Sarah Gabriel (12 page)

“I am starved. Let’s go.” She walked to the door and took the handle, then tapped her foot impatiently.

“A moment.” Alec fetched the satchel he had left on the floor earlier, reached in to remove the chains and manacles.

“Not those,” she said warily, backing away.

“You could too easily escape from the public room.” He moved toward her.

She stepped backward again. “You cannot expect me to go down there chained like a prisoner.”

“Lass,” he murmured, approaching her while she pressed against the door. “Remember, you are a prisoner of the crown.”

“I am Mrs. Fraser here in this place, so you told them. You would not bring your bride to a public room in chains.”

“Likely not,” he said amiably. “But then, you are not really my bride, are you.” He took her right wrist and clapped the manacle around it.

She watched him in fuming silence as he closed the latch on the cuff, then grabbed the other manacle and chained it to his left wrist. Snapping the bracelet shut, he pocketed the key.

Then he picked up the canvas bag, thinking he would use it to disguise the chain between them once they were in public. He was not interested in humiliating the girl, just keeping her in one place. He took her hand, chain swinging between them.

“We’ll share the burden,” he said.

“I do not need to share anything with you. Undo this!”

He wove his fingers tightly with hers. “Tell me why you came to my tent, who sent you, and your full given name.”

“I brought clean linens, the washerwoman sent me,” she listed, leaning close, her eyes snapping indignantly, “and you know my name—or all of it you need to know.”

“I’m going to enjoy our meal together, Marie Katherine,” he said, “and our bed should be cozy tonight.” He rattled the chain, aware that he rattled her spirit a little, too.

“So soon as you close your eyes, I will have that key.”

“Kate, my darling,” he said patiently, reaching for the door handle. “I consider myself warned. I am hungry, and I am going downstairs. Which means you’ll come, too.”

She huffed in protest but followed him into the hallway.

K
ate leaned her cheek on her free hand, her other manacled to Fraser’s beneath the table, and watched Alec polish off the last of her stew, having finished his own. The man had not lost his appetite, she thought. Nothing seemed to disturb his cool, constant equilibrium.

She had eaten only a little, though her own appetite was normally good. Watching Alec from beneath her gathered brows, Kate refused quietly when he offered her the last heel of buttered brown bread. She waited in silence while he polished it off then took a long draw of ale from a pewter tankard, apparently not bothered by the fact that his left hand was chained to her right hand beneath the level of the table.

Kate touched her throat out of habit, missing the cool delicacy and reassurance of the little crystal. She could well imagine that her kinsmen would advise her to charm her captor and get away—but they had always had better faith in her abilities than she had. And without the fairy talisman, charming anyone might not be so simple a thing, for she had always been told, had always felt, that the polished bit of crystal had some power.

Besides, she felt more resentful than alluring tonight. Had she turned up her charm like a lantern wick, had she waved the pendant under his very nose, had she transformed into a fairy queen before the man’s eyes, Captain Fraser would scarcely notice. Staid Alexander was immovable, impenetrable, infuriating.

He did not seem to melt whenever she looked at him a certain way, as most other men did. Nor did he sigh, gaze at her like a calf, murmur poetic descriptions of her form. And he certainly did not agree to whatever she asked of him. Suddenly she realized that she had come to assume men would be fascinated by her—and at the same time, she realized she should not expect it at all.

To her disbelief, she was the one staring, the one sighing and conjuring descriptions: his eyes, blue as a twilight sky; his hair, the color of oak gilded with sunlight; his physique, as perfect as a statue of some ancient god. She was the one melting whenever he looked at her.

She was baffled. The man who had shown her deep,
wonderful passion the night she had lain in his arms seemed indifferent, even impatient with her.

Yet that was oddly refreshing. Here was a man she could not predict, control, or influence. His aloofness challenged her, and she savored it. He did not bore her. Instead, she was glad to discover that her power did not always prevail. He offered her a release, of a sort, from the constant presence of the Fairy’s Gift.

Only she knew that Katie Hell, the wild and alluring one with the fairy power, was nothing like Kate MacCarran, who had a strong spirit and temperament but preferred to live a quiet life, with an ideal of peace and serenity that did not suit Katie Hell or a MacCarran blessed with the glamourie.

Kate had never liked the inborn gift in her fairy blood. She could not always admire the men who succumbed to her allure, and feared she might never find a man to respect and truly love.

Fraser was different from the rest. She was attracted not only to the powerful magic of a virile, handsome, intelligent man, but to the indefinable allure of his strong will and steadfast character. How ironic that she was not really free to pursue her interest in him, but rather had to escape him.

Seated beside him on the wooden bench, her right hand and his left joined by the manacles hidden beneath the generous folds of her arisaid, she studied him.

Although he had intrigued her the first time she had seen him in court, she had not fallen in love with him. Fairy magic might enhance love, but it could not create
it. Despite his charisma and her fascination, despite the astonishing passion she had felt in his arms, he was an officer, she was his prisoner, and nothing but trouble could come of that.

He glanced up as she watched him. “What is it?” he asked, around a mouthful of bread.

“Are you a Whig or a Jacobite?” she asked.

Looking startled, he swallowed. “I find it wise to keep such opinions to myself. I presume you are Jacobite?”

She rolled her eyes. “That hardly needs answering.”

“Just take care to keep it to yourself. There are too many in and out of here who might not share your fervor for the Chevalier de St. George,” he murmured, referring to the discreet name sometimes used by James Stuart. “You do not have much of an appetite,” he added, looking at her trencher.

She lifted her hand, and his, beneath the folds of her plaid and quietly shook the shared iron chain.

“Ah. So that bothers you. It’s not for much longer.”

“What if Jack does not come back? What if he’s in danger?”

“He can take care of himself. I know him well, and I trust him. My parents took him in when he was a waif who had lost his family and had come to Edinburgh to wander the streets and beg for whatever jobs he could find. He sought us out, and my father’s carriage nearly ran him down in the street as he approached. Even if he had not been my mother’s kin, my father would have felt an obligation to the lad.”

She tilted her head. “You were raised in Edinburgh?”

“Partly. We spent our summers near Inverness, in the
Great Glen. My parents, my brother and sisters,” he added.

“Are they there now—in the Great Glen?”

“Kilburnie House? No, they’re gone, most of them. My parents died of fever seven years back, and my brother passed away less than a year ago. My sister lives at Kilburnie with her husband.”

“Are you Laird of Kilburnie now?”

“I am, though I rarely get the chance to go up there. My sister and brother-in-law run the household in my stead. They have small children, and Kilburnie is a good place to raise little ones. And where are you from?” he added casually.

Kate slid him a sour look, then sipped cool brew from the pewter cup in front of her. “The Highlands,” she answered.

“And what do you know about those Spanish weapons gone missing in the Highlands?” He said it low and deliberately, his fingertips tracing a wet ring on the table surface.

“I’ve told you I know nothing about that.”

He leaned so close that she felt his breath stirring her hair, the warmth of it, and the feeling of his closeness, plunging through her. “Tell me your secrets, lass, or we will both run out of time, and the Jacobite cause along with us.”

She stared at him, stunned. “What do you mean?”

He glanced up as Jean approached, and Kate watched him, wondering what he really wanted, what he really thought about Jacobites and hidden Spanish weapons…and captive female spies.

“All done here?” Jean had the baby with her again, swathed in a plaid blanket. When she had served supper earlier, the child had not been with her.

“Aye, thank you,” Alec said.

“The food was excellent,” Kate added. “So the wee one is awake again?”

“Aye, and fussy tonight, he is, but there’s no one to watch him but myself. My brother Davey usually helps in the tavern room at night, but he’s out courting.” Glancing about, Kate realized how little help Jean had at the inn—there was no sign of the innkeeper or any other servant.

Alec glanced meaningfully at Kate. “We’d best go upstairs, love. We’re both weary, and we’ll have an early start tomorrow.”

Love.
The softly spoken word sent a wonderful shiver down her back. “We’ll leave, providing Jack MacDonald arrives,” she pointed out pragmatically.

“I’ll save him some stew,” Jean offered, as she reached for their pewter plates. Kate stacked them with her free hand to help out, keeping the manacled hand with Alec’s below the table level.

“Look,” Fraser murmured, tightening his fingers on hers.

Glancing up, Kate saw three redcoat soldiers entering the inn just at that moment. “No,” she breathed. “Is there another door we can take to leave the room?”

“Too late,” he whispered. “They’ll see us if we go.”

“
Och
, look, more patrons.” Jean turned. “Soldiers, too, and my da’s gone to bed and my brother’s not here. I’ll have to see to them.” She shifted the child, who
fussed again, and patted its back. “You’ll want to speak with them, Captain?”

“Not really,” he said quickly. “Go on, Jean. My wife can watch the babe while you tend to your work.” Alec prodded Kate with an elbow.

“Aye, let me take him.” Kate suddenly realized what Alec intended—the child could provide her a needed disguise. The soldiers were not searching for a young mother.

“Oh, thank you. I’ll be back. If you want to take him upstairs with you, I’ll fetch him later.” Jean set her bundled child carefully in the crook of Kate’s arm and turned away.

Kate awkwardly supported the infant with one hand manacled to Alec’s own. “I cannot hold this child if you keep the chain on both of us,” she whispered, while she tried to balance the lightweight, warm, surprisingly active bundle. “And I’m not going to run off with Jeanie’s bairn in my charge. But I think you knew that,” she added suddenly.

“Aye.” Beneath the table, he set the key in the lock and turned, then discreetly dumped the irons into the canvas pack that sat on the bench between them. He draped the generous folds of her plaid to shadow her face. “Sit there and stay quiet.”

Fraser stood and turned his back to shield her from view, bracing a hip on the table as he lifted his ale tankard and drank casually. Kate huddled in the corner of the bench, jiggling the baby, who began to cry while squirming fiercely.

“I have no experience with babes,” she said, lifting the child to her shoulder and desperately tapping its back.

Alec glanced at her. “Don’t beat on the poor lad like that, he’s not a drum. Just use that famous charm of yours, and he’ll do all your will.”

She shot him a scowl. He smiled and turned away.

Across the room, the soldiers saw Fraser and strode toward him, while Kate sank deep into the shadows, leaning over the baby. Alec stood as they came near.

“Evening, gentlemen,” he said.

“Captain Fraser,” one of them greeted him somberly. Kate peeked over the baby’s shoulder, while keeping her head ducked as if she was concerned only with her child.

Jean’s son was crying piteously now, long, tremulous cries that wrenched Kate’s heart and added to her panic. She was not sure how to soothe him, but was glad of one thing—the soldiers would be less inclined to bother a woman with a shrieking baby in her arms.

“Greetings, Corporal,” Fraser replied. “What’s your business here, if I may ask?”

“Sir, I think you know. We’ve been following you since you left Fort William earlier tonight with the female prisoner.”

“Oh, was it you we saw earlier?” Fraser asked easily.

Kate missed the next part of the exchange, which was drowned by the baby’s staccato wailing. She rubbed his back and cupped her hand over the small head, whispering nonsense, kissing his brow. His soft infant scent was unexpectedly wonderful.

“Colonel Grant demands that you turn her over to
us, sir,” the corporal then said. “If you won’t, we are ordered to take her.”

Kate ducked her face beside the baby’s head, her heart pounding hard.

“I would gladly give her up if she were here,” Fraser answered. “She proved to be more trouble than I thought.”

The officer looked around. “Where is she, sir?” His glance took in Kate and the baby, and passed over them.

Jean’s son stopped crying, the silence only a suspended breath prefacing the terrible wail to follow, long and quavering. All three soldiers glanced at Kate, and Fraser took a sideways step to block their view of her.

“The girl is not here,” Fraser said.

“You should be aware that Colonel Grant intends to bring charges against you unless you give the girl into our custody. He did not give permission for you to take her away from Fort William, sir.”

“But General Wade did. Remind the colonel of that. And besides, Katie Hell is not here.”

“We saw you with her, sir, in the carriage.”

“The damned wench escaped.” Fraser sipped from the tankard, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then shook his head. “The horses took off—you lot frightened them. When we finally stopped, the girl leaped from the carriage and ran off. I chased her while my man went looking in another direction. I was lucky to find my way here to wait for my ghillie. He’ll know to come here. That Highland lass is damned clever, though,” Alec went on. “I lost track of her quickly.”

“We didn’t realize, sir. Colonel Grant said you were…not to be trusted.”

“Did he? He did not like General Wade’s orders, I will say that,” Alec remarked.

Kate watched them all, heart pounding, while part of her wondered why Fraser was so willing to help her at the risk of his own reputation if the truth was discovered.

“You will want to return and inform Grant that the girl is gone,” Alec suggested. “I’ll be going on to Edinburgh in the morning. I was heading that way with or without the prisoner.”

Kate strove to listen, but the baby rolled out another loud wail, writhing under its swaddling.

“Sir,” the corporal said loudly, over the child’s cries, “we should continue to look for the Jacobite wench!”

“She’s Highland. She’ll disappear, fast as a fairy perched on a hillside.”

How I wish I could do just that
, Kate thought frantically. As Jean’s infant continued its rant, Kate knew that she had to remove him, and herself, or attract more attention than she wanted.

She stood, clutching the child to her shoulder. Heart slamming, she walked boldly past the men.

One of the soldiers stepped in her path. Kate glanced up, hiding all but her eyes behind the baby’s blanketed form. “Sir,” she murmured. “Let me pass. My bairn is fussy tonight.”

He touched his fingers to his cocked hat. “Mistress, excuse me. My wife and I have a small one around that age. I haven’t seen my daughter since she was born.”

Kate pushed back the swaddling to allow the soldier
to peek at the babe. He touched the baby’s cheek and smiled.

Fraser looked around at her then, but Kate turned her shoulder away from him. Then the young officer stood back, nodding to Kate. “Thank you, Mistress. You must see to your child. Good evening.”

“Sir,” she murmured. “Come, hinny,” she soothed. Carrying the fretful infant, she crossed the room to climb the wooden stairs. She turned the corner out of sight of the tavern below, ducked into the room Fraser had rented. Shutting the door, she leaned against it, breath heaving.