Highland Rebel Page 12

  “Your father wanted—”

  “My father wanted me to stay here, keep the peace he fought so hard to maintain, and raise his grandsons.”

  He’d had the grace to blush and look away. “Things change lass. Your day has come and gone. Donald rules now, and he’ll have his way. I know he promised you could stay, but it’s a promise he can ill afford to keep. It’s not good having one of you laird of the castle and the other chief of the clan. I’m warning you, Cat. You haven’t got much time. You’ll name your husband if you have one, and you’ll free yourself to make a useful marriage, or Donald will have you placed in a convent and none will object. Folk have grown accustomed to his rule.”

  “He wouldn’t dare!”

  “He would. Then he’ll be laird, no questions asked, and his sons will rule here after him. Find your husband. Produce him. Annulled or dead, you need to lose him or admit you made him up. You’ll be forgiven. And then make haste to marry or you’ll lose it all.”

  It had been a devastating blow and had left her questioning notions of family, clan, and loyalty that had been her life’s blood since birth. Despite the constant maneuvering, bickering, jealousies, and quarrels that were a part of her clan and, she assumed, most others, she’d always trusted she could depend on their loyalty just as they could depend on hers. She realized now that nothing was as she’d thought it, and she was truly on her own.

  Jerrod had accused her of putting her own needs before the good of the clan. Well, the more fool him if he thought Donald would make better use of her lands and fortune than she would. These were dangerous times, Protestant against Catholic, Whig against Tory, and Scot against Scot. The last thing they needed was war on their borders. She’d done her best to prevent Donald from breaking the fragile peace her father had cobbled over the years, but given the chance, his pride and avarice would destroy it and the clan would blindly follow: quarrelsome, lusty men, eager for glory, gold, and blood. Eager for war, the fools!

  Well, she’d not be a part of it, and neither would her gold. She was no sheep to follow meekly where she was led. She was her father’s daughter, part wolf and part fox, and she would take care of herself. It was time to find her husband.

  She was cool and calm when she spoke before the council. This new king, James, was a Catholic, was he not? His reign had just begun and his throne was far from secure. He needed friends. Though he quarreled with the Covenanters to the south, he had no quarrel with them. Wouldn’t he be grateful to be reminded of Catholic allies in the North? Perhaps he’d support a lucrative trade agreement for their whiskey in return. Why not best their rivals on the field of commerce instead of the field of war? It was said he had a weakness for women, much as his brother before him. Who better to go than she? While she was at it, perhaps she could track down her English husband.

  They’d agreed to it immediately, and a message was sent on behalf of clan Drummond, begging an audience between his Catholic Majesty, James II, King of Scotland, Ireland, and England, and Lady Catherine Drummond, Countess of Moray. She had set out with footmen, armed guards, and a lady’s maid in tow, but no cousins, brothers, uncles, or aunties, because she’d no intention of going back. She was going to settle things with her husband, and then she’d be free. Her investigations had revealed he was in need of funds, and though she felt some trepidation given how they’d parted, she was certain he needed her help.

  She’d had to admit the idea of seeing him again had provoked other feelings as well. There’d been something almost playful about him she’d found instantly appealing, and there’d been moments when she’d felt a sense of camaraderie and acceptance she’d never felt with anyone else. It was nonsense, of course. A result of shared secrets and dangers and her own sense of isolation. They had, in fact, been intimate, in the truest sense of the word, and he hadn’t even noticed or remembered. She did, though—hot kisses that curled her toes and rough caresses that left her body thirsty and aching for more. She was grateful he’d never know what an awkward mess she’d made of it all.

  Well now here she was, standing in his dining room, trying her best to appear sophisticated and cool, heart pounding, breath ragged, filled with anticipation and dread. He was sitting with what appeared to be a group of drunken cronies, all of them holding on to half-naked women and tankards of beer. Cards and bottles cluttered a magnificent table, and a couple of large dogs, one with a torn ear and missing eye, lolled in a corner. The room was otherwise spartan and bare. Awkward seconds ticked by as his guests digested his words.

  Buckingham, who was far more accustomed to shocking than being shocked, finally broke the silence. “Good Lord, man! Is this is your rebel whore?”

  “Careful, George. Mind your manners,” Jamie said in a pleasant tone as he fastened the orange girl’s bodice and eased her off his lap. “Sullivan, please escort the ladies out and see to it they find their way home. Then you can see to the gentlemen.” He rose and bowed. “Welcome to my humble abode, Catherine. What a great pleasure to see you. And in a dress, no less! How charming! It’s been what, just over a year?”

  She’d been expecting anger, surprise—not quiet mockery and an amused grin. “Just under, I believe,” she replied uncomfortably.

  “And might I enquire as to what’s brought you to London after so much time? I was under the distinct impression you were less than anxious for my company.”

  “It seems you improve with time and distance, Eng—husband,” she replied, recovering her wits.

  He choked back a startled laugh. “James,” he said gravely, recovering his own.

  “It’s been a long journey, James. Might I sit down?”

  “Yes, of course! I do beg your pardon! I’ve quite forgotten my manners.” He gestured to the seat directly across from him. “Get out, Sidney. You’re sitting in her chair.”

  Sidney stumbled and nearly fell as he scrambled from his seat, mouth agape, offering awkward apologies as he swiftly calculated how many suppers, country visits, and other handsome invitations this night’s gossip would bring him.

  Catherine nodded to Sullivan as he pulled back her chair, and then to her husband’s guests. “Gentlemen.”

  “I’d be delighted to make formal introductions, my dear, if only I knew how,” Jamie said, offering her some wine.

  “It’s Catherine Drummond, as you already know, my lord, laird of Drummond Castle and Countess of Moray in my own right, as you may not. I suppose I’m also countess of… ?

  “Carrick and Carlyle,” he said with a slight bow.

  Thomas Sidney, busily composing scurrilous verses to honor the occasion, watched avidly from where he’d been relegated at the end of the table. Jamie’s phantom wife had been the subject of much delighted gossip since he’d first returned from Scotland almost a year ago. It was generally held she was a camp follower he’d married as a drunken jest. No one had credited that his story might be true, but it appeared she really was an heiress, and a rich and titled one at that! Gossip was currency, and gossip this delicious couldn’t wait to be told. Anxious to hear more, but more anxious to be the first to impart this astonishing news, he jumped to his feet, made a hurried apology, and scurried from the room.

  “How odd!” Catherine remarked, sipping her wine.

  “Yes, he is. How was your journey, my dear?”

  “Tolerable.” Which was more than she could say for the conversation. They were talking like polite strangers, trying to outdo one another with displays of amused boredom when there was so much to say, so much to discuss, so much at stake! She wanted to reach out and slap or shake him, anything to provoke an honest reaction. No sooner did she think it than she noticed a slight crookedness to his once-perfect nose. She couldn’t help a shamefaced f lush. The poor man! He’d only been trying to help her. Still, Martha was right. It hadn’t spoiled his looks. Somehow it made him look both rakish and endearing.

  “Is there something wrong, mouse?”

  She blinked and f lushed brighter, a deep crimson now. �
�Yes, English, there is. There are important matters I should like to discuss with you, in private, if you please.”

  A bemused Buckingham stirred himself at last. “Here now, Lady Carlyle,” he said, with a languid wave of his handkerchief. “The night is young and you are both this evening’s entertainment. I’ll wager the Sinclairs’ touching reunion is all anyone will be talking about tomorrow and for weeks if not months to come. Won’t you indulge an aging roué and let us watch the play unfold?”

  “I regret, sir, that—”

  “Leave her be, George,” Jamie said sharply.

  A sodden Sir Albert waved his arm and wagged his finger at her, knocking over his wine as he rose to his feet. “I say, Sinclair. The wench is ordering us out!”

  “Then get out, sir!” he snapped. He winced in disgust, imagining what she must be thinking. After a year, she’d decided to make a visit and this was how she found him, surrounded by whores, fools, drunkards, and Buckingham. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. Apparently, he wasn’t as shameless as he’d imagined.

  Her sudden arrival had unsettled him and he wanted to be rid of them and find out what she wanted. “Sullivan, fetch a footman, would you? Have him put Sir Albert in a carriage and send him on his way, then see to the rest. My lady wife and I will be in the library. Have someone send a meal for her there.”

  “Very good, sir,” Sullivan said, bowing smartly in approval.

  Grumbling and complaining, his guests were herded from the room by Sullivan and a brawny footman, except for Buckingham, who sauntered out with a wink and a wicked grin.

  “I believe you’ve made a conquest, my dear.”

  “I believe I made a spectacle of myself.”

  “Well, that was your intention, wasn’t it? It was a grand entrance, combining high drama and the element of surprise.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was,” she admitted with a sigh. “I was afraid if I sent word you might refuse to see me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I thought you might be annoyed, after I—”

  “Abandoned me? Bashed me on the head and had me thrown in a cargo hold? Come, I’ll show you the library. We’ll be more comfortable there and you can tell me why you’re here.”

  Thirteen

  Jamie pushed open the door and ushered her inside. Unlike the dining room, the library had the warmth and character of a place that was lived in and valued as somebody’s home. It was a sizable room, paneled in oak, with elegant mahogany bookcases lining the walls from f loor to ceiling in numbered order. A great fireplace, well situated to ward off an evening’s chill or provide a soft light for reading, was surrounded by a sturdy settee and several comfortable chairs. It was a comfortable and welcoming room, and clearly, a great deal of thought and care had gone into it. He might be scrimping and saving in other parts of his house, but not here.

  “This is a surprise, Sinclair.”

  “I’m full of surprises, mouse. It’s part of my charm.” Pleased with her reaction, Jamie escorted her to a small table by the fire where a simple supper had been laid. She ate like a soldier. He chuckled as she tore into the cold mutton and bread, whatever she’d been about to say forgotten.

  He lounged on the settee, watching her. The shock of seeing her so unexpectedly had rapidly turned to acute embarrassment, but now that they were alone he felt curiously lighthearted. “I was annoyed with you when I first came home,” he ventured, “but it didn’t last long. I’m seldom bested at games of strategy or chance, yet you did so twice. A fellow can’t help but admire that. You needn’t feel bad about it. I had every intention of binding you hand and foot, slinging you over my saddle, and carrying you home. You simply beat me off the mark—which begs the question, why are you here?”

  “Perhaps I’ve come to give you your annulment.”

  “Have you indeed? Well, that’s damn noble of you, I dare say. A little late though. Since you cruelly cast me out, my life has been ripped asunder, and what little reputation I had left, damaged beyond repair. I’ve been styled deserter, coward, both Papist and Protestant sympathizer, and an ungrateful and disloyal bastard. The ladies decry me as a rogue, jilt, and despoiler of women, and worst of all, I’m everywhere accounted a pauper and a cheat at cards. No one will have me now. If I let you go, I’ll live out my days worthless and alone.”

  “Based on my own experience you’re certainly no coward, and though you can be an arrogant oaf, you’re no despoiler of women, nor do I believe you cheat at cards. Who accuses you? Perhaps I can help.” She glanced at him curiously, as she plucked the last mouthful of mutton from her plate and finished with a sip of wine.

  Jamie watched her delicate fingers, wrapped firmly around the f luted stem of the glass, and raised his gaze to her lips as she spoke. They were full and inviting, shaped in a natural pout that seemed to invite a man to kiss them. Best be careful. A man might easily founder on that shore.

  “Sinclair?”

  “What? Ah! Yes, my accusers. One was my fiancée, of course. I mentioned her to you, if you recall. Her family was prepared to sacrifice her on the altar of my lust in return for a title. She’d overlook my bad behavior, and I her evil disposition. A most convenient marriage, if you will. She thought I’d thrown her over for a Scottish strumpet. So did the rest of the court. Needless to say she was deeply embarrassed, as were her family and the king.”

  His hand tightened around his own glass. He didn’t like to think about it. The girl had borne the brunt of months of gleefully malicious gossip, becoming a favorite topic for the vicious lampoons and satires of the court wits. She was the only innocent in the whole affair and he’d never meant to hurt her, though he doubted that was any consolation.

  “My would-be mistress was an altogether different tale. Suffice it to say, when she discovered that my disinclination to worship anything included her, she was mightily annoyed. She matters little and is no fault of yours.”

  “How is any of it my fault?” Catherine asked defensively.

  “Because you, my pet, denied me an annulment when I needed it, though now it seems you wish to grant me one when I don’t. I mean you no disrespect, but you’ve been a most inconvenient, dare I say a most useless bride. I’ve not even had the pleasure of fuck—er, making love to you.”

  Catherine rose from her seat so quickly she almost jumped.

  He regarded her f lushed face quizzically. “Is something wrong?”

  She walked slowly along the shelves of books, pretending to examine the titles, as she regained her composure, banishing heated images of their coupling in the cave. “No. I’m just tired of sitting still after days spent in a carriage.” She turned to face him. “I can see why your friends were so fascinated. We’re quite the couple, are we not? A lowbred Scottish camp follower and a well-bred penniless lout.”

  “Who sells his loyalty, ravishes young women, and lies and cheats at cards. What with Buckingham’s tattling, Sir Percy’s complaining, and Sidney’s execrable verse, we shall be gloriously notorious within days.”

  “And this pleases you?”

  “Gambling, drinking, and recreational bed-hopping are among the favored indoor sports of the leisured classes, my love. Most of the sins ascribed to me are easily pardoned in this enlightened age, but being penniless and cheating at cards are decidedly not. Gossip is currency, boredom feared more than the plague, and being interesting buys one indulgence from a multitude of sins, even those.”

  “I’m aware of that, Sinclair. I spent two years at the French court. Does it mean so much to you, to be accepted by those you speak of with so little respect?”

  He looked at her as if she had two heads. “I have but two ways of making a living, Catherine, on the battlefield or at the gaming tables, and both are seriously curtailed by my current circumstances. I need to be accepted in society and at court if I wish to pay my servants, feed my horses, maintain my properties, and clear my debts. Unless, of course, you’re here to offer an alternative? An annulment, is it? Too late
for me to marry a fortune, but just in time to confirm the rumors? I can hear it now,” he said, mimicking the clipped phrases, lengthened vowels, and malicious drawl of court gossip. “‘Even his savage Scottish bride lives in fear of him! Ravaged her too, poor thing, then tried to steal her land, but the chit escaped him and the Pope himself intervened to grant an annulment.’ Frankly, my dear, I fail to appreciate how that will be of any benefit to me.”

  “I believe there’s another avenue open to you that you’ve neglected.”

  “And what’s that, my dear?”

  “Why, the stage, sir.”

  “You’re a perceptive child, but I assure you pretty compliments won’t turn my head. I’ve been far too accommodating already, much against my better judgment, and I’m still paying the price. It’s not a mistake I intend to repeat. Whatever it is you’re wanting, there’d best be a substantial benefit to me.”

  Catherine was having difficulty finding the man underneath the performance. She’d thought herself perceptive, but the Englishman was nothing like her blunt, straightforward Scottish brethren, and she found him impossible to read. She suspected that if she succeeded at stripping one layer away she’d only find another, and then another, peeling until he was gone like smoke, and there was nothing left to find. She found herself following his lead more often than not, forced into communicating through glib repartee and barbed wit when she wanted to shake him and ask, Are you as confused and anxious as I am? Are you glad to see me? What are you thinking? What do you feel? Instead, she pointed to the settee. “Do you mind if I sit by the fire?”