The Heart Queen (43 page)

She balanced Colin in one arm and held the other out to clasp Clara’s. “Thank you.”

“They are like my own,” Clara said awkwardly.

Janet nodded. “We will be very careful.”

“The lasses have been told not to go outside the manor without someone with them.”

“Good,” she said, relieved beyond belief that she had not tried to go with Neil. She wished she could reach him, but it seemed he had left sufficient help behind. Still, she could not let go of Colin. She knew she would not let him out of her sight until Neil returned.

And when they returned to Lochaene ... ?

Janet had lost all her enthusiasm for the return. She would lose Neil then. Yet Lochaene was still her son’s heritage. She had to protect it for him, no matter what the cost to her.

Still holding a squirming Colin, she went down the stairs to the kitchen where the lasses were talking to her maid, Lucy. All three held carrots.

Lucy curtsied. “ ‘Tis glad I am to see you back,” she said.

“Even if there is more work?” Janet teased.

“I barely knew what to do wi‘ myself,” Lucy replied.

“With Kevin around?”

Lucy’s face reddened. “Aye, my lady.”

“Thank you for helping Trilby and Clara take such good care of the children.”

Lucy bobbed again.

“I have some candy for them, and some for you and Clara and Trilby, too,” she said.

“Oh, miss,” Lucy said with a huge grin.

Holding Colin, Janet took her daughters outside. Either Kevin or Jamie had evidently already taken the pony into the barn, and they walked over to it. Kevin had unsaddled her mare, and the saddle was on the stall door. Jamie was admiring the palomino pony. The two horses her escorts had been riding had been unsaddled and put into stalls.

The two—Kevin and Jamie—worked well together, she noted, almost like brothers. It was obvious that Jamie looked up to Kevin.

Grace gingerly stepped up to the pony and ran her fingers down its velvety neck as Rachel and Annabella also admired her. The pony seemed to preen, as if knowing she was the center of adulation.

Her eyes glowing, Grace held out her other hand with the piece of carrot and the pony crunched it in its mouth, then nuzzled
her fingers. She giggled, and the sound made Janet’s heart leap. It came so rarely.

Kevin greeted her with a big grin, and then inquired, “My lord did not come back?”

“Nay,” she said, watching the lad’s face fall. Well, Neil had made one friend.

“He will be back in several days,” she said as she ran a hand along the mare’s neck. She had been ridden hard. “Give her extra feed when she has cooled. The others, too.”

“Will the escorts be staying?”

“Nay, they will leave on the morrow. They will stay in the hall tonight.”

The lasses had gone over to the ponies. She lowered her voice. “Clara told me what happened. Do you think we need more protection?”

He visibly puffed at being asked the question. “Nay, my lady. We can take care of Braemoor. But I would not be riding alone.”

She nodded. She remembered the cut cinch only too well. And now she had no intention of leaving the children, not even for a short ride. Neil had been right. How could she have discounted his warnings so flippantly?

Annabella came running over to her, Samson at her heels. “Can I ride my pony? Kevin said I couldna until you came back.”

She looked at Kevin. He nodded.

“I think that is a fine idea,” she said. “But we will stay in the paddock. Grace’s pony is probably tired from her long journey.”

Grace looked up. “I can wait,” she said, but her eyes glittered with disappointment.

“Oh, I do not think a turn or two around the paddock will be too much,” she said.

Janet helped Annabella on her pony as Kevin assisted Grace. Then Kevin helped Rachel. The three rode the ponies out into the paddock, Kevin leading Annabella’s. Grace beamed with pride, and Janet silently blessed Neil for remembering and for having taken the time to purchase the pony. She had known how anxious he was to be on his way, and yet... he kept his promise to a lass who’d had few dreams.

He was the kind of man who would always keep his promises.

The reminder was hurtful. She could forget neither the determination nor the hopelessness in his eyes when he had said he loved her but could never marry her.

Unless he was wrong, and madness did not haunt his family. She already knew from the servants that the old marquis had been cruel and selfish. He probably would not have hesitated for a moment to destroy his nephew in order to win a fine dowry for his son. He had not known that she would refuse Donald, and that her father would give her a choice.

As she watched her daughters and clung to her son, a part of her started to question the truth of Neil’s background. There must be someone who would know the truth of it. She would start this evening with Torquil.

Suddenly buoyed by the prospect, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the grins on her lasses’ faces.

*

Neil sat in the Pelican Tavern, nursing his sixth glass of ale. Or was it the seventh? God knew he had spent enough time here to nearly consume all its limited offerings. He had asked for brandy but had been told there was none available. It was hinted that it might be available later.

That had been enough for Neil. The man in Edinburgh had the right of it. But, then, he had known a considerable sum awaited him if the information proved correct.

Neil realized he was spending money at an ungodly rate. He had never done that before. Even when he’d come into the inheritance, he’d weighed the merits of each pence spent. Only something that improved the estates met with his approval and even then he sought ways to reduce costs. Money had been too dear to him. He had not ever thought he could spend it with abandon. But now he had paid huge sums
for information, had purchased three ponies, had hired bodyguards, had given considerable money to Alex for his orphans, and now he was prepared to pay a fortune for their passage.

Had he gone completely mad? Or was life making sense to him for the first time ever?

He had watched the comings and goings in the tavern for two days. He’d been told only that the proprietors of the tavern had been suppliers of brandy. The man in Edinburgh had known no more. Neil only hoped it was enough.

How do you approach people and ask them if they are smugglers?

And not get killed in the doing?

Neil did not have a bloody idea. He just waited and watched.

He’d waited and watched last night, too. And the night before. He stayed until closing hours, feigning drunkenness, then staggered outside and pretended to pass out.

The tavern was full each night, and everyone seemed to know each other. He was ignored. Shunned. His tailored, albeit soiled, clothing set him apart. He explained that he was to meet someone here this weekend and had taken rooms at a nearby inn.

He did not miss the covert looks nor the suspicion in people’s eyes. Outside of asking for the brandy, he’d said nothing about smuggling. It was obvious, though, that they all knew what he wanted.

The owner called for the closing. It was an hour earlier than the tavern had closed the night before. The tavern cleared out quicker, too. A knot of expectancy twisted his stomach. “Jus’ one more,” he mumbled, holding up his tankard.

He was the last patron. The owner gave him a sour look. “Nay. Ye must leave.”

Neil was uncertain what to do. He had no disguise. He could be identified if he ripped out his question, and had been wrong. “Doan wanta go.”

“I donna give a farthing what ye want,” the innkeeper said. “Not get out before some of my boys help ye out.”

Neil stumbled out of his chair, gave the man a bleary look and made for the door. Once out, he leaned against the outside of the building. A knot of men outside watched him. He staggered down the street and fell at an angle where he could see. The men were still watching. No one offered assistance. He worked at getting up, but not too hard, then turned toward the inn where he had a room.

Instead of going in, however, he went down to the next road and turned, then doubled back through the alley. Keeping to the shadows, he quickly found himself near the back of the Pelican. A stout man stood there, obviously on guard. Neil was certain then. Tonight was the night, and it would do no good to try to follow anyone from the tavern. They were obviously very careful.

Bloody hell. Neil realized his only chance was to ride down to the beach and hope to see some kind of signal.

He hurried back to the inn and went to his room, where he’d left his saddlebags. But the moment he went inside he knew he was not alone. His saddlebags were not where he’d left them, and when he shut the door he found someone behind it—a very large someone, who was pointing his own pistol at him.

“Mus’ be wrong room,” Neil said.

“Right room, gent.”

Neil looked longingly toward the saddlebags, now emptied of their contents.

The stranger studied him. “Now who in the devil are ye?”

So much for his sleuthing skills. “Someone who wishes to make a contract,” Neil replied.

“What kind of contract?”

“I have goods I need shipped. A friend in Edinburgh said I might find a ship here.”

“Then why did ye no‘ ask?”

“One does not go around asking whether someone is a smuggler and keep his head.”

The man permitted himself a small smile. “Who told ye about us?”

“I canna say.”

“Tall? Stout?”

“Nay.”

“Tim, no doubt,” his visitor said. “Ye know too much.”

Neil had no answer to that. “I can make it worthwhile to someone if I can make that contract.”

“Are ye alone?”

“Aye,” Neil replied. He knew it was dangerous to make such an admission. It would be far easier to kill him. Yet it would be equally dangerous to lie. He suspected he had been watched ever since he arrived here. Was that why the tavern closed earlier? Not because a shipment was due?

“How worthwhile?”

“Five hundred quid.”

“For passage or for information?”

“Both.” How easily he’d said that.

“Only an Englishman or a Scots traitor ‘as that much scratch.”

Neil had damned little reply to that. But he did have hope.

Scots traitor
. Those words meant that these men were probably Jacobite sympathizers as well as smugglers. He resorted to the truth. “ ‘Tis a Jacobite and Jacobite bairns that need passage. Two men and ten orphans. I must find them a ship.”

The man stared at him for a moment, then shrugged. “I will take ye to the meeting place. But if the Frenchie says kill ye, ye will be fish bait.”

Neil nodded his understanding.

The man gestured him out and Neil obeyed, wondering whether he would survive this night.

The three lasses ate in the main dining room at Braemoor along with Colin, who chattered away in some indecipherable language. It was time, she knew, that they begin to learn table manners. Her husband had banned them from the dining room with its crystal, and after his death she had not wanted to subject them to joyless Reginald, Louisa and Marjorie.

So now seemed a good time. And she also had an ulterior motive. She wanted to linger and talk to Torquil about the Marquis of Braemoor. He must know something about his family. Trilby had told her that the marquis had brought him from his old home.

She could have just sought him out, but she had not wanted to do that. She only wanted to begin the conversation naturally. She certainly did not want him to report to his master that she had been intruding into his privacy.

Even though that was exactly what she was doing.

She knew he had soft spot for the lasses and for Colin, though he tried to look dignified and severe.

The evening meal did not go exactly as planned. Annabella spilled her milk and decided she did not like anything on her plate. Rachel did not stop asking questions about the whereabouts of the marquis and Grace just pushed her food around.

“Where’s Neil?” Annabella whined. “I want him.”

Neil
. She raised an eyebrow. “He is ‘my lord,’ sweetling,” she said gently. “You should use his title.”

“He told me to call him Neil,” Annabella contended, her eyes filling with tears.

“He did,” Grace spoke up. “I heard him.”

Janet was not quite sure how to handle that. But just then Rachel dropped her silver spoon, and Grace scolded her for being careless. Poor Torquil scurried around, retrieving spoons and cleaning spills, even while she tried to tempt the lasses into eating what was on their plates. But she knew they missed Braemoor, that they wanted to ride their ponies outside the paddock and that they did not understand the new restrictions on their activities.

She and Clara took turns feeding and holding Colin. He had his own bowl of oatmeal, which he enjoyed throwing over the room, and Torquil hurried to clean it.

When they were finally finished, she gave Colin to Clara to take upstairs to remove oatmeal from his face and clothing. Trilby, who had turned out to have a winning way with the lasses, took them away. Torquil was still cleaning up various spots.

Janet thought he was much too old to be bending down and scrubbing floors, and she found a cloth and joined him. “My lady,” he said with horror.

“‘Tis my son’s mess,” she said. “And I am quite bored with doing nothing. Trilby says the marchioness who did live here used to scrub the floors. ’Twas a sight to see, Trilby said.”

“I was not at Braemoor then,” Torquil said, scrubbing even harder. His voice was full of disapproval.

“When did you come?”

“Eight months ago, after the marquis inherited the title.”

He certainly had made himself at home in eight months. He terrified the other servants, or at least they claimed so, even as a twinkle sparkled in their eyes. Everyone seemed to like the gruff, good-hearted Torquil, who had taken his new responsibilities very seriously.

She scrubbed a little harder.

“Where did he find you?”

“At ‘is old home on the sea.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No‘ much tae tell. It was a great, dark place. ’Tis falling apart.”