Parris Afton Bonds (3 page)

The coach
’s three occupants were silent, each already missing Ayr and Afton House. Each was wondering what the future would bring. The sounds of horses’ hooves, harnesses, and carriage wheels were the only noises as the coach traveled the byroads through glen and dale.

After they crossed the Brig o
’Doon spanning the Ayr River, the countryside sped past the coach window: manicured hills with flocks of sheep, patches of daffodils and violets and the delicate lavender heather, stone dykes separating small tenant farms, and country estates lavish with ferns and flowers.

The sp
lendid summer sunlight was waning, the high-piled clouds pink with sunset, when the galloping grays stopped at a coaching inn. An ostler came running out to tend the horses.

"M
’lady, I have need of the . . . privy,” Mary Laurie said. She was a priggish lass who nonetheless was desirous of finding herself a learned husband. God knew where she would find a learned man in the Highlands. Their Gaelic tongue was the rude speech of a barbarous people who had few thoughts to express.

"Ayrshire plowboys want only a
wife to cook and clean the mud from their boots,” she complained often enough in her Scots Braid, akin to Old English.

Enya nodded her permission. "Elspeth, accompany Mary Laurie, will you? A posting inn
’s common room isn’t always the safest place to pass through."

Rather than seek out the inn
’s private parlor, Enya elected to remain in the coach. As she understood, a pause of only a quarter of an hour was allotted before the bridal journey would be resumed.

What she didn
’t understand was the dark silhouette that swung suddenly inside the coach and clapped a callused hand over her mouth to stifle her startled "What—?”

Chapter Two

“
D
uncan!” Enya jerked away the hand covering her mouth. “I might have known it was you. What do you think you are doing?”

His grin momentarily broadened his narrow face. One of his front teeth slightly overlapped the other. "Servin
’ as yer escort for yer bridal journey, m’lady.” He plopped down in the seat opposite her. “Tis verra dangerous roads yell be a’takin’. And without that Wakefield to—”

Her eyes narrowed. “
Sir Oliver Wakefield? You put something in the proxy’s drink to make him drunk, didn’t you?”

His expression was one of affronted innocence. “
The old goat would have bored ye to tears.” She reached across and clasped his roughened hand. In the confines of the coach, the smell of the sea and salt spray emanated from him. ‘"Tis no good, Duncan. What we have belongs to our childhood.”

In the gathering darkness, the shrug of his thin shoulde
rs was almost imperceptible. *'l dinna ken if I can let ye go 'til I see for meself that ye are in good hands, Enya.”

The ache in his voice was an echo of her own at leaving all that was familiar and dear to her. Duncan had given her her first and only kis
s. His father had been the castle blacksmith, but the hammer and forge and fire were not for Duncan. No, the open sea and freedom were his desire. And, of course, her.

He propped his booted feet next to her on the seat. The heels were run down and the leat
her cracked and reeking of a briny smell. "So, me darlin', if ye canna stomach yer husband, will ye summon me to your bed?”

She thumped his boot with her fan. “
I have no taste for the English gallows, Duncan, and that’s where ye’ll be keeping company if ye continue to ply your smuggling trade.” Too often, she found herself lapsing into the Scottish brogue when talking with Duncan, whose accent was as broad as the River Clyde. He pronounced his r’s with a trill of the tongue that Scottish bards had practiced for centuries from medieval minstrel galleries.

“
Ye've insulted me, Enya. I am but a simple fisherman, and—”

"And you smell like one in the bargain. Herring and mackerel, I
’d swear. Dead herring and mackerel. Long dead.”

“
I hadna time to change. Me cockle put in too late to do more than unload—’’

“
A shipment of French muskets, no less?”

“
Nae. Ye do me verra wrong, Enya. I had only time to unload yer wedding gift.”

The coach door swung open on creaking hinges, and Elspeth toted her bony body up the folding
coach steps. Mary Laurie followed behind, and neither woman, their vision accustomed to light, noticed Duncan until Mary Laurie almost sat on him.

At the feel of his hands clasping her ample hips, she yelped, jumped aside, and plopped down opposite him. “
May God take—”

“
You remember Duncan," Enya said, smiling. Duncan’s easy, hedonistic approach to life might be just what the hard-working, priggish maid needed.

"Hhmmp!" Elspeth snorted. Beneath her brown serge traveling cloak, her arms folded, a clear gestu
re of her disapproval of the new guest.

"Unfortunately," Mary Laurie replied. In the dim coach, her cheeks burned a beet red.

Only then did Enya recall that Duncan had once tweaked Mary Laurie’s bottom by mistake. It had happened nearly two years ago just after she had come to Afton House to apply for the position as Enya’s personal maid. Running up and down the stairs had been getting to be too much for Elspeth and she had taken a respite one evening on the terrace.

Duncan, thinking the girl bending over t
he terrace fountain was Enya, had committed that unpardonable act and sent Mary Laurie fleeing into the house, howling all the way. Like most Scots, she was superstitious, and she had been convinced she had been accosted by an evil agent of a clan of Druid witches.

Enya shifted her attention back to Duncan. Her eyes narrowed. "My wedding gift, you say?" What was the smuggler up to now?

"Aye. But ye willna see it 'til ye give me a kiss. For auld lang syne."

"She
’ll na be doin’ that, ye weasel!” Elspeth said. "Not as long as I draw breath.”

A wheel hit a hole, and Enya swayed to the side and caught the coach strap for support. "I am no simpleton, Duncan Fraser. Let me see the gift first.”

“Ye dinna trust me? Ach, Enya. The wedding gift be too heavy to bring with me."

"Then how can I see it?”

“Well, now, m'lady, I dinna tell ye when ye would be a’seein’ it, did I? But 'tis grand, to be sure. Ye ha’ me word on it.”

She chuckled. Duncan
’s company had always proved diverting. "As grand as the tadpole ye put in my bowl of leek soup?"

“
That was but a wee thing, a tadpole. A grand thing, now, would be the leech you secreted in me underdrawers. Me bum will ne’er be forgettin’ that one."

Mary Laurie gasped and put her plump hand over her o-shaped mout
h. Elspeth sniffed with indignation.

Enya began to laugh. "It could have been much worse for you, Duncan Fraser. Your poke could have been shriveled to a
—"

"Enya!" Elspeth reproved.

“And at a grand loss for all the Afton lassies, I tell ye now," Duncan said.

Talk of memories continued to flow between them. It had always been like that. The unabashed bluntness, the unhindered sharing, the unstoppable caring. Time and miles sped by quickly.

A little after midnight, Enya looked out the coach window as it rattled through Glasgow’s streets. Glasgow was one of the world’s greatest shipbuilding centers, and she admired the town residences of country noblemen that lined the Clyde.

Down at the quay, she noted activity was still afoot. By the light of oil lanterns, me
n unloaded sugar and tobacco off a large vessel, from one of the American colonies, most likely.

The Lord Lieutenant
’s sloop, the
HMS Pelican
, was not difficult to spot. For one thing, additional redcoats stood sentry before the boarding plank. From the
Pelican’s
mast the British Union flag stirred desultorily in the dark stillness. Below the British flag drooped a standard, exhibiting a red sword on a black ground and the words "Only War Brings Lasting Peace” emblazoned in gold. The personal standard of the Lord Lieutenant, so the story went at one of her mother’s salons.

After the frantic day and the long hours of traveling, Enya was weary. At that moment, a cabin berth was more welcome than any bed she had ever slept in. The armed sentries did not challen
ge her or question Duncan’s presence.

But Elspeth did. She fixed him with her evil eye. "Are ye daft, lad? The Lord Lieutenant will have yer head for compromising his bride!”

"My Lord Lieutenant will shortly ken that his bride is untried." Enya laughed and picked up her voluminous skirts to board the sloop.

Behind her, Mary Laurie let out an audible gasp of shock, though by now she should have been accustomed to Enya
’s frankness. To Elspeth’s chagrin, her charge would never be a coy maiden of mystery.

The m
ounted escort trotted off with the empty coach. A third of Enya’s journey was over. At the end of the last third waited her intended and her new life. At the thought, she felt for the first time pleasant anticipation.

Both maidservants hurried to catch up
with her, as did the footmen toting her trunks. Half a dozen sailors in red stocking caps, smocked shirts, and trews readied the ship for sailing on the tide, scarce three hours hence. They scrubbed the planks with vinegar and holystone and hosed down the decks.

A man
’s booming voice challenged, “Halt there. Who goes?”

She and Duncan stopped, glancing off to their left, where a uniformed man approached them. Short and bewigged, he wore the insignia of a naval officer. In the faint light of a lantern, the st
ocky man looked as uncertain as she. His thick white brows lowered. "Ye, I trust, are the bride of the Lord Lieutenant of the Western Highlands?”

"That I am.”

He bowed low over buckled shoes. However, his sharp blue-eyed gaze was cautious as he viewed the shabbily attired Duncan. "Yer escort, m’lady? Sir Oliver Wakefield?”

“
Detained. Duncan is my personal escort. My quarters, sir? I am weary.”

“
My apologies." He clicked his heels and bowed once more. "This way, madam.”

They followed him down the companionwa
y stairwell. Her maids’ cabin adjoined her own. She ducked her head. Ship-cabin lintels were notoriously low, and many a good bump on her noggin had taught her to remember her height.

Her own cabin was masculinely appointed, which startled her. She had foo
lishly expected quarters furnished for a woman with a canopied bed, maybe a tapestried settle or stools and cushions to make more restful the middle portion of her journey.

Across a small desk were strewn papers and maps. Nautical instruments
—a polished brass telescope, a glass barometer, a brass-bound sextant, an hourglass—graced a sideboard. Alongside them were a decanter filled with a dark amber liquid, two quaiches, and a wicker basket of fresh fruit.

"The captain sends his regrets at being unable to gr
eet ye himself," the officer said, indicating the fruit and spirits.

She nodded and began to untie her bonnet strings. There was still Duncan to deal with. "Now that I am safely aboard my husband
’s ship, Duncan, I—”

"But not safely at yer destination, me d
arlin’.’’ He faced her in a stubborn stance, his arms folded, his legs spread.

She could order him thrown off the ship, but, alas, her affection for the grinning jackanapes stopped her just short of the command. Her shoulder blades felt the officer
’s suspicious stare.

“
Quite right, Duncan. I charge you to guard my doorway.” But once at Fort William, she thought with impatience, I will send your smuggler’s hide packing.

With a curt "G
’night,” she dismissed him. After the door was closed she sighed and turned to the younger maidservant. "Unlace me, will ye, Mary Laurie?"

A grumbling Elspeth was already prying open the portmanteau carrying her nightclothes. "A ship is no place for a bride.”

Privately, Enya agreed as she let Mary Laurie take down her hair and braid it for the night. The resinous scent of cedar filled the hot, stuffy cabin. Four days confined aboard ship. Could she endure the monotony? No books to read, no horses to ride, no thought-provoking conversations with savants down from Edinburgh.

At least her husband would have provided some stimulation. Because of his military genius, Simon Murdock had been selected for the task of subduing the rebellious Clan Cameron and its brutish warl
ord.

"G
’night, me darlin’,” Duncan called from the other side of the door.

She did have Duncan to divert her for the next four days. With that comforting thought in mind, Enya dismissed Elspeth and Mary Laurie and retired to a less than comforting bed. The
stale smells of mildew and pipe smoke clung to the bunk’s blanket. Already hot, she kicked it off. She was still awake when the ship slipped anchor. The gentle rocking of the boat and the groaning of its timbers put her to sleep, at last.

Light awoke her.
Too quickly. She rolled to her stomach and buried her face in the crook of her arm. "Elspeth? Draw the drapes, I beg you. I've barely closed my eyes.”

With the closing of the cabin door, the light was extinguished. “
An enticing posterior ye present, Lady Murdock. Albeit, a bit too broad for me taste,” a male voice added with brutal frankness.

In an instant wide-awake shock replaced drowsiness. She pushed herself upright and hit the back of her head on the bunk top. Spurts of oranges and yellows and blues b
linded her momentarily and she splayed down again on the bed.

The hand clamped across the back of her waist prevented her from moving. “
Do as ye are bid, me lady, and the experience willna be too unpleasant.”

The baritone voice had a soft, musical Scottish
brogue, with its rolling r’s and its clipping manner of the final consonants. She tried to twist around, but the big hand constrained her. “My Lord Lieutenant?"

The unamused laugh prickled the hair at her nape. "What do you want with me? Who are you?"

“I am not your Lord Lieutenant. I am your laird, Lady Murdock. Laird of the Clan Cameron of the Western Highlands.’’

"Me laird? Are ye mad?”
Her nervousness was splintering the years of hard-acquired English. If she wasn’t careful, she would be gibbering helplessly.

She tried to turn her head to see the man behind her, but his grip on her loose braid held her head fast against the pillow. She strained to glimpse him from the corner of her eye. All she could see was a dark form. She got the impression of a mass
ive man. It wasn’t just the immense weight bearing down on her; it was the heat of a body, much larger than hers.