Cherished Enemy (31 page)

“Nor I,” said Rosamond. “I remember how disappointed I was that Hal was unable to visit us wearing his uniform … I never
dreamt
the true state of affairs! But—how did
you
come to be involved with the Jacobite Cause, Charles? Were you won over by the Scottish Prince also?”

He shook his head, frowning.

Victor murmured gently, “I believe it was because of the way of his friend's death, ma'am.”

Paling, Rosamond clung to her brother's hand. “Then—you really
did
fight beside him, Mr. Mac-Tavish?”

“I did, I'm proud to say. He was a grand fellow, if a wee bit of a braggart about his lady.” Watching her compassionately, he explained, “I knew much of you long before we met, ma'am. Hal carried a miniature of you always. I wish I had a shilling for every time I caught him—gazing at it.”

Rosamond blinked rather rapidly, her thoughts on the implacable remarks she had made at Tante Maria's ball, never dreaming that Hal himself had been a Jacobite …

Victor went on, speaking with slow and obvious reluctance. “Much of what I told his poor mama was truth. We
did
fight together. He
did
try to protect me after I was hit. He
was
wounded at much the same time. Later”—his mouth twisted bitterly—“after our battle became a rout, my leg prevented me from achieving more than a slow hop. Hal managed to keep on his feet, and dragged me with him until we were clear of that—field of death … We hid under a culvert. He'd taken a musket-ball through his side and was in much pain. I could use my hands, at least, and was able to bind the wound for him, but he needed proper attention. Much hope of that…” He paused for a long moment, then went on, his head bowed now, his words jerky and uneven and almost inaudible. “The redcoats were searching the field for reb survivors and—and bayoneting those they found. Then they began to spread the search. I knew the country and I'd family not far away. But soon I could scarce crawl. In case we should be separated I drew Hal a map in the dirt, and told him to try to reach my father's house. After a while, I was—unable to continue. Hal was nigh as bad, but his every concern was for me. He swore he'd find my father and send him tae me. The last thing he did was tae grrrip my hand and … and wish me well and—tell me if I got clear and he dinna … I was tae—be in touch wi' his people.” He glanced up, his face haggard and shining with sweat. “He loved you—very deeply, Miss Rosamond.”

She wiped hurriedly at her eyes and said a scratchy “Thank you, sir. Did you—ever hear … how he died?”

“Your brother did.”

Charles took up the sad tale. “As you know, when I learned Hal had fallen, I went up to try and find his grave. I knew I dare not go to the military and claim he'd fought for our side. As luck would have it, there was a young English captain recuperating nearby. A proper madman—who was trying to help Jacobite fugitives from his sick-bed.”

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Rosamond, astonished. “After Culloden? What a frightful chance to take, especially when he'd fought against them!”

“He's a braw broth of a boy,” said Victor, grinning. “In fact, my sister—” He caught himself up abruptly.

“The fellow we speak of,” Charles went on, “is from a fine old family, and to protect them, when he went into the rescue trade he called himself Ligun Doone. He was wounded at Prestonpans last year, when the Scots routed
us.
Doone was desperately ill for many months, and given very little chance to live, but he's a fighter. He managed to recover to a degree, and when he heard about Culloden and what was happening to the fugitives, he was enraged.” He smiled faintly. “He once told me he thought it ‘very poor sportsmanship.' He began to help wherever he could and at considerable risk to himself. Soon, he had built up a small group working to get rebels to sanctuary.”

Rosamond asked intently, “But how were you able to contact the gentleman? How did you know about him? Surely his true identity was a closely guarded secret?”

“Very closely guarded! Suffice it to say that—perhaps because of my cloth—I was trusted and taken to him, and it was from him I learned what had happened.” He paused, then stood, his fine hands clenching and unclenching, his eyes fixed unseeingly on the flickering candles.

“Hal had struggled along with the help of two other fugitives,” he went on. “They were constantly forced to detour away from Rob's home. They'd no food; no shelter. Hal's wound had become infected, and he was failing rapidly. God only knows what—what they suffered, but one of the others died. The second man begged Hal to go with him into the Highlands. Hal refused, saying he must try and—and find Rob's family. He went on alone. English patrols and bounty hunters were everywhere. Hal must have been hopelessly lost. The—the poor fellow travelled in a circle. The weather was bad—he was … tormented by starvation and loss of blood and—gangrene. And so, at last, just before help came, he—” The strained voice was suspended, then continued hoarsely, “—he—died … all alone in the cold and rain—with no one to lift a hand to help, or— That—splendid … gallant—”

Blinded with tears, Rosamond accepted Victor's silently offered handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth.

Charles walked a few quick paces away. Head bowed, nails digging into his palms, he fought for control and muttered shakenly, “Doone's people met up with the other survivor. They found Hal, too late, alas, but gave him a proper burial. I went to his grave. And there I vowed before God I would do all I might to prevent other brave men from suffering so cruel an end. For Hal's sake. I joined Doone's little group and came home to be of what help I could down here, where I've had the great good fortune to work with some very brave gentlemen.” He took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back and turned to face Rosamond again. “Perhaps that means I am a traitor, but—it's over, don't you see? Whatever they did, right or wrong, it's
over!
There's no cause for keeping on with all the slaughter and brutality!”

Unabashedly weeping, she gulped, “And—Deborah…?”

“She had suspected the truth for some time. She kept imploring me to tell her how Hal died. I tried to spare her, of course, but—” He shrugged. “She discovered what I was doing, and nothing would satisfy her until at last—I told her the truth. She was so enraged, so grief-stricken … She took the same vow I had done.”

“I—see. So—when she was supposed to be in Denmark…?”

“She was in Oxfordshire.”

“
Oxfordshire!
But—why on earth…?”

“An English Jacobite was in great trouble. He carried the first cypher, and a ruthless pack of bounty hunters and soldiers were hot on his heels. His brother had reason to suspect that if he could win through, he'd make for a certain estate. We knew he was hurt and hard-pressed and his brother was uneasy about the present owner of the place, so Deb assumed the name of Betty Park and went there to apply for work as a maid. She was hired and managed to get a message to Quent
____
er, the fugitive. Thanks to her, he was able to come up with his brother eventually, and is now safe in France.”

“By the skin of his teeth,” muttered Victor.

Rosamond blew her small reddened nose and, again wiping her eyes, asked, “And is it truth, then, that your cypher holds the key to the location of a great treasure? Where did it come from?”

“From many people,” explained Victor. “Now we seek to return their valuables. You may be sure that with all the reprisals 'gainst the families of Jacobite sympathizers, they stand in desperate need of their belongings.”

“And—you were sent back here to decode the cypher, Mr. MacTavish? You have the key?”

He said wryly, “No to both questions, ma'am. I came back because I'm a crazy Scot, and could nae bear the thought of a clutch of Sassenachs doing my worrrk for me!”

Memory was jogged by those words. She gasped, “A … crazy
Scot!
My heavens! So
that
is what he said! I thought he called you a ‘crazy sot'!” They were both staring at her. “That beautiful estate we trespassed upon while coming here,” she said. “I
thought
'twas most odd!”

Victor grinned at Charles. “Lac Brillant. We detoured there, hoping for word of the gentleman who has the key to the cypher. The horseman you saw, ma'am, was brother to the reb Miss Deborah helped in Oxfordshire.”

She nodded slowly, still fitting pieces together. “But—you are a Jacobite yourself. Why then were you so harsh with that poor boy near Lewes? You hit him so very hard, and he was badly wounded.”

“I had no choice in the matter. An you recollect, the lad was hysterical. Another second and his outcries would have been heard by the dragoons. I had to silence him as quickly as possible.” He shrugged, and said ruefully, “I hope you will believe, I regretted the necessity.”

“I cannot but admire your fortitude, sir,” she said quietly. “And you, Charles? What is your task in this business?”

“Och aweigh,” said Victor with a grin. “Charles has no specific task, Miss Albritton. He'll tell you he simply works with those who organize things on the southern end of our rescue chain. The truth is that this meek and mild individual has risked his life countless times to help our fugitives. He is, besides, the man to whom all the various cyphers have been delivered.”

Rosamond's pretty mouth fell open. She had supposed in a nebulous kind of way that Charles must have come by the cyphers because of some accident—some capricious whim of fate. Staring at the rather shy smile on the face of the man her father judged a weak-kneed milksop, she gasped, “Oh … Lud!”

*   *   *

For more than a quarter of an hour they talked, the men patiently answering Rosamond's questions, their words quiet and spoken without bravado, yet painting such a picture that she was increasingly awed by the courage of those who strove to help the fugitives, and by the dauntless pride that had brought Robert Victor MacTavish back here to serve his fellow Jacobites, heedless of the risk to himself.

At length a silence fell. The two young men watched Rosamond's tear-streaked face, but her own eyes were fixed upon scenes of long ago. Merry Christmas parties with the Singletons; long lazy summer days on the river, or picnics under shady trees in the golden afternoons; and always the four of them—Charles and Deborah, herself and Hal. Days full of shared laughter and teasing and plans for the future. Hal had been so good-natured when Charles had teased him about the rather gloomy old house that was his birthplace and which they would probably occupy after their marriage. “No such thing,” he would say with a smile playing about his generous mouth. “We shall build a brand-new house, eh, my lovely Rosa? None of your old manor houses for us! No draughts or creaks or smoking fireplaces. We'll have lots of windows, and even a fine new stove for Cook! And as few servants as possible, so I may sometimes snatch a moment alone with my wife!” And they'd gleefully furnished the “new house” and decided on the kinds of plants and trees, and just how many dogs they would have. And even, once or twice, they had discussed children and for whom they would be named … And how awed his square bronzed face would become when that topic came up; how reverently his hazel eyes would watch her … Dear Hal … at least he'd had his dreams, even if they'd never become a reality. Her eyes were blurred again. She dabbed the damp handkerchief at them. “I want to—to help you,” she said over the lump in her throat.

“What?”
thundered Victor, staring at her from under frowning brows.

Charles argued, “You cannot be serious. What we do is against the law, Rosa, had you forgot? Against England, I suppose you could say.”

“I do not see it in—in that light. Not now,” she persisted. “As you yourself said, dearest, the war is over. We do not conspire to harm our country. We seek only to try and help those who are suffering and in need, and I—

“Will do
ab-so-lutely
—
NOTHING
!” snarled Victor.

Rosamond blinked at him. “But—”

He seized her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. “Do you think I would allow you to risk yourself in such a way? My God! Have I not brought you into sufficient danger? No, I tell you! Have
done
with it!”

“I agree,” said Charles. “Though—”

“Hal Singleton was dear to my heart,” said Rosamond, gazing up into Victor's scowling countenance, and quite oblivious of her brother's attempted intervention. “Charles risks his life for Hal's sake; Deborah does also, and—”

“Charles is a man! And Miss Deborah is Hal's sister. You—”

“I was to
marry
him! All my life he was dear to me. Do you think I would stand by and watch my brother and my cousin try to help your people out of fond memory for my betrothed—and do nothing myself?”

“I appreciate Victor's interest,” said Charles, looking askance from one to the other, “but I do not see what his opinion—”

“Holt already suspects you,” raged Victor, still holding Rosamond's arms and glaring at her. “I
will not
permit that you further—”

“MacTavish!”
Charles's voice cut like a knife through that impassioned utterance. Victor gave a start and jerked his head around. “Be so good as to release my sister,” went on Charles.

“Oh…” gasped Victor, at once relinquishing his grasp. “Gad! My apologies, but—”

“You are both very kind,” said Rosamond, her lips quivering on the brink of a smile. “But you do not understand…”

She proceeded to argue her case, and although they tried to dissuade her she remained adamant, her resolution deepened by every glance from a pair of worried long-lashed grey eyes that strove very hard to be harsh and sensible, but in which there lurked fear for her and a tenderness that spoke its message in unmistakable terms.