The Black Knave (9 page)

She bit her lips. “What did you tell him?”

“That you were like any other virgin. Reluctant at first, then …” He spread out his hands expressively. “He appeared relieved and said the lands would be transferred to me. I do not want him to change his mind.”

“So you can gamble away lands that have been in families for centuries? They must have belonged to—”

“Jacobites? Most certainly. They knew the risk they were taking, and it is no concern of yours what I do with what is now mine.” His voice was flat, emotionless.

She hated him, then. Any impressions she’d had of decency had been wishful thinking. He was using her to take lands that belonged to others. Just as her family’s lands had been taken.

He didn’t say anything else, merely rolled up his shirtsleeves. His right hand held the dirk lightly as he approached the bed and threw off the feather cover. “Move over,” he commanded.

She reluctantly obeyed and watched as he made a shallow cut above his wrist and allowed the blood to drip on the bedclothes, then smeared it. Bethia watched his eyes as he did so; there was no indication of pain, or emotion. He looked at the stain with satisfaction, then tore off a piece of his shirt and bound his wound.

His hazel eyes cool, he pulled on the waistcoat he’d worn the night before.

“And now I leave you, madam.” He hesitated. “Is there anything you would like?”

“My freedom.”

“That, at the moment, is quite impossible.” He paused. “Do you read?”

“Aye.”

“There is a library downstairs. Take what you wish.”

An unexpected kindness. In truth, inexplicable. “What is my role here?” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “My wife,” he said. “You are mistress of Braemoor.”

“The servants?”

“They will take orders from you,” he said. “Except for one thing. You will not be allowed to leave Braemoor.”

She stood, feeling terribly vulnerable in her nightdress. “How can they be expected to take orders from me when they know I am naught but a prisoner here?”

“I expect you can find a way to convince them,” he said indifferently.

And then he left her without any more words, but with a number of unanswered questions.

The guests departed during the afternoon.

Rory saw one of Cumberland’s men approach young Trilby, saw her face turn red before whispering a few words. A report, no doubt, on the condition of Bethia’s bed. She might well have protected her new mistress without Rory’s contribution, but he hadn’t been willing to take the chance.

Then Cumberland and his officers headed north, chasing rumors that Prince Charlie had been sighted in the northern Highlands. However, he left a garrison in a nearby town to continue seeking out Jacobites.

Alister found Rory shortly after Cumberland left. “Lord Ogilvy has been taken. He is naught but a twenty-one-year-old boy. Cumberland is said to favor hanging him.”

“His grace is in favor of hanging everyone. There would not be a man left in Scotland had he his way.”

“Jacobites, you mean?”

“Nay, he has contempt for all of us. You can see it in his manner. Well, we will tweak his nose a bit.”

Alister groaned.

“How would you like to be an officer?”

“No’ at all.”

Rory grinned. “Nonetheless you will have the experience. We also need some men who look like soldiers.”

“I can find a few. Some that donna like what’s happening. And some that admire the Black Knave.”

Rory nodded. It was Alister who had found the loyal Scot here and there, Scots—like himself—who were so offended by the aftermath of Culloden that they were willing to hide a Jacobite for a day or two, or act as lookouts, or give a ride in a wagonload of hay. And then there were the secret Jacobites, men who hadn’t been able to leave their families to join the army. They were anxious to find some honor. “How long before they move Ogilvy to Edinburgh?”

“The end of the week. They hope to have a few more to take.”

“We will try to disabuse them of that hope. And Alister, we will need five men at least.”

“I can tell them the Black Knave will lead them?”

“Aye.”

“I will be off, then. When should I tell them … ?”

“In three nights’ time.”

Alister nodded, then hesitated. “The lady … your wife?”

Rory stiffened. “What about her?”

“Will she be a problem?”

“I made a bargain with her.”

Alister waited.

“She will not interfere with my activities, and I will restrain my licentious inclinations toward her,” Rory said ruefully. “She believes I love—at least lust—after another and is bloody thankful for it.”

“Mary?”

“Aye.” He paused. “I am sorry, Alister. If you feel I should try to find another ruse, I shall.”

Alister tried to smile. “It was Mary’s decision, and her wish.”

“When this is over, I will make it possible for you two to go wherever you wish.”

“She has never indicated that she … favors me.”

“Then you have not seen her eyes, my friend. Her feelings are quite clear.”

Alister’s brown eyes brightened, yet his voice remained matter-of-fact. “I’ll have the men you need.”

Rory nodded. “I will ride to Edinburgh. We need more stage paint and wigs from Elizabeth, and a few English uniforms. I prefer to steal them further north. I want no suspicion here. I also expect my new wife will be enormously relieved at my absence.” He hesitated. “I think she must feel very alone. A friendly face might help.”

“Aye, milord.”

“You can regale her with tales of my decadence.”

“Are you sure you wish to do that?”

Nay. In some ways, she appealed to him. She had courage and good sense and wit. She had not the beauty of many of the women he had bedded, though she had a certain attractiveness, the kind that would last through decades. But she also represented danger to him.

He must make himself as repugnant to her as possible. Already, he sensed, he had put more than a few doubts in her mind as to his bad character. Most men would have few scruples about taking a new wife to bed, regardless of the woman’s own desires. And she knew it.

“Aye,” he said. ” ‘Tis necessary.”

“Ye know what the clan will say. That you were not pleased by her; that is why you are leaving so soon. It will make her position more difficult.”

Rory sighed. He had already considered that. But he had little choice. He needed both information and theater props available only in Edinburgh. His frequent travels to Edinburgh—and debauchery, according to rumor—were part of his facade, one he did not want to destroy now. If he stayed here, he might well slip. He still remembered the fragrance of her, the feel of her skin against his fingers. Now
that
did frighten him.

“It cannot be helped.” he said after several seconds. “Just… look after her as best you can. I will meet you three nights from now.”

Alister nodded.

Rory looked at him for a moment. “Take care, my friend.”

Alister grinned. “Always. But you … I do worry about you.”

Bethia felt like a beggar child who did not belong, who might be snatched up and thrown outside at any moment. The irony was that she
wanted
to be thrown outside.

This would never be her home.

Her … husband had been gone two days, leaving without any more words than those he’d thrown at her the morning after the wedding.
I expect you can find a way
. But she hadn’t. He’d also said the servants would obey her. But when she offered a suggestion, they looked as if they did not understand a word she said.

Then she had sought out Neil Forbes. He apparently had kept the household accounts for the old marquis, and the new marquis had shown complete indifference to them, allowing Neil to continue. There was, however, apparently no love lost between them. She’d seen them both bristle in the other’s presence. Still, Trilby had told her that the new marquis apparently didn’t care enough about Braemoor to take away the accounts or try to find a new manager.

That fact obviously galled his cousin, and so did her request to see the accounts. But she knew it was the place to start if she were to run the household. She had kept the accounts of her own home after her mother had died.

“Where is your husband?” he’d asked quite curtly.

She could only stare at him helplessly. She had no idea. She suspected that most of the household did, however. “He did not inform me,” she finally said, knowing both the relief she felt that he was gone and the humiliation that she did not even know where.

Neil Forbes muttered something to himself, something she suspected was a quite angry curse. “I handle the household accounts,” he said in a slightly louder voice. “We require no changes.”

“I do not mean to usurp you, sir,” she said as tactfully as she could. “I just thought if I knew the trades people that provide the goods to us, I would not make mistakes.”

For a moment, his dark eyes seemed to soften as he studied her. Then, he said rudely, “We need no new… customs from Jacobites.”

‘Twas the last straw. She was tired of insolence and disrespect that greeted her everywhere. Whether she wanted it or not, she was mistress of Braemoor, and she’d be no timid mouse about it. She straightened her back. “Courtesy is one custom we value that you might well benefit from,” she said sharply. “The marquis said the household was to take orders from me. I assume that includes you.”

“You assume wrong, madam. I take no orders from you. I did not approve of this wedding, and I do not approve of my cousin.”

“Then why do you stay?”

“Because mayhap I can pick up the pieces after my cousin destroys everything.”

She lifted her head defiantly. “I brought wealth to your family.”

“To Rory, mayhap. To the gaming tables.”

She recognized the anger—no, fury—in his voice. He and her new husband did not merely dislike each other. This man was obviously his cousin’s enemy. Well, that was no concern of hers. Still, she wondered how aware her new husband was of the enmity toward him.

Bethia had thought that
she
had been the reason for her cold reception at Braemoor. Now she realized it might be for her husband as well.

‘Twas none of her business if he received so little respect and liking from his own people. And yet…

She tried to make herself taller. “Nonetheless, it seems you must live with the fact that he is the marquis, not you, and I am his wife.”

A flicker of admiration flashed through his eyes. “Temporarily.” he mumbled.

“The only way you can change the situation is…” She stopped.

“My cousin’s death? Not necessarily. The king’s displeasure is an alternative. I know that you did not want this marriage. Mayhap you and I can—”

“You are right,” she said with biting anger. “The marriage was not my choice. But unlike so many others in this country today, I do have a sense of honor. I may not want this marriage, but I am in it, and I will not betray my husband to another.”

“To another? ‘Tis a strange choice of words, my lady. Do you mean to say
you
might do something yourself to betray him?”

Betrayal, she observed silently, was in the eye of the beholder. In truth, she felt no loyalty to her husband. If she had the chance to escape Scotland with her brother, she would do so. But she would not conspire with his enemies to destroy him.

She gave him what she hoped was a scathing look. “I have heard of families like this, but I chose not to believe the gossip. At least we Jacobites believe in loyalty. Another barbaric custom,” she said bitingly.

“He is
not
a Forbes,” Neil replied bitterly.

She must have looked startled.

“You will hear it sooner or later. His mother was a whore, an adulteress. He appears to have all her same weaknesses.”

The insinuation was clear, and she felt a prickling down her back at the hatred behind it.

“I will not listen to such slander.”

” ‘Tis not slander. Every man and woman here will tell you the same. The old marquis had his doubts about Rory’s birth. He said so. I have more claim….” He stopped suddenly and turned away.

But Bethia wanted to know more. “Then why did he not disinherit him?”

After a moment, Neil turned back to her. “Because he had too much pride, and he thought his oldest son would beget other sons. He never thought—”

“And you believe
you
should be heir?” she said contemptuously.

“The Forbeses will follow me. They will not follow that popinjay.”

“Are you looking toward another war?”

“Nay, but times are changing. We must have leadership,” he said, his voice lowering. “Rory does not see that. He cares only about his own pursuits. To survive, we must change our ways. We have to put more land into cattle and sheep, but still help our tenants use the remaining land more productively.”

“You would have to clear some land. That means removing your kinsmen from acres they’ve worked for hundreds of years.”

His gaze pierced her. “
I
would make provisions for them. And why would a MacDonell care about that?”

“You obviously would not understand,” she said. “I am sorry I asked you about the books. I will look at them when my husband returns.”

“I would not hold my breath, milady. His trips are often quite long, though not far. There is a cottage in the woods not far from here—”

“I will not listen to gossip.”

“I just think you should know what everyone knows.”

“It is very kind of you,” she replied. She turned without another word and left the room.

Now she had something else to ponder: Which of them was most disliked? She or her husband?

And what might Neil Forbes do to acquire what he obviously believed should be his?

Bethia inspected the tower house. It was not as large as her home, but it was substantial. It was old, with a gatehouse extended into a form of the tower. The first floor of the main tower included the great hall on one side; a keeping or garrison room on the other. Beneath the keeping room was an unused area that looked like a dungeon with its heavy doors leading to small cubicles. To the left of that was an armament room.