The Scot and I (13 page)

“Sir,” said the captain, saluting Foster.

Foster came right to the point. “I want these woods swarming with soldiers. I want Hepburn and his brother dead or alive. If they have drowned in the river, I want to hear about it.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain hesitated.

“What?” asked Foster roughly. “Spit it out, man.”

“Are you giving me a ‘kill on sight’ order, sir?”

“That’s exactly what I’m giving you.”

Still the captain hesitated.

“This is war, Captain,” roared Foster. “These men killed Dickens. They tried to kill the queen. I take full responsibility for the orders I issue, so go to it before I have you arrested for insubordination.”

The captain saluted smartly and left the room.

Foster got up and started to pace again. Strictly speaking, Hepburn hadn’t tried to kill the queen. He’d known about the stand-in. And they were still keeping up the pretense that Her Majesty was secluded in the castle. These were Durward’s orders, but he doubted that Durward would be sending any more telegrams telling him what to do. The lines were bound to be down.

At last he could run things the way he wanted.

Nine

Mahri awakened to the sound of drapes being drawn back and the feel of light making patterns on her eyelids. The wind wasn’t howling; there were no claps of thunder to make her start. She was warm and dry in a soft feather bed, at peace with herself and the world.

The thought made her brow furrow. She must be dreaming.

She slowly opened her eyes. A young woman with a halo of gold hair was standing beside the bed. She had a kind smile and hazel eyes that were alight with humor.

“Good morning, Mahri,” she said. “My name is Juliet Cardno. Don’t be alarmed. My mother and I undressed you last night and put you to bed.”

Mahri lurched to a sitting position and promptly groaned. Every muscle in her body felt as though she’d been tortured on the rack. Worse by far were the blisters and splinters on her hands, blisters and splinters she had got from using her oar as a barge pole.

“Where is everyone?” she asked abruptly.

“Alex and your man, Dugald, are outside, clearing up after the storm. I’m sorry to say that our servants have quite deserted us, on account of the flood, you know. They have their own homes to go to, and their own families to see to. So, we’re quite alone. But I’m sure we’ll manage. As for Gavin”—Juliet shrugged—“we had to practically tie him to his bed. He wants to do his part, I suppose, but he’s still a little shaky on his feet.”

Mahri blinked slowly as she gazed up at the other girl. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t quite awake. Could you repeat what you said?”

The other girl smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re with friends, Mahri; that’s the main thing. No one has come looking for you, because everyone has enough to do in their own backyard. Yes”—she nodded when Mahri’s eyes flared—“Alex has told us that you’re all in trouble with the law. Something to do with the rumpus up at Balmoral, isn’t it? Well, of course, my mother and I know that Gavin and Alex had nothing to do with the attempt on the queen’s life. You need a place to hide out until Alex clears up this terrible misunderstanding, and my mother and I are confident that he’ll do that as soon as the telegraph lines are up and the trains are running again. Then he’ll get a message to Whitehall and ask his section head to sort out this debacle.”

Mahri took a moment to digest this. Finally, she said, “Were you at the queen’s reception?”

“Ah, no. Gavin offered to escort me, but there is a gentleman I want to avoid whom I knew would be there. You know how it is.” Her eyes were very wide, very clear. “We were engaged to be married once, but he threw me over for another woman.
C’est la vie
.”

This was frankness on a scale that Mahri had never imagined, and she didn’t know how to respond, so she started over. “I wish I had missed it, too.”

Juliet’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure you do.”

Mahri cleared her throat. “What did the doctor say about Gavin?”

“Oh, he hasn’t seen the doctor. Old Mac, as we call him, is too busy treating people who are much worse off than Gavin. You probably don’t realize how much damage the storm caused, not only in Ballater, but in all Deeside. The roads are impassable. No one is getting in or going out. Alex bound Gavin’s ribs and stayed with him through most of the night. Gavin is doing fine, Mahri, so there’s no need to worry.”

No need to worry? Juliet Cardno didn’t know the half of it.

Mahri shook her head. “I don’t understand. When we left the castle, Gavin could hardly walk. He’d lost a lot of blood. Now you tell me he is fine?”

Juliet lifted one shoulder. “He says that it’s a case of mind over matter. He tells himself that he isn’t in pain, and the pain goes away. Don’t ask me how he does it, but it seems to work.” She cocked her head to the side. “Alex tells me that you and Dugald got them out of prison last night. That was a very brave thing you did, Mahri.”

“It was Dugald who did most of it.” She shifted uneasily, wondering what she’d told the other girl before she’d found a bed. Juliet knew her name. What else had she told her?

Juliet saw the movement. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much last night when my mother and I undressed you?”

“Hurt me?”

“Last night. You put up quite a fight when we tried to strip your wet clothes from you. Poor Alex. You were calling out for him to help you and wouldn’t let him go. The whole house was in an uproar.”

A ripple of shock went through Mahri. She could see that the other girl was enjoying herself immensely. “Is this a joke?”

Juliet laughed. “What a pair you and Alex make! He is as straight-faced as you this morning. You’re both too proud to admit you have feelings for each other, at least to outsiders.”

“I don’t feel anything for Alex. I mean, Mr. Hepburn.”

“Yet you went back to Balmoral and got him out of that dungeon.” Juliet threw up her hands. “Don’t mind me. Everyone will tell you that I’m a terrible tease. Shall we change the subject?”

Mahri was only too happy to oblige. There was a silence while she racked her brain for something to say. Juliet, evidently, wasn’t going to help. “Alex.” The name slipped out before she could prevent it, but she went on seamlessly. “Alex has told me very little about you and your mother. I don’t know why you should be so kind to me, but please believe that I am deeply grateful.”

“You could say,” replied Juliet, “that any friend of Alex is a friend of ours. No, don’t frown. I’m not teasing. Our families have known each other forever. We come up here every summer. The Hepburns have a place east of here. We hardly ever saw Alex, though, after he went back to work at the Home Office. That, of course, was after that terrible tragedy with Ariel and he became . . . well . . . withdrawn. Not the same man at all, and who can blame him?”

“Ariel?”

“The girl he was going to marry. She died in an accident, oh, it must be four or five years ago.” Juliet stopped. “He hasn’t mentioned her?”

“No.”

“Then I shouldn’t either. Alex is a very private person.”

There was an interval of silence, then Juliet gave an infectious laugh. “Stuff and nonsense! You should know what you’re up against. Ariel, in my opinion, was a real beauty, the kind of female a man loses his head over. She had impeccable taste and the figure to show off the expensive garments she wore. She was wealthy, wellborn, and not afraid to express her opinions. Not to put too fine a point on it, neither I nor any other female of my acquaintance could stand the woman.”

She suddenly stopped. “Oh dear, I brought you a cup of chocolate and put it down somewhere.” She looked around, spotted it on the table by the window, and went to get it.

“I suppose that sounds cruel,” she said, handing the cup to Mahri, “what with the girl in her grave, but I never felt that we should speak only good of the dead. Yes, I have good cause. I had a beau that Ariel stole from me, not the one I mentioned earlier, but that was before she met Alex. What I’m trying to say is that we’re all very glad that Alex seems to have come to terms with his loss and has picked up the threads of his life again.”

She wished Juliet hadn’t mentioned Alex’s lost love. Now she was avidly curious, and if she started asking questions, Juliet would get the wrong idea.

“What about you, Mahri? Did you grow up on Deeside?”

“No.” She didn’t want to say too much, because this girl’s mind was as sharp as a needle, and she had plenty to hide. She chose her words carefully. “My mother was born here, and after she married, she’d come here in the summer months. My father couldn’t always get away. We loved it here, my brother and I, but that was before my mother died. Afterward, it was too painful for my father to return to a place that held so many memories of my mother.” It was the truth, but it wasn’t the whole truth.

“Where are your father and brother now?”

To give herself time to think, Mahri took a mouthful of chocolate, and almost gagged on the lumps floating in it. Swallowing valiantly, she got out, “My father died not long after my mother, and Bruce and I went to live with my grandparents. But Bruce is gone, too. He died in Africa in the Zulu War.”

She regretted having to lie to a girl who had been kind to her, but she didn’t know what else she could do. Anything she told Juliet was bound to get back to Alex Hepburn.

When she allowed her shoulders to droop, as though these memories were making her sad, Juliet took the hint. “I’ve looked out a change of clothes that I think will fit you. We’re about the same size, I believe. You must be hungry—” She suddenly broke off and exclaimed, “Good grief! What happened to your hands?”

Mahri made an involuntary movement to hide her hands, but Juliet was too quick for her. She removed the cup of chocolate, lifted one hand, then the other, and examined each closely.

“Well,” she said, “Alex told us you were brave, but if I’d known you’d been to the wars, I would have tended to your poor hands last night.” She pointed to a door. “The bathroom is right through there. Do what you have to do, and I’ll be back with the tweezers and a salve to fix those blisters and splinters.”

At the door, she turned back. “A word to the wise,” she said, “or maybe I should say a word to the innocent. Watch out for Gavin. He’s an inveterate flirt. No good scolding him. Just pretend that you’re taking him seriously and start making plans for the wedding. It works for me. I promise you, he’ll run a mile.”

Mahri heard Juliet laughing to herself on the other side of the door, and her own lips turned up. There was something about that young woman that made her worries seem easier to manage.

She pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her legs felt like noodles; her hands felt as though she’d thrust them into a hornets’ nest. As she took a moment to come to herself, she studied her surroundings.

The room was uncluttered, comfortable, restful. A happy room, she decided. Could this be Juliet’s room? Juliet was outspoken, outrageous, and by her own admission, a terrible tease. It would be nice to have a friend like Juliet.

She made a face. What a maudlin thought! She didn’t want or need friends. Her life was too complicated to allow anyone to get close to her. What would they talk about? Fashions? Who was getting married to whom or not? Beaux?

Juliet had certainly got the wrong idea about Alex Hepburn and her. Maybe it was as Juliet said. She vaguely remembered resisting someone who was trying to take the knapsacks away from her. If she had shouted out Hepburn’s name, it was to get him to stop, not to beg for his help.

Juliet had also got the wrong idea about her going back to rescue Hepburn from prison. He had only been doing his job when he’d tried to capture her after she’d shot Ramsey, and she’d practically delivered him into the hands of his enemies! It was all such a muddle, but in her own mind, she’d paid off a debt, and that was the end of it.

It was time she stopped thinking about Alex Hepburn and started thinking about her own problems. Inhaling a long breath, she wiggled out of bed and tottered to the bathroom. On the way, she stopped in front of a long cheval mirror. The woman who stared back at her was as different from Master Thomas as day from night. She was wearing a fine, lawn nightdress with rows of pretty pink bows scattered across the bodice. Juliet had done her proud.

She turned and looked back at the bed. There was no sign of Thomas’s clothes, but on the back of an upholstered chair, a brown taffeta day dress was spread out, and neatly folded on the dresser beside the chair was what she assumed were fine linen petticoats and pantalets. As long as she was the Cardnos’ guest, she didn’t mind dressing as a lady in borrowed finery.

Though she knew how to conduct herself in polite society, she’d never been comfortable in it. She’d missed her mother’s guiding hand. It was her brother and grandfather who had raised her to be proficient in the manly arts. Her father had been too busy to pay them much heed.