Journey to Enchantment (14 page)

“How savage!” said Prudence, clenching her fists in rage. “How damnable they are, these English!”

“True.” Miss Clandon sighed. “And is it not contrary that one of the grandest gentlemen I've ever had the honour to know is English? And—sad I am to own it—one of our braw Scots lads was kicking him and aboot to bayonet him when my uncle knocked him doon fer his cruelty and carried Geoffrey from the field.”

Prudence smiled at her. “You are very right, of course. Which just goes to show how silly war is, when there's good and bad on both sides, and little to be gained but suffering.” She put out her hand. “Thank you so much for coming to talk with me. I hope you mean to stay a long time.”

“I cannot, alas. I've work to do for my grandmama. At least”—she smiled mischievously—“I'll have a right bonnie escort.”

“Lord Thaddeus?”

“Yes. He's to come at noon, so I must hurry and make myself ready.”

Prudence got out of bed, and they embraced rather shyly, each girl sensing there was much yet to be learned of the other and wondering if they would have the opportunity to get to know one another.

After Miss Clandon had gone, Prudence glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantel. Half-past nine. She must see her father as soon as may be, but he was often out on the estate at this hour. She donned her grey riding habit, therefore, told Kitty to brush out her hair and tie it back without setting it into ringlets or applying powder, and announced her intention to ride and then take breakfast later. It was difficult to meet the girl's innocent eyes, knowing that her beau lay wounded in the pyramid, but Kitty was too ingenuous; it would be impossible for her to behave normally if she was aware of the truth. Already, Prudence thought worriedly, there must be so many who knew Ligun Doone's appearance, if not his actual identity. And such a terribly high price on his head! She dismissed the abigail and walked along the hall to the small chamber that served her as a workroom. Here on one side were placed her sewing materials, a table she used for cutting patterns, and a comfortable chair. Across the room were the tools of her other hobby—an easel, palette, sketching pads, paints—and the stacked fruits of her labours. She took up the most recent of these, placed it on the easel and scanned it, a little flush coming into her cheeks.

She had sketched Delacourt the day after her encounter with the bees, and had started the work in anger. Gradually, however, it had changed to a pose she had chanced upon by accident. She had come upon him in the flower gardens, and he had been gazing at the blooms with a rapt expression, quite unaware of her presence. She had abandoned the work in disgust when she became aware it was more flattering than she'd intended, and had not glanced at it since. Viewing it now, with different eyes, she marvelled at the strength of character she had been unable to erase from that fine young face. Her blush deepened. She set the sketch quickly among the others, taking care to put it further back amongst them, and went downstairs.

Reaching the main hall, she hesitated, glancing towards the back of the house, but Delacourt was doubtless still sleeping. The butler, immaculate and expressionless, approached and imparted in his cultured voice that “the master is gone out, miss.” Not surprised, Prudence thanked him. And she thought as she turned down the side hall that Sidley was not only the coldest creature she'd ever encountered, but that he was so extremely English. Papa had hired the man five years since for the very quality of disdainful efficiency that was so admired, but none of them had ever been able to know him. She wondered, with a pang of unease, if since the Rising he reported to Colonel Cunningham. Faith, but there was a deal to fash a girl this morning!

Contrary to her assumption that he was still abed, Delacourt, fully dressed save for his coat, had ventured onto the terrace. He perched on the low wall, gazed across the wide panorama, drew in a deep breath, and winced. His eyes turned to and held on the acacia tree, until he sensed that he was no longer alone. He glanced up quickly and found Lockerbie watching him. He grinned and winked at the sombre-faced man.

Undeceived, Lockerbie said, “Yon hole in yer chest is fretting ye.”

Delacourt shrugged. “I took a small tumble last night.”

“What—sae soon?” The words were out before he could stop them. Lockerbie bit his lip, repentant.

“Don't worry so. It wasn't one of my famous swoons. I'm going on very much better, don't you think?”

“Aye,” lied the Scot staunchly. “If—if ye'd just give over, sir. Small wonder ye tire sae quick. Ye push yersel'—always, ye push yersel'.”

Delacourt stood and looked at him steadily. With a wry smile he said, “Needs must, when the Devil drives.”

VII

It was a brilliant morning; the kind of springtime perfection that comes along occasionally as if to reassure mankind that all is indeed well with the world. Prudence forgot about war and death and peril for a while and rode joyously through the cool peace of the countryside, her gaze drinking in verdant slope and darkling wood and the two great billowy cloud ships that hung motionless against the dark blue ceiling of the heavens. It was so still, so silent that the pure notes of a meadowlark's song etched themselves crisply, almost tangibly, against the hush. She had no intention of climbing into the hills this time, but she turned her mount towards higher ground where she might get a better view of Lakepoint and the far-reaching sheen of the loch. She skirted a copse of birches and jumped the mare across the small ravine the burn had made, then gave a frightened cry as a shot rang out very close at hand. The mare shied and danced about, snorting her fear. Prudence reined her in, stroking her neck and talking softly to her, her own heart hammering as she watched the man who rode from amongst the trees astride a tall bay horse.

“My dear lady,” said Colonel Cunningham, pulling up beside her, “I do trust I did not startle you. I fancied myself quite alone up here today.”

His smile was kind, his manner contrite, and his hard black eyes needle-sharp. Seldom afraid, Prudence was frightened now and prayed she might do nothing, say nothing, to endanger their valiant invalid. “You startled both my horse and myself, sir,” she said calmly. “Is this an escape from your military duties? Or were you shooting at more of our unhappy rebels?”

He brandished a sleek hunting gun. “No, no. Just after a grouse. Saw some fat ones when I was down here yesterday, so came back to see if I could please my cook by bagging a couple.”

She did not point out that there were many fat grouse between here and Inverness, but said, “I fancy your game bag is full already.”

He had no game bag at all, belatedly aware of which he searched her face narrowly. She looked innocent and not very bright, this pretty Scots lass, but he had learned long ago that one does not judge a book by its cover. “Lost it en route,” he said. “Had it tied to the pommel and it must have fallen.” He restored the gun to its scabbard and went on, “I let this old fellow stretch his legs in a gallop, which probably brought about my loss. Gad, but it's a beautiful day. Would you prefer I go away and not spoil it?”

It was all said in the same friendly, conversational tone, and Prudence started. “My apologies, Colonel. I must have behaved most rudely last evening to leave you with such an impression.”

“Not at all. You were most gracious.” He dismounted, lifted her down, and they walked along together, leading the horses. “But an army of occupation cannot expect to be popular. And you must be irked by the presence of one of my officers in your home.”

“My father is not a man to shirk his obligations, sir,” she said carefully. “But I'd be telling lies did I say it was a welcome development insofar as I am concerned.”

He laughed. “An honest woman! What a relief. You've no idea of the insincere things a man in my position is obliged to listen to. I can readily appreciate your father's situation.”

“Because of the ‘insincere things' Captain Delacourt says?” she asked, her nerves growing tighter every moment.

His brows lifted at this immediate taking up of the gauntlet. “Do you find him so?”

“I find him as seldom as may be, Colonel.”

He nodded sympathetically. “And probably imagine he was billeted upon you in order to spy.”

She could not restrain a gasp. “Heavens! What would he be spying on? We are not Jacobites; my papa does not hold with the business. If you put the Captain at Lakepoint to—”

“But, my dear, I did not put him there,” he said soothingly. “In fact, I was not aware he was up here at all until he sent his man to apprise me of that fact. Nine months late.”

Her heart leaping about, Prudence said, “He's no been wi' us for nine months, sir! Nor is he likely to be!”

“No. Poor fellow. I'm afraid you're right.” He sighed. “What a very bad time of it he has had. Dragged from pillar to post … to find safe haven at last in the home of his school friend's family. Despite their dislike of us. It would appear to reinforce the old adage that ties forged at Oxford hold fast unto the grave.”

Another warning bell rang in Prudence's mind. If it was an old adage, which she doubted, it was one she'd not heard. She thought, ‘Dear God! Did Captain Delacourt say Oxford?' And not daring to risk it, she pointed out, “If our guest told you he met my brother at Oxford, Colonel, his memory is no better than my papa's. Robbie was at Cambridge.”

“By Gad, but you're correct! I vow my mind is deteriorating. It must be the rarefied air. Speaking of which—I do trust you have no thought to climb into the higher hills again, dear ma'am. Should you not have a groom to accompany you?”

How smooth he was. How slimy! What did he mean, ‘again'? Had he known of her climb the other day? If so, he—or his men—must have seen the Captain and Willie! And if that was the case, he was playing cat and mouse, as the military loved to do. He was after Ligun Doone and knew he was at Lakepoint! She felt sick, her throat almost closing with panic. But this menace beside her was waiting, his mild gaze ready to detect any terror—which heaven knows she was riddled with! With all her might she fought for calm. “Now you sound like my father,” she said, smiling at him sweetly and praying she was not as pale as she felt. “I seldom go into the hills any more. But sometimes I simply long to be alone.”

She prayed he would take the hint, but he answered, “You'll not be alone for long do you venture into those crags, Miss MacTavish.” He slanted a grim glance at the jagged peaks to the south. “They fairly swarm with ragtag soldiery who'd as soon cut your lovely throat as look at you!”

Bristling, she exclaimed, “I doubt that! They are Scots, sir!”

He bowed. “
“Touché.
But you would do well to remember that not all Scots are gentlemen, any more than all Englishmen are monsters.”

“I had not thought that of all Englishmen,” she said, aware that it was too late to take back her unfortunate outburst.

“And that properly drives me to the ropes!” Amusement softened his eyes unexpectedly. “As well it should. I see it does not do to fence with you, ma'am. May I assist you to mount?”

He cupped his hands for her boot, and when he had tossed her into the saddle, saluted her smartly, and stepped back. Prudence remained staring down at him. He had said she'd fenced with him. She'd tried, but she doubted she was clever enough to fool this man. It was hopeless to try to be careful and diplomatic. Nonetheless, for Captain Delacourt's sake, she bent and put out her hand. “It's a thankless task you have, sir,” she said with her most glowing smile. “I dinna envy you it.”

He looked surprised, and took her hand firmly. “Thank you. Lovely creatures like yourself make my task more palatable.”

But as she started away, he called, “Be very careful, Miss MacTavish.”

*   *   *

“I tell you, the man suspects!” Still clad in her riding habit, Prudence gripped her hands tightly as she sat in the gold saloon with her father, Miss Clandon, and Delacourt. “That last silken little remark of his had me shivering all the way home.”

Miss Clandon nodded thoughtfully. “He's a shrewd one all right. I'm thinking ye shouldnae dally up here any longer, Geoff. Somebody else can carry the cypher, if it does come doon tae that. Certainly, you're in no case—”

“He was likely only testing Miss MacTavish,” Delacourt interpolated, with a warning look. “I've no reason to suppose he mistrusts me. After all, everyone imagines Ligun Doone to be a Scot.”

“Aye, they do,” MacTavish agreed. “But 'twas a fool boy's trick to choose such a name.”

“Thumbing his nose at 'em,” said Miss Clandon, regarding the Captain with exasperated affection.

Taking one puzzle at a time, Prudence asked, “What cypher?”

Miss Clandon looked dismayed. “Oh, dear! I thought you'd told her.”

Troubled, MacTavish asked, “Delacourt?”

“No!” The Captain's dark brows met in a frown. “The less your daughter knows, sir, the safer she'll be.”

“They dinna hang us by degrees,” said Miss Clandon dryly. “And she already knows enough to hang.”

“Never even think that!” gasped Delacourt, horrified.

Prudence intervened hotly, “What dreadful rubbish! You've been a godsend to our people, Captain. My father and I would be ingrates indeed were we unwilling to be at risk for your sake!”

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away. “I think you do not know what you risk, ma'am.”

“How jolly it would be,” drawled another English voice from the doorway, “to walk in and find you all chatting about a new poem, or the weather, or thomething dull and normal.”

Delacourt swung his chair around. “Thad! You're late, you bounder!”

His lordship entered, paid his respects to them all, and protested his innocence. “My wig, y'know,” he said, smoothing that perfection. “Took my man forever.” He glanced at Prudence's amused face. “Am I to gather we have a new recruit, dear boy?”