Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (61 page)

‘A whisky before you go?'

Simon shook his head. ‘I really must be on my way.'

‘I understand,' Matthew said, looking at him with a keen eye. ‘Is there a Lady Tremain, sir, who will be missing you at home?'

‘Beyond my mother and two young brothers, who are in Paris at this time, I'm without a wife,' Simon answered, glancing meaningfully at Henrietta, whose resulting blush lent him a small measure of satisfaction and brought an understanding gleam to Matthew's eyes.

Matthew noted that Lord Tremain had elected to stand close beside his niece. The two truly made a handsome couple. A vivid hue darkened Henrietta's cheeks and her eyes glowed softly—he could only wonder at what had transpired between the two of them when they had met on the moor. He escorted the visitor to the door while Henrietta divested herself of her cloak.

‘I see my niece has grown up into a woman and has a mind of her own,' he said quietly, careful not to let Henrietta overhear their conversation.

‘I had not been in her company long, sir, when it became apparent to me. However, my concern for her cannot be dismissed. She has told you of the circumstances surrounding her hasty departure from London?'

Matthew nodded gravely. ‘She has. She was under great duress at the time. I, too, am concerned. The possibility of this Lucas fellow appearing to exact his revenge is troubling and cannot be ignored.'

‘I share your concern. I have become extremely fond of Henrietta, sir—in fact, she has come to mean a great deal to me. Be confident of my good intentions where she is concerned. I should hate to see harm come to her over this.'

‘Be assured that I shall guard her well.'

‘I know you will, but it is with regret that I shall not be with her to protect her. I would never forgive myself if something happened to her which I could have taken measures to avert. I have done my best, but unfortunately she seems to find it especially difficult coming to terms with my loyalty to King James and his son.'

‘That is understandable. She—has told you about her father and the tragic circumstances of his death?' Simon nodded. ‘It was unfortunate. It was a dreadful time for both Henrietta and her mother. It affected her rather badly, I'm afraid—and her mother...' He fell silent, reluctant to reveal the full tragedy of that time. ‘Henrietta tends to be intolerant of all those with Jacobite sympathies.'

Simon nodded gravely. ‘It is understandable.' His gaze settled on Matthew. ‘At this time it might be safer for her to return to London—both of you. There is no telling what might happen when Prince Charles returns to Scotland. One thing I do know is that he is determined. He will continue the fight whatever the cost.'

Matthew stepped back and retreated into the room when Henrietta came to bid Simon farewell. Stroking his chin reflectively, he watched the couple. It was rare indeed for a man and woman to complement each other to such a degree, causing his heart to swell with spiralling hope, but then, Matthew was of a mind to think Henrietta could have fallen for a man who, despite his Jacobite sympathies, was far worse. No one could rightly judge the manner of a man on first meeting, but he had made a good assessment of Lord Tremain's character, and it was evident he cared for Henrietta. As for the future, that was anyone's guess.

Simon glanced over to Matthew as he turned away and shoved a log into the fire. He had the feeling that the man would prove a formidable foe should anyone offend or hurt his niece. At the same time he accepted the fact that if he seriously intended making Henrietta his wife, then he would have an ally in Matthew Brody.

Henrietta and Simon stood and stared at each other, not knowing when they would meet again—if they ever would, even.

At last Henrietta murmured, ‘Are you sure you would not like something to eat before you go?' It was commonplace enough, but it was something that mattered. Hunger could be very debilitating and very distracting.

‘Thank you, no. Take care of yourself, Henrietta. I only want to make you happy, in spite of yourself. When you journey to London, you are welcome to avail yourself of my home. Remember that.'

Gently, but firmly, she shook her head. ‘I thank you, Simon,' she said quietly. ‘But, no, I can't do that.'

She gave a sad little flicker of a smile as once again her memories came rushing back to torment her, memories which were becoming a great deal more inconvenient than she would ever have thought possible. So much stood between them, but she knew the main obstacles came from herself. Couldn't she subdue her aversion to the cause for the sake of her love? Once again there came the temptation, so powerful as to be almost irresistible, the temptation to give in, to cast herself into this man's arms and allow herself to be carried away, without further thought. She needed him so much, his strength and his protective and so very tender arms. Yet, because she had suffered so much already, her pride restrained her on the very verge of yielding.

The worst of it was that she could not really blame Simon. From his point of view, he was right. But neither could she retract. She raised her head and met her lover's gaze squarely.

‘I have given you my reasons many times why this rebellion is anathema to me. Nothing has changed. The question of your involvement in the rebellion remains my primary concern. It is a matter that will remain a sharp wedge between us, dividing us—one from the other.'

It was said quite simply. A statement of fact.

‘Be fair,' he reproved gently. ‘It seems to me that you made your point in an emotional gesture which, though understandable, I implore you to reconsider.'

An expression of pained sadness entered her eyes. ‘You may know the body, Simon, but you have much to learn about the person.' Her voice was quiet and oddly strained.

‘I know you as a lover and as a woman. I'm not going to give up, Henrietta,' he said forthrightly. ‘No matter what your feelings are for me, I want you for my wife. I accept there is still the matter of my allegiance to Prince Charles to deal with first. But be assured it is your life and your welfare that concern me—and, of course, your happiness. I have a care for the future and I will not rest until I am assured of that.'

As she looked up at him her emotions were torn asunder and she could find no peace in the depths of her thoughts. What her heart yearned for went against everything she deemed honourable. ‘Do not think of me being your wife, Simon. It cannot be. I will not. I cannot.'

His dark blue eyes seemed to withdraw more deeply beneath the black brows and Henrietta's heart was wrung as she read the vast disappointment in them. He made as if to go to her, but checked himself and bowed slightly, without a word. Then, crossing the room in a few swift strides, he opened the door and went out.

With her heart breaking, Henrietta followed and stood in the doorway as he mounted his horse. ‘Goodbye, Simon. May God go with you and keep you safe.'

A muscle contracted near the corner of his mouth and he looked straight ahead. The chasm between them, so perilously bridged on the moor, gaped yawning and impassable once more.

Henrietta stood and watched him ride away. The moments they had been together earlier had held a million and exceptional pleasures for them both. She had known full well what he was doing to her and that he was capable of annihilating her will, her mind and her soul, and how she would hunger for ever for that same devastating ecstasy she had experienced in Edinburgh. But she would not allow herself to be caught up in some romantic dream. She had told him they could not be together. She would have it no other way. It was instilled into her heart. Soon she would return to London, where she would take up the thread of her broken life.

She went back inside. Her uncle noted the sadness in her eyes and the dejected droop of her shoulders.

‘Lord Tremain must have been extremely concerned about you to come all this way to assure himself of your safety, rather than ride into England with Prince Charles.'

‘You read too much into it, Uncle. You heard what he said. He came north to rally support for the cause.'

‘Think that if you must, but he must care for you a great deal, Henrietta—and I suspect his feelings are reciprocated, even though you will not allow yourself to admit it.'

‘But I do,' she confessed quietly. ‘The worry of it is that I do care for Simon—so much that it hurts. I believe I always shall. I cannot fight it, you see. Feelings are not things to command.'

‘Well, then. When this is over—'

‘No, Uncle Matthew.' Henrietta lifted her chin as if to oppose him, and Matthew saw she was in full possession of herself. ‘We cannot be together. The die is cast,' she reminded him forcibly, her voice steady, ‘and there are certain things one cannot undo.'

‘Aye,' he murmured, shaking his head at her stubbornness and taking his seat before the fire, ‘more's the pity.'

‘Please try to understand,' she pleaded, falling to her knees in front of him. Taking his hand, she looked up into his face for understanding. ‘The loss of a loved one is common to us all, and under normal circumstances we have been given the means of overcoming it. But I can neither forgive nor forget the manner of my father's death and what it drove my mother to do. When he was brought home and laid to rest, it was as if he entombed a major portion of my heart with him. I cannot and I will not endure that again.' She sighed. ‘I did not come to Scotland to have my heart ensnared by a Jacobite. With everything else that is going on in my life and my thoughts on returning to London, this is not the time for senseless reflections.'

‘I am sorry, my dear. How I wish things could have been different.'

‘So do I,' she whispered. ‘You'll never know how much.'

* * *

Simon awoke in the semi-darkness of the tent, surrounded by Highlanders gathered for the fight that was to come. The air was cold yet his skin was damp, almost feverish, and he drew a deep breath. He'd had a dream, a dream of intense passion, and a woman.

The woman had been Henrietta.

He could vividly recall all of it. They had been making love. He had caressed her. He could almost feel the softness of her skin, her breath, soft and warm, the line of her cheek, the grace of her neck and shoulders. He had kissed her lips, her thighs, stroked her until she was aching with pleasure, and she had moaned and writhed and called his name. She had clutched his shoulders and they had melded into one.... Afterwards he had kissed her gently awake, and she had opened her glorious green eyes and smiled up at him, happy to be with him. He remembered her soft touch, her pliable mouth, her—

Then it had gone, vanished. And he had awakened abruptly, out of breath, hot to the touch, his desire unquenched. Somewhat unsteadily, he rose and poured himself a drink before going to the opening in the tent and staring out at the encampment.

It had been so real, the sounds, the caresses, the heat. So real. He turned back to the crumpled bed and massaged his shoulders. They ached as they had in the dream. His memories of her were all too vivid.

He set his drink down heavily on the small table with a crash and watched impassively as the glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards. Shattered like his life. All those memories of Henrietta were of before she had told him not to think of her as his wife.

When he had left her he believed his world had ended.

* * *

Prince William, the Duke of Cumberland and younger son of King George II, was appointed to put down the Jacobite rebellion. This caused morale to soar amongst the public and troops loyal to King George.

Recalled from Flanders, when the Jacobites received limited support from the English Jacobites and Prince Charles decided to withdraw to Scotland, the Duke of Cumberland went in pursuit. When the Highlanders took Carlisle in December, the Duke returned to London where preparations were in hand to meet a suspected invasion from the French. His replacement in Scotland, Henry Hawley, was defeated at Falkirk in January.

When the French invasion failed to materialise, the Duke of Cumberland returned to Scotland and decided to wait out the winter in Aberdeen, where he trained well-equipped forces under his command for the next stage of the conflict. In April he set out from Aberdeen for Inverness.

* * *

Matthew and Henrietta remained in the cottage. The cold, wet weather had turned the roads south to squelching mud and groups of men, walking doggedly, their heads down against the wind, roamed the land. They had no choice but to delay setting out for London, especially at the turn of the year when the sun skimmed the mountain tops for no more than a couple of hours, and some days when the sky was heavy with sleet, not even that, and when they were snow bound, they were as cut off from the outside world as if the cottage were some island in an unknown sea.

They knew the Battle of Falkirk had been a success for the Scots, but there was no knowing where the Scottish army was now. It was rumoured to be somewhere in the north, but the condition of the army was not encouraging. The weather had been bad, rations had been short for weeks, desertions rife, and now the men were staggering with exhaustion and starvation.

And then word reached them that the Scottish army was moving towards Drummossie Moor—a stretch of open moorland enclosed between the walled Culloden, five miles north-east of Inverness.

And so they waited.

* * *

On the sixteenth of April there was noise to the east—thunder, Henrietta thought, but then she realised the noise was more sinister than that. The faraway gunfire was like the crack of doom. She hadn't heard from Simon since he had left the cottage in December—but then she didn't expect to. Her heart was heavy as she listened to the far-off battle. Simon would be in the thick of it, she had no doubt. Please God, she prayed, let him live.

The Jacobite army was outnumbered and Culloden lent itself to Cumberland's strength in heavy artillery and cavalry. The artillery decimated the clans. The battle was quick and bloody, lasting less than one hour. Following an unsuccessful Highland charge against government lines, the Hanoverians blasted the Jacobite army into a miserable retreat.