Dedicated Villain (28 page)

“Don't be more of a fool than you can help, Mervyn! You knew perfectly well why I ordered his horse be stolen, and why Cuthbert broke his head to keep him away from us.”

Bradford flushed and said sulkily, “You said he was a dangerous man, but when you changed your mind, I thought—”

“I changed my mind for—for several reasons. Mostly, because I'd had no suspicion he was in sympathy with our people, nor that he'd helped several get out of England. I judged him by his reputation.” She sighed wearily. “Lord knows why. One should never do so.”

His jaw dropped. “But—you just said—”

“Oh, why must you argue so? Do you not see how few we are? We cannot turn away a swordsman of Mathieson's skill. Not while he is of use to us, that is.”

“So you would sacrifice my daughter—”

“Nonsense! I'll own I cannot like to see her partiality for him, but—if worse comes to worst I can make an end of it. Meanwhile, we play a dangerous game which, God grant, is almost done.” She frowned and lapsed into a silence her son did not dare break. At length she said musingly, “The
Mathiesons are a strange breed. If Roland
should
give Fiona his heart it could work to our advantage—for a little while. Certainly, his ties to us grow stronger with each day that passes, which is as well—especially now that poor Robbie MacTavish is ill.”

“Humph. I said all along we should have more men. Lord knows there were enough willing.”

“Aye, and all with tongues to wag and knowledge to be forced from them should they be taken. No, the Committee judged it best to keep our numbers as small as humanly possible. The temptation of what we will carry is too great. Besides, a fine show we would make riding with a full escort of gallants! Might as well send out a proclamation of who we are! Can you not hurry the beasts along, Bradford? The sooner we reach this Sandipool village Robbie has chose for us, the better I shall like it! Small wonder the poor lad has fallen ill. Did ever you see so much damp? Pools and meres and rivers wherever one looks! Lud, what a swamp of a county!”

“'Tis held to be very beautiful, Mama.”

“On a hot summer's day, perchance, but—Here comes the rain! More water! Enjoy the beauty, Bradford! I shall go inside! Turn up your cape, for heaven's sake!”

Despite its inauspicious beginnings, by eleven o'clock the rain had stopped, and the day brightened. A little breeze came up to blow the clouds away and soon warm sunshine was lifting everyone's spirits and awakening countless sparkles and glitters from new-washed leaves and grasses. Cuthbert, who had ridden out at dawn to find the campsite MacTavish had chosen for that night, returned to lead them to it, and now they drove along muddy lanes but with lovely Cheshire appearing to her best advantage.

A squeak brought a twitch to Mathieson's lips and he guided
Rumpelstiltskin to where he might follow the lead caravan. Fiona had opened the window in the back door and waved merrily as he came up. “Oh, Roly,” she cried, her eyes as bright, he thought, as the sunshine, “is it not beautiful?”

“Captain Mathieson,” he corrected, but with a smile. “Very beautiful.”

“Yes, and—hello Rumpel— Oh,
do
look!
What
a pretty village! I declare it would make anyone reach for paints and canvas.”

“If one could paint, which you cannot—or so you said.”

“Very true. You see I do not tell wicked falsehoods—” she slanted a bewitching twinkle at him “—as do some unprincipled persons. And you need not think to have changed the subject, for I— Only see that cottage! Oh, I never saw such beautiful half-timbering!”

“Nor I such a scatter-wit. Where is your shawl? The wind is chill and— No! Never mind about the village pond. 'Tis exquisite—and the ducks are all very well bred and superior, I grant you. Yes, even that fat goose waddles with
savoir-faire.
Not another word until you have your shawl. And then you may tell me of these alleged ‘wicked falsehoods.'”

Fiona snatched up a shawl as carelessly as though it had not been very carefully chosen to complement her pale lemon muslin gown. Throwing it quickly about her shoulders, she said, “No—did you think I meant
you
, Captain Mathieson? Now what falsehoods might you have told, sir? Unless—'twas that you do
not
find me
très beau
?”

“I find you a creature of vast conceit,” he drawled. “Torrey and I were discussing your grandmama, if you must know it, and—Good God!” (as a squeak interrupted him) “
Now
what bucolic wonder must I admire?”

“That!
That!
No—turn your Mathiesonish head this way, do! There—now—what is it?”

“Mathiesonish …” he echoed dubiously. “Hmmnn … Do for heaven's sake stop squeaking like any dormouse! 'Tis a covered bridge, child. Surely you've seen one before?”

“No! Never! There are none near our home and I've never seen one in London!”

He sighed. “One must presume you close your eyes each time you cross London Bridge.”

“Do not be supercilious, Roly! London Bridge is like a regular street, with shops and goodness knows what else besides! One can ride along it and scarce realize it spans the river. This is like—like a stretched out barn. How very quaint! And I do believe we are to go across! Oooh … !”

Amused by her enthusiasm, he chuckled. The horses plodded patiently, their hoofbeats becoming suddenly hollow and echoing. The wheels rumbled a sharper song, and the light faded as they passed under the roof of the old bridge.

Mathieson leaned closer and said in sepulchral tones, “The daemon of this bridge has teeth a foot long and he devours squeaky little girls for his breakfast! Prepare to be boiled and spread on toast!”

“Poor daemon—how dreadful when he goes to the dentist. Oh, how
deliciously
daemonish it smells in here! Is that by reason of his toast, do you think?”

“Revolting child! You should shrink and quail and shake in your pretty slippers! Faith, but you are a great disappointment to me.”

“What stuff! As if anyone would be afraid of a silly old bridge!”

Mathieson chuckled, his thoughts far away.

Watching the gleam in his eyes Fiona asked curiously, “Where have you gone? Come back, please. Of whom are you thinking now?”

“My apologies. I was thinking of a very fine fellow. A dashing captain of dragoon guards. Er, that is to say he
was
a captain. Now he seems to have—ah, tumbled a little way down the ladder of rank. Nonetheless, he is most impressive. Very good-looking. All splash and dash. And purely terrified of covered bridges.”

She giggled. “But has fought bravely in countless terrible engagements, I take it?”

“Oh, yes. He's a terror on the battlefield. But—show him a covered bridge, and he'll run a mile!”

“Roly, you dreadful creature! What fibs you tell. But I do love your stories. Pray enlighten me as to why this so dashing fellow suffers from such an affliction. If you can manufacture a satisfactory cause, that is.”

“'Tis already manufactured, you little wretch. It seems this dashing young captain rode his dashing mare onto a covered bridge one evening at dusk. A flock of bats chose the same instant to leave the bridge with the result that our military friend, who has a horror of bats, suddenly found himself surrounded by dozens of the creatures at very close quarters. His mare who is all nerves and show, took fright, shied, and threw him and I'm told he came nose to nose with the king bat. They say our valiant captain beat his mare to the end of the bridge …”

Laughing, Fiona said, “The king bat, indeed!”

“Well, perhaps just a crown prince.” He grinned. “Gad, how I should love to have seen it.”

She eyed him uncertainly. “Are you serious? It really did happen?”

“Oh yes. It is perfectly true. Only see how I tend to your education. Today we have learned of bats and covered bridges. Now—as to the dentists who tend daemons—did you know that they also have to be of the daemonish persuasion …? I once knew a daemon went to a regular human dentist, and …”

The golden moments slipped away while they enjoyed a whimsical discussion on daemons and dentists, punctuated by much merriment, and ending with the mutually agreed upon conclusion there was little to choose between them.

Half an hour later they came to their campsite and Mathieson slipped away to attend to a matter which he had
postponed longer than was expedient. When he had finished, he led Rumpelstiltskin to the paddock Alec had fashioned. The young Scot was still there, chatting quietly with Moira Torrey, and, to cover his embarrassment at being caught alone with her, promptly demanded to know where Mathieson had been.

“Attending to my friend's toilette,” replied Mathieson lightly. “You would seem to have put your time to better use, dear boy.”

Miss Torrey turned quite pink, but she was more perceptive than her shy admirer and, looking past him, exclaimed, “Oh, whatever have you done to your fine animal? His pretty white stockings are gone!”

Alec's eyes sharpened. “And the blaze on his face. For why, mon?”

“Because I am reminded that there are certain dragoons who know Rumpelstiltskin almost as well as they know me.”

“And if they recognized him …?” asked Moira in a scared whisper. “Would that be very bad?”

“It would not be—shall we say—very good.” Mathieson looked into her wide dark eyes and grinned deprecatingly. “For me, ma'am. I might, in fact, be called upon to pay an overdue debt. And I've no doubt it would be collected—with interest.”

“At all events,” said Captain Lake, strolling across the muddy courtyard of The Four Fiddlers Inn, “there are worse places to be quartered.”

The tall young lieutenant beside him was of fair colouring, well built and very handsome, a splendid example of British manhood. His blue eyes were hard, however, and the fine mouth had a bitter droop. He glanced about the old inn yard without favour, and with a toss of his powdered head grunted sourly, “And better.”

“Small doubt of that.” The captain shouted for his orderly,
halted, and while pulling on his gauntlets turned to face the younger man. “Take my advice, Lambert. There's a reb in the vicinity—I can feel it in my bones. Keep your wits about you and your men more in the saddles than out of 'em, and you might be a captain again sooner than you think.” His horse being led out, he glanced critically at his accoutrements and prepared to mount up. “Well, I'll be off. Good luck t'you.”

As they shook hands Lambert looked glum. “God—if you but knew how I envy you! To be going back to the south country! What is there up here but yokels and desolation?”

“Another chance, man!” said Lake bracingly. “Cheer up! You've a roving commission. If you sniff a Jacobite—hunt him to earth and exterminate the swine! Or better yet, haul him in alive. I'll wager it wouldn't take much to restore you to favour again. As for envying me, why, you've had a set-back, but it could be worse. You didn't lose your commission, and many a man would envy
you
! A young buck with your looks—well born, good education; and you've a grand battle record, I marked that.”

Lambert said nothing, but the blue eyes were brooding, and, curious, Lake said, “I've no wish to pry, but—if you don't mind my asking, just what the devil did go wrong?”

“Everything,” muttered Lambert. “And just when life seemed perfect. Beware the whims of fate, friend! Six months ago I'd the world at my feet, or so I fancied. My aunt's fortune was to be mine; I was preparing to marry the lady I'd been courting for some years; my record was spotless. Then …” His mouth twisted. “My greedy uncle plotted against me; the woman I courted betrayed me; the friend who promised his help, instead conspired with my uncle to so entrap and ruin me that I lost my lady, my rank,
and
the fortune!”

“A fine friend!” exclaimed Lake, shocked by this litany of treachery.