Part 26 (1/2)
It was time for another major lie. ”I will be honest with you, Colonel Ormond. Though a loyal servant of the Crown, it grieved my husband greatly to see his homeland torn by rebellion. At my urging, he did indeed travel to England, though certainly not as a Jacobite scout. He had business there, and being away from Scotland was less painful for him. He also took with him several young men of the glen. Not rebels, you understand, but high-spirited youths who might have been tempted to join in that Jacobite nonsense if not diverted.”
”Is that why there seemed to be few young men as we rode through the glen?”
The colonel was perceptive. Gwynne said, ”Yes, we packed off as many of them as possible. Several lads from Glen Rath are serving with the government forces.” Which was even true. ”Better for them to be busy and interested somewhere else than to stay here and be preyed on by troublemakers.”
”Ingenious,” the colonel said thoughtfully. ”Young men are like tinder, and it is well not to expose them to fiery ideas. Has Ballister returned to Dunrath?”
”No, but I hope he will be home soon.” Gwynne smiled wistfully. ”It was hard for us to separate when we were so newly wed, but people of rank must take responsibility for our dependents.” Most of the Macraes of Glen Rath would have been outraged at being called dependents, but the colonel nodded approvingly. With luck, after he spoke with Jean he would be ready to continue his pursuit elsewhere.
Gwynne refreshed their teacups and was urging the colonel to eat more when the door opened and Jean entered the morning room. Gwynne mentally applauded. Hair powdered and wearing a pale silk gown with lacy trailing sleeves, Jean appeared delicate, ladylike, and about sixteen years old.
Eyes downcast, she swept the colonel a deep curtsey as Gwynne performed the introductions. Ormond stared incredulously, obviously unable to reconcile the description of a warrior maiden with this fragile, demure young lady.
”Jean, sit down beside me,” Gwynne said soothingly as she poured another cup of tea. ”I know this will be difficult, but Colonel Ormond must ask you some questions.”
The officer cleared his throat, uncomfortable at asking hard questions of a girl barely out of the schoolroom. ”Miss Macrae, you are accused of raising a troop of men from Dunrath and joining the Jacobites. It is even said that you fought on Drummossie Moor and escaped with a group of rebels. These are very grave charges.”
Jean raised her head and stared at him with great, startled eyes. ”Me, a mere woman, lead a band of soldiers? What a bizarre thought! I did go to the Jacobites, but that was to join my sweetheart, Robbie Mackenzie. I . . . I had hoped to persuade him to return home and marry me before it was too late.”
”Lady Ballister said that you returned home almost a week ago. If so, you might not have heard that your young man died in the battle.” Ormond delivered the news gently, but his gaze was shrewd as he watched Jean.
”Dear G.o.d in heaven, no!” Jean began to sob. ”I dreamed he would be killed but I prayed I was wrong. Oh, Gwynne!” She cast herself into her sister-in-law's embrace, her body shaking with sobs as she channeled her genuine grief into her performance.
”Be strong, my dear,” Gwynne said with compa.s.sion as real as the girl's misery.
Uncomfortable with making a young lady cry, Ormond said, ”Captain Mackenzie fought bravely, Miss Macrae. I hope that is some comfort to you and his family.”
Jean raised her head, tears blurring her small face. ”It is no comfort at all! He gave his life for that . . . that vile Italian mountebank! My Robbie was worth a thousand Stuarts. If he had to die, I wish he had chosen a cause worthy of his courage.”
Her furious words were more convincing than any number of calm disclaimers. Looking shaken, Ormond said gravely, ”I . . . see, Miss Macrae. You have my sympathies on your loss. I am sorry if I have upset you with groundless accusations.”
Jean pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve to blot her eyes. ”You must do your duty, Colonel,” she said with a heartbreaking attempt to smile. ”Scotland is in chaos now. We must all cooperate to restore peace.” That, too, had the ring of truth.
Thinking that the colonel was well and truly convinced of their innocence, Gwynne said, ”Have some tea, my dear. It will steady your nerves.”
At that moment the door swung open to reveal another red-coated officer, accompanied by a roughly dressed local man. Jean made a barely audible hissing sound when she saw the new arrivals.
Gwynne was more concerned by the officer. Where Ormond was a reasonable, honorable man, this newcomer liked blood. He had wallowed in it recently, too-she could feel a miasma of death and pain around him. He had enjoyed slaughtering fugitives. Worse, he had a faint spark of power and would not be easy to deceive. A good thing he was the subordinate, not the commander, because his glance slid over Gwynne with unmistakable insolence. There was nothing gentlemanly about his admiration.
The colonel rose. ”Have the men refreshed themselves, Major Huxley? Now that the rain has stopped, we must be on our way to find that band of Jacobites. Apparently they turned off before entering Glen Rath.”
”Not according to this fellow,” Huxley said tersely. ”Say your piece to the colonel, Geddes.”
The shabby man shuffled forward, his bonnet in his hands. ”I hear ye be paying for information.”
”If the information is good,” Ormond replied. ”What do you know?”
Gwynne whispered to Jean, ”Who is he?”
”A good-for-nothing tinker who wanders through this part of Scotland selling rubbish and stealing when he can get away with it,” Jean said grimly. ”I should have thought of Geddes when you asked if anyone here would betray our own. He is not one of us, but he comes by often enough. Too often, in this case.”
If Geddes was a ”foreigner,” his accent said he was still a Scot. Whatever his origins, he radiated untrustworthiness and opportunism. To the colonel, he said, ”Last night late I saw a band of rebels come into the glen on the north road.”
”That's nonsense,” Gwynne said calmly. ”Ask this creature how much whiskey he put away last night.”
Geddes's head swung around to her, his bloodshot eyes gleaming maliciously. ”I know what I saw, and it was 'er over there leading 'em.” He pointed a filthy finger at Jean. ”She's one of Charlie's wh.o.r.es, I hear. I followed 'em, and the whole lot marched right up into this castle, and they ain't come out again.”
”I see.” Ormond's energy s.h.i.+fted from gentlemanly consideration to flinty soldier. ”Some of my men are already searching the glen, and now we must search the castle as well, Lady Ballister.” He studied Jean more closely, clearly wondering if she was what she appeared to be.
Biting back her fear and frustration, Gwynne said calmly, ”Of course you must investigate any such accusations, Colonel. Even if they're nonsense.” Her glance at Geddes was contemptuous. ”But I wish my husband were here to teach that creature a lesson for the insult to my sister-in-law. How dare he suggest a . . . a liaison between Jean and the Pretender!”
”As you said earlier, rumor sometimes embellishes the boring truth,” Ormond said, clearly wis.h.i.+ng he were somewhere else.
”Geddes might be confused about some things,” the major said, ”but he gave an accurate description of a troop of rebels sneaking into the glen. More accurate than one would expect of a drunken sot.”
Geddes looked mildly offended, but not enough to protest when there was money in view. Looking hara.s.sed, the colonel said, ”I appreciate your cooperation, Lady Ballister. Not everyone would accept this . . . difficult situation with such grace.”
”Dunrath has nothing to hide.” Gwynne was almost embarra.s.sed at how well she was lying. The desire to protect her own was a powerful motivator. ”I shall accompany you on your search, since I know the castle better than you. Though I still do not know it all! This is an ancient and confusing place.”
Ormond's brows drew together. ”This will be a dirty, tedious business, ma'am. No place for a lady, much less one in such a fine gown.”
”Never let it be said I have s.h.i.+rked my duty,” she said firmly.
”You are an example to all ladies,” Huxley said with what sounded like an undertone of mockery.
As Gwynne had thought, he was not easily fooled, but she inclined her head graciously as if she took his praise at face value. To Jean, she said, ”You go and lie down, dear, there is nothing to worry about.”
”As you wish, Gwynne.” Though Jean's gaze said she wanted to do more, she accepted that it was best for her to be as meek and compliant as possible. She curtsied to the officers. ”Gentlemen, I bid you good day.”
After Jean withdrew, Gwynne asked, ”Do you have a preferred place to begin searching? A good housekeeper starts at the top and works her way down, since that is the direction that dust travels.”
The colonel smiled, glad for her good humor. ”Then we shall begin in the attics.”
As Gwynne led the way, she examined the colonel's emotional energy. He wanted to believe that she and Jean and Dunrath were innocent. They would be safe enough, as long as the government troops found no trace of the rebels.
But heaven help them if Major Huxley found anything suspicious.
THIRTY-SEVEN.
A dozen cells lined the dank old corridor. Duncan had commandeered the one closest to the door that led to the rest of the cellars. Nearness made it easier to maintain the illusion that disguised the door so that possible searchers would see only rough stone. For now the illusion took only a modest amount of power. He would strengthen the spell if anyone approached.
The cells were quiet, most of the men still in exhausted sleep as they recovered from their long march through rough country. Jean had pushed them hard, and they had been tired and hungry even before the battle. He was proud that his sister had walked the whole way with her men, using her horse for the most gravely wounded. She had the soul of a warrior.
Yet despite the near-absolute quiet of the corridor, the atmosphere thrummed with tension. There wasn't a single man who didn't know that government troops were in the castle, and what would happen if the rebels were discovered.
As he waited, Duncan had used his restored power and scrying gla.s.s to scan the battle and its aftermath. The horror of what he found renewed his rage at his wife. d.a.m.n Gwynne for imprisoning him! He could have changed the outcome of the battle and spared the survivors from pointless slaughter. Despite his allegiance to the uprising, he was still Guardian enough that he would have protected the Hanoverians if they had been the ones fleeing in panic. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives would have been saved.