The Blood of Roses (49 page)

Cheristine, at first too stunned by the showering sparks of pleasure to deny him anything, became aware of something hard and thick that was definitely not attached to his hand venturing intrepidly into the fray. She went cold with shock and managed, just when success was within his grasp, to shove mightily against his shoulders and win his attention.

“Laughlan! No!”

“No? Oh … oh, Cherry, love … just the once,” he pleaded. “I just want tae ken how it feels. I’ll nae
dae
anything, I. swear it! I’ll stop when ye tell me, I promise I will.”

“But, Laughlan,” she wailed softly, “how will I ken tae tell ye tae stop?”

“Ye’ll just know,” he insisted, fighting the tension in her thighs as well as the tension in her arms. He felt the sweat break out across his forehead, and he would swear later his entire life flickered before his eyes as he waited for the pressure in her balled fists to relent.

“Ye promise … just a wee bit?” she gasped.

“Aye, love, aye. Oh, Lord … Cherry—” He pushed forward, sinking himself into the warmth and wetness, shuddering with the vision of eternal glory he saw unfolding before him.

“Oh, Cherry, hold me! Hold me, love—”

“Laughlan! Laughlan, whisht!” she hissed. “Did ye hear somethin’?”

He heard nothing aside from the pounding tempo of the blood surging through his veins. He felt as if he were about to explode, to distend beyond all reasonable proportions and incur permanent damage if the pressure was not eased soon.

And then he heard it too.

Someone was walking around the outside of the stable, his footsteps stealthy and crunching lightly over the frozen ground.

“Laughlan,” she cried in a shrill whisper. “Ma brithers! What are we gonny dae?”

Visions of Cheristine’s seven Olympian brothers danced across Laughlan’s eyelids as he hastily shoved his kilt down to cover his nakedness. He gestured her to silence and scrambled across the hay to the mouth of the stall, edging no more than a corner of an eye and a hairless cheek around the post of rotted wood. The shadow of a man intruded across the doorway, the profile of his face unfamiliar to MacKintosh but ominous enough to shrivel any concerns he may have had about permanent damage.

Feeling a tremulous tug on the hem of his kilt, he slunk back, and, pressing warning fingers over Cherry’s mouth, he drew her back into the deep bank of hay.

“Did anyone see you come here?” a voice demanded harshly, startling the two young hearts into skipping several beats.

“I was careful,” a second voice responded. “Well? Are they going to act on the information I gave you?”

“I delivered it personally to Lord Loudoun, and he, in turn, helped me convince Forbes to send fifteen hundred men to Moy Hall tonight under cover of darkness. If the prince is there, as you say, we will have him trapped in a net so tight he couldn’t melt through it.”

“You have underestimated his abilities before. I would not take too many things for granted, nor wait too long to take action.”

“It should take no more than an hour or so to move my men out of Inverness, another two to get into position. I suggest you stay away from any open windows to avoid being mistaken for the wrong silhouette … if you know what I mean.”

“You’re going to kill him?”

“Why?” Colonel Blakeney smiled cynically. “Does the thought cause you undue distress?”

The other man shrugged. “If you just wanted him dead, I could have done the job myself weeks ago. I was under the impression Cumberland wanted him alive, if at all possible, to make an example of him to others who might question English supremacy.”

“If he comes willingly enough, I will be glad to escort him all the way to London in a princely cage. But if there is the slightest question of complete success, I shall not hesitate to kill the royal regent and anyone else who stands in my way.”

The second man looked away for a moment, then glanced back at the colonel’s shadowy features. “Lady Anne has another house guest staying with her. A woman. I don’t want her hurt, and I don’t want her taken with the others.”

“Who is she?”

“No one of any possible interest to you, Colonel, nor of any political threat to the government. She is English, however, and the daughter of a prominent friend to King George who would prefer to have her brought back discreetly to the bosom of her loved ones, not locked in manacles and put on display.”

“My main concern is the prince,” Blakeney said. “If this woman is so important to you, I suggest you see to it that she is well away from the house when my men arrive. If she is captured and arrested with the others, I cannot guarantee the salvation of her reputation, not even if she was the daughter of the king himself.”

“Fair enough. I should be able to think of some excuse to get her out of the house. And now, I had better be on my way … unless there is something else?”

“No. Major Garner will be pleased to hear you are earning your keep. By the way, I had almost forgotten … he wanted me to forward this on to you—” Blakeney removed a sealed letter from an inner pocket of his cloak, and then a second, smaller parcel bound in twine. “And here is the tea you wanted. Are things so hellishly barbaric traveling with those rebels?”

“They prefer to brace themselves with whisky rather than water steeped in herbs. The benefits show, don’t you agree, in their approach to, and performance during, battle?”

Blakeney scowled at the sarcasm. “As long as your admiration does not spill over into your loyalties, sir. On that note, I leave you with one final word of caution: If anything
… unforeseen
should happen tonight, such as an ambush or an obvious entrapment, it will be my pleasure to see every strip of living flesh flayed from your body and fashioned into bloody replicas of the Stuart cockade.”

“A picturesque threat, but uncalled for. You will have the prince tonight, one way or the other.”

Laughlan and Cheristine, huddled against the straw, listened raptly as both sets of feet moved away from the stable, each going in opposite directions.

“Bluidy hell,” Cherry exclaimed on a sigh. “I thought we were deid gone, I did.”

Laughlan crept to the end of the stall, listened intently for any further sounds from outside in the yard, then darted to the entrance of the stable and peered out into the shadowy parade of buildings and cramped stone stores.

“Have they gone?” Cherry asked, appearing like a ghost over his shoulder.

“Aye. Seems so.”

“Did ye see who they were? Did ye recognize them?”

Laughlan shook his head. “I canna be cairtain, but I ken one O’ them was the new colonel arrived at the fort— Blakey or Blackeney, or some such thing. The ither—” He shrugged his lack of knowledge.

Cheristine’s fingers were busy repairing the damage wrought by Laughlan’s earlier fumblings. She laced her bodice prudishly tight and brushed her skirt and sleeves free of clinging bits of straw. After running back to the stall, she found and retrieved her woolen shawl, and, wrapping it securely around her head and shoulders, started out into the yard.

“I must get back afore mam notices how late it is,” she said, attempting a normal conversational air. It failed, however, as did her attempt to dash past Laughlan before he could reach out a hand to stop her.

“Laughlan, I must get back—”

“Cherry, love, ye canna just leave me alone! We have tae warn Lady Anne an’ the ithers.”

“W-warn them?”

“Aye, lass! Did ye no’ hear what them two men were sayin’? They’ve laid a trap tae ambush Prince Charlie in his sleep! We’re the only ones wha’ know, so we’re the only ones can warn them.”

“Warn them … but how?”

“Well … I can cut across the glen tae Moy Hall. It shouldna take more’n an hour, if I run all the way. Cherry, love, ye’ll have tae find a way tae get word tae The MacGillivray. He’ll have men an’ guns, an’ he’ll ken what tae dae. Are ye wi’ me in this, lass? Will ye help?”

“Moy Hall? The MacGillivray?” She chewed savagely on a clenched knuckle. “Oh. Oh, Laughlan. I’m afeared O’ the sojers. They havena any qualms about arrestin’ anyone wha’ helps the rebels, an’ … an’ ma faither would throw fits if he even knew I were here wi’ ye.” She hesitated, swallowed hard at the panic welling in her chest, weighing it against the young but breathtakingly handsome features of Laughlan MacKintosh. She’d had her heart and her head set on winning him from the time he’d pulled her out of a well and saved her life at age three. “Aye. Aye, I’ll dae it, Laughlan. I must dae it, must I na? Ye’re right, we’re the only ones wha’ can help Lady Anne an’ the ithers. I’ll find ma brithers—Duncan an’ Jamie—an’ they’ll ride f’ae The MacGillivray.”

“Ach, I knew ye were a bonnie lass, Cherry,” he said, kissing her hard and fast on the lips. He drew the ends of his own heavy breacan kilt around his shoulders and was about to run out into the night when Cheristine’s hand stopped him.

“Laughlan?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Dae ye … dae ye still love me?” She faltered, drowning in discomfort until he caught up her sweet face between his hands and smiled.

“Aye, lass, I dae. I didna ken how much until just this very minute.”

“Godspeed,” she whispered, her kiss as lush and mature as the feelings wrapped around her heart.

Grinning, he stole a last kiss and dashed out of the stable, his feet fairly flying over the snow-encrusted ground.

18

L
ady Anne Moy stretched and offered a delicate yawn toward the fire. Damien, who had just recently joined the ladies in the parlor, noted the yawn and glanced at the clock ticking on the mantel.

“Ten past eight,” he said to no one in particular. “Yet it feels like three in the morning.”

Catherine looked over and smiled. “Only because you have come to experience the true meaning of the words ‘work’ and ‘commitment,’ brother mine.”

“You were much nicer to me before I gave you your cache of tea leaves,” he remarked dryly.

Catherine wrinkled her nose pertly and drained the last of the honey-sweetened brew.

“In any case,” Damien said, “now that I have thawed sufficiently, I think I shall see to my last few chores for the evening and then retire. It occurs to me I have gone twelve full hours without writing a letter to Harriet and, regardless if I write ten on the morrow to compensate for the omission, she will somehow know and punish me in some heinous, cruel manner.”

“What possible chores could ye have to do this late at night?” Lady Anne inquired. “Ye spent the best part of the day in Inverness—against ma better judgment, I might add—and ye have, indeed, barely been home long enough to warm the chill out of yer claythes.”

“I promised Dr. Cameron I would keep an eye on some of his patients. Apart from my mission to find tea leaves for a certain shamefully spoiled young lady, I managed to scrounge some medicines Archibald said were in short supply.”

“Is there sickness in the camp?” Lady Anne asked, alarmed.

“Nothing out of the usual,” he assured her. “Some fever, some dysentery … nothing a good strong dose of liverwort won’t cure.”

Catherine sighed audibly. “Dose someone suffering from dysentery with liverwort, my fine budding apothecary, and you would see them writhing in agony in no time.”

Damien arched a brow. “Since when have you become a physician’s apprentice?”

“Since Deirdre and I decided to make ourselves useful around the camp,” she replied smartly.

“In that case, perhaps you would care to come along and offer your expert diagnosis and advice?”

“I’ll go,” Deirdre said, standing at once. “It’s much too damp for Catherine to be out this late at night.”

“Nonsense,” she said, setting aside her teacup. “I could use a few breaths of fresh air.”

“No.” Damien held up his hand. “Deirdre is right. Alex would have my liver if I let anything happen to you, even to catching a runny nose.”

“It is
my
nose,” she insisted. “And since Alex himself usually allows me to accompany him on late-night strolls around the camp, he can hardly object to you doing the same thing.”

“And if I still say no?” he demanded.

“I shall simply follow you anyway.”

Damien scowled. “I’m sorry I ever mentioned the matter. Very well, you can tag along, but you are not to go anywhere near the sick tents and you are not—”

A loud, frantic knocking on the manor’s front door echoed down the corridor and interrupted Damien’s train of thought. Lady Anne glanced around, startled at first by the noise, then puzzled as to its cause.

“Whoever could it be at this hour?” she wondered aloud. “Surely it canna be someone else to see the prince.”

The doors had been knocked upon all day long, for even though the prince’s precise whereabouts were supposed to have been kept a closely guarded secret, some of the local villagers and lairds had caught wind of it, and came to pay their respects. Charles had retired to his chambers several hours ago, accompanied by three of Angus Moy’s friendlier wolfhounds and a full bottle of strong, locally brewed spirits. He was nursing an inflammation in his chest, and although his cough and sniffles had improved vastly since coming out of the mountains, he used it as an excuse to keep his own company.