The Scot and I (37 page)

“I know.”

She swallowed a sob that was stuck in her throat. “Yes, I killed Ramsey. I didn’t have a choice. I’m sorry, so sorry. Nothing turned out the way I hoped it would. I wanted to make a bargain with them. I must have been out of my mind. They weren’t interested in the lists I’d stolen. They weren’t going to give up and go away.”

“Hush!” His eyes were hot and intense. “Do you think I care about that? Where are your gloves? Look at your hands.” He turned her hands over. “They’re going to hurt like the devil in another hour or two. Have you no sense, woman? You should have kept your gloves on.”

She would have blasted him with the sharp edge of her tongue if he hadn’t raised her hands to his lips and kissed them reverently.

Men came out of the shadows, soldiers with prisoners, and Gavin and Dugald. Alex got up and moved away. “Where are you going?” she cried out.

“Unfinished business,” said Alex.

“Durward?”

“Yes, Durward. We’ll talk later.”

She sat up and would have gone after him, but Dugald was kneeling beside her, scolding, clicking his tongue, and Macduff was licking her ear. Then they were hemmed in by soldiers and watched as the house began to collapse upon itself.

Alex found Murray propped against a tree with a soldier standing guard over him. “Where did Durward go?” he asked.

When Murray hesitated, Alex raised his revolver. Murray could see that he meant business and blurted out, “He went to his house, the Cove. We were to meet there.”

To the soldier, Alex said, “Shoot out his other knee if he tries to get away.”

And mounting up, he took the road to the north.

Twenty-five

Alex slowed his furious pace when he heard hoofbeats gaining on him.

“Alex,” shouted Gavin, “will you wait up?” When he came abreast of his brother, he said between gasping breaths, “Mahri says that you’re going after Durward.”

“I won’t kill him, if that’s what you think.”

“I was more worried about him killing you. That’s why I’ve brought a couple of troopers with me.”

“It won’t happen.”

“How do you know?”

“He’ll want to talk. Tell me how clever he is.” He was thinking of the handkerchief that had been wrapped around Mungo’s badge and the sense of overweening arrogance that had engulfed him when he’d touched it. It was worse than arrogance.
Hubris
, his granny would have called it. “Find Foster and tell him I’ll be at the Cove. And take the troopers with you.”

“But . . . how do you know that Durward will be at the Cove? He could be anywhere—Ballater, the castle—”

“No. He didn’t pass us on the way down. He has nowhere else to go but up. Besides, Murray told me.”

“He’s gone to ground?”

Alex gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I doubt it. Men like the commander don’t go to ground. They regroup, plot how to retrieve themselves from an impossible situation. Now go! And tell Foster where to find me.”

He heard Gavin curse savagely at his back, but the hoofbeats grew fainter, and soon Alex was the only rider making for the Cove. That was all that remained of the vast lands in Deeside that the great family of Durward had once held, this cottage on a few acres of land. Their trouble was, they’d never fought on the winning side. It was a story the commander often told with relish, as though, he said, ancient history mattered a jot! What mattered was what a man made of himself.

Although they were at the very least a mile apart, in this barren landscape of moor and mountain, Mile-End House and the Cove were practically neighbors. But Durward did not live in the cottage. It was a relic, all that remained of his heritage, and he could not bear to part with it. And he had laughed at his fanciful turn of mind.

Alex had laughed along with him. He wasn’t laughing now. A man whom he had admired and respected, a man whom he had trusted with his own life as well as the lives of his comrades, now filled him with a murderous rage.

The rage had to be put on a tight leash. He had questions to ask, and he wanted answers. If Durward escaped retribution now, too many lives would be in jeopardy. He’d be free to silence anyone who had dared to oppose him, and Mahri most of all. It was she who had brought Durward’s plans to ruin.

As he approached the house, there was no attempt on Alex’s part at subterfuge. He was well aware that the commander would be expecting Murray to make a report. Alex’s appearance on the scene might put him off his stride, but he’d want to know how much Alex knew and whether or not he should brazen it out or make a run for it.

The Cove was nestled in a small depression between the moor and an outcrop of rock. From that vantage point, it was impossible to see the fire that had razed Mile-End House to the ground. But the smell of smoke was in the air, and a curious neighbor would surely have climbed the rise to investigate. There was no sign of a curious neighbor, no sign of anyone, only a light shining from a downstairs window.

After tethering his horse, Alex walked boldly up to the front door and hammered on it with the knocker. The door was opened at once by Durward. He had a gun in his hand. Alex’s uniform seemed to confuse him, but he kept the gun pointing right at him. “Alex, is it you?”

“Come to make my report, sir,” Alex managed. He looked to be on the point of collapse, and it was more than a ruse to deflect Durward’s suspicions. He’d lived through a hellish night, and it wasn’t over yet.

“Come in, come in, and tell me what has happened.” Though Durward’s voice was solicitous, he kept the gun pointing at Alex.

They entered a small parlor with comfortable leather chairs and a small fire burning in the grate. Though it was quite unpretentious, it put Alex in mind of one of the gentlemen’s clubs in and around Whitehall.

He took the chair indicated and was soon nursing a small glass of whiskey. The commander, Alex noted, did not pour a whiskey for himself but nursed his gun instead.

“How did you know where to find me?” asked Durward pleasantly.

Alex knew that he couldn’t pretend that he knew nothing of the fire. He was covered in a white ash, and his clothes smelled strongly of smoke. Besides, he had decided on a different cover—the loyal agent who cannot believe that his chief is a traitor.

“You mentioned the house before,” he said, “but it was Murray who told me. I don’t know if he is still alive. He was in bad shape when I left.” He leaned forward slightly, unthreateningly, and said hoarsely, “Commander, I don’t know what is going on, but I know that you must go into hiding at once. Soldiers are combing the hills for you.” He touched a hand to his uniform. “They think I’m one of them. That’s why they didn’t arrest me.”

“Alex, you’re overwrought. Remember that you are an agent. Now tell me slowly and succinctly what happened tonight.”

Alex had his story ready, but it left out a lot, and he improvised where he thought it would help him. He told the commander about setting out for Mile-End, hoping to find Demos agents, but when he got there, it was already too late. The house was on fire, and he left soldiers and Demos fighting a fixed battle.

“There was a woman there, too,” said Alex. “Professor Scot’s daughter. I thought she was on our side, but she was just waiting her moment to get away from us.”

The commander cocked one brow. “
Our
side?”

“My brother’s and mine.”

“Now, that makes sense.”

“She escaped the fire, but she’s under arrest. She’s offering to make a bargain—a list of Demos agents for amnesty.”

The commander melted into the back of his chair. “The lists are not important,” he said. “You see, Alex, my name isn’t on them.”

Alex’s head came up. “What?”

“And who is going to believe the word of Professor Scot’s daughter? She’s one of them, an agent of Demos.”

“But . . . what are you saying, Commander?”

The commander laughed. “Your trouble, Alex, was that you were always too trusting. That was your greatest failing. So trusting to come here and warn me of danger. You see, I wrote those lists and sent them from Windsor to Professor Scot. They comprise the names of likely prospects for our cause as well as the names of sympathizers who support us financially. He was supposed to approach these people and enlist them as full-fledged members of Demos. His daughter, one of our couriers, was to take those lists to her father.” His voice hardened. “As things turned out, she decided to use them for her own ends.”

It took all of Alex’s willpower not to spring at the other man and choke the life out of him, but the commander had taught him the value of discipline, and he held to his plan.

“You’re not the power behind Demos,” he said. “You can’t be!”

“I assure you that I am. If you could only see your face! Think how well placed I am. I move freely between Windsor, Whitehall, and Balmoral. I have the ear of the home secretary. All matters of security for the queen come to my desk. Nothing can touch me, Alex, nothing.”

It was all there in the commander’s face, the arrogance, the hubris, his overmastering sense of superiority, and Alex felt sick to his stomach. But the game wasn’t over yet. He still had a few moves to make.

He shook his head. “But how can that be? You knew that there was a stand-in for the queen at her reception. You knew there was a turncoat. Why wouldn’t you warn Demos off? If you were one of them, then why let them continue with the attack and put themselves in danger?”

The commander was highly amused. He got up, kept his eye and gun trained on Alex, moved to the table with the decanters on it, and poured himself a neat whiskey. When he settled himself in his chair again, he said affably, “My dear boy, it was too risky for me to interfere. I was in Windsor, remember? And this was their show. I had to let events run their course. If Demos had succeeded in killing the decoy queen, then all credit to them, but you must see that my hands were tied.”

“When did you know they had failed?”

“Oh, Professor Scot sent me a telegram the following morning, and I left for Balmoral almost at once.”

“And got marooned in Aberdeen because of the flood,” said Alex.

“Quite.” Durward sipped his drink slowly.

Alex stretched his cramped muscles. “That poor woman. I mean the professor’s daughter. She thinks those lists contain vital information that could prove lethal to all her friends in Demos.”

“She’s partly right, but since my name isn’t on them, I have nothing to fear.”

“And what about the people whose names are on those lists? Have they nothing to fear?”

The commander shrugged. “There comes a time when one has to cut one’s losses. This is one of them.”

Alex had to look away to conceal the disgust he knew must be reflected in his eyes. He hunched his shoulders and let his arms swing between his spread legs. When he was sure his gaze was neutral, he looked up. “I had my suspicions,” he said. “I began to see that Demos had a powerful friend in Balmoral. I thought it might be Foster.”

“Foster?” The commander chuckled. “That clown? I’m almost insulted.”

“However, it didn’t take me long to realize that it couldn’t be the colonel. It had to be someone who returned to Deeside after the flood.”

The commander wasn’t smiling now. “And how did you work that out?”

“Mahri, the girl. Even though she shot Ramsey and foiled the attempt on the queen’s life, well, Mungo’s life really, Foster wasn’t interested in her. He didn’t know how important she was. She was just the woman who shot Ramsey.” He gave a half smile, as though he regretted having to point out a few moot points to his superior. “My first inkling came when we escaped by train. The guards on duty let us pass without incident. We could have overpowered them very easily if they tried to stop us, and you wouldn’t have wanted that. As you know, of course, Demos was waiting for us at Aboyne. They wanted Mahri, but not to kill her. They could have killed her at the station. Instead, they abducted her. Now here is where things get curious. A troop of soldiers was lying in wait for Murray and his thugs, and they were shooting indiscriminately. They didn’t care whom they killed.”

“Interesting,” said the commander.

“Yes, isn’t it? Here’s what I make of it. At this point, Demos was taking its orders from the professor. He, of course, wanted to protect his daughter. The soldiers were taking their orders from you, and you, understandably, wanted her dead.”

“Not from malice. Not because the lists were important. She’d become a liability, but naturally, I couldn’t tell her father that.”

“Of course you couldn’t. You must have been reluctant to countermand his orders. After all, he was the leader of Demos in Deeside at that point. I doubt that the members of his cell even knew of your existence.”

“Do I look like a fool? Of course they didn’t.”

Durward got up. Keeping Alex under close watch, he sidled to the window. A quick look through the glass seemed to reassure him and he returned to his place. “You were saying?” he prompted, just as though he were the host at a dinner party.