Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (60 page)

‘But you came. And you rode from London alone—all that way?'

‘No—I—I met someone who was also bound for Scotland. His home is in the Borders, south of Edinburgh.'

‘And does he have a name?'

‘Lord Simon Tremain of Barradine,' she answered, lowering her eyes lest he read in them what was in her heart.

‘And is he honourable?'

‘Yes, yes, he is.'

‘May I ask where he is now?'

‘When we parted company he was going to join Prince Charles at Prestonpans. I have heard nothing since leaving Edinburgh, but I believe there was to be a battle.'

Matthew nodded. ‘The Battle of Gladsmuir. I heard reports of the fighting when I was in Inverness yesterday. The government army loyal to King George was defeated. The Highland army suffered few casualties.'

Henrietta's relief was so overwhelming that tears started to her eyes.

Matthew glanced curiously at her and, after noting the sudden welling of emotion in her face, decided there was more to his niece's relationship with this fellow Scot than she had admitted to.

‘And what does he mean to you, this Jacobite lord? Is he special to you, Henrietta?'

Her eyes jerked to his and she shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Uncle. Lord Tremain is a Jacobite. Do you see?'

Matthew considered her for a moment, then he nodded, understanding. ‘Yes, my dear, I see. I really do.'

* * *

The following weeks were filled with assorted activities, for Matthew would not allow his niece to be idle. When he wasn't engrossed in his books she saw little of him during the day. Sometimes he was off riding or hunting with his neighbours—the closest being two miles away—for Matthew was a vigorous man, despite his age.

News reached them that Charles Stuart and his supporting Highlanders, buoyed by their success at Prestonpans, were preparing to march into England—even to going as far as London, to reclaim all his father's lands. Scottish chieftains were not so enthusiastic and tried to dissuade him, for while men poured to his side from the north, there seemed little support from the south. The prince was contemptuous of the weakness of the Jacobite lords and chieftains and turned a deaf ear. He invaded England in the latter part of that year.

* * *

Simon had no intention of accompanying Prince Charles south. Charles was disgruntled, but after drawing a promise from him that he would ride north and rally further support from the Highlanders, and after wishing the prince good fortune, with a small party of men Simon headed north for Inverness.

Try as he might, he had been unable to stop thinking of Henrietta. He was tortured by the thought that something might have happened to her, preventing her from reaching her uncle. Was she safe? He had to know. Dourly he wondered if she'd left for London. Sadness settled on him as he thought of that. He wanted to kiss her again, hold her in his arms, look upon her face.

What would have happened, he mused, had he met Henrietta Brody some years earlier? Would he have fallen in love with her? Perhaps not, for that Simon Tremain was different from the one who existed now. He had been hardened, physically and mentally, by the years spent as a soldier and pandering to Prince Charles in France. Still, to look at her beautiful face, her wonderful green eyes, her cropped golden hair...

He shook his head. There was no use conjecturing about the past. What was done was done and the past could not be changed. But he might be able to change the future....

This woman, whom he knew he wanted to make his wife, was beginning to seep into his very soul. She had branded him, burned him with a fire that had made him for ever her slave. Never again would he be free of her. He loved her with a fierceness that was new to him and knew that if that love was not returned then he would be condemned to live in hell itself.

* * *

‘Something is wrong,' Matthew stated with conviction one day. ‘You're as pale as a daisy and the way you've been moping around here lately, you've undoubtedly become bored after the excitement of the journey north. A young girl like you should be out with friends and going to balls and such. Perhaps a visit to Inverness would improve your frame of mind. I have to go there to see my solicitor and you will accompany me.'

‘I would like that,' Henrietta acquiesced, enthusiastic about a change of scene.

‘Perhaps you would like to do a little shopping,' he suggested, eyeing her boy's clothes with distaste. ‘I confess I would feel better with you attired in a more feminine fashion. Women always enjoy such things and I understand there are some excellent dressmakers there.'

His suggestion brought a smile to Henrietta's lips. Her sweet, scholarly uncle was so concerned about her lack of feminine clothes that he imagined a new gown would be effective in cheering her. She was in no mood to fret over fashions just now, but he was offering to spend his own money and time escorting her to dressmakers in the hope that it would make her feel better, so she would humour him.

‘I'd love to go with you to Inverness, Uncle Matthew, and I suppose you would like to visit some bookstores while we're there.' The sudden sparkle that lit his eyes told her she had hit the right note.

* * *

Henrietta enjoyed the outing to Inverness in Uncle Matthew's small cart pulled by his shaggy old Highland pony. The scenery was spellbinding, the mountain slopes thick with the growth of larch and alder and birch. Set on the banks of the sparkling River Ness, which was less turbulent than the sea into which it merged and from which a freshening wind blew, it was like no town she had ever seen, with dwellings cluttered on a spacious estuary. Despite a change in the weather of late, with rain never far away, the day fairly sparkled beneath a clear sky, while the air was imbued with the scent of the moor.

They shopped for clothes—plain, serviceable garments that would serve Henrietta well for the time she was in Scotland. Matthew visited his favourite book shop, taking pride in introducing her to the proprietor, and escorting her to a meal at his favourite tavern smelling of roasting meat, damp wool, whisky and ale, before setting off for home. The light failed early at this time of year and Matthew had no wish to be on the road after dark.

* * *

The following afternoon while the weather held, Henrietta left her uncle engrossed in his books and went on to the moor, sidestepping the little glittering streams that threaded through the heather and myrtle and springy moorland grass. The silence and the freshness of the air acted on her like a tonic. There were mountains to the north and west, mountains that were a miracle of shade and shadow.

The sudden appearance of a horse and rider ahead of her dragged her from her melancholy thoughts. She ceased walking and, hugging her shawl about her shoulders, stood and watched the rider come closer. He dismounted when he was just a few yards away and her heart turned over. He was tall, broad-shouldered and blue-eyed, with a proud face and unruly black hair beneath his broad-brimmed hat.

‘Simon!'

How could she have thought he wouldn't come to her? Too late she realised that she ought to have known he would—that it would come down to this moment. She needed to think and to endeavour to gather her wits about her—she needed to steady her pulse—steel her heart.

She breathed, quietly wild with joy, and silently uttered thanks to God. In an instant, her heart had made its choice between fear and happiness. Everything but the glow of that happiness had been swept aside. Her whole being was irradiated. But no sooner had she allowed her happiness to overcome her fears than she was regretting it. She had not been able to resist the impulse which had made her heart soar as soon as she set eyes on him. Too much so, perhaps, and even as he stepped closer she was suffering a return of all the clear-headedness which had flown so deliciously to the winds a moment before.

Yet there was something inside her she had not been aware of until now, and that something was the depth of her love for Simon. She loved him enough to crush down her own fiercely urgent desire for him. In a lightning flash of understanding, she knew that she could not, must not, be his while the bloody conflict that tore through Scotland and his own strong commitment to the Jacobite cause remained unresolved.

Chapter Seven

O
ne look at Simon's face convinced Henrietta that he was angry with her. Not only were his eyes glinting with icy shards, but the muscles in his cheeks were tensing and vibrating to a degree that she had never seen before. Immediately she was on the defensive.

‘You take me by surprise, Simon. I thought you would be occupied aiding Prince Charles in his rebellion.'

Completely alone on the moor, they stood and looked at one another with some amazement—she on account of the hard, stubborn line which had settled disquietingly between Simon's black brows—he because he had encountered resistance from that soft, graceful creature with her deceptive air of fragility. Beneath her cloak she wore a deep-turquoise wool gown. Her short cropped hair was partly concealed by a lace cap. Wispy curls escaped around her face, lending an enchanting softness to her features.

‘Are we to view each other with such formality now, Henrietta? Just tell me one thing. Was it too much for you to wait until after the battle at Prestonpans before leaving Edinburgh? Or were you so impatient to leave me you couldn't wait?'

Simon's impatience was supreme, yet he couldn't entirely decipher where it was centred. After all she had made it perfectly clear that she intended going to her uncle. The fact that she had, had cut through his heart like a knife, leaving him with a dark sense of having been betrayed. In spite of his past qualms about becoming involved with her, he was reluctant to let her go and see it all end without making some effort to hold her to him. ‘Was it really your design to provoke every contrary emotion I'm capable of feeling?'

Stunned with an unwilling fascination at Simon's fury, Henrietta stared at him in amazement. In the face of such flaring emotions emanating from this man who towered over her, all reason had fled.

The dubious scowl that Simon slanted down upon her suggested that he had serious doubts about her sanity. ‘You left Edinburgh without even so much as a whisper to anyone,' he accused. ‘You didn't even say goodbye. Nor did you even hint of your intentions to leave. You told me you would wait until I returned.'

‘My main reason for leaving Edinburgh was to go to my uncle. Another reason was because my feelings for you are of a kind that no woman should have for a man who has broken the laws of this land. And what if you had been killed in battle, Simon?' Henrietta replied in a soft, quavering voice. ‘It seemed an appropriate time to leave.'

‘Appropriate!' he snarled. ‘Inappropriate would be more like it. I left the prince to come after you.'

‘Why would you do that?' she asked without revealing her feelings, though she was deeply moved and touched by his confession.

‘I had to come. Good God, woman! I might have got you with child. Did it not occur to you?'

‘It did and I'm not, so you can return to the prince. I have heard he is marching into England. I am surprised you have not gone with him,' she uttered quietly. ‘Why have you come here? What do you want from me? Thinking I might be carrying your child is only the half of it. If you are hoping to convert me to your cause I would advise against it. I haven't come all this way to be drawn into something that was lost before it began.'

‘I came to find you because I wanted to see you. The conflict goes on, Henrietta, and there will be no let up until Prince Charles is successful. But it will not always be so. Prince Charles will—'

‘The prince! Always the prince!' she chided angrily. ‘You are a traitor to the English Crown, well and truly launched on the seas of rebellion along with your precious prince. You and men like my father talk about the cause as besottedly as though it were your mistress. Have you forgotten that I've rather less reason to love the cause? You may cherish understandable nostalgia for a Scotland ruled by the Jacobite prince. My own memories are far less alluring, I assure you.'

‘You are wrong in assuming I want any of this. Yes, I am a Jacobite and I admit in the beginning I was drawn in by illusions of a Scotland ruled by James Stuart. But Scotland is my home and I have no intention of becoming any further involved in its politics. It is enough that my country should be risking her peace at the whim of a prince. I believed it was foolish to embark on this campaign without the support of King Louis—or at least of his bankers—but I have committed my resources to the cause and there is no going back.'

On a sigh he took hold of her hand. The deep-blue eyes were hooded in thought as his gentle fingers stroked the soft palm. ‘Henrietta! Oh, Henrietta! Forget all that—everything but us. There's a part of me that would like nothing better than to take you back to Barradine as my wife, to hunt and work the land and come home in the evenings to you. But if I did there's a part of my soul that would feel as though I had perjured myself and would for ever hear the voices of the people I had betrayed.'

‘I'm sure you would feel that way.' She paused, looking for words. As so often before, the sheer enormity of what was happening in Scotland staggered her and left her speechless. Who was she to ask him to abandon the cause he had fought so long to uphold? But no matter how much he tried to explain the whys and wherefores, she wanted no part of it.

‘I'm sorry I angered you and I certainly didn't expect you to come after me,' she murmured contritely, prudently changing the subject. ‘I really didn't think it would matter.'

‘It did matter. A lot, in fact. One moment you were there, where I could see you, and the next, you had fled. I couldn't believe that you'd leave without a word. As difficult as it was to accept, I should have known. You've proven yourself quite adept at escaping. What were you afraid of, Henrietta? If I didn't know better, I'd be inclined to think you were afraid to face up to what happened between us that night.'

Taking offence, Henrietta raised her chin a notch at his insinuation. ‘I'm no coward, Simon.'

He snorted in disagreement. ‘Right now, I'd say that isn't exactly the truth. But then, I'm the one from whom you fled.'

‘I saw no need in delaying our separation,' she explained mutedly.

‘That was obvious,' he retorted cuttingly. Her simple statement only heightened his irritation. ‘I can only thank God that you reached your uncle without molestation.'

‘You knew where I was heading,' she said, somewhat heartened by the fact that the muscles in his cheeks were no long tensing beneath his skin. ‘I am to return to London. Uncle Matthew is to accompany me.'

‘And when Jeremy Lucas is charged with murder and you are ensconced in your house, you will soon be relentlessly bombarded with marriage proposals from every unattached male in London. How long will it be before you find yourself a husband?'

She gave a laugh and he glared at her.

‘I hardly think this is a laughing matter, Henrietta.'

‘Why, you are jealous, Simon.' Silence met her words and she knew she was right. ‘There is no need to be,' she said softly. ‘I have lain with you.'

‘Yet you will marry someone else.'

Her temper flared. ‘And shall I marry you? A man who has no future—as we both know? I cannot be your wife, so what would you have me do? What could you give me except a life as a fugitive? I do not know what you expect of me.'

For answer Simon took hold of her and pulled her into his arms. Sweeping off his hat, he began covering her face with kisses, tugging at her clothes.

‘This is what I expect from you,' he whispered, his mouth against her lips as he gently pulled her down into the heather sheltered by alder. His hand was beneath her cloak now, stroking her hardening nipples with his deft fingers.

Henrietta gasped, knowing that she should not encourage him, that she should pull away and have nothing further to do with him. Once had been madness enough, but twice...twice was a mistake, unthinkable. And yet to experience once again the things he had done to her that night in Edinburgh—twice was wonderful.

She treacherously forgot all he was as the warmth of his touch began to reassure her and the pressure of his lips became more eloquent. Carried away by the touch and the scent of him as he enveloped her again in his disturbing caresses, Henrietta was too weak and much too enslaved to fight against it. With a little moan far down in her throat, she began to respond. Returning his kisses, she wrapped her arms around him, yielding to passion.

His hands were racing down her body, touching her breasts, caressing her thighs, her flat stomach. He found her waiting for him and effortlessly slid inside her. She bit her lip, pressing back a small cry, and then she murmured, half moaning beneath him. Her body arched to meet his as he drove deeper and deeper into her. The waves of passion eventually ebbed, and their united bodies lay quietly within the circle of each other's arms. Both trembled, and the only sound on the moor was the occasional cry of a bird somewhere in the undergrowth or high in the sky.

‘Henrietta,' Simon said, touching her cheek with his fingertips. She stared at him and fright was reflected in her green eyes, but her fear was second to her passion.

Quickly she scrambled to her feet and adjusted her clothes. She was trembling and wondered if she was chilled—or if it was nerves. He had been gentle with her, tender, considerate, and there was love in those blue eyes, love even in his deep, magnetic voice.

Their union had brought pleasure—and guilt. Guilt always seeped in after the pleasure receded. She was an unmarried woman and if, as she strongly suspected, Charles Stuart's attempt to roust King George from his throne failed, then Simon would be a fugitive from the law. Their love had no future. She could not marry him and, if they pursued their present course, they would both die upon the hangman's tree. She closed her eyes tightly in an effort to blot out the gruesome image this conjured up. To die in such circumstances was hardly the vision of eternal bliss that marriage was supposed to be.

‘Please don't say a word. I must return to the house. Come, and I will introduce you to Uncle Matthew. He knows how you protected me on my journey to Scotland. I know he would like to thank you.'

* * *

‘Uncle Matthew,' Henrietta said on entering the cottage, closely followed by Simon. ‘This is Lord Simon Tremain, the gentleman I told you about. ‘We—met on the moor just now.'

Matthew put down the book he was reading and stood up. With great dignity he directed his attention to the tall stranger. The implacable authority in the man's bearing caused him to step back apace. When Henrietta had told Matthew about journeying from London alone with this man, he had been fearful of making any comment lest he betray his concern. The matter had been preying on his mind, but it was his fear of what had been on Lord Tremain's mind that had created his greatest anxiety. As much as he had sought information about him, Henrietta hadn't been able to talk about him, only to say that he was a Jacobite who supported King James's claim to the English and Scottish throne.

‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Lord Tremain. I gather I have you to thank for my niece's safe journey into Scotland,' he said, shaking Simon's hand.

Simon took note of Matthew Brody's unease. It was important to him that this man should know he meant Henrietta no harm. ‘I was glad to be of assistance, sir. Although she had me fooled for a time. It wasn't until we reached my home that her masquerade slipped and I realised she was not a lad, but a lass.'

‘And a bonny lass at that.' Matthew chuckled, glancing affectionately at his niece. ‘What brings you to Inverness, Lord Tremain? We know little of the battle at Prestonpans, only that it was defeat for King George's army, and that offers of armed support and money are pouring in from the north in support of Prince Charles.'

Simon nodded. ‘That is so, but there is not enough money. The promised gold from France and Spain has failed to materialise. The Lowlands remain unwilling to send men to support him. The army is composed of Highlanders and likely to remain so.'

‘And yet in spite of this, he is carrying his father's standard south.'

‘I am of the opinion that he will not get much support from England and will soon turn tail and head back to Scotland.'

‘So he is unlikely to take London by storm.'

‘I doubt he will do that.'

‘So do I. But what brings you to Inverness? Why did you not accompany the prince?'

‘Accompanied by a small party of men, who await me in Inverness, I've ridden north to rally further support in the Highlands. I do have an understanding of the Highlanders. There will be no peace in the glens until a Stuart is restored to the throne—and the majority of the clans strive towards that end.'

‘So you are a formal emissary of the Stuarts?'

Simon grinned wryly. ‘You might say that. I also wanted to check on your niece,' he said, glancing with unconcealed tenderness at Henrietta who had not left his side since they had entered the cottage. ‘She left Edinburgh without a word. I had to find her—to make sure she had reached Inverness without mishap. This is not the best of times for a lone female to take to the road.'

‘I couldn't agree more. In these troubled times, one never knows who will knock on the door. What is the overall mood among the men who have rallied to the prince's side?'

‘Many of the Scottish chieftains are not enthusiastic about marching on England at this time. They are of the opinion that the prince should pull back into the Highlands for the winter months. Prince Charles seems to forget that while the Highlanders may be fierce fighting men, they are also farmers. Cattle need to be provisioned for the winter, fields got ready for spring planting, which is why many have resisted going south. As for myself, at this present time I must return to my men.'

‘Will you not stay and eat with us?' Matthew offered.

‘Thank you, but I must decline your invitation.'