot, Alison said, “Even a wee bit of their company wears on me.”
“You rarely range onto the Merse. What brings you so far?”
“All this rain of late is tiresome and keeps me too long indoors.” She studied him, unsmiling. “’Twas unutterably boring at the ball without you Humes. I’ll be very glad when you’re out of mourning, though you look quite dashing in sable.”
He nearly smiled, again remembering Blythe’s less charitable assessment. Black as the earl of hell’s waistcoat.
Alison tilted her head, eyes narrowing beneath the brim of her riding hat. “You seem preoccupied.”
He said nothing to this, just raised his gaze to watch a soaring hawk. The steeple of the Duns parish kirk rose up behind her in the distance, a welcome distraction.
“So, how goes it at Wedderburn?” she asked.
“I’m learning my faither was a verra busy mon.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, though all of that business likely helps temper your grief.”
“Aye.” He ran a hand over Lancelot’s thick mane. “And nae.”
“You should confide in me, Everard. Those in positions of authority have few whom they can trust.” Her piqued tone turned almost brooding. “I’ve been waiting for you to return to Landreth Hall so I might tell you something momentous, but now seems an opportune time.”
“Speak freely, then.”
“Father has news of your brother at Hume’s Land. Ill news, I’m afraid. Though I can see from your expression you are not surprised.”
“Davie has long been wayward. Edinburgh only adds to his vices.”
“It seems he has come to the attention of the king’s men not only in Edinburgh but in London. His Majesty has made inquiries as to who are the leading Jacobites in the Borderlands, and David has been named.”
“The list is long.”
“Long, yes, and too close to home. Or in this case, Hume,” she said.
“I am not my brother’s keeper.”
“But you are now laird and can wield your power at will. The king is determined to put down any traitorous plots and intrigues. Father has lately been in secret meetings with His Majesty’s councillors. They are, of course, weighing the best course of action. As Lord of Session, Father has His Majesty’s ear.” A clear warning was in her gaze. “And as a voice for the Lowlands, Father warns you to tread lightly.”
Everard looked toward Wedderburn’s turrets, fighting that extraordinary inward battle of wanting to return there when it had oft been the opposite before. “Sir Clive’s concern is appreciated, but . . .”
“In a bid to deflect the attention given the Jacobites in our parish, Father has even told the king about your outstanding military service to the Crown.”
His attention swung back to her, gravel in his gut. He had no wish to be made known to the king. Did she not ken what that might mean? Barmy, the lass was. But she talked on, insensible and obviously pleased at his having been singled out.
With a smug smile, she said, “We are not all treasonous, rebellious Borderers, and Father means for His Majesty, new to our country and customs, to know it.”
Everard could only hope the German’s dearth of English would save him any notoriety, doubly glad London was far removed from the Lowlands.
Alison’s voice was proud. Brash. “Mother has decided to hold a soiree to foster goodwill as well as gain any news that might be of benefit to Father in London. Just a small gathering of local lairds. A few significant bonnet lairds have been invited also. Will you come?”
He could not ignore what was happening around him. As laird, he must learn to navigate parish matters as his father had. And determine how to best handle David. He would not follow his father’s negligence in that regard, though much of what his brother did was beyond his control.
He gave a terse nod. “When is the gathering?”
“Soon. I’ll ask Mother for details, then send a note round as a reminder.” Her lovely face turned entreating. “Everard, please. I sense some change in you. I ken the earldom weighs upon you and your time, but surely you have a wee spot left for me and parish doings. This meeting might serve you well.”
“I want little to do with plots and intrigues, however cleverly disguised, Alison.”
She expelled a tense breath. “As I said, you seem almost a stranger of late, and I would ken the cause of it.”
“Expect me at Landreth Hall when the time comes.” His terseness did not sit well with her, he realized. Nor did he feel like tarrying as in days of old, something sure to raise her hackles too. “In the meantime, keep me apprised of matters in London.”