Journey to Enchantment (5 page)

“You are not … forgetting his lordship is an Englishman?” quavered poor Hortense, leaning heavily on her arm as she was ushered up the stairs.

Prudence was not forgetting that fact, nor the frighteningly revealed information that his lordship also held a commission in King George's army, but she said, “No, Aunty Mac. It galls me to stand in the debt of such a man, but—faith, I could fair have kissed the creature when he folded up yon Sergeant in sae bonnie a way!”

Hortense was deposited, weeping with the reaction, into the care of her dismayed abigail. Prudence, made of sterner stuff, went straight away in search of her father.

She found him sitting with their guest in a sheltered corner of the sunny garden, with the omnipresent Lockerbie hovering nearby. MacTavish and Delacourt, their heads close together, were engaged in what seemed a heated discussion. Lockerbie said loudly, “Good afternoon, miss,” and the conversation stopped at once.

MacTavish's welcoming smile died as he stood to greet her. “Prue?” he said, scanning her face narrowly. “What is wrong, please?”

She had intended to ask for a private talk, but it occurred to her that it would not hurt Delacourt to be made aware of the conduct of his horrid men. She sat beside her father and told him as calmly as possible what had happened. When she reached the point at which the Sergeant had seized her gown, however, her voice faltered.

His face dark with rage, MacTavish snapped, “He did—
what?
”

Prudence began to wish she'd requested privacy, after all. “He took hold of—the front of—of my bodice,” she said, her cheeks becoming hot.

“By the Lord Harry!” grated MacTavish.

The Captain enquired mildly, “In an offensive way, ma'am?”

“I'd damned well like to know how it could be done in an
in
offensive way,” snarled MacTavish. “Go on, lass.”

Prudence went on, becoming more and more embarrassed. She was trembling when she finished her recital, and she could feel her father shaking with wrath.

“That was jolly well done of old Thaddeus,” observed Delacourt tranquilly.

Her cheeks still burning, Prudence rested a level stare upon him. “Aye. He's a right brave lad—for an Englishman,” she said.

Fortunately, MacTavish's thoughts were elsewhere. “Pray excuse me, sir,” he said, coming to his feet. “I must go into town.”

Delacourt murmured, “Do you think that wise?”

Outraged, Prudence stared at the Captain's pale, calm face. Standing, she placed one hand on her father's arm. “I know ye'll not let me go wi' ye, but you'd best take some of the men, Papa.”

“Oh, most decidedly not,” said the placid English voice.

“What
would
you suggest?” MacTavish demanded harshly. “That I take my daughter and offer her for the sport of the rank and file?”

Prudence tossed her chin up and turned from the enemy, triumphant. She was considerably shocked when her father made no move to leave, but waited for a response.

Delacourt said, “Naturally not. But it does not do to, er, alienate the military, you know. And perhaps there were”—he glanced apologetically at Prudence's bristling hostility—“extenuating circumstances.”

“Extenuating!”
Her blue eyes flashed outrage. “Do ye dare tae suggest I flirted wi' the mon, sir?”

“I'd not be so bold.” One slim finger traced a figure eight on the arm of his chair and, watching it, he murmured, “Only, I thought that—being so provoked, you know—you might have said something to, ah, irritate him.”

Bosom heaving and hands clenched, Prudence found herself strangled by wrath.

The MacTavish said, “Do I know my daughter, Captain, she gave the lout as good as he sent.”

“Not quite as good, Papa,” she managed, grinning at him. “But I boxed his ear fairly.”

“Is that when he violated your—your bodice?”

Blushing, she said, “No, Papa. He knocked me doon.”

A stifled exclamation came from Lockerbie. MacTavish swore audibly. Even Captain Tol-lol, as Prudence had dubbed him mentally, seemed horrified, and exclaimed, “Gad, but I'd thought my presence here would protect you from that sort of brutality. You mean, the fellow actually
struck
you, ma'am?”

“Well, he—” she began, then finished lamely, “he sort of dropped me, I suppose. And he said I was the type of woman had shot his brother in the back at Falkirk.”

“Damned hound!” grated MacTavish.

“So I said if his brother
was
shot in the back, it was likely because he was running away!”

“Oh, dear,” said the Captain with a sigh.

MacTavish looked amused. “Well, Delacourt?”

Astonished, Prudence thought, ‘Why ask this dolt's opinion? What does it matter what
he
thinks?'

“In your shoes,” said Delacourt judicially, “I would, of course, register a protest.”

“Register … a …
protest?
” gasped Prudence. “Och! The daring of it!”

“But in a controlled and civilized fashion,” he went on, disregarding this interruption.

“Is that what Englishmen do?” raged Prudence, her temper breaking its bounds. “Do they permit their ladies to be mauled in public, and have so little pride that—”

“You forget that Captain Delacourt is our guest,” MacTavish interrupted.

“Guest! One might rather think him master o' this hoose, if we—” And her impassioned words faded. She caught her breath, blanching that she had been guilty of such flagrant insolence and, hanging her head, mumbled, “Oh, dear sir … I am—so sorry.”

The soft, loathed voice purred, “It is understandable that Miss MacTavish is upset, sir. Under the circumstances.”

Prudence darted a venomous glare at him. As if she wanted
him
to plead her case! His dark gaze met hers with so pious an understanding that she fairly itched to claw him.

In a gentler tone her father said, “Of course she is upset, poor wee lass. Come away, m'dear. I'll see you to your bedchamber. You must rest.”

Prudence clung to his arm and accompanied him without a backward glance. As they stepped onto the path that led up to the house, Delacourt called wearily, “The man you'll want to see is Colonel Cunningham. Tread lightly, sir. He's a bit of a tiger.”

*   *   *

Prudence sat on her bed and frowned at the polished boards. Despite her pleas, her father had ridden off with only his aging steward to side him, and two grooms following. In the old days he'd have ridden at the head of all the men he could muster (had such a situation arisen, which it had not), and the insult would have been wiped out in blood. Her frown wavered. It was a little difficult to picture the MacTavish behaving in such a way, but it was what the clan chieftains or the Lord of the Isles would do, and in a small way the MacTavish was a clan chieftain. She sighed. If her father was carried home wrapped in his cloak, it would be Delacourt who could be blamed. And it was the loathly Englishman who had almost brought about another quarrel with Papa.

The recollection of her angry words brought a blush of shame to her cheeks, but what she had said was truth. Since the Sassenach had come, it was as if he had some powerful hold over James MacTavish. She kicked off her slippers irritably and glared at the one that flew across the room and sent the hairbrush toppling off her dressing table. It was silly to contemplate the MacTavish being blackmailed, wasn't it? But how could that puling weakling have the power to order so proud a gentleman? Certain it was that Papa had been ready to go and fetch his horsewhip at one moment, and the next had asked meekly, “What would you suggest?”

She lay back across the bed, staring up at the soft billow of the silken canopy. My lord Briley had seemed a gentle, likeable person. And my lord Briley was now become
Major
Lord Briley! She closed her eyes, shivering. She had tried to warn Papa; she had told him it was all a plot and that Delacourt had been put here to entrap them. And Papa had uttered an exasperated exclamation, then kissed her and said he would not scold her after what she had endured today, “But—what a pother you cause with your dramatics, child.” Child! A fine thing that the MacTavish would pay heed to the word of a foreigner, an enemy! and laugh to scorn the warnings of his own flesh and blood.…

She awoke from a crazy dream in which Delacourt had hurled a tiger from the top of the staircase. The creature's snarls still echoed in her ears, in fact. Unless…? She tilted her head, listening. Someone was weeping!

She clambered from the bed and hurried to the parlour door. Kitty was huddled on the sofa, sobbing. Prudence ran to sit beside her. “What is it? Kitty—never say my papa—”

“No, miss,” mumbled the abigail, drying her tears with her apron. “The MacTavish came home an hour since and … and—oh! 'Tis—” She burst into tears again. “'Tis … my Bill!”

So Little Willie was become ‘my Bill.' Prudence said slowly, “I knew he admired you, but I thought you'd sent him about his business.”

“Aye. Sent him off … with a flea in his ear. On—on account o' him not warning me he meant to go with Prince Charlie. And … and worrying m'self sick ever since. Wondering was he alive or…” She sobbed.

Prudence whispered, “Then—you've had word?”

“M'brother says as Bill's being hunted doon and—he's hurt and half starved. Poor wee laddie! Last m'brother saw, he was away up Castle Crag, running fer his life and a half-dozen troopers after him, wi' dogs.
Dogs!
Och—me poor Bill! They likely have him the noo, and—and will drag him off tae be shot!” She rocked back and forth, covering her face. “Oh, miss! If I did but know how, I'd get worrd tae Ligun Doone. He'd help, I know it!”

Aghast, Prudence slipped an arm about her shaking shoulders. “Is there a way to reach Mr. Doone that you know of?”

Scattering teardrops, Kitty shook her head. “Would that I did. The only mon I know that had words wi' him was Master Robbie. If only—”

“What?”
Prudence's clasp tightened spasmodically. “My
brother?
”

“Aye.” Kitty blinked swollen eyes at her. “'Twas Ligun Doone got Master Robbie clear. Did ye not know of it?”

“I did not!” Astounded by this intelligence, and puzzled that it had been kept from her, Prudence muttered, “So 'tis Mr. Doone I've to thank for dear Rob's life!” She jumped up. “Now try not to worry so, Kitty. If Rob was helped by Mr. Doone, then you may be sure the MacTavish knows of it. I'll seek him oot at once.”

Kitty's gratitude was profuse. She wiped her eyes and stood also. “Ye canna go doonstairs like that, miss. 'Tis nigh dinner time and his lordship invited, so Mrs. Cairn told me, tae bide wi' us a day or two.”

Tonight, Prudence chose to wear one of her new gowns. Styled in the English mode, with the wide, flattened pannier skirts that were becoming popular nowadays, the material was of blue lawn, with white embroidered flowers edging the tiers, and an underdress of pale blue silk. The neckline, demurely edged with lace, was moderately low, but set off her rich little figure admirably. She selected a sapphire pendant and hung small diamond and sapphire drops from her ears, while Kitty adorned her piled curls with a bow of wide blue velvet.

Armed for the fray, Prudence took up her fan and went downstairs.

III

The entrance hall was empty, but as she descended the final flight of stairs, Prudence could hear the murmur of male voices. A footman imparted the information that the gentlemen were gathered in the gold saloon. She had feared they might have selected the red saloon or the book room, neither of which chambers would show off her blue gown to its best advantage. The gold saloon would, she thought, do very nicely.

Her entrance was satisfactory, for there was a moment's silence when she arrived. She paused, startled by two facts. The first was that Captain Delacourt was present; and the second, that an army officer stood by the empty hearth, chatting with her father and Lord Briley. Her eyes held on the stranger. A Colonel. A well-built man, in his early forties, she guessed, with a neat wig and jutting black brows. His complexion was sallow, his eyes black and keen, his nose a sharp hook over a small, tight mouth. She had an impression of intelligence and menace, and her heart beat a little faster when she thought of the questions she meant to ask her father.

“How very pretty you look, my dear,” said MacTavish, coming to lead her in to the room. “I'd not expected you would join us after your shattering experience.”

“For which I have come to offer the humblest of apologies,” said the officer, bringing his heels sharply together and bowing in a brisk, Germanic fashion.

“Colonel Cunningham, allow me to present my daughter, Miss Prudence MacTavish.”

The Colonel bowed over Prudence's hand, but kept those sharp dark eyes on her face even as he did so.

This was the man Delacourt had referred to as ‘a bit of a tiger.' She believed that for once he had spoken truly, and she fluttered her lashes and tried to look simpering and stupid.

The Colonel uttered the appropriate phrases and professed himself to have been “utterly aghast to learn of such an atrocity. I can only plead that every army has its share of animals, ma'am. Sometimes the best intentioned of officers cannot control 'em. But that
you
should have been victimized after we spread the word that you were giving sanctuary to one of our men, and that the people of Lakepoint were to be left alone, is unforgiveable. I do assure you that the man who used you so brutally will long repent his lapse.”

Her irritation over the suggestion that all Scots were fair game except those sheltering English officers was lost in her unease at the tight set of his thin lips. She said, “Never say he has lost his stripes.”