Chapter 16
As it happened, it was quite late before Mary was able to speak to her father. That very morning, word came that General Cope had landed south of Edinburgh and was making his way toward the city to intercept Charles’s army.
The Earls of Wilfort and Halsey shut themselves up in Lord Wilfort’s study that day, sending out messages and receiving visits from other Englishmen in and around Edinburgh, including Jeremy’s father, Lord Bancroft. Mary feared that Lord Bancroft would spill the news of the elopement before Mary could, but her father said not a word about it.
Mary’s chamber was placed such that her window let in conversations from her father’s study below, provided both windows were open. Today had been fine, so she’d been able to hear everything that went on in the chamber beneath hers. No matter how hard Mary listened, she never once heard Jeremy’s name mentioned. It was as though the lad’s own father hadn’t realized he’d gone, and that might be true.
Mary spent the day with Aunt Danae, but her mind was not on their usual tasks of sewing, letter writing, or reading aloud. Mary was distracted, as indeed, Aunt Danae was, wondering how Audrey fared, whether the ship would reach port without mishap, if they’d be safe on the road to Paris. Mary had faith that Alec and Jeremy would look after her sister, but she’d feel much better when she received Audrey’s first letter.
Mary also tried not to think about Malcolm, but there, she failed. She could not look down at her stitching without seeing him peeling his wet clothes from his body, laughing at his predicament even as he shivered with deadly cold.
She remembered the warm bulk of him beneath her, the gentle snore that told her he slept. The memories of his mouth on her back and then of lying in his arms were so vivid that for moments at a time, Mary was there, with him, instead of sitting demurely on Aunt Danae’s couch, sewing a seam on her father’s shirt.
I’ll come for ye. All right? After that, we won’t ever be apart.
Mary had no idea what he meant to do, which alarmed her a bit, but remembering his voice quietly saying the words made her warm. This was a man capable of anything, from arranging an elopement, to sending his brother to his baby daughter, to making certain the entire Jacobite army didn’t hamper him.
A dangerous man, and yet, at the same time, compassionate and understanding. Everything Mal had done tonight had been for others. Even if his actions had benefited him indirectly—getting Mary alone in his house, where he could kiss her—Malcolm could have taken what he wanted, to the devil with everyone else. He’d asked Mary to trust him, and so far, he hadn’t betrayed that trust.
No one went out that night—any invitations were refused. Aunt Danae advised Mary they should wait until after their late supper to spring the news about Audrey on her father. They could be more private then, and perhaps plenty of food and drink would have put him into a mellower state.
Halsey, unfortunately, stayed for the meal. Though Audrey’s place at the table remained empty, Lord Wilfort never once asked about her during that interminable supper. Likely he assumed Audrey in her chamber, sleeping or ill, or too nervous about the possible battle to come down.
Mary gathered her courage as they rose from the table and Wilfort asked Halsey to join him for brandy in his library.
“Papa, I need a word.”
“Not now,” Wilfort said without looking at her. “Halsey, I had another message from—”
Mary stepped in front of her father as he tried to turn away. “Papa, you really ought to hear me.”
Wilfort pulled his attention from Halsey with effort. His blue eyes were as strong as they’d been when Mary was a girl, though they’d become harder since the day her mother died. “Yes, Mary, what is it?” he asked impatiently.
Mary glanced at Halsey, who waited not three paces away. “Perhaps we can be private?”
Wilfort followed her gaze, and frowned. “Anything you must speak about, Mary, you can in front of Lord Halsey. He will be your husband.”
Mary growled silently to herself, but there was nothing for it. The longer she waited the worse it would be. She clenched her fists. “Papa,” she began, then she launched into her tale.
Mary told it briefly, in bold strokes. As she explained that Audrey was now married, legally, to Jeremy Drake, Wilfort’s expression moved from irritated to bewildered to enraged. Wilfort reached out and seized Mary by the arm, twisting it as he yanked her to him.
“She has defied me?” Wilfort’s body was slender but whippet strong. He kept his voice low but vicious, unlike the beam-rattling shouts of Malcolm’s father. “And you helped her?”
“Papa, Jeremy is a fine man from a good family.” Mary was close enough to smell the wine on her father’s breath, to look into steely eyes in his sharp face. “Audrey loves him—”
“Love?” Wilfort’s grip tightened, and he shook her once. “You know nothing about love. Marrying for love is a fool’s trap. You know this—you’re sensible, Mary—at least I thought you were.”
He was hurting her arm very much, but Mary made herself not flinch. “You loved Mama.”
Something flickered in Wilfort’s eyes. “We came to be very fond of each other, yes, but we married at the will of our parents, which was our duty, as it is yours and Audrey’s. Love grows after a solid marriage is made. That is how the world works.”
“James,” Aunt Danae said, her voice weak. “It wasn’t Mary’s fault.”
“You are wrong, Danae. It was entirely her fault, and yours. I will speak with you later. Audrey could not have gone without Mary’s help, and that is a fact.” Wilfort focused his cold blue eyes on Mary again. “And you could not have done this without help of your own. Who assisted you?”
“No one,” Mary said swiftly. “Jeremy—”
“Jeremy Drake is a simpleton and couldn’t arrange a midnight feast in his own house. Who helped you? I’ll have whoever it is arrested for his part in this, then I’ll go to France and fetch Audrey home.”
“You can’t—”
Wilfort clamped down on Mary’s wrist, his face going scarlet. “Who are you to say I can’t? Who helped you, Mary? What is his name? Who arranged for the ship?”
Mary shook her head, fighting tears of anger and pain. “I did.”
Wilfort made a noise of derision. “With two thousand Jacobites camped around Edinburgh? You did this all by yourself? I never thought you’d lie to me, daughter. You shame me. Who is the man who helped you?”
If Mary named Malcolm, what would happen? Wilfort’s power had been lessened by the presence of Charles, and Mal was a duke’s son. Her father couldn’t do much to Mal, could he? But he might try to call Malcolm out, or simply find him and shoot him. Mary thought of Mal’s slow smile, the heat of his touch, his uncompromising belief in everything he did. She could not let him face the ice-cold wrath of her father. Mary closed her mouth and kept silent.
Wilfort hit her. Mary’s head rocked from the backhanded blow. The earl’s signet ring cut open her cheek, stinging it.
“James, no!” Aunt Danae cried.
Wilfort shook Mary until her hair tumbled over her face. “You ungrateful, deceitful girl. You will be locked in your room until you give me the name of the man who helped you take Audrey away from me.”
Wilfort shoved her from him. Mary’s high-heeled slippers caught on the carpet, tripping her, and she had to seize the back of a chair to keep from falling. Aunt Danae started for her, but her father’s glare sent Danae scuttling back.
Halsey did nothing. Throughout the diatribe, he’d only watched, listened, observed. His expression was one of strange satisfaction, the glint in his eyes unnerving.
Wilfort straightened his coat and gave Halsey a short bow. “I apologize, Halsey, that you had to witness this scene.”
Halsey sniffed. “No apology necessary, sir. Women ought to be obedient, and we need to teach them so. A good cuffing or caning works wonders.”
“Mary has never needed much discipline.” Wilfort smoothed his cuffs and moved back to the table, reaching a shaking hand for brandy. “Rarely disobedient—this is a surprise to me. But the Lennox women are headstrong. You should be aware of that. Danae, take Mary to her chamber and lock her in, then bring me the key.”
Aunt Danae came to Mary as the men turned away. Mary declined her help as Aunt Danae took her from the room, Wilfort and Halsey already deep into their discussion of the situation outside these walls. Wilfort never looked at Mary as she retreated from the room, but Halsey’s parting glance held an odd interest that made Mary shiver.
They were keeping her prisoner.
Malcolm heard this the next morning from Naughton, who’d had it from a footman from Mary’s house. Malcolm was in his own chamber, cleaning his pistol with brisk movements, as Naughton told all he knew.
Mal growled when Naughton was done. “Her dad’s a bloody martinet. Reminds me of mine.”
The duke had locked Malcolm into rooms plenty of times in his life, though Mal had never let himself stay confined for long. Neither would Mary, if Mal had anything to do with it.
“Find me a way inside that house,” he ordered.
Naughton calmly went on folding Malcolm’s linen. “Do you plan to rescue her, sir?”
“Of course I do.”
“The prince’s army is marching out to meet General Cope before he makes Edinburgh. Lord Duncan marches with them. You asked to be kept informed, sir.”
Malcolm already knew this, having gone back and forth between home and camp all day yesterday, trying to persuade Duncan away. He and Will were also trying to persuade their father and Angus to return to Kilmorgan. Both efforts had been fruitless.
“Have a message taken to Lady Mary,” Mal said as he drew the rod with its cleaning rag from the pistol’s barrel. “Tell her to stay put while I go out and make sure Duncan doesn’t get himself killed. Then we’ll take care of Lady Mary’s predicament.”
Naughton coughed. “Pardon me for asking, sir, but I need to be prepared for any contingency. Is Lady Mary with child?”
Mal looked up in amazement. “No, damn ye.” He made himself cool. “’Tis a fair question, though. But no.” Malcolm returned the pistol to its holster and checked his supply of powder and pistol balls. He lifted the strap that held holster and ammunition pouch over his shoulder and settled it across his coat. “Don’t wait up for me, Naughton. If I can drag Duncan home, I will. If not . . .” He shrugged. “Make sure Lady Mary receives my message.”
“Yes, sir,” Naughton said. “I’ll see to it personally.”
Mary fumed for a time, locked in her bedchamber, before her hot anger cooled, determination taking its place.
Whitman was allowed in to tend to her and bring her small meals, but Mary was to have contact with no one else, not even Aunt Danae. Wilfort sent Mary a message, via Whitman, that he intended to keep Mary under lock and key until her marriage to Halsey, which had been planned for the next month.
But Mary knew that she could never marry Halsey. The light in his eyes when her father had hit her last night, coupled with his look when he’d waylaid her in the stairwell a few nights ago and squeezed her breast, had awakened a loathing she’d never be able to banish. Halsey had been loathsome all the time of their engagement, but Mary had not allowed herself to see it. Her pride in her duty had made her blind, foolishly so.
The fight to free herself from Halsey was yet to come. Mary used the time of her confinement to decide how to do just that, as well as to catch up on her mending and her correspondence, both of which she’d been neglecting.
Mary sat at her writing table late the first night of her imprisonment, trying to describe Charles’s entrance to the ballroom at Holyrood for a London friend’s entertainment, but she laid down her pen and passed her hand over her eyes. Despite all that had happened, what remained most vivid was the warm touch of Mal’s lips, his strength as he held her, asleep on the sofa. The pain of the cut her father had given her could not prevail against it.
“M’lady?”
Mary snapped alert, raising her head. The whisper hadn’t come from the door. It had come from the fireplace.
A fire was blazing in it. Mary stared at the flames a few moments before the muffled voice came again, along with a tapping on the wall.