Susan Johnson (20 page)

“No, no, don’t do anything to anger him, darling,” Amelia soothed him. “He’s short-tempered after riding for days from London.”

“He’s a priggish popinjay, too,” Jamie sneered, and all the children tittered. Their uncle’s attire was so flamboyant it was difficult to tell if he was truly a soldier. His velvet coat dripped with lace, his breeches were lined with rows of gilded braid, his white kid gloves were more suited to a ball than to horseback, and his elaborate curled wig looked out of place in the country.

But their eyes were all bright with tears as they
climbed into the coach a few moments later, and Amelia was sobbing as she waved good-bye.

She watched only until the coach disappeared around the curve in the drive, and then called her steward forward from the huddle of servants crowded around the door. “See that horses are ready for us in ten minutes. You must come with me, Crauford, in David’s absence. Bring what money you can find, and send a message to David so he understands he’s to follow us immediately.” She called her lady’s maid over and instructed her to gather the bare necessities for a swift journey into the city.

Only twenty minutes later, she and Crauford, mounted on their best thoroughbreds, galloped after the children, and within an hour had caught up to the slow-moving carriage. Careful to remain out of sight of Colter and his troopers, they followed the children into Edinburgh. As they entered the city, Amelia instructed her steward to stay with the vehicle until it reached its destination, and then report back to her. She was headed for Steil’s Tavern; the owner was known as loyal to the Carres.

Despite the late hour, Johnnie received Amelia’s message and ten minutes later, a servant came to fetch her.

They took a circuitous route through darkened streets and wynds, stopping occasionally to see if they were being followed, and before long she was being greeted by Johnnie.

“I hope I misunderstood your message,” he said, his anxiety plain.

“Unfortunately, it’s true. Argyll had Roxane’s children taken.”

“Jesus,” he muttered, his mind racing with possible methods of retaliation. He escorted her to a chair. “Tell me what happened.”

“Colter appeared with a troop of Argyll’s men and simply took them. And Angus is sick.” She wrung her hands in despair.

“I’ll send a message to Argyll immediately,” Johnnie replied. “We’ll have them back posthaste. Don’t worry.”

She seemed to collapse where she sat. “Thank you, oh, thank you.” Her eyes were suddenly bright with tears. “Thank God you’re here.” She didn’t ask how or why, content a savior was on hand.

“I’ll have a servant see you home, and you needn’t worry anymore. I’ll see that the children are freed.”

“Crauford followed the carriage. He’ll return to Steil’s with information on their destination.”

“Good. You’ve done marvelously. Now let me take over.” The Laird of Ravensby was already debating the exact wording of his message to Argyll. “I don’t dare mount a raid tonight—the children might be hurt in the attack. I think its best to talk to Argyll first.”

The moment Amelia was shown out, Johnnie called for Kinmont to deliver his note to Argyll.

But Kinmont reported back with unsatisfactory news. “Argyll’s out tonight. His subaltern doesn’t know where. Some lady, no doubt.” He grimaced. “I gave his batman twenty pounds to see that Argyll has the letter the minute he returns.”

“We can’t wait with Angus sick. Notify the caddies. I want Argyll found.”

A
RGYLL WAS LOCATED WITHIN THE HOUR, AND
once he’d read Johnnie’s message, he left the lady whose bed he was occupying without so much as a glance at his partner.

Near morning, the two powerful men met alone, on neutral ground, without an entourage. Arriving at the altar rail of the Tolbooth church, weaponless as agreed, the Laird of Ravensby and the Duke of Argyll viewed each other like circling gladiators.

“I could have you arrested,” Argyll threatened.

“But that wouldn’t be very profitable for you.” Johnnie knew what had brought Argyll here alone. His offer had been discreetly put, but the lure of money was unmistakable.

Argyll had dressed in full uniform—red military coat, medals from his Continental wars, decorated sword scabbard—all emblems of his subservience to the English, and Johnnie wondered for a moment what kind of man would betray his country.

“How profitable?” Argyll bluntly asked.

That
kind of man, Johnnie cynically reflected. Luckily, the kind of man most useful to him at the moment. “Tell me what you think of fifty thousand pounds. English of course.”
¹²

“If I married Roxane, I’d get half that amount and the countess as well.”

“Unfortunately, you’re already married.”

“She’s sickly.”
¹³

“So you have plans already.”

“Any sensible man would.”

Johnnie thought himself very fortunate not to be sensible, to be deeply in love instead, and when he spoke, his voice was smooth with sarcasm.

“Would a sensible man consider seventy-five thousand pounds?”

“A hundred, and your troops disbanded within the week. Plus, keep your brother leashed. No woman is worth a duel.”

“The countess’s children will be released immediately?”

“When I receive the money.”

“Ill meet you at their lodgings with the funds.” With Angus sick, they couldn’t afford delay.

“I envy your liquid assets,” Argyll silkily murmured.

“That liquidity is yours as soon as you wish.” Johnnie deliberately owned banks for that reason.

“One of the brats is sick, I’m told.”

A flash of alarm raced through Johnnie’s brain. If Argyll had been informed, Angus’s condition must be serious. “I suggest we waste no time, then.”

“No troops.”

“Only a man to help carry the coin.”

Both men knew the other would have reserves in the wings, but each had something the other wanted, too. So for the moment they were in agreement.

J
OHNNIE HIMSELF DROVE THE COACH TO THE
children’s lodgings, and he and Kinmont carried the sterling into the house in three trips. Only when the last bag was deposited on the table did Argyll hand Johnnie a key.

“Upstairs,” he curtly said.

“Just a precaution.” Johnnie indicated Kinmont, his two handguns pointed at Argyll. While his cousin
guarded the Campbell chief, Johnnie ran up the stairs and unlocked the door at the top of the landing.

The children were in a tight group around Jeannie, who held Angus in her lap, the fear on their faces pitiful to behold. When Johnnie stepped into the room, the twins ran to him, their faces streaked with tears. “Uncle Johnnie, please help,” they cried in unison. “Angus is terrible sick.”

He and Roxane had been friends for years, and he’d spent a great deal of time with her children. He loved them and they him, and it broke his heart to see little Angus so still and white.

“They took our servants away,” Jeannie sobbed, “and Angus hasn’t moved for ever so long.”

“He’ll have a doctor in ten minutes,” Johnnie promised, picking up the small child from her arms. “Follow me now. Kinmont is downstairs to help.” Carrying Angus gently down the stairs, he saw the children into the coach, placing Angus in Jeannie’s arms. “As soon I get Kinmont, we’ll leave. A minute more, that’s all.” He shut the carriage door.

Striding back into the room where Argyll waited under guard, Johnnie surveyed him, his gaze cold as the grave. “If that young boy dies, Argyll, I’ll see that you die, too. It’s not an idle threat, so you might want to pray for his recovery.” Followed by Kinmont, he turned and left the contemptible man who ruled Scotland for the English queen.

Short moments later, Angus was being put to bed, Mrs. Beattie already brewing a posset for him. A servant was racing for a doctor, and Johnnie was soothing the children as best he could. “The doctor will be here
in a few minutes. Mrs. Beattie knows how to make anyone well, and I’ve already sent word to your mother.”

“Thank you, Johnnie,” Jeannie gravely said, seated on the bed beside Angus, holding his hand. She looked so much like her mother had when she was young that Johnnie was reminded of his adolescence, when he and Roxane had fished and ridden together with all his Drummond cousins and Jamie. “Angus should have lots to drink, Aunt Amelia said.”

“Should we see if hell take a sip of water before Mrs. Beattie comes back?” Johnnie poured a small portion of water into a glass, understanding that doing something helped to ease the anxiety. “Here, let me hold him up a little, and you see if hell drink some.”

When Johnnie gently eased Angus’s head up, the young boy’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze terror-stricken—until he saw Johnnie. He tried to smile, but his eyes filled with tears. “I want Mama,” he croaked.

“She’s on her way,” Johnnie murmured. “Jeannie wants you to have a drink now.”

Obediently, Angus opened his mouth for his sister, but he swallowed with difficulty. “I want Mama,” he rasped, the congestion in his throat and lungs audible, his tears spilling over, running down his flushed cheeks.

“She’ll be here very soon,” Johnnie assured him, but the fluid in the young boy’s lungs alarmed him, his labored breathing a fearful sound in the quiet of the room.

Mrs. Beattie bustled in at that moment, carrying a tray with steaming jugs and cups and bowls. “Now
we’re going to see that this little laddie gets weel, right quick,” she cheerfully declared, moving toward the bed. “And your brothers and sister can drink a wee bit of this broth and lemonade, too.” She set the tray down beside the bed. “Dye want the lemon sweet first, or a bit o’ beef broth and oatmeal bread?”

Her good cheer and optimism altered the mood in the room, and before long, all the children were busy eating, little Angus fed his broth and lemonade a spoonful at a time by Mrs. Beattie, who regaled them with stories of ghosts and wee people.

The doctor came with an array of medicines and before long, Angus was sleeping peacefully, helped by a small amount of laudanum. Beds were arranged for the children, with Jeannie set up in a cot in Angus’s room along with Mrs. Beattie. Johnnie sat up in a chair near the bed, feeling responsible for the children in the absence of their mother.

By morning, Angus’s breathing had improved—not dramatically, but enough to allay everyone’s anxieties. When he asked for oatmeal with raisin faces for breakfast, his sister beamed.

“He’s ever so much better,” Jeannie whispered to Johnnie as they watched Mrs. Beattie tuck Angus into a freshly made bed. “He didn’t want to eat anything at all yesterday, not even a sweet Amelia had sent along.”

“Mrs. Beattie’s beef broth cures anything,” Johnnie said with a smile. “Your mother will be pleased.”

“Not with Uncle Colter.” The young girl made a face. “He’s hateful.”

“He won’t bother you again.”

“Did you scare him off?”

“Not exactly, but I think his orders have changed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on his way back to London.”

B
UT HE WASN’T. IN FACT, COLTER WAS QUESTIONING
Argyll’s sudden volte-face.

With an arrogance Argyll found annoying.

“Why in the world was I hied from London to pick up Roxane’s brats if they’re sent away again?”

“If you needed to know that, I’d tell you,” Argyll coolly replied, wondering what Marlborough saw in the man.

But then, Marlborough and Argyll disliked each other intensely, a point not wasted on the young Earl of Garrin. “Am I free to return to London, then?” he haughtily inquired, raising his chin above the expensive Flanders lace of his neckcloth. “Marlborough’s office is exceedingly busy with the campaign.”

“Not just yet,” Argyll said, flexing his power at such haughty insolence. “I may still need you.”

“For what, pray tell? I’m not usually employed as a nursemaid.”

“I’ll employ you in whatever capacity I wish, For-restor. Or have you forgotten your rank?”

“No, sir,” Colter murmured, the sneer in his voice blatant. “I’m at your disposal, my lord.”

“Kindly remember that.”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the young officer.

Sulky and restive, Colter spent the afternoon drinking in the officers’ mess. With evening, he strolled down the Royal Mile to Kilmarnock House,
where he’d taken up residence. He had to change into his finery for the night’s entertainments.

T
HE JOURNEY NORTH FROM THE FISHING LODGE
was leisurely, the pace dictated only by the need to reach Longmuir on the fourteenth. And the company had left in plenty of time.

Robbie and Roxane, surrounded by mounted clansmen, rode at a slow canter. The spring days were splendid, the sun warm, the political turmoil in Edinburgh and London seemingly distant in the balmy beauty of the green landscape. Roxane rode in her boyish garb, her short curls gleaming in the sun. And she and Robbie smiled at each other with lover’s smiles, intimate, exclusive, contented.