The Black Knave (42 page)

“Aye,” Rory said. “And hand the land to an Englishman who would clear it. I do not wish that to happen. My quarrel was with my father and brother.” He moved toward the door. “I ask only that you swear you will look after my wife… and Mary if misfortune wanders my way.” He made his last few words light. “And Jamie at the stable. His fa is a bully.”

“Aye,” Neil said. “I will do that. But I expect you will outlive us all.”

“Mayhap,” Rory said. “But I want you to have Braemoor in any event. You care for the people. My father did not. Nor did my brother.”

He left then before he said any more. He had already said too much. But his instinct told him Neil would not betray him, and he’d relied on his instinct this far.

Now for Dougal.

Bethia paced the room. She had awakened in the marquis’s arms, had snuggled further inside them, seeking the wonderful warmth of his body. Then, afraid that she would waken him, she reluctantly slipped away. He needed sleep.

He did not need her. He had not even wanted her. She had made the overtures.
She
had seduced
him
.

He had made it clear earlier that she should go. He obviously felt loyal to Mary, and she had forced him into betrayal. ‘Twas a fine reward for what he had offered.

And so she had quietly padded over to her clothes, dressed silently and slipped through the door to her own room. She did not want to hear apologies, or make them. She did not want to see guilt in his eyes.

Tears slipped soundlessly down her cheeks. She picked up Black Jack and hugged him until he’d whined, then she’d sat on her own bed. She would remember everything. The way he looked. The way he felt. The way he made
her
feel. She had never believed in this kind of love, the kind that shook her world, that broke her heart and made her soul cry. She had never believed she could love someone this hard, this painfully, that she could love so much she was willing to give him up to someone he cared about more. Someone he
trusted
.

Damn it, but the tears would not stop falling.

Black Jack licked her face anxiously, whining again.

“My own little Knave,” she whispered.

Bethia finally forced herself to get up, to change clothes. She chose a simple gown that laced up in front. She undid her messy braid and brushed her hair until it appeared to shine. Then she pinched her pale cheeks to put some color into them.

She could not let him know how she felt. She would not give him that burden. The next few days would be dangerous enough without his worrying about some lovesick woman.

Then she gazed at herself. Did he think Mary bonnier than she? She was certainly brave.
Trustworthy
.

That knowledge burned in her.

And made her restless. Had he wakened yet? Had he missed her?

She left her hair loose, put on a pair of slippers, then opened the door to take Jack outside. Instead, she saw the marquis standing there.

She was almost blinded by his clothes, then noted they meant he was probably leaving Braemoor. She backed away, allowing him to enter.

His green eyes were cool, his face expressionless. It was marred by a small black patch, an affectation he’d also used at their wedding.

Wedding.

“You are leaving?” she said rather stupidly.

“Aye, lass. I thought you had better write a note for your brother. He must trust me.”

“You are going now?”

“Aye. I will reach Rosemeare tomorrow and hopefully get him out tomorrow night. You will leave tomorrow night with Alister. You both must disappear at the same time. Otherwise, if Cumberland learns one is missing, he will send men to guard the other.”

“I still want to go with you.”

“You canna. But we will meet not far from Rosemeare. I will have to return here shortly. Long enough to find you gone, swear to find you and the Black Knave and kill the bloody fellow.”

She stared at him. “Why?”

“Rory Forbes must die, love. He must never be suspected of being the Knave, or all of Braemoor will pay for it. I think this coat and wig will be readily identifiable.” He took out a couple of cards from his pocket. “A few jacks of spades,” he said. “You must leave one on the table. We want Cumberland to believe the Knave assisted you. You might need the others for one reason or another.”

She nodded, grateful he did not tell her to hide them somewhere. He was beginning to trust her a wee bit.

“Now the letter,” he said.

She sat down and took a quill pen, dipping it into ink and quickly wrote her brother, wishing him a happy birth date, then adding that he could trust the bearer of the letter. She blotted it, then sealed the note.

The marquis took it and placed it carefully in a pocket inside his waistcoat. He then reached out and fingered a curl. “You have bonny hair,” he said. “What did you do with it when you played the hero?”

“I braided it tight and pinned it on top of my head, then put a loose cap over it.”

He hesitated. “Could you bear to cut it?”

“Aye,” she said readily.

“You will be Alister’s apprentice if stopped.”

“And Mary?”

“His wife.”

“I could be his wife,” she offered.

“Too many attended our wedding, love. You might be recognized in a dress, but not as likely as a lad.”

She would miss her hair, which fell nearly to her waist, but he was, and had been, risking far more. She nodded.

“Sew the jewels into your clothes,” he added.

Her gaze met his. Her lips trembled. She owed him so much. She wanted him so much. And yet he stood there coolly, his eyes expressionless as if last night had not happened.

“If anything unexpected happens, lass, Alister has the name of a farmer with whom you can take refuge. As I told you, a ship will pick you up. The French captain has been paid and is reliable.”

She nodded. She did not trust herself to say anything.

His hand reached her and cupped her chin. “You and Dougal will make it, and you can live quite happily in France. There is a strong Jacobite community.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I am a wanderer, Bethia. I have already been here too long. You can get an annulment and be free of a bad bargain.”

He was not a bad bargain at all. He was a very fine bargain.

But she could not say that. He cared about another. “Thank you,” she whispered. “And Godspeed.”

His gaze searched her face for a moment, then he turned abruptly, bowing with great courtliness. “I will meet you soon, lass.”

Then he backed out the door.

She went over to the window. She watched until she saw him mount a waiting horse. She followed his image until he disappeared down the lane and out of sight. She would not see him again at Braemoor. When she saw him once more, they would be racing toward the coast. And Mary would be with them.

I am a wanderer.

Would Mary wander with him?

He had made it clear that he did not want his wife, that he had married her only to avoid detection and, God help her, because he feared for her. She did not want pity. Not ever. And yet he had saved her from what could have been a truly terrible marriage.

Dear God, keep him safe.

Rory hated to punish a horse. He had no choice, though, but to push the animal to his limit. He did not have much time.

He did not try to be careful. He took the main roads. Creighton would report his visit anyway, particularly after the boy disappeared. Rory would have to be long gone from Rosemeare when that occurred. He could not avoid the coincidence, but he could try to control the impressions made. He planned to be particularly obnoxious. God knew he had enough practice.

Rory took with him his last image of Bethia. Damn it, but she was a gallant lass. Not many women would agree without argument to ride through nights, to risk her life for a brother. Bloody hell, probably none would agree so readily to cut her hair.

Damnation. He still remembered last night, how she felt under him, how he felt in her. He’d known peace for the first time in his life. He’d felt loved, and he had loved, and that was unique to his life. It was truly magnificent, something he had never thought would happen. He could live with that fact alone the rest of his life.

He rode until deep into the night, passing by a total of three patrols. He stopped to chat with each, asking whether they’d had word of the Black Knave, whether all the Highlands were still filled with patrols. If so, they most certainly would capture the fiend and make the roads safer and far more comfortable to traverse. He discovered they were moving as blindly as ever.

He stopped at an inn to sleep, though he took only four or five hours to do so before leaving at dawn. He reached Rosemeare before noon.

Rory had met Creighton before. He had been an English general who had been given Jacobite property. He was arrogant, supercilious and twice as obnoxious as Rory had ever thought to be.

“His Grace did not tell me you would be coming,” he said when Rory, freshly groomed, paid his compliments.

” ‘Tis a sudden journey,” Rory said. ” ‘Tis the boy’s birth date and my wife was quite insistent on giving him a gift. You know how women can be when they are with child. I would ha’ no peace unless I brought this to the lad,” he said, holding out the cloak for inspection.

Creighton immediately became more hospitable. “With child, you say?”

“Aye. She believes so. She is ill in the morning and … well, I am sure you know more of women than I.”

Creighton was rubbing his hands together. “Now
that
is fine news. His Grace will be most pleased.” He took the cloak. “I will give it to him.”

“I would like to see the boy myself. He
is
my brother-in-law now, and my wife would like a report of his well-being. I, however, am well pleased he is in your care and not mine. I am not fond of children, particularly children who are not my own.” He took a snuffbox from his coat and held it up to his nose, taking a deep sniff.

“He is an arrogant little Jacobite,” Creighton said. “I would not mind ridding myself of the little bastard, but His Grace insists he stay until a child is born, though I cannot fathom the reason.”

Rory shrugged. “Better you than me. I will just take a moment, and then I plan to travel on to Edinburgh. Have a mistress there. I find that mistresses are far more sturdy than wives. Do you not find the same?”

The man blinked once, then gave him a knowing smile. “Aye.” Then he cleared his throat, before speaking again. “Do you have a letter for the boy? I am to read them.”

“Nay,” Rory said carelessly. “I think ‘tis best if they do not communicate. The cloak is sufficient. I would not have even consented to that but I feared the marchioness might do something that would hurt the unborn bairn.”

Creighton nodded. He turned toward the hall and called, “Ames.” In seconds, a man dressed all in black appeared.

“He is locked in his room for insolence,” Creighton said as he turned back to Rory. “Ames will take you.”

Rory followed Ames up four flights of stairs to a tower room. He waited while Ames unlocked it, then he sauntered inside, waving the man aside. “You may go.”

“I am not supposed to leave him with strangers.”

“I am not a stranger. I am the Marquis of Braemoor,” Rory said in his most haughty manner. “And I wish a glass of wine. I have had a very long journey. I can well look after the little brat.”

The man hesitated until Rory raised an eyebrow. “Do you wish me to ask your master?”

Ames shook his head and started down the stairs. Rory closed the door.

The room was cold and nearly bare except for a rough bed and a table. A small slitted window gave little light.

A lad with Bethia’s dark hair and blue eyes turned toward him, every fiber of his being radiating defiance. A deep scowl marred a face that otherwise would be handsome. Eyes blazed at him. “Who are you?”

“Your brother-in-law, lad.” He closed the door and leaned against it so it could not be opened without him knowing it. He took Bethia’s letter from his pocket and held it out to the boy. “Read it quickly, Dougal. We have little time.”

The boy looked at him suspiciously but took the few steps necessary to snatch the letter from his hand. He broke the seal, then read it quickly. “I do not understand.”

“It asks you to trust me, does it not?”

“Aye, but I see no reason to do so.”

“Did you trust Alister?”

Dougal’s chin stuck out so far Rory could have chopped it off. He waited.

“I am taking you and your sister out of the country. Alister said you had a way to get out of here.”

“I might,” Dougal said cautiously, obviously not yet sure about trusting him.

“Can you be outside the walls on the west side of the moat two hours past midnight?”

The lad hesitated.

“Your sister said you could trust me.”

“She might have been forced.”

Rory laughed. “Do you really believe that possible?”

Dougal suddenly grinned. “Nay. And aye, I do know a way out. I would have used it, but your man said to wait.”

Rory nodded. “When Ames comes back, I am going to have to hit you. They have to believe we detest each other. It’s important to the safety of other people. I canna be connected to your escape.”

“Aye,” the lad said, then grinned. “I will give you reason.”

He was, indeed, Bethia’s brother. Rory handed over the cloak. “A gift for you. My reason for coming.”

“Why did they allow you?” The lad was suspicious again.

“I said Bethia was with child.”

The lad went absolutely still. “Is she?”

“No.”

Dougal sighed gratefully, which was a little insulting, then he became alert again. “Why are you doing this?”

“Have you heard of the Black Knave?”

“Aye. The servants have talked of him.”

“He will be waiting for you tonight. I swear it. Now hand me back that letter.”

Dougal did so and looked at him searchingly. “Are you really her husband?”

“Aye. I do not have to ask if you are her brother. You have her eyes.”

The lad swallowed deep, and Rory was reminded of all the lad had lost: his home, his brothers, his family.