Chapter Twenty-Five

Winnifred pressed a hand to her stomach and blew out a slow breath. The queasiness refused to dissipate.

“Something the matter?” Deirdre asked.

They were in the garden, cutting flowers, Banquo and Horatio lazing in the sun near to them. Deirdre wanted to line the hallways lined with vases full of them. The guests would start arriving that afternoon for the ball and Highland gathering set for a week’s time. Since Sin hadn’t given her any details, Winnifred had pestered Tavish to learn what would be expected of her as marchioness.

Thankfully, blessedly little.

Aside from welcoming guests and acting as hostess at dinners and afternoon teas, the bulk of the festivities would proceed apace without her leadership. At the Highland gathering, a festival of Scottish games as Winnifred understood it, she only had to enjoy herself as a spectator, the steward had said. Observation. Finally, a task as marchioness for which she felt qualified.

Her stomach grumbled as she bent to snip a small bud from a rose bush.

“Winnifred?” Deirdre’s shadow fell upon her. “I asked ye if you were well.”

“Quite well, thank you.” She added her flower to her mother-in-law’s basket and forced a smile. “Just a minor stomach-ache.”

Deirdre’s eyes brightened. “Do you think you are increasing already?”

Winnifred paused. She hadn’t considered the possibility, but she should have. She laid a hand over her abdomen. Lord knew she and Sin had spent enough time in bed.

A flutter of excitement whispered through her veins, quickly extinguished. She swallowed. If she was with child, she would need to moderate her behavior. A child needed stability. A mother he or she could depend upon. Not someone who let her baser instincts take control of her mind.

If she were pregnant, her wildness with Sin would have to come to an end. She bit her lip. Wouldn’t it?

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t raise your hopes just yet.” Winnifred shrugged casually. “It could also be the bit of beef tongue I ate to break my fast this morn.”

Deirdre sniffed. “Fine Scottish food does a bairn well. I’ll ask Cook to prepare special meals for you, just in case.”

Winnifred’s shoulders slumped. She’d never feel well again, not on a diet of haggis. She wiped her palms on her apron and shook the cotton out. “I think I’ll go check on the preparations for our guests. You don’t need my help here, do you?”

Deirdre sighed as she surveyed her garden. “Nae. There’s hardly enough blooms to fill the ballroom, much less the guest rooms and hall tables. Kenmore will make a poor show of it this year.”

Clasping the woman’s shoulder, Winnifred squeezed. “Everyone knows of the troubled growing season. No one will expect a bounty of bouquets.”

“I suppose.” Deirdre sounded so forlorn, Banquo rolled to his feet and leaned into her thigh. She rubbed his head.

“Instead of flowers from your garden, how about I collect flora more native to Scotland? The thistle and gorse are blooming on every hillside.”

Deirdre wrinkled her nose. “They’re naught but weeds.”

“Quite lovely purple and yellow weeds, if you ask me.” Winnifred tapped a finger against her lips. It was a wonder that plants that weren’t valued seemed to thrive even in the worst conditions. She might have to investigate the growing cycle of these native plants, see if there was anything she could learn that would help the crops grow.

She shook off the urge to disappear into her laboratory. It was not the time. “I believe we can fashion some lovely bouquets with them.”

Deirdre shifted her basket higher on her hip. “Well, if ye think so….”

“I’ll collect some samples and meet you in the day room. We can experiment with differing arrangements.”

A smile broke over Deirdre’s face, small but genuine. “Thank you, dear. I believe we’ll be able to make this work, after all.”

Stomach-ache forgotten, Winnifred hopped down the path and out of the garden. She headed around the castle, heading in the direction of the loch. A thick hedge full of the velvety, yellow blossoms caught her eye, and she bent to cut a thin branch from a gorse bush.

A watery shadow fell across her path.

“Did you decide to help me gather the flowers?” Winnifred notched the branch into the crook of her arm. She should have brought her own basket along with her.

“Nae,” an angry voice said.

Winnifred spun, and landed on her rear in the dirt. She looked up, and her pulse evened out when she recognized Donald’s form limned in the afternoon light. “You gave me a start.” She climbed to her feet and shook the dirt from her skirts. “What are you doing at Kenmore? You must know that my husband wouldn’t welcome you here.” She raised her gaze and got her first good look at his face. His bottom lip was swollen and bruised, red and purple marks covered his face, and a ragged cut etched its way from his eye across his cheek.

“Aye, I know that well.” He swept the fallen gorse from the ground and shoved it at her. “He threatened my life just days ago.”

Winnifred waved the branch in the air in front of his face. “He did that to you?” She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. Not that Donald didn’t deserve it but the beating seemed severe. She strode to another clump of gorse. “Then why are you here? If my husband doesn’t want you on his land, then you need to leave.”

“The independent, unconventional Miss Hannon has yielded to the duty to obey her husband’s wishes.” He picked up a stick and tossed it away. “You disappoint me.”

“Is it obeying my husband when my judgment aligns with his on this matter?” She cut another flowering branch with her pocket clippers. “You have become a nuisance, and I cannot condone the trouble you have caused.”

He grabbed her elbow and swung her to face him. His nostrils flared. “Trouble I’ve caused? I told my comrades, men I considered friends, that yer husband suspected me, and because of this I was set upon. They tried to kill me to keep me silent.”

She slapped her clippers into her palm. “So my husband wasn’t responsible for that patchwork of bruises.” His coconspirators must be desperate men to turn so on Donald. “Perhaps their betrayal shows you’ve chosen the wrong side. Come back to Kenmore with me. Tell Dunkeld everything you know. Stop this madness before it gets out of hand.”

He clenched his hands. “The only madness is allowing the English to remain as our masters. Can’t you see that? I won’t let some turncoat marquess stop me from my purpose.”

“Your purpose?” She chose to ignore the insult to her husband. Sin loved his country and didn’t require defending.

“To overturn the union.”

A burst of laughter escaped her lips. “You? You think you will be responsible for ending the union? Single-handedly, as you are now cut adrift from your motley crew of rogues?”

His face purpled. “Ye’ve never had vision. Even with all the books ye’ve read, ye never learned the power of devotion to an ideal. Of being willing to do anything necessary to achieve it.” He clamped his fist around her arm and started walking, dragging her away from the castle.

Winnifred dug in her heels, but still she was propelled inexorably forward. “What the devil do you mean by this?” She smacked the back of his head with the gorse, yellow blossoms exploding over his hat and collar. “Release me at once!”

“Not until I get what I want.” Donald’s hat tumbled to the ground under her blows, but he ignored it. “The Marquess of Dunkeld might be a traitor to his own people, but I’ve seen the way he looks at ye. He’ll do as I say when I have his marchioness stashed away. Ye’ll be all the protection I need.”

Irritation tore through her breast. She wouldn’t let herself be scared, not of Donald.

His donkey was tired to a bush down the lane, and she pawed her hoof when she saw them coming.

“Oh, for goodness sake.” She tried to jab him with her clippers, but he held her arm too tight. “You don’t intent to carry me away on that poor beast, do you? It will barely hold you, much less the both of us.”

He adjusted his grip. “She’ll take us.”

Hell and damnation. She couldn’t allow herself to be taken from her home. She let her knees buckle, made her body drop to the earth, stopping their progress. She dug her free hand into the loose earth and flung a fistful of dirt into his face when he turned.

Dropping his hold on her, Donald let loose with a torrent of curses and pawed at his eyes.

Winnifred crab-crawled away from him then jumped to her feet. “If you are the best Scotland has on offer, then I pity your chances to gain independence.” She waved the clippers at him, her chest heaving.

Slowly, he scraped a path of soil from his eyes, revealing an iron-tipped glare.

She took a step back.

He followed.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so hasty with her insults. “Now, Donald, we’ve known each—eep!”

He lunged, and Winnifred twisted away. She threw the clippers at him, and they bounced harmlessly off his chest. Lovely. Lifting her skirts, she tore back down the path, heading for safety. For Sin. Rounding the low hill, she waved her hands at the footmen in the distance.

Donald’s fingers slid off her shoulder.

Winnifred changed direction and put on a burst of speed. She’d never make it to the castle before he caught her. The broken beams of the rear tunnel rose from the ground just a hundred feet away. There, in the dark, she could evade her former friend.

“Stop! I won’t hurt ye.” Donald’s) words ended on a gasp.

She pressed her lips tighter together and quickened her step. She would have thought a man riding about the countryside stirring up trouble would have been in better form. Her slipper skidded on a stone at the tunnel’s entrance, and the ankle she’d twisted the week earlier flared with pain. Limping into the dark, she cursed the man behind her. She threw herself against the earthen wall and tried to hold her breath.

The air shifted as he rushed past. “Winnie! Be reasonable.” Something scuffed against wood, and she sidled back toward the entrance, her lungs burning.

“After the revolution, I can protect ye,” Donald called. “The wife of a member of the English House of Lords won’t survive over long, but if ye cooperate, I’ll make sure to keep ye safe.”

She sidled closer to the light. He couldn’t be so simple as to think that he could protect her better than Sin. Even surrounded by an angry mob with her neck heading for the gallows, she’d still feel safer standing beside her husband than hiding next to this craven fool.

“There you are.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m glad you saw reason.”

Winnifred paused. Donald’s voice was at least fifteen feet distant, no where near her position. What—

An unholy shriek filled the tunnel, followed by familiar hissing.

Her eyes widened, but still she saw nothing. But she knew that sound. Knew what unholy beast could produce such fear in man. Forgetting stealth, she turned for the entrance and ran headlong away from the badger.

She grasped the beam at the end of the tunnel and clutched her stomach as she sucked in air. The high-pitched squeal grew louder, and Donald’s panicked face broke into the light. His raced past, hands covering his bum, a large section of torn fabric flapping with his every step.

Donald spared her no glance as he fled to safety behind a large oak tree. He clung to the trunk, peering around its width, eyes wide.

The badger waddled into the open, a strip of black wool impaled on a lower tooth. He gave her a sidelong warning look before retreating back into the tunnel.

“For a man who thinks himself Scotland’s savior, that was a poor display of manliness,” she shouted. She tucked a loose bit of hair back into its pin.

Donald raked a hand through his hair. “That … thing …”

“Yes?” She rested her palm on the wall and winced. She held her hand to the light. An angry-looking scrape ran its length.

He adjusted his neckcloth and tugged on the hem of his jacket. The effort to look respectable failed miserably. “Ye will regret yer decision here.”

She snorted. “I think not.” A carriage rolled down the drive in the distance. The first of their guests was arriving, and Sin would be wondering where she was. “You’d best leave now. My husband will be coming and I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Donald blinked. “Ye still care for me?”

“Not in the least.” She ran her gaze over her girlhood friend. He still looked the child. Never maturing; never thinking beyond his own immediate desires. “I care about what happens to my husband. I don’t want to see him tried for your murder.”

He pressed his lips into a white slash. “Ye’ve condemned yerself to your own fate. May God have mercy on yer soul.”

She flapped her hand at him. “Worry about your own. I have guests to attend. It’s time for you to leave.”

With a curt nod, he turned and did just that. He trotted over to his donkey, climbed into the saddle, and disappeared down the path, away from the castle’s entrance.

Winnifred smoothed the stomach of her gown. She couldn’t face their guests, or Sin, not looking like this. And the only way into Kenmore without garnering attention was directly behind her.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned to face the darkness. “Badger, I promise not to molest you if you give me the same consideration. A compact of mutual cohabitation. What say you?”

Only silence answered her, the lack of hissing she took as a good sign. And with halting sightless steps, she limped her way home.