The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) (26 page)

“No,” she admitted, still staring up at the castle, its flag of the hated union with England fluttering merrily from the ramparts. “I was thinking that Iain and Maggie have become very secretive and giggly over the last few days. I wondered if Maggie was pregnant. Has she said anything to you?”

“No, she hasna,” replied Duncan, tearing his attention away from the castle for a minute. “But you’re likely right, Iain’s being awfu’ protective of her. It would be wonderful if she is. They’ve been married for three years wi’ no sign of her womb quickening. Best we dinna say anything until they tell us, though.” He winked at her and looked back up at the rock.

Beth and Alex had been married for over a year, with no sign of her womb quickening, either.

“I thought you’d have wanted to go to the meeting,” she said, not wishing to pursue the subject she had started, or the thoughts that it was engendering in her mind.

“No, not at all,” said Duncan. “I hate being in stuffy rooms in cities wi’ crowds of people. Alex can tell me what happened later. I’m no’ missing anything.”

“You must really hate London, then,” said Beth, suddenly gloomy at the thought of their imminent return.

“If I die and wake up in London, then I’ll ken I’ve gone straight tae the deepest layers of Hell,” said her brother-in-law with feeling. “Ye canna tell the seasons. Ye canna even breathe the air. I’ve nae idea why people choose to live there. Or here, for that matter,”

“It’s fashionable,” said Beth in her best society accent. “All the right people live in the town, don’t you know?”

“Gie me all the wrong people then, and air that smells of green things instead of shit…look,” he said suddenly, pointing to the sky, high above the castle walls. “An eagle. Can ye see him?”

She peered up into the cloudy sky. A couple of birds were flying by, specks in the distance, but much too small to be eagles, surely?

“No,” she said. “Where is it?”

He bent his knees to bring himself down to her eye level, putting his cheek close to hers, and slung his arm round her neck in friendly fashion, his finger pointing diagonally upwards in front of her face. His hair brushed softly against her cheek.

“Follow my finger,” he said. “There.”

Now she had located it she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t seen it straight away. It was huge, or would have been, were it closer. Even at a distance it was impressive, soaring majestically above the castle, riding the thermals.

“Ohh!” she breathed, enraptured. “It’s beautiful!”

“What a cosy picture of illicit romance! I am quite overcome!” came the comment from directly behind them.

Duncan straightened his knees and turned to face the man who was addressing them. There were several groups of people nearby, but no one else within earshot; yet the well-dressed young man with the mocking brown eyes standing in front of them was a stranger to him. Duncan kept his arm around Beth, moving it down to her shoulder, having no intention of removing it as if guilty and reinforcing the man’s erroneous suspicions.

“Hello Daniel,” said Beth coldly, having taken only a second or two to recover from the shock of seeing him in Edinburgh, of all places. “I see you have finally been released from the Fleet. Congratulations.”

“Lord Barrington,” he corrected, smiling. “No, I was never incarcerated. I have been away from London for a time, travelling. As have you, it seems.”

“Ah,” said Beth. “I trust your father paid your gambling debts then, once you realised you were not going to get your hands on my dowry?”

His smile faded. He turned his attention to Duncan, running his eyes insolently over him, from the leather-shod feet, up the powerful legs clad in checked hose, to the pleated kilt, the beautifully tooled swordbelt, the fine linen shirt and silver brooch holding the plaid in place at his shoulder. When he reached Duncan’s cool grey eyes, his mouth tightened.

“It is customary to bow when you meet a gentleman, sir,” he said tersely.

“Aye,” said Duncan pleasantly. “It is.”

The implication was clear, and Lord Daniel reddened slightly.

“What do you want, Daniel?” said Beth, aware of the mounting tension between the two men, and not wanting it to go any further.

The Englishman turned his attention back to her, smiling again.

“Why, nothing, Elizabeth! What could I possibly want from you? I merely wished to say hello, and to congratulate you on your speedy work.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, genuinely puzzled.

“Well, your marriage bed is hardly warm, is it, and here you are proudly flaunting your barbarian lover around town! The least you could have done was to ensure he was decently attired. Sir Anthony will be distraught at you having taken such a filthy savage for a beau! Is he here, by the way?”

Beth’s heart lurched as she saw, a couple of hundred yards or so behind Lord Daniel, the unmistakably tall figures of Alex and Angus emerge from a side street, heading in her direction. They took maybe a dozen steps or so before veering casually away to chat with a plainly-dressed man who had been trying to attract their attention. Her heart resumed its normal pace.

“No,” she said, smiling sweetly at her former fiancé. “He is not here. But we will be returning to London soon. If you would care to call on him there, you can explain that you met me in the company of my kinsman and that your depraved mind led you to the wrong conclusion entirely.” Duncan had taken his arm from around her shoulder now, and was standing loose-limbed and relaxed. Alex and Angus appeared to be haggling good-naturedly with the man, who was obviously a trader of some sort. She had no doubt they were watching every move of what was unfolding on the esplanade.

“Kinsman!” said Lord Daniel. “Ah, of course! I beg your pardon, Elizabeth. I had forgotten that your mother was from the northern wastes. No doubt she plied her trade most successfully in this fair city before moving south. There is always a great demand for whores in every populous borough, after all. I am sure you have a great many
kinsmen
here.”

Duncan shifted position slightly.

“Lord Barrington,” he said politely. “I can tell by your speech and your mannerisms that you’re an Englishman, and havena been in Scotland long. I wouldna therefore expect you to have learned civilised ways as yet. Consequently I will forgive you your insulting remarks this time, but I would suggest you be on your way, immediately.”

Lord Daniel’s face flamed, his mouth twisting with rage.

“You will forgive me? Why you insolent swine!” he cried.

In the time it took for Daniel to locate the hilt of his sword with his right hand, Duncan had put Beth safely behind him and drawn his. He held it in readiness, the autumnal sunlight reflecting dully from the razor-sharp blade. People in the immediate vicinity hastily moved backwards out of danger, then formed a half-circle to watch the fun at a safe distance from the trio.

“Put it away, you ridiculous child, before he cuts you to pieces,” came a commanding voice, whose owner now approached them at speed. He had been running, and had used his elbows to force a way through the onlookers. His wig was askew, his face flushed. For a moment Beth thought the man was speaking to Duncan and her blood ran cold at the thought of what was about to ensue. Then the man’s hand closed over his son’s, ramming his half-drawn sword back into the scabbard.

“The man challenged me!” protested Daniel, struggling to free his hand from his father’s iron grip.

“That’s right, he did!” lied a man in the crowd, still hoping to see a fight. There were several murmurs, both confirming and denying this statement. The Earl of Highbury ignored them.

“No, he did not challenge you. From what I saw, you insulted him and the Lady Elizabeth, and then you drew, or rather attempted to draw, first. Am I right?”

Daniel gave up the struggle and looked away.

“Yes,” continued the earl, “I see I am. Very well then. If you persist in challenging this gentleman, I cannot stop you, but if you take even more than a cursory glance at him, you will see that you cannot possibly survive such an encounter.”

“He called me uncivilised!” said the young man peevishly.

“And so you are, if you consider provoking a gentleman without cause and drawing your sword in the presence of a lady civilised behaviour. You will apologise, sir, to both the lady and the gentleman for your outrageous behaviour. You are bringing shame on the family name, Daniel, and I will not tolerate it.” His voice was calm, but it was clear that he was very angry.

His son was equally angry, and was not about to apologise under any circumstances, that was obvious.

“I do not wish for an apology that is not freely given, my lord,” said Beth, moving back to Duncan’s side. “And I am sure my kinsman feels the same way.”

Duncan nodded. His eyes had not left Daniel’s, and he made no move to sheathe his own sword.

“Go home Daniel,” said the earl icily. “Immediately. I will deal with you later.”

The young man shot a furious glare at Beth and Duncan and turning on his heel, strode away through the laughing crowd, attempting unsuccessfully to gather the tattered remnants of his dignity around him as he went. In the distance Alex and Angus disappeared back up the street, following the enthusiastic trader. Duncan sheathed his sword. The crowd, disappointed at having been deprived of a spectacle, began to drift back into their original groupings. The earl sighed, and relaxed a little.

“My dear Lady Elizabeth, I am delighted to see you and to make the acquaintance of your kinsman, but it appears that every time we meet I am fated to apologise on behalf of my son for some outrage he has committed.”

“If he behaves in such a manner to any other Highland gentleman, my lord, you will find yourself without a son to apologise for,” observed Duncan grimly. “May I suggest with all due respect, that you teach him proper conduct, and that quickly, before someone else does?”

“You may, sir, although I have been trying unsuccessfully to do so for some time. He does, however, seem to hold a particular animosity towards yourself and your husband, Lady Elizabeth, although he has no reason to. He does not behave so rudely towards others.”

“He does not respond well to failure, my lord,” said Beth.

“No, he does not,” said the earl, looking sadly after the retreating figure of his offspring. “Although one would think he would be accustomed to it by now, if his performance at the gaming tables is anything to go by. Well,” he said, remembering himself, smiling and holding out his hand to Duncan, who accepted it and shook it. “I am sure you will not welcome my intruding any further into your day. I will take my leave of you both. Your servant, Mr MacDonald, Lady Elizabeth.”

They watched him as he walked away, his erect, immaculately tailored figure attracting the attention of more than one lady as he passed.

“I really like him,” said Beth. “Although I’ve never told him my mother was a MacDonald. I suppose Alex told him. He said they were good friends.”

“Aye, he seems a fine man. Pity his son’s such a wee gomerel. And he’s the man ye nearly married, in place of Alex? Had you lost your senses entirely, lassie?”

“Yes, probably, but there are mitigating circumstances,” Beth said. “Firstly, six months of living in the bosom of the Cunningham family would drive anyone insane. And secondly, I preferred Daniel to Sir Anthony, not Alex. There is a difference.”

Duncan could not dispute that, and the newly christened Mr MacDonald and his kinswoman were smiling again as they walked down the hill to join Alex and Angus, who had both re-emerged onto Castle Hill Street carrying a small parcel.

Beth opened the one Alex had been carrying, which was intended for her, on the way to their lodgings.

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said, taking out a delicately wrought silver bracelet, set with amethysts. She let him place it round her wrist, and held her hand up to admire it, putting the unpleasant scene of a few minutes ago from her mind. She looked with curiosity at Angus, who shoved his identical parcel hastily into his pocket.

“It’s for Morag,” he said. “It’s a wee bit different to yours. I wanted to gie her something to remember me by.”

“I doubt anyone who’s been in your company for more than ten minutes would ever forget you, Angus, whether you gave them a bracelet or not,” she replied.

Angus decided to take this ambiguous statement as a compliment, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“It’s a sort of betrothal present, too,” he said. “Two years is an awfu’ long time to wait, when you’re fourteen.” They had agreed to marry when Morag turned sixteen, if she still wanted to at that time.

His voice made it clear that it was an awfully long time to wait when you were twenty, too.

“She’ll wait for ye, laddie, I’ve nae doubt. She promised she would, did she no’?” said Alex.

“Aye,” confirmed Angus, brightening. “And her da’s no objections, which is good.”

“And we’re bound to be back there in less than two years, anyway,” said Beth, hopefully.

“Next summer, it seems, if Charlie has his way,” said Alex. Surprisingly, he did not sound overjoyed at this thought.

“How did the meeting go?” Beth asked, brought suddenly back down to earth.

“It was interesting, but it’s no’ over yet,” said Alex. “Broughton and Lochiel are coming to our lodgings to clarify a few details.”

“I’m thinking we need to be changing our clothes as well,” Duncan said. “We’re attracting too much attention as we are.”

“Aye, you’re right,” said Alex. “And speaking of clothes, tomorrow morning I’ve an appointment wi’ my tailor.” He grimaced and looked at Beth. “And you’ve an appointment wi’ a dressmaker.”

Now it was Beth’s turn to grimace.

“I’m sorry,” said Alex sincerely. “But the holiday’s over. Sir Anthony is needed in London, as soon as possible.”

Sir Anthony Peters sat on one side of the hearth in the drawing room of his London house, resplendent in emerald green velvet breeches and frockcoat, set off by a buttercup yellow brocade waistcoat. His wig was curled and powdered, his heavy makeup expertly applied. His expression would have curdled milk.