Part 19 (1/2)
Chapter Eleven
Serena was right. Things were happening around them that would shape the destiny not only of two lovers, but of the whole of Scotland.
Within days of Brigham's arrival at Glenroe, the French dealt the English a crus.h.i.+ng defeat at Fontenoy. Though Charles's, and many of the Jacobites' hopes rose with it, Louis of France still withheld his support from the rebellion. Charles had hoped to ride on the glory that surrounded the French victory, to gain much-needed impetus for his cause; once again, however, he was left to his own devices.
But this time he moved. Brigham was both confidant and informer. He knew to the day when Charles, with money raised by the p.a.w.ning of his mother's rubies, fitted out the frigate Doutelle and a s.h.i.+p of the line, the Elizabeth. While the push in the Highlands, and in England, went on for support, Charles Edward, the Bonnie Prince, set sail from Nantes for Scotland and his destiny.
It was high summer when word came that the Prince was on his way.
The Elizabeth, with its store of men and weapons, was chased back to port by British pursuers, but the Doutelle, with Charles aboard, sailed on towards the Scottish coast, where preparations were being made to greet him.
”My father says I cannot go.” Malcolm, sulking in the stables, frowned up at Brigham. ”He's says I'm too young, but I'm not.” The boy had just pa.s.sed his eleventh birthday, Brigham thought, but prudently held back from mentioning it. ”Coll goes, as do I.”
”I know.” Malcolm glared at the toe of his grubby boot and thought it the height of injustice. ”Because I'm the youngest, I'm treated like a bairn.”
”Would your father trust his home and his family to a bairn?” Brigham asked gently. ”When your father leaves with his men, there will be no MacGregor in MacGregor House, but for you. Who will protect the women if you ride with us?”
”Serena,” he said easily, and he spoke no less than the truth.
”Would you leave your sister alone to protect the family name and honor?”
The boy moved a shoulder, but began to think on it. ”She is a better shot with a pistol than I, or Coll, really, though he wouldn't like to say so.”
This news brought Brigham's brow up. ”But I'm better with a bow.”
”She will need you.” He dropped a hand on Malcolm's tousled hair. ”We will all need you. With you here, we needn't worry that the women are safe.” Because he was still young enough to know what it was to be a boy, he sat on the mound of hay beside Malcolm. ”I can tell you this, Malcolm, a man never goes easily to war, but he goes with a lighter heart if he knows his women are protected.”
”I won't let harm come to them.” Idly Malcolm fingered the dagger at his belt. For a moment, Brigham thought he looked too much a man.
”I know, as your father knows. If the time comes when Glenroe is no longer safe, you will take them up into the hills.”
”Aye.” The idea made Malcolm brighten a bit. ”I'll see that they have food and shelter. Especially Maggie.” ”Why especially Maggie?”
”Because of the bairn.” His fingers slid away from his dagger. ”She's to have one, you know.”
For a moment, Brigham only stared. Then, with a laugh, he shook his head. ”No, I didn't. How do you?”
”I heard Mrs. Drummond say so. She said Maggie's not sure she's increasing yet, but Mrs. Drummond was sure and there'd be a new wee bairn by next spring.”
”Keep your ear to the ground, do you, my lad?”
”Aye.” This time Malcolm grinned. ”I know Gwen and Maggie are always talking about how you'll be marrying Serena. Will you be marrying her, Brig?”
”I will.” He ruffled the boy's hair. ”But she doesn't know it yet.”
”Then you'll be a MacGregor.”
”To an extent. Serena will be a Langston.”
”A Langston. Will she like it?”
Brigham's eyes lost their amus.e.m.e.nt. ”She'll grow used to it. Now, if you've a mind to take that ride, we'd best be off.”
Always cheered by the idea of his horses, Malcolm jumped up. ”Did you know that Parkins is courting Mrs. Drummond?”
”Good G.o.d.” Brigham stopped in the act of leading out his horse and turned to the boy. ”Someone should plug those ears of yours.” Malcolm only laughed, and Brigham, unable to do otherwise, put a hand on the boy's shoulder again. ”Is he really?”
”Brought her flowers yesterday.” ”Sweet Jesus.”
From the window of the parlor she was supposed to be dusting, Serena watched them ride off. How wonderful he looked, so tall, so straight.
She leaned out the window so that she could watch him until he was out of sight He wouldn't wait much longer. Those had been his words the hut time they had stolen an hour together by the loch. He wanted her wedded, and properly bedded. He wanted to make her Lady Ashburn of Ashburn Manor. Lady Ashburn of London society. The idea was nothing less than terrifying.
She looked down at herself now, at her dress of pale blue homespun and at the dusty ap.r.o.n that covered it. Her feet were bare-something Fiona would have sighed over. Lady Ashburn would never run over the moors or through the forest in bare feet Lady Ashburn would probably never run.
Her hands. Serena turned them this way and that examining the backs and the palms critically. They were smooth enough, she supposed.
Because her mother insisted she rub lotion into them every night. But they weren't lady's hands any more than hers was a lady's heart But G.o.d, she loved him. She understood now that the heart could indeed speak louder than the head. English or not she would be his. She had even come to know that she would leave her beloved Scotland behind for his England rather than live without him. And yet...
How could she marry a man who deserved the finest of ladies? Even her mother had thrown up her hands at Serena's attempts to learn the spinet She couldn't do fancy work with her needle, only the most basic st.i.tches.
She could run a home, to be sure, but she knew from Coll that Brigham's house in London and his manor in the country were a far cry from what she was used to. She would make a mess of it, but even that she could almost bear. It was knowing how poorly she had dealt with her one brush with society-the brief months she had spent in the convent school.
She had nothing to say to the kind of women who spent their days shopping for the right shade of ribbon and making social calls. A few weeks of that life and she would go not-so-quietly mad, and once she had, Brigham would hate her.
We can't change what we are, she thought. Brigham could no more stay here in the Highlands and live her life than she could go with him to England and live his.
And yet... She had begun to see that living without him would be no life at all.
”Serena.”
She turned quickly to see her mother in the doorway.
”I'm nearly done,” she said, flouris.h.i.+ng her dusting cloth again. ”I was daydreaming.”
Fiona shut the doors at her back. ”Sit down, Serena.”
Fiona used that quiet but concerned tone of voice rarely. Usually it meant that she was worried or annoyed. As Serena moved to comply, she searched her mind for any infraction. True, she'd been wearing the breeches a bit too freely on her rides, but her mother usually overlooked that. She had torn the skirt of the new gray dress, but Gwen had mended it so that it hardly showed at all.
Serena sat, pulling the cloth between her fingers. ”Have I done something to upset you?”
”You're troubled,” Fiona began. ”I had thought it was because Brigham had gone and you were missing him. But he's been back for several weeks now and you're troubled still.” Serena tucked her bare feet under the hem of her skirt as her fingers knotted and unknotted the cloth. ”I'm not troubled really. It's only that I'm thinking about what will happen after the Prince comes.”
That was true, Fiona thought, but not all the truth. ”There was a time you would talk to me, Serena.”
”I don't know what to say.”