Beguiled (33 page)

He must have sensed her surrender, for he slid his hands to her arms and tightened his grip. “Then one of your sisters.”

Years of disappointments nicked her confidence. “I am unprepared to make such a decision.”

“Hear me well, Golden One. You are not alone anymore, and nothing will change what I feel for you or what you feel for me. My children will be safe with the countess of Tain.”

“Aye, Lottie's the best of all of us at mothering.”

“That
I will argue, for I think you will be a wonderful mother, and when we find Virginia, perhaps we will have children of our own to present her.”

The old guilt returned. “She will think I have blithely gone about my life without a care for her.”

“Ha! Only a fool could think that, and I have yet to meet a foolish MacKenzie. Marry me, Agnes.”

The words held both a promise and a solution. “I will when the Rook is dead.”

*  *  *

After a meal that became a celebration, Agnes and Edward said good night to their guests and walked with Auntie Loo and the children to the old wing. After tucking the children in and telling them a story, Edward and Agnes found Auntie Loo in the common room. As she bid them good night, Auntie Loo gave Agnes a pointed look that said, “I'll keep watch.” Agnes hugged her friend and whispered, “Leave the door unbolted. I'll be back to spell you at two o'clock.”

At her friend's agreement, Agnes preceded Edward out the squat door. The mirror beside it reflected the door to the new wing.

Edward pulled her into his arms. “You're mine.”

Into his mouth she breathed the word “Aye.”

The kiss was long and tender, and as passion stirred to life, Agnes felt a sense of belonging. Napier House would become her home. She'd conceive and give birth to her children here. She'd grow old with Edward Napier.

“Much more of that,” Edward said, “and I'll whisk you behind that tapestry and show you a very inventive way to make love.”

“It must be inventive, if you thought of it.”

He gave her a quick smack of a kiss and drew the tapestry aside. “Downstairs with you, my lovely.”

The lantern still sat in the niche and cast good light Mrs. Johnson must have told one of the maids from the orphanage to fill the lantern. Later Agnes intended to hire several of the girls on a permanent basis.

As she preceded Edward down the steps to the laboratory, Agnes felt a sense of unease. She stopped at the landing. Behind her she heard him bolt the door.

“Let's not go down there,” she said. “Let's stay in the new wing tonight.”

“No.” He nudged her until she started walking again. “I intend to make love to you until you are too exhausted to move.” His grin turned to a leer. “Then I'll watch you and think about my engine. You inspire me.”

She wagged her finger at him. “I give you fair warning. I'll not fall for any of that ‘your leg is like an angle iron' nonsense a second time.”

“I'll be much more creative, I promise.”

They entered the dungeon, which was dimly lit. Edward said, “That's odd. I left the lanterns burning.”

The Rook stepped into a pool of lamplight. “There is enough light.”

“Get down,” Agnes shouted, even as she pushed Edward.

He hit the floor beside her. She pointed to the workbench, silently urging him to crawl beneath it. With her other hand, she fished under her petticoats for her stiletto. Finding it, she cut away her skirt. She must be free to move without impediment.

Crouched on the floor, she could see the Rook's legs as he walked around the table. He made not a sound. Three, four more steps and he would have them in view. Sighting the lamp, Agnes threw the small scabbard. It shattered the glass, and the flame dimmed, but did not go out.

Edward pointed to himself and indicated that he would circle around and come upon the assassin from behind. She nodded, and the instant he moved, a knife whistled through air. Her heart stopped. The blade hit a spot on the table no more than an inch above Edward's head. When the knife clattered to the floor, Edward picked it up.

“Poisoned,” she hissed, and edged closer to him.

Anger blazed in his eyes. Another blade sailed through the air. Agnes ducked. The knife landed in the folds of her discarded skirt.

How many weapons did the Rook have? Scooting sideways, she nudged Edward farther beneath the shelter of the table.

The clock ticked harmlessly. The Rook stopped. If he knelt down, he would have them in plain view. Agnes stole a glance at her skirts and the hilt of the second knife. Catching the fabric, she pulled slowly.

Whoosh. Ping.
Another knife thudded into the skirt. She snatched the blade. The tip was blunted. Nudging Edward again, she showed him what she intended to do.

He mouthed the words, “I love you.”

Grasping the assassin's blade, she tested it for balance. It was heavier than her stiletto, but the haft fit her hand, and from this distance she knew her aim would be true.

With a flick of her wrist, she let the knife fly. “Have a taste of your own poison,” she yelled.

It found a home in the Rook's calf. He made a soft grunt and pulled the blade free. Blood seeped through the leg of his breeches.

Edward started to stand. “No.” She dragged him down.

The assassin dropped the knife and ran for the steps. Agnes rose to give chase, but Edward held her. “Let him go, love.”

She moved close to him. “Listen to me. He will not stop until you are dead, and he will not kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

Time was wasting. “I simply know it. Stay here.”

“No. I'll go.”

Knowing he would, she doubled her fist and socked him in the jaw. His eyes widened with shock, and he teetered. Seizing the moment, she ignored her aching knuckles and scurried from beneath the table. The hinges on the door squealed as the assassin ran for freedom.

The trail of his blood showed her the way. At the landing she paused, but only for a heartbeat. She pulled open the door. The tapestry fluttered into place.

She extinguished the lantern, then stepped into the old wing. The door to the tower opened. Thinking it was Auntie Loo, Agnes almost shouted a warning. Then a shape moved into the portal. It was the Rook. He ran into the tower. A moment later Agnes heard the eerie sound of the deadly backsword renting the air.

Edward rushed up behind her. “What happened?”

“He's dead. 'Twas the mirror you moved that confused him.”

The cheval mirror reflected the entrance to the new wing. In his haste to flee, the Rook had gone the wrong way and met his death.

Flint struck steel in the common room, and light illuminated a grisly scene. Blood pooled in the rug beside the body of the Rook; His head had rolled to the foot of the stairs.

As calm as ever, Auntie Loo stepped into the doorway, the white copper sword dripping blood.

Edward hugged Agnes close, and in the pale light she could see tears twinkling in his eyes. “I thought we were dead.”

Auntie Loo said, “Death's door is closed to the Golden One and to those who believe in her.”

Held securely in Edward's arms, Agnes said, “And the door to home has opened for you, Auntie Loo. Your debt to me is paid.”

She nodded solemnly, turned, and bracing her foot on the body of the Rook, she drew the blade of her sword across his shirt to wipe the blood away.

Agnes gazed at the man she loved. “Summon the guards to clean this up and dispose of the body. Mrs. Johnson doesn't need to see this.”

“I will, but now I'd like to hold you and forget what has occurred here.”

Returning the sword to the scabbard, Auntie Loo joined them. “Spare Mrs. Johnson this carnage. Lord Lachlan's man will help me. I'll fetch him.”

As she walked away, Edward said, “Will she truly return to China?”

“I hope so.” Agnes hugged Edward. “Her mother is old and Auntie Loo is her only child.”

“Hum, that feels good. Shall we name our first daughter for her?”

Gazing up into his face, Agnes thanked God for the gift of Edward's love. “Aye. May I suggest that we adjourn to a private place and beget her?”

*  *  *

Just before dawn Agnes questioned that decision. Amid the blaring of alarms and the shrill sound of whistles, her father and Robert Spencer charged into Napier House.

Dressed in her robe and standing beside Edward, who wore only the mended leather breeches, Agnes stared blankly at her father.

“Where the hell is Mary?” he demanded. “And get your hands off my Agnes.”

Edward pulled Agnes closer. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but she's
my
Agnes, now.”

As the subject of her father's intense scrutiny, Agnes could think of nothing to say. His clothing was soiled from the long ride, and he'd braided his hair at the temples. A thousand childhood memories came flooding back.

“You seduced her?” he asked Edward.

“Aye.”

A grin as big as Scotland blossomed on Lachlan's face. He held out his hand in gentlemanly fashion. “Congratulations, Napier, she's yours.”

“Papa!” Agnes yelled, as indignant as could be.

Lachlan sighed and shook his head. “You're a lucky man, Cathcart.”

“I know that, my lord, and I promise you that she'll want for nothing.”

“Nor will you,” Lachlan said. “If companionship and loyalty are things you prize, Agnes Elizabeth has them to spare.”

From the stairs Mary said, “Why thank you, Papa.”

Robert Spencer, the dark-haired earl of Wiltshire rushed to the bottom of the steps. “So there you are,” he said.

Mary planted her feet. “Don't you come near me.”

“I'll do more than that, Mary Margaret MacKenzie.”

“I want nothing to do with you.”

“You've said that before.”

“You plied me with Italian drink.”

“You were as sober as a nun, but that was your only virtue.”

“You took any other I had.”

Edward moved away from Agnes and stepped between the English earl and Mary. “Wiltshire, we offer her shelter and you our hospitality, so long as your behavior merits it.”

“Well put, Cathcart,” said Lachlan.

Looking elegantly bedraggled, Robert Spencer slapped his plumed hat against his thigh. “She carries my child. She will marry me.”

Mary hissed. “Note which of the two holds greater importance to his lordship.”

Lachlan extended his hand. “Mary lass, please be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Her eyes blazed defiance. “He forced me.”

“Ha! You wanted me. You still do. You're too thickheaded to admit it.”

Lachlan turned to Edward and Agnes. After kissing her cheek, he said to Edward, “My lord, I'm certain you'd prefer the company of my firstborn to the coil that goes between these two unfortunate lovers.”

“Indeed, your grace.” Edward held out his hand to Agnes. “Shall we, sweetheart?”

Agnes knew that Mary loved the English earl; she'd said as much. But their romantic journey had been fraught with obstacles. Perhaps some time here in Glasgow, away from both her detractors and his supporters, would allow Mary and Robert to mend the rift between them.

“Go, Agnes,” her father said. “Leave these two to me.”

“Will you?” Edward asked.

Agnes gazed into the eyes of the man she loved. “Aye.”

Arm in arm, they strolled toward the old wing.

Mary's angry voice echoed through the corridors. “I admit to this, you pig-headed Englishman. I pray that you fall into the Minch and freeze your puny ballocks off.”

Edward whistled. “Pity poor Wiltshire. I think the Lady Mary is more dangerous than you.”

Feigning innocence, Agnes fluttered her eyelashes. “Oh, she is. I'm a kitten at heart.”

Laughing, Edward swept her into his arms. “Will you purr for me, my little cat?”

Agnes languished in his arms, her soul brimming with gladness, her mind filled with visions of bright tomorrows. “Always, my love. Always.”

A
GNES RESTED ON THE NARROW
cot in the laboratory. On the floor beside her, her new daughter slept peacefully in the refurbished wicker basket. Hannah had left yesterday with Michael and Sarah and their twin sons for a visit to Edinburgh.

Across the room Edward sat on the floor near his latest invention, a bilge pump. Looking on were Christopher and four-year-old Jamie, the son Agnes had borne eight months to the day after their wedding. The low-pressure steam engine, perfected and patented, had taken its place among the other archetypes.

Edward spoke softly to the lads, and something about his tone alerted Agnes. A moment later Jamie got to his feet and skipped over to Agnes.

“Mama, when's a lassie's leg like an angle iron?”

Choking back laughter, Agnes glanced at her husband. Mischief twinkled in his eyes.

“When, Mama?”

“When her husband is too big for his breeches.”

He giggled. “Papa said you'd blush.”

“As usual,” Edward declared, “your father is correct.”

Little Juliet, born two days before and named for Agnes's stepmother, began to fuss. Agnes reached for her.

“Nay.” Edward scooped the girl from the basket. First he kissed the baby's brow, then he sat on the edge of the cot and kissed Agnes. “We had an agreement, if you will recall. Rest or I'll carry you upstairs. How do you feel?”

This labor had been blessedly short, and counting Juliet, Agnes and her sisters had presented Lachlan MacKenzie with ten grandchildren. Mary was expecting again, and this time her husband, Robert Spencer, was taking wagers that she'd give him a son. “I feel wonderful. Having the best doctor in Christendom helps.”

Edward shifted the baby to his shoulder and held her there, his graceful hand supporting her tiny back. Speaking softly to Juliet, he said, “You're a lucky lass. Your mother is beautiful and intelligent, too.”