Twenty-two

The marquis escorted her to supper the next night, but first he handed her a necklace of perfect pearls. It was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry she had ever seen.

She could only stare at it speechlessly for a moment. Her family had never had anything quite so lovely. Then she looked up at him. “More family jewels?”

“Aye.”

“Who do you want me to wear them for this time?”

“For me,” he said quietly. There was none of the usual flippancy in his voice.

She turned toward the mirror while he fastened them around her neck. His hands lingered even as they had the night Cumberland had paid his unwanted visit, then kneaded the back of her neck, his fingers caressing her skin as if they were playing a beloved instrument.

One of her hands went involuntarily to touch the pearls. They shimmered against her skin and they felt as smooth as silk to her touch. Her gaze lifted, meeting his in the mirror.

“I wish you to understand one thing, Bethia,” he said in the same quiet tone that was void of the usual amusement. “That any gifts I have given you are yours. I do not care whether they stay in the family. I do not care if you need to sell them. They are, and always will be, yours alone.” His voice was huskier than usual and if she did not know better, she would have said he was trying to say good-bye.

She turned around then, because the mirror kept her from seeing his eyes. But they were no more clear than they had been through the mirror. His hands fell from her neck.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

His eyes suddenly glinted with amusement. “You are welcome, madam. You will heed my words about them?”

“Aye,” she said.

He then gave her a black velvet pouch. “This will help them keep their luster,” he said.

It would also make it easier for her to take them with her. A shiver ran down her back. Did he know what she intended? Was he giving her his blessing?

She lowered her eyes. He turned, leaning over to scratch Black Jack. The dog was making a lackwit of himself, rolling on his back and sticking all four feet in the air, his tail snaking out to waggle eagerly. But, she had to admit, probably no more than she had just done, when the marquis had placed the pearls around her neck. Not because of the pearls, but because of his rare earnestness in presenting them.

But that was to be the last tender moment of the evening. Without informing her, he had apparently invited a number of the clansmen of various stations to supper. Once at the table, he drank steadily, directing his attention toward everyone but her. ’Twas as if she had ceased to exist.

She noticed that Neil watched even more carefully than usual, and she wondered whether they’d had a confrontation about his absences, his extravagances or even the pearls she wore. That made her wonder. Neil rarely left Braemoor except to visit Braemoor’s now many properties. He had no wife and she had never heard him talk of a woman.

If she had intended to remain at Braemoor, she would try to engage him in conversation, perhaps even in matchmaking plans. He was so somber, so serious.

He had tried to avoid her since she had been here, though he’d not shown any hostility after the first few weeks. He had even expressed some gratitude when she’d seen to the transformation of the tower house. But she had never seen him smile. Their meals, except during large gatherings such as tonight, were mostly taken individually, even in the morning when they chose food from a sideboard. Neil apparently ate very early and the marquis was usually absent. At noon and at night, Neil ate at odd times; her husband was usually gone and she ate in her room. It was an odd, estranged household.

But now Neil sat next to her. He was even more quiet than usual when Rory was in residence, and he had not said more than a sentence since they had sat down to eat. Rory had so riveted her attention that she had not even noticed until now.

She turned to him. “Does the food please you?”

“Aye,” Neil said. “Your coming has enhanced the kitchen.”

“Just the addition of a few herbs,” she said.

“Nay, I think not,” he said. “The butcher sends us better cuts, the cook takes more pride because there is someone to thank her.”

It came as close to a compliment as he had ever paid her. “Rory says you are an excellent manager.”

“Of fields, my lady, not of kitchens.”

“Have you thought of taking a wife?”

His dark eyes clouded. “I have little to offer a wife,” he said.

“Nonsense. You run Braemoor.”

“But I do not own it, my lady, and that is what matters to fathers and guardians.”

She had nothing to reply to that. She knew, better than most, that he was right. With no title, nor any property of his own, he was very limited in his selection of brides. But at least, he would not be forced into marrying a lass he did not want.

As she had been forced into marrying someone she did not want.

She turned back to the marquis. He was drinking from his glass again. His wig was slipping askew, and he had a stain on his coat. His voice was getting louder. He acted, and looked, like a bore. She turned back to Neil and caught an odd expression on his face. It was puzzlement rather than disgust. But then, just as quickly, it faded and he turned away to say something to another clansman.

Bethia had never seen her husband like this before. Oh, he had played the fool before, but she had never seen him drink as he was doing now.

Just then, he slammed down his tankard and wine sloshed over the table and onto her dress.

“My ’polgies, my dear,” he said.

All eyes were on her. She tried to smile. “I had better change the gown before the stain sets.”

“Leavin’ my table, love?”

“With your permission,” she said in a voice laced with disapproval. Her appreciation of the pearls was gone; it had been a thinly disguised ploy to show off his wife, and his ownership of her. She wondered if he had really meant what he had said about selling them. But he had said it.

She saw a sudden gleam in his eyes that belied the drunkenness, but it disappeared so swiftly she wondered whether it was her imagination.

“You ’ave it, lass. You might as well get in our bed, too. I will be there shortly.”

Her face flamed red as the clansmen guffawed. She shot an angry look at him. He rapped her on her backside.

Then she fled.

Hours later, she lay awake in her bed. He had not come, and now she did not think he would. He probably lay in a drunken stupor someplace. The pearls were on the table next to her, their luster glowing in the candlelight.

They are, and always will be, yours alone.

How could he be so kind, then turn into a drunken boor? She had watched drink do terrible things to other men. He had, in fact, been more than a little boorish on their wedding night, but since then … since then, she’d thought that an aberration.

She quenched the candle. He had just made it easier for her to do what she planned to do.

The next day passed excruciatingly slowly for Bethia. She tried to avoid her husband and finally decided the library was the place to do it. She hoped fervently that a book would help pass the hours before her meeting with the Black Knave.

But just inside, she saw her husband, lounging in a chair, his booted feet on a footstool. He wore only his breeches and a linen shirt with the neck open and full flowing sleeves. No wig. No cravat. When she had appeared at the door, he’d looked up with lazy eyes, then seemed to unwind from the chair.

“Madam,” he said the word lightly, but his gaze was intense. Dark. Sparkling with curiosity. Without the wigs, he looked sensuous and confident and … irresistible. She tried to think about his drunken performance the prior night, but her resentment faded as her gaze met his.

Her heart hammered against her chest. He looked well. Rested. No sign of dissipation. She wondered whether he had gone to Mary’s, whether he was still spending time there. It was, she scolded herself, none of her business. None at all. Good riddance.

Jealousy made a tight ball in her stomach. He had never promised her anything, nor had he ever said anything indicating more than the hollow marriage between them. She told herself she felt these things because of pride. Only pride. Yet she felt a terrible betrayal that he preferred his mistress to her. His unexplained absences had made that clear over and over again. “I did not know you were here.”

“I have some business with Neil. He should be here shortly.”

“I see you recovered from last night.”

“Aye. A night of debauchery is beneficial from time to time.” The amusement was back in his voice, a glint in his eyes.

She wanted to run from the room, from him, from all the feelings he evoked in her. “I will go then.”

“I have some business with you, too, Bethia.”

She looked up at him. “I canna imagine what it would be.”

“Your brother. I took the liberty of having a warm cloak made for him for his birth date,” the marquis said. “I suspect he, too, had few clothes when he was taken from his home.”

The knot of anger, of jealousy, unwrapped itself. The gift was a kind gesture, one that he sometimes threw at her just after she had relegated him once again to the regions of hell. It was uncommonly maddening. Disconcerting.

“Thank you,” she said, lowering her eyes so he would not see the conflicting emotions that must be there.

“I will take it myself on Monday,” he added.

That was two days after she hoped to meet with the Black Knave. She wished he would leave. Today. This moment.

She knew she should ask to go with him. She always did. What if, for once, he agreed? With luck, she would already be on her way to Rosemeare to fetch her brother. If not, if the Black Knave failed her, then she could talk to her brother, work out an alternative plan.

“May I go with you?” she finally asked.

He regarded her with those quizzical eyes. How had anyone ever thought him bland or inconsequential? He might be many things, but inconsequential was not one of them. Careless, perhaps? Self-indulgent? But she doubted even that, despite the evidence.

“We will talk of it later,” he said and then he’d walked out toward Neil’s office, leaving her to ponder exactly what had just transpired.

She still did not know two days later. She puzzled over that as she waited for nightfall—and her rendezvous with the Black Knave.

Bethia had seen little of the marquis since that afternoon. He seemed as intent on avoiding her as she was in avoiding him. He didn’t even appear to care now whether the servants—or Neil—suspected he was not making trips to her bedchamber. She could only suppose that he was spending most of his time with Mary. He certainly made no effort to explain his absences to her. She only knew that tonight was her one possibility to escape Cumberland and all the troubling emotions that swirled around the Marquis of Braemoor.…

And now if everything went well tonight, she might never see him again.

She did not know where he was now. Sometimes she thought he was more a jack-in-the-box than a marquis. She never knew when he would pop up. She had already prayed several times that he would not do that tonight.

She looked out the window at the moon. ’Twas only a tiny slice. A new moon. Clouds drifted in and out between the stars. It would be dark, and the ride would be difficult and dangerous.

Please God, let him be there. How many times had she uttered that prayer? How many more times before this night would be over?

She wore a comfortable gown that laced in front, one she could easily change. Underneath it, she wore a pair of breeches that she had found rummaging around rooms in the tower house. She had abandoned Jamie’s clothes prior to reaching Braemoor a week earlier. She’d had to cut these, and sew, but now they fit her, albeit loosely. But that was what she wanted. She then pinned a darkcolored shirt inside the cloak as well as a small bag to fit Black Jack into. She was not going to leave her dog here.

Not knowing whether she would return, she had also sewn the pouch of jewels into the lining.

It was after midnight when she left her room. She had the small bottle of laudanum with her, and she went to the empty kitchen. She poured a measure of ale from a small barrel into two tankards, along with a good dash of laudanum.

With Black Jack beside her, she walked out to the stable. Her husband had posted a guard there, and on several occasions she had offered them cider or ale.

Both were sitting inside, playing some card game. Both almost tipped the table to stand when she entered.

“I could not sleep, gentlemen,” she said. “And I went down to get some cider. I thought you might enjoy some ale.”

They would. They took a drink, then another.

“What are you playing?” she asked.

“Casino, Marchioness.”

“Will you show me how to play?”

They looked at each other dubiously. But then, how could they deny a marchioness? “’Tis complex, my lady.”

“I will try to concentrate,” she said dryly. It should be far easier to beat him than the marquis. But she would keep that information to herself for the moment.

The two men exchanged disgusted looks, then took another draught of ale.

A half hour later, their heads were on the table. She had a few more coins, and now a horse.

Rory readied himself for the night’s rendezvous with the mysterious lad. He’d debated over whether he should appear. He did not like the coincidence of the nearby location. And yet he could not fail to help someone who had assisted him.

Unfortunately, they had not heard back from the courier.

He used a cave in the hills above Braemoor to change. He did not want to go near Mary, in the event this … meeting was a trap. He planned to stay well away from the cottage, and he had different sets of clothes already here in the cave. Tonight he would be a sleepy shepherd.

He tried to keep his thoughts on tonight. But Bethia’s face continued to intrude, as did her look of disappointment and distaste at his obnoxious performance at supper several nights earlier. The disappointment had hurt the most. He had not liked what he’d done, but it had been necessary on several levels. He wanted her to have the pearls, and he wanted to reenforce his image of a man who considered his wife property. Her reaction had been crucial to the play. He wanted no doubt that his wife was fleeing from both him and his home, and that he would chase after her. It had been cruel and bullying and yet he had seen little alternative to it.

The devil take it, but he would be glad to stop this playacting.

He heard a soft whistle, then a rustling as Alister pushed aside the brush conveniently growing outside the cave.

His friend strode in, a peculiar look on his face. “The courier returned. I gave him the reward.”

“And?” Rory prompted.

“Your protector was not a lad at all, but a lass.”

“A lass?” Rory was incredulous.

“A lass,” Alister confirmed. “The innkeeper was reluctant, but finally admitted that the lad was no’ a lad at all, but a lass. She’d asked that no one reveal that fact, and they were all so awed by her that they agreed. It was only the urgency of the request that produced the admission. They are not at all sure she wasna the true Black Knave.”

“A lass masquerading as me?”

“Humbling, is it not?”

Rory shrugged. “It is no worse than an old woman.” He could not help grinning. “But such information would really infuriate Cumberland were he to learn of it. Mayhap, if it were not for the danger to the lass, I might well like word to spread. His Grace outfoxed by a lass. He would be thoroughly humiliated.”

“But what would she want with the Black Knave now?” Alister asked.

“Help of some kind. Or mayhap to join us in a more official capacity? Was any more said about what she looked like?”

“She had long, dark hair. It fell out from under a bonnet. ’Twas how they learned that they were following a lass.”

Dark hair? A suspicion dawned in Rory’s mind. “Was she well-spoken?”

“It was not mentioned.”

Rory swore as his thoughts tumbled over each other. They all led, however, to the same startling conclusion.

It could not be. And yet …

Bethia had disappeared for five days, exactly the amount of time necessary to reach the coast and return. No. It could not be.

Alister was staring at him. “What are you thinking?”

“That perhaps our other Knave may be closer than we ever thought.”

“But who and why?”

“A brother, mayhap?”

Alister’s eyes widened.

“My wife was gone for five days. She stayed with a crofter whose name she canna remember. She would not forget something like that.”

“But the ride to the coast would be too much for a lass.”

“She sent a letter just a week ago to the Innes lass. Their land is near the coast.”

“And the request came from the coast,” Alister said.

“Aye, and how many know of this loch?”

Alister’s eyebrows bunched together in thought. “That is why it was selected. Its proximity to her. Not because anyone knew the identify of the Knave.”

Rory lounged back against the side of the cave. “And I thought I was going to rescue her.”

“We canna be sure, Rory,” Alister cautioned.

“Nay, but I would bet my last pence on it.”

“But not your life.”

“Not yours, Alister. It may not be her at all. Or it could be a trap. Which is why I will play out this little masquerade.”

“How would she get a horse? You said yourself you posted guards.”

Rory grinned. “If she made it to the coast, talked some rough fishermen into trusting her, stole a boat and returned back here in a week, I wouldna think a mere guard or two would stop her now.”

Alister started laughing. “I knew there was a reason why I liked her.”

“Probably more like a dozen, my friend.”

“Are you speaking for yourself, my lord?”

“Aye. But I swore to myself I would let her go once I got her out of Scotland. She has a right to find a man she can love.”

“I would no’ so easily preclude myself, were I you,” Alister said.

“She dislikes me,” Rory said.

“Because you have been actively fostering that attitude.”

Rory shrugged. “I will have nothing after this. I plan to make my way as a gambler in some place where the English will never find me. I have no taste for France, and that is the place for Bethia. She will be among friends there, among her own kind.”

“What about the marriage?”

“She can get an annulment based on desertion. Some would not even consider it legal, since we were not married by a priest.”

Alister hesitated. “When she learns you are the Black Knave …”

“She may be grateful, but I do not want gratitude. I want her to be free.”

Alister regarded him skeptically but did not reply. Instead, he changed the subject. “We still cannot be sure that tonight is no’ a trap.”

“For that reason, I do not want you anywhere around me tonight. If I am wrong, and it is a trap, collect Mary and Bethia. Get the boy, then head for the coast. Drummond is with the Harris family.”

“Aye,” Alister acknowledged.

“The French captain will be at the rendezvous at two hours past midnight on the fourteenth day of the month. He has already been paid.”

Alister nodded.

“See Bethia and the boy settled in France. She has enough jewels that they will have an income for a long time.” He hesitated, then added, “If I am taken, do not try to rescue me. You must look after Mary and Bethia and the lad first.”

Alister said nothing.

Rory used his trump card. “I do not want Mary to pay for our crimes, Alister. She will not go without you. And Bethia’s safety is far more important to me than my own. Swear to me you will see to the three of them first.”

Alister hesitated, then nodded. “I swear.”

“I could never ask for a better friend, Alister.”

“Nor I.”

“And that is enough of sentiment,” Rory said. He felt awkward with emotion. “’Tis time for me to go. Help me look like a shepherd.”

Bethia wondered whether she would ever reach the loch. The road was even steeper than she remembered. Fog had crept over the hill from the lake, and she finally dismounted and led the horse, afraid he might break a leg in a hole or go too close to a side that fell abruptly off down a hill.

A thousand things might prevent the Knave from appearing. Mayhap Anne hadn’t understood the message. The Knave may not have received it. He could even be in another part of the country. He might well have thought a lad not worth his time. The English might have captured him. Was she completely a fool to make this trek?

Two hours now. She had only four more before dawn.

The fog seeped into her cloak and mud into her slippers. Step by step, her doubts grew, her optimism waned. ’Twas a fool’s errand. And if she were caught, her brother’s life would be forfeit. She was sure of that.

If only she could have rescued Dougal herself. But she would not be allowed near him. Especially without her husband, and he had refused to take her. She was well known at the castle since she’d stayed there several days before being brought to Braemoor. No, she had to have help.

She finally reached the nob of the hill that looked down on the loch. She could not even see the loch, though, because of the fog. She only knew it was below her. Bethia continued to walk down what was only a narrow path. Then in the silence, she heard the quiet lapping of waves against the shore. She started taking her steps even more cautiously, not wanting to end up in the loch as Black Jack had.

He whined in the small bag she had made for him and tied to the saddle, just as if he knew her thoughts had gone to him.

“Nay,” she whispered, as she stopped to rub his ears reassuringly. “I do not want you to take another swim.”

“Nor do I,” came a voice out of the fog.

A voice full of amusement. A voice she recognized only too well. Deep-pitched, sensuous, seductive. A voice like no other’s.