Rumors Among the Heather (2 page)

The manager and one of
the patrons pulled the two men apart. “Lord Ashton, have a care.
Think what you’re saying, my lord. Men have been called out for
less. I run a clean game. Are you trying to ruin me? I’ll not stand
for this kind o’ thing. If you’ve something to settle, do it
outside!”

Matthew stood up and
carefully adjusted his attire. He motioned with a turn of his hand.
“After you, Lord Ashton.”

Red-faced, Lord Henry
Ashton shook off his restraints. He straightened his shoulders and
staggered toward the back door. Matthew followed a few steps
behind. Ribble stood in front of the door and barred the way to the
curious.

“Ribble, keep guard. I
don’t need any more help tonight,” Lord Bonnleigh whispered as he
went through the door.

“Aye, my lord, I will
see to it,” Ribble said.

A cool ground fog
moved at a snail’s pace toward where the two men stood face to face
in the alley. Lord Ashton began ranting loudly and throwing pieces
of wood, trash, old metal, anything not tied down. Matthew watched
in amazement at his antics.

“Good lord, Ashton,
what’s got into you?”

Lord Ashton stopped,
took a deep breath, and looked from side to side. In a hesitant
manner, he walked over to Matthew. He leaned forward and whispered
in his ear, “Make this look good, Bonnleigh. I’ve news from your
liege, and the night has ears. Sorry about calling you names, but I
had to get you alone so no one would suspect I know you as more
than a card player. If it gets out I’ll be in the soup.

“You can’t go back to
your room at the Green Dragon tonight. Prince Charles has made no
secret that he is ready to return to Scotland, and you know what
this will mean. Someone turned your name and Beaumaris’s in as
Jacobites of interest. Beaumaris has been arrested for questioning,
they say. Word is they’ll be waiting for you to return to your
room.”

“Thanks, Ashton. I owe
you one. You know, the prince could do with men like you.”

“You know I’m not
political. Don’t take sides, never did. No one in my family has for
over a hundred years. That’s how we hold on to our land, and I
don’t intend to change the tradition. Besides, I never exert myself
if I can help it,” he said with a wink and a slow smile.

“Why are you helping
me now? How did you find out this information?”

“I may not be
political, but I would not find it amiss if a Stuart occupied the
throne. Besides, we were friends a long time ago in our salad days.
You helped me out of that little scrape in Saint Pierre-des-Roches.
I owe you more than a favor for that.”

“As you say, we were
friends back in the day. Young and foolish. I never gave it another
thought,” Matthew said.

“I know that, but I
pay my debts. Added to that, I’m not fond of anyone being
bushwhacked. Another reason is very personal. I would do anything
to upset my father-in-law’s plans. He thinks I owe him something
for letting him saddle me with his icicle of a daughter. He’s in
the war department now, you know. He ignores me and talks as if I
don’t have ears, while drinking my best port. I overheard him
bragging to one of his cronies. That’s how I found out they were
going to waylay you along with a courier just over from
France.”

Ashton continued, his
tone serious. “Scotland’s the only place for you now. Collect your
man and go to my digs in Park Street. There’s a man waiting with a
message for you, even as we speak. I had him brought there. Safest
place for him at the moment. Sorry, but that’s all I can do. You’re
on your own. God help you!”

“We’ll leave at once,
but what about you?”

“Land a few punches
and leave me here. For friendship’s sake, eh?”

“Ashton, I never
thought the day would come when I’d get the chance to pay you back
for that charming little mademoiselle you stole from me in Calais.”
Matthew raised his voice.

“Careful now,
Bonnleigh. I can’t help it if she found my dimples and blond hair
more appealing than your dark good looks, now can I?”

Matthew laughed as he
landed some well-aimed punches, leaving Lord Ashton looking worse
than he actually was, before walking back into the gaming parlor to
collect his winnings. He had a drink at the bar and left quietly
while the management tried to revive a faking-unconsciousness
Ashton.

Once outside on the
street, Matthew explained briefly to Ribble what Lord Ashton had
said. Ribble headed for the Green Dragon to check out his story,
while Matthew hailed a passing hack to make his way to Park Street.
They agreed to meet on the Post Road at the Cock and Bottle
tavern.

The house appeared
dark, and Matthew approached from the back way with his pistol
drawn. Cautiously, he stepped through the unlocked French doors and
into a small sitting room where he found Isaac Potter snoring
softly in the moonlight. He clamped his hand over Potter’s mouth.
Potter’s eyes opened wide in alarm until he heard Lord Bonnleigh’s
voice.

Bonnleigh took his
hand away and said softly, “What are you doing here?”

“Lord Ashton’s man
stopped me on the road into London and told me there might be a
reception committee waiting for me on Hounslow Heath. He said he
would have you meet me here. He took me on a round-about way into
London, and I’ve been kicking my heels ever since. Did I do right?”
he asked anxiously.

“Yes, yes, you did
fine. What message have you got for me?” Matthew asked with an
urgency born of caution.

Potter produced a
letter with the seal of the Stuarts out of his cap’s hiding place
and handed it to him. Matthew broke the seal and read the contents.
The letter from Prince Charles Edward Stuart requested funds to
outfit a frigate. Preparations for his journey to Scotland were
imminent. Unfortunately, the funds promised by King Louis were not
forthcoming.

“Who gave you this
message?” he asked sharply. This strange turn of events annoyed
him, but he did not see anything wrong.

“None other than the
prince’s very own friend, Balmile himself. He said to give it to
you personally because you know me,” Potter answered.

They sat in silence
while Matthew pondered what the letter meant. The time for decision
making could not be put off any longer.

Potter cleared his
throat. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll be going, but
I’ll be making another trip to France in two months’ time. He said
to bring your answer then. I can’t wait around much longer. I’m due
back in Wintersea.”

“Go. I’ll meet you
sixty days from today in the Wash. I will let you know my answer
then. I must first see how the wind blows at home.” Matthew led
Potter to the back door and watched him ride away. A few moments
later, he left in a different direction. Matthew rented a horse
from the nearest livery and caught up with Ribble outside London
around three in the morning on Post Road at their agreed-upon
rendezvous.

“How did you find the
inn?”

As you said. Two
dragoons were waiting outside the back door and one in front of
your room. I climbed a trellis to the next floor and worked my way
down to your balcony. With a wee bit o’ luck, I made off with our
gear. The dragoons were none the wiser,” Ribble said proudly.

“Well done, most
satisfactory,” Matthew said as he looked over his shoulder.

Ribble seldom smiled,
and Matthew was glad to see his pleased expression. Ribble had
served the MacDonalds from childhood. When he grew into long pants,
he had accepted the charge of Matthew and had continued to serve
him faithfully ever since.

They did not rest,
changing their horses four times before they were across the border
into Scotland.

* * *

Juliana Hastings, a
passenger on the mail coach bound for Scotland, looked out into the
blackness of the night and watched two riders as they passed the
conveyance. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, but she willed
them away. She vowed she would not cry or feel dispirited. She did
not have time for such sensibilities. Her future rested in her
hands and Juliana did not intend to waver. Her course was plotted.
She swore she would not look back. She wondered if she would get
used to this new life. Was this all that lay in store for her?

As the only daughter
of Garrett and Minerva Hastings, both deceased, Juliana wondered
for the hundredth time if she could be making a mistake by
traveling to a place where she had no friends. Her cousin, Hannah
St. Clair, did not want her to go to Scotland. Juliana knew Hannah
felt she should stay with her. In this small way, she could repay
the kindness Juliana’s parents had shown her. But Julie knew the
plight of a poor relation, and she did not relish being under
someone’s roof without any say in her future.

She had to find
employment, and the last advertisement she’d answered wrote back to
her. There were twenty-two other positions she’d applied to that
had not bothered to write to her at all. The mail coach continued
to lumber roughly along the rutted roads toward Scotland and her
fate.

Their coach stopped
for two hours at the infamous town of Gretna Green. All passengers
stepped down and went into the Sixpence Inn for a late supper
before starting out again. Julie sat by herself at a small table.
She was nervous about traveling unaccompanied. Never before had she
traveled so far by herself.

At last the call came
to reboard the mail coach. She stood up too quickly and dropped her
reticule. She stooped down to pick it up and was jostled by a
fellow passenger—also in a hurry. Another gentleman who had stopped
at the Sixpence walked over and helped her up while the man who’d
knocked her down hurried on his way.

“Are you all right?
Permit me to help you,” he said, stooping to pick up her reticule
and its contents.

“Thank you.” Juliana
stood up and brushed the dust of the floor off her clothes.

“Here, I think
everything is accounted for,” he said with a smile.

Turning, she looked
into a pair of fine blue eyes gazing at her with undisguised
appreciation through a quizzing glass. She gave him a level stare,
causing the gentleman to drop his glass.

“Thank you again, but
I must go,” Juliana said frostily and hurried out to the coach.

* * *

Matthew could not help
watching the young woman with the copper hair board the coach. At
first he’d thought her to be plain, but he could see that the black
dress and severe style of hair were calculated to make her look
that way.

To his surprise,
instead of blushing and looking away when he quizzed her with his
glass, she’d met his gaze head on, and looked disgruntled. Most of
the women he knew would be pleased when he took notice of them. It
was of no consequence, since it did not seem likely they would meet
again, and yet he could not help wishing they would.

He and Ribble had
stopped only long enough to change horses yet again, and to dine.
Matthew had secured a private dining room for them, and now they
sat down to a pint of ale and a pork pie.

“Ribble, the winds are
blowing from France. Do you not hear the clash of swords and smell
the blood and the gunpowder even now?”

“Aye, the rumor among
the heather is right, then. What will ye do with the bairn? Ye’ll
have to distance yourself from him. Ye cannae afford to lose the
land eleven generations of MacDonalds have held steadfast.”

“Aye, my friend, I owe
that much to my brother. I’ll do what I can for Michael’s child.
Although I wonder would he have done the same for me.” Matthew
could not forget the rift his brother had caused. He continued to
clean up after Michael’s debacles.

A half hour later,
they once again traveled the road to Gairloch. From there, they
would journey to his ancestral home at Lark Mead. Matthew hoped it
would be good to be home again. He had not been home for more than
a day or two these last seven years. He hoped if he stayed longer
this time, he could settle in his mind which road his life must
take and how to dispense with his responsibilities to Michael’s
son.

Each time he received
a letter from the housekeeper, he opened it with dread. She wrote
without fail every time Ian sent another governess packing. If he
could find a decent governess for the boy, then perhaps he could
concentrate on more pressing problems. The idea of an English
governess galled him, but he was desperate and willing to take
anyone he could trust to look after the boy. The English woman had
been the only one to answer his advertisement.

He wondered what the
governess would look like. She would probably be some middle-aged
woman with graying hair and a stern personality. Ian needed a
no-nonsense kind of person. Maybe a surrogate mother for the boy;
he had no idea. Goodness knew he needed somebody or something.

Ian had shut down
after his parents were killed in a boating accident. He spent all
of his time in his room and refused to leave. Matthew was at a loss
how to deal with him. The stubbornness of the child and old
memories drove Matthew away each time he came back to the
island.

Matthew and Ribble
continued their ride to Lark Mead. They were in Scotland now, and
they could take their time getting home.

* * *

Darkness had fallen
and most of the passengers were peacefully sleeping, or more
accurately snoring away the miles. Julie wondered how anyone could
rest with the coach rocking and swaying. She settled back to try
and slumber herself as the conveyance lumbered on through the
night.

Sometime later, Mrs.
Parsons, a fellow passenger, stirred beside her. “Are we near
Gairloch yet, miss?”

Julie shook her head
to rid it of melancholy thoughts and said, “The driver says we
should be coming into Gairloch by noon tomorrow.”

“I don’t like going by
mail coach, but it’s the fastest way to travel even if it is the
roughest.” Mrs. Parsons sat up and stretched before looking around
at Julie. “Are you stopping in Gairloch also, Miss Hastings?”