Stuart, Elizabeth (36 page)

For
a moment she could not move. Then reaction set in and her knees trembled so
that she did not dare try to reach a chair. Her father was an evil man—evil far
beyond her worst imaginings—and Edmund Blake was in league with the devil
himself!

She
pushed away from the door and sank into a chair. There were several hunts
planned for the week, including one in the morning. How could she warn Francis
in time?

To
go herself would be the surest way of attracting unwanted attention, but if she
sent Bess with a note and it fell into the wrong hands, they would both pay
dearly. She rose and took a turn about the room. She would not chance missing
Francis that morning before the hunt. She would send the note; she would take
any risk to keep him alive.

Hard
on the heels of that discovery came the staggering realization that she was
still very much in love with the man. There was no denying it when his life was
at stake. That she could still care so much after his betrayal was incredible,
but her heart did not respond to the cold demands of logic. She was a fool, she
admitted it readily, but the thought mattered little weighed against his life.

Armed
with a new determination, she picked up paper and pen and began to write.
"Sir," she began. "You are in grave danger. There are those here
who plan your death. You are to fall as if by accident this morning during the
hunt. As you value your life, do not ride out this day." She signed it
only: "A Friend."

Returning
the pen to its place, she folded the note and placed it in her pocket. Pacing
the perimeter of the room, she gazed at the dark courtyard below, wondering how
long she must wait before Bess came to awaken her.

***

Francis
awakened long before dawn, all his faculties immediately alert. He and Conall
had talked long into the night laying their plans, and they quickly put them
into action. While darkness still cloaked the hallways, Conall stuck a loaded
pistol into his belt and a dirk in his boot. "I'll see to your
horse," he said softly. "I seem to have more luck with my tasks than
you, Francis, lad. Perhaps you should send me to woo the lass."

Francis
grinned and shook his head. "I've gone about it all wrong, Conall, but
I've still time. At least I will have if you're successful," he amended.
He gave his friend a long look. "Take care, lad. Don't take any foolish
chances."

With
a jaunty wave of his hand, Conall slipped out the door, and Francis settled
back onto his bed to wait.

He
had no idea how long it had been when a knock sounded, so low he scarcely heard
it. He swung to his feet, quietly reaching for his sword. Damnation! He should
never have let Conall go out alone. "Who's there?" he called sharply.

"Tis
only the maid with some fresh towels, m'lord."

He
flung open the door, fully expecting to see Glenkennon's men come to seize him.
Surprisingly enough, there was only one very frightened young woman standing
uncomfortably before him.

"Please
m'lord. May I come in? I've a message for you," she said, casting a
nervous glance down the empty hallway.

His
eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he stepped aside, allowing her to pass into the
room. Turning, he closed the door, leaning his shoulders against the door
frame. He studied the girl in the light of the single candle. He had known
eager wenches before, but this was—

Suddenly
recognizing the girl, he leaned forward intently. The wench was Anne's
maid—could the lass have changed her mind? Why else would this one be here with
a message?

At
his eager look, the lass took a step back and swallowed convulsively, her wide
green eyes trailing from his tall boots to the broad expanse of his shoulders.

"I
believe you spoke of a message..." he prompted.

"Oh."
She fumbled for the note and held it out.

He
took the paper, reading it over quickly, then studying it more closely.
"Are you aware of the contents of this?" he asked sharply.

"No,
m'lord. I do not read."

"How
came you by this paper?"

"A
gentleman gave it to me with a shilling and ordered me to deliver it this
morning before the hunt."

"Describe
this gentleman to me."

She
hesitated, then caught herself smoothly. "He was short of stature,
reaching scarcely to m'lord's shoulder. He wore his hair and beard close
cropped and it was brown in color." She frowned as if struggling to recall
the man. "That's all I remember, sir," she ended apologetically.
"I've not seen him before, but I'd recognize the man again, I'll be
bound."

Francis
barely controlled his urge to laugh. He reached into a pouch beside the bed.
"Here, lass, a little something for your trouble," he said soberly,
holding out a silver coin. "If you should see this... ah... gentleman
again, please be sure to give him my thanks. The information is extremely
valuable."

She
took the coin, staring first at it, then back at him. Her face split into an
enchanting smile, and she dropped a quick curtsy. "Thank you, m'lord. I
must go now."

He
made her a short bow, gallantly holding the door while she slipped into the
corridor. She gave him one last appraising glance, then hurried away down the
hall.

Closing
the door, Francis gave in to an overwhelming urge to laugh. "Oh, Anne, you
ridiculous creature," he whispered. He lifted the paper to his lips, then
ignited it in a candle flame burning nearby.

***

Anne
paced the floor, anxiously waiting for her maid's return. It seemed like hours
since the girl had gone, though she knew by the dawn light little time had
actually passed. A soft tap sounded on the door. She flung it open, instantly
relieved by the triumphant smile on Bess's face. "You found him?"

"He
was still in his room, so there was no trouble in that," Bess replied,
closing the door behind her. "I gave him the paper. He read it and gave me
this." She gazed wonderingly at the coin, turning it over in her palm.
"He's a most generous lord, mistress."

"Yes,
but what did he say?" Anne asked impatiently.

Bess
glanced up. "He asked where I'd the note from, and I answered as you'd
told me. Then he asked me to describe the man." She frowned. "I made
up a description. It must have satisfied him, for he asked no more
questions."

She
gazed at Anne consideringly. "He told me, if I saw the gentleman again, I
was to give him his thanks and say the information was of great value."

Anne
nodded, closing her eyes in relief. Francis had been warned; it was up to him
to get out of the tangle. He must leave soon if he were to stay alive. But then
she would never see him again...

When
Anne opened her eyes, Bess was regarding her curiously. The girl must have been
mad to know what was afoot. "You've done me a great service, Bess,"
Anne said softly, "but it would endanger us all if it came to be
known."

"It'll
not be known through me, mistress. And I've no doubt the man can keep a secret.
He looks the type."

"Aye,
he's the type," Anne echoed.

With
Bess's help, she dressed hurriedly in a new fawn-colored riding habit, then
made a quick breakfast from a tray the girl brought. Composing herself, she
made her way downstairs to the hall, where men and women were already gathering
for the hunt.

As
she entered the room, she caught sight of her father and Campbell standing off
to themselves, speaking intently together. Was Campbell one with her father and
Blake in this plot against Francis? The thought sickened her, and she hastened
to move outside before either of the men noticed she was there.

"I
believe we'll have a fine day for the hunt, despite the rain during the
night."

Anne
turned at the sound of Francis's voice, smiling in spite of herself at sight of
him squinting up at the sun as if he had nothing more important to think of
than the weather. "Yes, it'll be a fine day," she replied, drinking
in the details of everything about him for what might be the last time.

Francis
shifted his gaze to hers, a slow smile warming his face and spreading to his
eyes. Without another word, he took her arm, leading her to the edge of the
crowd of milling horses and groomsmen. To her surprise, Conall leaned casually
against the wall, the reins of Cassie and two other mounts held fast in one
hand.

"I
can see you've taken good care of my horse. Cassie looks rested and ready for a
good run, though I can't say the same of you, lass." He raised his hand
and touched her cheek with a gentle finger. "There's a look of strain
about your eyes I don't remember seeing at Camereigh."

She
jerked her head away, belatedly remembering she should still have been angry
after their meeting the previous evening. "I've the headache," she
snapped, pulling away from the treacherous warmth of his hands.

"Again?
Is it a real one this time?"

She
gave him a look of such withering contempt, Conall chuckled. Turning away, she
began pulling on her gloves, searching the crowded courtyard for a glimpse of
Nigel or Charles.

"A
good gallop in the fresh air is all you need to chase away a headache,"
Francis offered blandly. "As a matter of fact, I'm counting on it to clear
my own."

She
turned to him in surprise, noting for the first time that both men were dressed
for riding. "But you're not going," she protested.

"Why,
I'd not miss it, lass," he said, catching her about the waist and lifting
her easily onto Cassie's back.

Ignoring
the intimacy of his hands, Anne gazed down into his smiling face. Could Bess
have played her false and not taken the message—or did he simply refuse to
believe the warning it had contained? "Well, you're not wanted, sir,"
she snapped, gathering up her reins to cover her confusion. How could she stop
him, short of telling him the truth?

He
leaned against the mare's shoulder, gazing up at her in tender amusement.
"Ah, but you're wrong again, sweet Anne. Lord Robert has expressly invited
me to make one of this party." He grinned knowingly. "You might even
say this hunt is held in my honor."

She
stared at him helplessly, realizing at once that Francis knew the danger. He
knew and was deliberately courting disaster by making one of Glenkennon's
party. "Francis, don't be a fool!" she whispered, the words wrenched
from her unwillingly.

His
eyes held hers. "Don't fret, lass. All will be well."

Over
his shoulder, she saw Percy Campbell heading toward them, an angry frown
creasing his brow. She glanced at Francis and then away. "Release my
reins," she said loudly, "and if you must ride today, please refrain
from bothering me again."

She
swung Cassie toward the Campbell chief. "Oh m'lord, here you are,"
she said, forcing a smile to her face. "Would you be so good as to help me
with the length of this stirrup? It doesn't feel right."

The
hunt was away soon after that, the hounds loudly voicing their excitement, and
the horses tossing their heads eagerly against the bits as they trotted slowly
through a dense woodland on the way to an open field. The first good run of the
day soon took place with the animals stretching their muscles across the open
ground and rising easily to leap the low, stone walls separating a series of
small crofts.

The
riders paused at the last wall to breathe the horses as the hounds coursed for
scent on the dewy grass. Anne moved close enough to keep Francis in sight. She
had ridden with her heart in her throat, wondering where the attempt on his
life would take place. Her eyes followed him in the crowd of men around her
father as he swung down from his big chestnut.

He
knelt in the grass, lifting
the animal's left foreleg and inspecting it
intently. Surely nothing had happened yet, Anne thought. Her father would not
dare act in such a crowd.

Noticing
the movements of his guests, Glenkennon moved toward MacLean. "Is there a
problem with your animal, Sir Francis?" he inquired politely.

"I'm
afraid so. The brute stumbled just as we took that wall, and now he's limping
badly." He led the animal forward a few steps to demonstrate the painful
hobble. "I fear my mount has strained a tendon, m'lord. The hunt's over
for me."

"Nonsense,"
Glenkennon said briskly. "Douglas, exchange mounts with our guest."
He smiled down at Francis. "My man can lead your horse back to the stable,
and we can continue the hunt."

"I'm
obliged," Francis remarked, "but I make it a point to care for my own
animals. I'll take him back myself. I've no wish to interfere with the pleasure
of the rest of your party."

By
this time nearly a dozen gentlemen had gathered around and were loudly voicing
their suggestions for treatment of a bad leg. "Come now, MacLean,"
Glenkennon said with a thin smile, "surely you're not suggesting my people
can't take care of a simple strained tendon."

"No,
m'lord, only that I prefer to see personally to my mounts."

"That's
absurd. I'll not permit you to leave for this ridiculous whim," Glenkennon
said, still
struggling to remain pleasant. "I know you're an
excellent sportsman, Mac-Lean, and we've yet to hunt together."