EDINBURGH
After three long days on the road, Hannah directed Solomon to the Edinburgh home of her late father’s cousin. She’d stayed there before and was afforded a joyous welcome. Hiram Donaldson was a wealthy cloth merchant who hated the English. He had secretly funnelled financial support to Glenheath’s campaigns for years. While unaware of the exact nature of Hannah’s involvement, and not reticent about his disapproval of women involving themselves in politics, he nevertheless expressed grudging admiration for her efforts.
Hiram’s home was a five-story mansion—smaller than many of its neighbors. It provided a safe haven, a place to do nothing but bathe, sleep and play with boisterous bairns, and for a sennight Hannah did exactly that. But every time she stepped into the bath, she was reminded of the laundry tub in the tiny room at the inn. She slept in a feather bed, and wept herself to sleep at night, remembering Morgan’s promise. She dreamt of twirling arm in arm with Morgan to the lilting twang of a mouth harp. Her belly would never swell with Morgan’s child. Arianrhod had foretold wrongly.
She and Hiram’s wife were of a similar size, and Sorcha was generous with clothing from her own wardrobe. After months of peasant garb, Hannah found the sober, high-neck velvets heavy, and the stays confining. She admitted as much to her benefactress. “I agree,” Sorcha replied in a whisper, “I prefer brighter colors and frivolous fabrics, but until our king returns, we must conform to Puritan standards.”
She’d become accustomed to wearing her hair loose, but Sorcha insisted it be plaited and hidden under a coif, even in the presence of servants. “I wore my hair braided for years,” Hannah confided, “but now ’tis a torment.”
The brogue she’d adopted drew censure. “If you’re to mingle in polite society here, you’ll have to drop the common speech,” Hiram warned. “Less of the ’tis and ’twas.”
She faced a harsh new reality.
Her protectors took her out in their carriage. She wrinkled her nose and held her breath as they passed through some parts of Edinburgh, longing for the fresh air of the Highlands.
She didn’t recall the town being so crowded. “There are too many people here,” she lamented.
“It’s an important city now,” Hiram replied, puffing out his chest.
He’d been born in Edinburgh, inheriting his wealth and status from his burgess father. She understood his pride, but Kilmer beckoned. Mayhap if she went home, she might forget Morgan. “I’ve been thinking about returning to Kilmer,” she told Hiram one afternoon. “With my uncle’s fate unknown, the estate needs…”
“My dear cousin,” he replied. “It’s doubtful Glenheath will hold on to his lands and titles. I’ll be surprised if they haven’t already been confiscated and given to some favorite of Cromwell’s.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to continue. “There’s talk that the earl will be brought here for trial. Indeed, it’s rumored Abbott is already on his way to assume his duties.”
“Duties?” she asked.
“The Protector has named him Governor of Scotland.”
She swayed as her heart plummeted. She’d never considered Kilmer might be forfeit. Solomon had told her he believed Glenheath would be brought to Edinburgh, but she truly hadn’t lent the notion any credence. However, it seemed Morgan had been right about Abbott's elevation to a position of power.
“I must remain here then,” she replied, “until we know my uncle’s sentence.”
~~~
A sennight later, Hannah was in the dining room, sipping soup from a porcelain bowl when word was brought by a liveried manservant that Abbott and his entourage had arrived in Edinburgh, prisoners in tow. She was gradually becoming accustomed to eating something other than bread, cheese and oatmeal, but the news tied her stomach in knots.
It stuck in her craw that she was sharing a hearty meal around an elegant dining table with her cousin and his wife and squabbling bairns. Her uncle would be locked away in a fetid dungeon in Edinburgh Castle for who knew how long, only to be sentenced to death at the end of the ordeal. She trembled for him.
Sorcha evidently sensed her dismay and reached across the table to take her hand. “Glenheath knew the risks,” she whispered, with a wary eye on her children.
“Aye,” she replied, “but where’s the justice if he’s executed and then the king is restored?”
Seated at the head of the table, Hiram scowled. “We’ll not discuss this at table.”
He was right. It was wiser not to involve the bairns in the argument. The less they knew, the safer everyone would be, so Hannah excused herself and fled to her chamber.
Pacing restlessly, she concocted scheme after perilous scheme to help her uncle escape. After more than an hour, she threw herself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, exhausted by the impossibility and pointlessness of the idea. From what she’d heard of the castle, she’d need an army to breach its defences.
The only recourse left was to do what she could to ensure her uncle and his commanders were well treated and brought to trial in a speedy manner.
~~~
Morgan hadn’t cared much for Edinburgh the first time he’d passed through on his way to Dùn Fhoithear—a lifetime ago. “Too crowded,” he complained to Smythe. “This is the only place I know where you’ll see five or six-story houses. No room to build, I suppose.”
“Noisy as well,” his batman agreed, helping him ease the specially tailored four-fingered leather glove onto his injured hand. The wound was healing well and required only a light bandage, but he preferred to wear the glove in public. The finger only pained him when he thought of Hannah, which was every moment of every day.
The ancient castle that brooded over the town had been completely converted to a barracks at the beginning of Cromwell’s occupation. Abbott established his military headquarters there. For living accommodation, he took over a nearby mansion abandoned by its royalist owners. Morgan was assigned an amply furnished but not ostentatious bedchamber, the like of which he’d never slept in before. Even his father’s austere house was no match for the stark grandeur. He’d a feeling the place had been stripped of its previous owners’ possessions. The bed was comfortable, but the only way he could sleep at night was with Hannah’s shawl wrapped around his hand. He couldn’t get the twang of Solomon’s mouth harp out of his head.
“Do you miss the others?” he asked, worried his malaise might simply lie in adjusting to a new life.
Smythe eyed him. “The lads? I suppose I do, Colonel, but I’ll get used to it here and I ’preciate the opportunity.”
“You earned it,” Morgan told him truthfully, but didn’t mention how glad he was Abbott had agreed to let the youth leave the gunnery crew. He was fond of the boy and saw his potential. His accident on the beach was the reason he and Hannah had met. Or was their meeting predestined?
“Sir will do,” he told Smythe.
“Yes, Colonel,” came the reply as his servant gathered the day’s laundry and left.
Morgan doubted he would ever get used to Edinburgh nor to being addressed as Colonel. Abbott had told him in secret meetings that it would take months, mayhap years of negotiations and relationship building to accomplish the goal. “And no one must suspect what that goal is,” he’d warned. “I intend to remain Cromwell’s faithful friend and servant until the day he dies, and I expect the same of you.”
The future loomed like a precarious balancing act, but Morgan appreciated the trust Abbott had placed in him. He was confident he was equal to the task for which Hannah had been willing to sacrifice her life. If he immersed himself in it, mayhap the grief wouldn’t be as intense.