Island of the Swans (48 page)

She knew she sounded like a spoiled child but she was beyond recovering her usual good humor.

Alex abruptly changed the subject.

“I’ve brought you some hot tea and a little dry bannock,” he said, pouring from the teapot he’d set down on a tray. “If you sip some of this, perhaps you’ll feel well enough to attend tonight’s farewell dinner for the officers.”

“No!” wailed Jane.

Much to her surprise, Alex leaned toward her and put his arms around her and drew her gently to his chest, whispering to her soothingly.

“There, there, my dear… you don’t have to come downstairs if you aren’t up to it. ’Tis just that so many of our friends have been distressed to hear you’re feeling so poorly. Captain Fraser asked specifically to convey his regards.”

Jane felt her body go rigid within the circle of Alex’s arms.

“He spoke to you?” she inquired cautiously, stunned that the two men might have exchanged more than civilities.

“Why, yes,” Alex answered calmly. “Since both he and Hamilton are to serve in the same Fraser regiment, I thought it was time the Frasers and the Gordons put their enmities behind us.”

“And what was his response…?” Jane asked incredulously.

“Well,” Alex said evenly, “this afternoon over brandy, he shook the hand I extended to him.”

“I see…” Jane faltered, wondering how the meeting would have unfolded if Thomas knew she might be carrying the duke’s child, or if Alex suspected the new baby was fathered by the very man whose hand he’d grasped in an offer of truce.

“I acted the jealous fool at Culloden House, Jane,” Alex said quietly, “and I beg you to forgive me. You must let me prove to you, ’twill never happen again.”

Jane stared at her husband, uncertain whether she had heard him correctly.

“The only good to come from that shameful night is the new babe,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “For that I bless heaven—even as you rightly curse it. I will do everything I can to see you safely through your ordeal. I swear, by the honor of the House of Gordon, to return the trust and support you’ve offered to me as my faithful wife these last eight years.”

“’Tis not certain I’m breeding,” she whispered.

“Of course you are,” Alex countered her calmly. “Mrs. Christie tells me your courses ceased at least two months ago.”

Jane felt the last bit of energy drain from her body. Once again, apparently, Alex had instructed his housekeeper to spy on her for him. The wretched woman had probably interrogated the maids about the most intimate details of their household duties: the cleansing of a duchess’s bloody rags after her monthly flux. It was an outrage!

“I’m so very happy about our new babe,” Alex said, remaining oblivious to her fury. “As I told Captain Fraser, I’m wagering ’twill be another boy.”

He rose from the bed and gently rearranged the counterpane, tucking it neatly under the mattress. Jane closed her eyes as he tiptoed from her chamber. Moaning softly, she rolled over, and prayed fervently for sleep.

Standing in front of the enormous fireplace at the end of the hall, William Marshall sawed away at his fiddle. He was accompanied by the Fraser Highlander’s pipe major who stood six feet five inches tall and made his music by blowing lustily into the chanter, a thin reed pipe with holes on which the melody was played. The tartan-covered bag lodged under his arm also sprouted three larger pipes, or drones, which produced the low, moaning bass notes.

The Duchess of Gordon slipped quietly into her seat at the head of the long dining table. Simon Fraser, as protocol required, was seated to Jane’s right. As she took her place beside the general, he rose and bowed stiffly, while the footman held her chair. She took great pleasure in ignoring his reflexive courtesy, and turned to smile stiffly at her brother seated on her left.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as she glanced down the table, searching for Thomas’s face. He was placed halfway down the row of guests, and he met her gaze immediately. She felt her cheeks flush with color, despite her determination to maintain her composure. There was no way for them to talk, which precluded her revealing to him her plan.

Fine claret and bowls of savory barley broth began the five-course banquet—all of which had been arranged, not by Jane, but in conferences between Mrs. Christie and the butler, Mr. Marshall. The odious duo continued their subtle power struggle with Jane for control of affairs backstairs that, in truth, influenced much of what went on at Gordon Castle.

The officers attacked the repast with gusto, but the very smell of joints of beef, steaming potatoes, and turnips wafting toward Jane disquieted her stomach once again. She glanced down at her lavender silk gown, whose heavy folds and styling cleverly disguised the slight thickening of her waistline. Her svelte appearance, however, had been achieved at the price of considerable discomfort, and Jane longed to escape the stuffy room.

After numerous toasts offered around the table in praise of various accomplishments of several officers, the Duke of Gordon tapped his bone-handled knife against his crystal goblet, and rose, glass in hand.

“I think we would be remiss,” he began, “if we failed to toast the person who, in no small way, is responsible for the fine complement of men under the command of my esteemed brother-in-law. Captain Hamilton Maxwell. I am referring, of course, to my dear wife, whose efforts in the field of recruitment have earned her much-deserved fame. So, gentlemen, I ask you to rise and join me in a toast to my beloved wife, Jane, the Duchess of Gordon!”

Cries of “Hear! Hear!” and “To the Duchess!” burst forth from the host of kilted soldiers who’d risen to their feet to pay her homage.

Jane nodded bleakly and acknowledged the compliment. Then, once the toasts were finished, she glanced at Thomas, who looked back at her steadily. He proceeded to whisper something to the major seated next to him and then withdrew, unnoticed, during the hubbub of conversation that bubbled throughout the room as Alexander bade his guests join him in a brandy.

Trying to maintain her poise, Jane led the small group of women who had accompanied their officer-husbands to Gordon Castle out of the dining hall to the smaller sitting room. As soon as coffee was poured, she quickly excused herself, pleading a headache that, unfortunately, was all too genuine.

Bursts of masculine laughter echoed in the foyer between the great hall and the parlor where the covey of ladies daintily sipped a thick Turkish brew from steaming cups. Jane mounted the stairs slowly, wondering how she would locate Thomas among the labyrinth of bedchambers assigned to visiting officers. She sincerely doubted Alexander’s claim that he had conquered his jealousy of Thomas. Following her intuition, she quickly headed down the corridor toward the new wing, in the opposite direction from her own suite of rooms.

The farther she strayed from the castle’s public rooms, the colder the evening air became. Without her cloak, she shivered in the icy dankness that permeated the stone walls in the new pavilion. The last door along the corridor was cracked open six inches, allowing a view of Thomas’s broad back as he threw several pieces of clothing into a leather trunk at the end of his bed.

He reached for a pair of doeskin breeches folded on a chair, but his hand froze as he spied Jane standing in the doorway with her teeth chattering.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” he said gruffly, grabbing the breeches and slamming them roughly into the trunk. “Someone is bound to see you.”

“Thomas!” Jane replied heatedly. “The last time I saw
you
, ’twas when you were lying naked in a pile of Caledonian pine boughs. Now, all you can say in greeting is, ’You shouldn’t have
come
here?’”

“’Twas nearly three months ago, Jane,” he replied, avoiding her gaze. “Much has changed between us since then.”

“And what is
that
, may I ask,” she retorted angrily as he crossed to the dresser to retrieve several articles.

He rested his fists on the dresser top, his head sunk below his shoulders.

“You’re breeding, for one thing. Your husband hinted as much to everyone within ear shot. ’A Christmas bairn,’ I think he said. That, I believe, would be before you and I met at Loch-an-Eilean.”

Jane stood stock still at the door.

“The babe might be yours, you know,” she said in a low, raw voice. “Alex and I’ve not been to bed together since before I was at Kinrara.”

“And
before
then?” he shot back. “’Twas clear you dinna come to
me
a virgin bride!”

Jane clutched her waist, almost as if she had been struck by a blow.

“You
promised
you’d not punish me for having been with Alex first!” she cried, angry tears welling up in her eyes. “I am his wife!” she said despairingly. “I am
his property
! He can take me by force and be within his rights as ’Lord and Master of all he surveys.’ I pray this will be your baby, but all you can do is pose and prance like some stag who’s lost his doe!”

For several moments, the two of them glared at each other across the small chamber. Jane’s cheeks were glistening with silent tears.

As Thomas stared back at her, he seemed almost to wince. At length, he shook his head.

“Ah, Jenny, love,” he said, his own eyes shot with pain. “You know what I’m meaning. ’Tis a fine mess our lives have become. You cannot know what ’tis been for me to see you here at Gordon Castle… as you
really are
—a
duchess
in a fine house, with a gaggle of bairns clustered by your skirts, and a husband who adores you and can give you everything this life can surely offer—”

“Adores me,” she laughed bitterly. “He has a strange way of showing it.”

Thomas looked at her oddly, but resumed packing his belongings into his campaign chest.

“He
does
, you know,” he replied, a tight smile on his lips. “Who would recognize that better than I?” Jane didn’t respond, but stared at him silently as Thomas continued. “He even had the grace to
apologize
for his rudeness to me all these years. He said his father’s… frailty… during the Rebellion in Forty-five had, in effect, caused much unwarranted discord and suffering among many Highland neighbors—”

“And you believed him?” she demanded angrily. “You believed he was sincere?” Jane began to pace up and down the small chamber. “Rouse yourself, laddie,” she said scornfully. “’Tis time you understood the truth about your rival. Though Alex and I have never spoken of it, my noble husband knows I still love you, Thomas. His fine words to you over brandy are merely designed to persuade you to give him back his property. ’Tis as simple as that!” She halted her restless pacing and stared up at him. “He
knew
he could play on your sensibilities as a man of honor, as an
aristocrat
yourself—title or no—to abide by the
Gentlemen’s
Code,” she added caustically. “Oh, I’m sure he used his fine phrases of how wrongheaded all the Gordons were who came before him, but, believe me, he was playing you for a kindhearted fool!”

“I assume him to be at least a man of honor,” Thomas replied stiffly.

“Thomas,” she said wearily, “you make a fatal mistake if you think the Fourth Duke of Gordon is like yourself. He may act the gentleman, but he is merely a gentleman thoroughly accustomed to having things
his
way! And his
honor
is employed in keeping a tight rein on his
possessions
!”

Jane walked to the bedchamber window and stared down at the neat rows of tents where the crack troops were camped a hundred yards from the castle walls. Thomas remained silent, stationed behind her. At length, she turned to face him, fighting to suppress a wail of anguish.

“So that’s it, then…” she forced herself to say calmly.

“What would you have me
do
?” Thomas exploded, pounding his fist on top of the mahogany dresser.

“Take me with you!” she cried, grabbing hold of his arm. “Run away with me to London or to France.
Be
with me, no matter what the cost, because you say you love me and can’t imagine life without me by your side! ’Tis how I feel about you! ’Tis what I came here to tell you!”

Jane stared at him, feeling bitter tears begin to spill down her cheeks once more. Thomas stared back, his face haggard. From the far end of the hallway, the sound of raucous laughter and off-key singing floated through the door. Apparently, several of the younger officers were making their way back to their rooms so they could continue drinking themselves insensible till their departure at dawn.

“I can’t run away with you,” Thomas said, his voice rasping. “I love you with my life, Jenny, but you’re with child—”

“And you don’t want me, unless you’re certain ’tis yours, is that it?” she flared.

“No, ’tis
not
the way of it,” he shot back, a look of anguish etched on his face. “But I can’t take you on bumpy roads and rough journeys in your condition… take you from your home and children at a time like this… and I can’t abandon the men in my charge who depend on me for their lives!”