Chapter 25
Mary picked her way down the hill after Malcolm, as excited as he was. Alec would have news of Audrey.
The wind and Malcolm’s running lifted his kilt and fluttered it over his back like a flag of his clan. His firm buttocks moved in the sunshine as he leapt from rock to rock.
Alec swung off his horse as Mal reached the bottom of the path. Mal swept his brother up in a bear hug, lifting him from his feet. By the time Mary reached them, they were both talking at once, each drowning out the other.
Alec broke off when he saw Mary, his tawny eyes widening. There were lines about those eyes, of fatigue, grief, dirt in the creases, but his expression was one of good humor. “Good Lord, you did steal her.”
“She came willingly,” Mal said. “Well, willingly enough.”
“Lord Alec.” Mary moved to him, catching the odor of wet plaid, sweat, and horse. “I will be impolite and not ask you how your journey was—what news of my sister, Audrey?”
“Well, now.” Alec made a show of patting the thick kilt that wrapped his shoulders. “I had a letter about me person somewhere. I meant to take it on to Edinburgh when I went, but you are here, and so I’ll deliver it to ye now.”
Mary nearly leapt on the tall man, wanting to burrow into the folds of his plaid and find the precious missive herself. Alec, eyes twinkling, yanked a fat fold of paper from under the fabric and laid it into her outstretched hands. “There ye are. Lady Audrey is well and happy, eating bonbons in a fine appartement in Paris with Jeremy Drake worshiping at her feet.”
Mary had already ripped open the letter’s seal and hastily unfolded the sheets. “She’s well,” she said after she’d read a few lines. “She’s loving being married, and they are hoping for a child.”
“Aye,” Alec said. “From the idiotically pleased looks they give each other, I’d say they were trying for one day and night.”
Mary’s eyes were wet as she folded the letter and pressed it to her chest. “Thank you. You’ve made me so happy—I thought I could never feel this happy again.”
Alec shot Mal a look of mock alarm. “Then ye can’t be pleasing her right, Mal. What’s the matter with ye?”
“Aye.” Mal gave his brother a solemn nod. “Trust a woman to put a man in his place.”
Alec roared with laughter. Mary flushed, realizing what she’d implied, and Alec, seeing her blush, laughed harder.
“What about you?” Mary asked quickly. “Is your daughter . . .”
“My daughter is a bonny wee lass, the most beautiful thing ye ever did see.” Pride rang in the deep rumble of Alec’s voice. His face under his tangle of hair lit up, the fatigue instantly erased.
Mal made a show of looking around him. “Where is she, then? Did ye leave her strapped to the horse?”
“In Paris, runt. Ye didn’t think I was going to bring a child as tiny as Jenny across the sea in Gair’s leaky tub? With English gunners prowling? Then across the Highlands? She’s settled with Genevieve’s sister, and Audrey is looking in on her from time to time. I’ll be going back for her, but I need t’ settle some things first.”
Mal slung his arm across Alec’s shoulders. “No matter—’tis a fine thing to have you home. Duncan’s out fighting the Hanoverians single-handedly, but the rest of us are home. And Mary’s dad. And an Englishman I captured.”
To Alec’s startled look, Mal grinned widely. Alec caught his pack-laden horse, who’d started to wander off, and pulled him up the hill after Malcolm and Mary.
The Duke of Kilmorgan glanced up from his afternoon meal as Mal led his brother into the dining room. Mary was some steps behind them, Mal saw, absorbed again in Audrey’s letter. Of Wilfort, Ellis, and Mal’s brothers, there was no sign.
“Oh, it’s you,” the duke growled as Alec began unwinding his plaid. “The good-for-nothing twin. What are you doing back here? Where’s Angus? I haven’t seen him this morning.”
“Thank you very much, Father.” Alec approached the table, undaunted by the duke’s sarcasm. The stricken light had left his eyes, Mal noted, though an underlying sadness remained. The shock had gone, though, and Alec could laugh again.
Alec took a paper out of his sporran and unfolded it with broad fingers. “I’ve come to tell you about your granddaughter.” He laid the paper on the polished oak table, in front of the duke.
Mal looked over Alec’s shoulder. The paper bore a pen drawing of a tiny baby wrapped in cloths and wearing a lacy cap. The only features of the child were its tight fists, chubby face, and closed eyes. Mal knew Alec had drawn the picture. It was his style—a few simple lines to tell a beautiful story.
Under the picture was written Genevieve Allison Mary Mackenzie.
The duke stilled. He stared at the picture for a long moment, then touched the paper with one blunt fingertip. “My granddaughter?” he repeated, his words almost a whisper.
“I call her Jenny,” Alec said. “I married her mother, Genevieve Millar, a few months ago. Malcolm was a witness.”
Another few seconds went by before the words penetrated the duke’s senses. “Married?” He came to his feet, rage in his eyes. “What the devil do you mean, married? Where is this woman? Who is she?”
Alec’s mirth dampened. “She did not survive the birth.”
The duke’s gaze met Alec’s. He’d opened his mouth to shout again, and his lips remained parted, no sound issuing from them. For the first time in years, Mal saw his father at a loss for what to say.
The duke cleared his throat. “Alec, I’m sorry.”
“I loved her,” Alec said, a scratch in his voice. “I loved her very much.”
The duke looked down at the picture again, his throat moving. Then he closed the distance between himself and Alec and wrapped his arms around his son.
Mal felt Mary’s hand slide into his, her eyes shining with tears as she looked up at him. She understood what had happened in this room—a connection, family forgiving, and family continuing.
Mal leaned down and kissed her then led her out.
Mary never wanted this time of her life to end. She’d found happiness. As the weeks passed, her feelings for Malcolm deepened, blossoming into something she barely comprehended.
She came to realize Captain Ellis was wrong—Malcolm did mean to marry her. He was waiting for the right moment, for everything to be perfect. Malcolm was a planner, wanting every contingency taken care of before he executed his scheme. He worked by talking to people, charming them, slipping them coin, anything needed.
His thoughts went so lightning-fast that it sometimes seemed he acted impulsively, but Mary soon saw that he worked out every scenario to its end before he leapt upon the best one.
Mal was taking more time over Mary, because he didn’t want to make a mistake. He feared that any misstep would destroy what he’d won. And so he was silent, testing his way as he might put his feet down on an uncertain path.
Mary knew Mal would never, ever admit this, of course. He behaved as though they had all the time in the world—they were young, together, and falling in love. That Mal believed he and Mary would be with each other forever, there was no question.
Nights grew shorter as October progressed, and the wind took on more chill. At Kilmorgan, the castle was never quiet—not only filled with the shouts of Malcolm and his brothers and father, but also the horde of retainers who lived there to keep the place. These retainers had families on the farms around, and came and went as they raced to harvest their grains before winter set in.
Kilmorgan was lucky in that it had more arable land than most of the area. An inland cut of sea and high banks around it trapped moist air that kept things a touch warmer in the glen and the soil rich. Even so, the farmers labored hard for even the smallest crops, and the Mackenzies went out to help them.
Lairds took care of their people, Mary soon realized. Mal and his brothers made certain that the crofters’ houses were sound for the winter, roofs didn’t leak, and that their tenants would have food to last the long cold season. The Mackenzies rode the bounds and worked the lands alongside the farmers, bending their backs to menial labor a London gentleman would scorn.
Wilfort had told Mary that some lairds felt that the women among their tenants were theirs to do with as they pleased, but Mary saw no fear or worry about that with the duke or his sons. The duke was deferential to the wives and daughters and respectful of the men. His people liked him.
Mal relayed that the duke had been devoted to their mum, Allison McNab, whose portrait hung prominently in the downstairs sitting room. The picture showed a regal-looking woman with a longish nose and black eyes full of fire as she gazed down upon her family. The portrait had been painted by Allan Ramsay, depicting the duchess at a three-quarter profile, her head turned to the viewer. The blue and white silks of her gown shimmered in soft light, finished by a piece of blue and green plaid wrapped over one shoulder and pinned with a brooch of dull silver. The picture was so breathtakingly real, Mary thought that at any moment, Allison might open her lips and speak.
Mal had the look of his mother about the cheekbones and chin, though in most respects he strongly resembled the duke. Alec, Angus, and Duncan bore more of her features, including the sparkle of her eyes, the firm set of mouth, and long, straight nose. Will, on the other hand, Mary observed, was pure Mackenzie.
Mal explained that the duke had completely changed when their mother died. He’d become bitter, angry, and hadn’t wanted anything to do with his sons. No reminders of Allison. For some reason, he’d only been able to abide Angus. None of them knew why, not even Angus.
Eventually, the duke had come out of his terrible grief, but even now, he was rarely pleased with his sons. The duke’s swift acceptance of Alec’s marriage and baby had been a surprise.
“You’re softening him,” Mal said to Mary. “He likes having you about—I can see it in him.”
Mary was skeptical about her hand in changing him. She’d already discerned that the duke cared more for his family than he let people understand.
Though the castle was remote, they were not entirely cut off from the wider world either. They had deliveries most days of the week, of letters and newspapers, books and parcels. Mary’s father could even have the papers and journals he preferred from London. The duke grumbled that most letters arrived open and gone through, both by the English government and the Highlanders.
Plenty of goods came from the north also, from the secret coves and inlets that ran close to Kilmorgan. French brandy and other luxuries landed often on the Mackenzies’ dining room table—Mal’s friend Gair was hard at work.
Mackenzies had a wide network through which they were able to keep an eye on what was happening with Charles and his army. Charles had spent the month in Edinburgh, they learned, while many small skirmishes took place between the Jacobites and the Highlanders who remained on the British side.
“Do not call them loyal,” the duke had snapped, when Wilfort referred to Scots who supported King George as loyalists. “They simply want to be on the winning side. If Charles starts to prevail, ye can be assured many of them will turn around and start shooting the other way.”
Wilfort had only shrugged in his bland way, unoffended.
Mary sometimes felt as though they were riding out a storm that raged around them, while Kilmorgan bobbed in a bubble of calm.
The calm didn’t last. Near the end of October, the Jacobites tried to attack one of the military forts near Inverness—Duncan was one of that attack’s leaders—but they were repulsed. Not many days later came the news that Charles had ridden out of Edinburgh, taking his army south toward England.
Duncan was riding with him, leading three hundred men behind him to join the cause. Angus, to everyone’s amazement, announced that he was going with them.
To say that Malcolm’s father was furious with Angus would be to understate it. As the duke’s voice rose to fever pitch, Mal decided it was time to take Mary and discreetly depart the house.
In the end, Angus simply had to run for it. He came charging out of the castle and down the hill. The duke tried to pursue him, but Angus dashed down the path on swift, youthful feet, leaving his father raging and panting halfway up the hill. Angus had a pack slung over his back, and he’d wisely hidden his weapons under the trees at the edge of the grounds before he’d made the announcement.
“Why?” Alec asked, even as he helped Angus gather his things. “Why are ye doing this, Angus? Ye’ve no love for the old kings.”
Angus mounted his horse, then gazed down at Mal and Alec, who stood together as ever. “Because I need to look after Duncan,” Angus said without heat. “If Dad loses him, it will kill him.”
“No, lad,” Malcolm said. He put his hand on Angus’s booted leg. “It will kill him if he loses you. He loves ye best of us all.”
Angus shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. He likes me taking care of him, but it’s not the same thing. He wants Duncan to be duke when he’s gone—he’s always wanted that.”
Mal didn’t agree. “It’s ye he loves, Angus. None of the rest of us can understand why.” He patted Angus’s leg as he said the last, his throat aching. He’d always known he couldn’t keep Duncan safe, but Angus did not have the same mettle as their oldest brother. Mal closed his hand around the leather of Angus’s boot, as though that would keep him tethered to Kilmorgan.
“When Mum died, he nearly went mad w’ it,” Angus was saying. “I made sure he lived. Now he thinks he can’t do without me, but he needs to learn he can.”
“Don’t be daft,” Mal said, his breathing tight. “Will or me can go along and save Duncan’s head. We’re good at keeping ourselves in one piece. You don’t even like t’ fight.”
“Ye might be surprised about that,” Angus said with dark humor. “Will’s a spy, not a fighter, Alec’s got a wee one to think about now, and you’ve got Mary. So it has to be me.”
“Damn and blast ye,” Mal said, feeling desperate. “If ye go, we’ll have t’ lock Da in the cellar until he calms down. Which might be a few years from now.”
“Have Mary talk to him,” Angus said, giving Mal a wry look. “He likes her. Ye’ve done well there, runt. Don’t let her get away.”
Angus nudged his horse into a walk, but Alec stepped forward and caught the horse’s bridle. He’d said nothing as Mal and Angus had argued, but his look was as distressed as Mal’s. “Ye look after yourself, ye hear me?” Alec growled up at him. “I’m your twin. If something happens t’ye, it will happen t’me. Don’t you forget that.”
Angus gave him the ghost of a grin. “Never bothered ye before, Alec. It’s always been you and Mal. I want ye to go on having each other. Now turn me loose before Dad charges down here and shoots me to stop me from leaving him.”
Alec released the horse but pressed his big hands together, as though ready to pray. “God go with ye, Angus.”
“You too, Alec. Mal.”
Angus gave them both a nod, turned the horse, and urged it into a trot. All too soon, he was lost under the trees. Shadows gathered after him, his plaids fading last thing.
Mal didn’t like the shiver the sight gave him. Alec came to stand beside him, the warmth of his shoulder bolstering as they watched their brother be swallowed by darkness.
Soon after that, Will disappeared. Since Will often left in the night without a word, Mal didn’t worry unduly. Will knew how to survive as he slipped through the Highlands, and Mal made himself believe he was well.
Mal and Alec, the only brothers left, continued to work the land. Cold came, and with it, earlier darkness. Mal no longer felt it safe to take Mary to their secret bower in the woods, so they found places to be together inside the house.
As Castle Kilmorgan was large and not all of it used, there were hideaways aplenty. Mal converted a room at the top of the keep into a cozy nest, with blankets and a featherbed for the floor, paper to stop up the cracks in the windows, and the fireplace unblocked so it could be lit.
He knew the servants were all aware that he brought Mary up there and why, but they said nothing, bless them. Mary loved the subterfuge. She’d retreated a long way from her everything-must-be-proper self, smiling up at him from a sea of blankets, raising herself on her elbow to listen to Mal’s stories as the night passed around them.
She’d always been this woman, Mal realized. She’d been waiting for him when he’d seen her in the vast room at the Bancrofts’, waiting for the world to drive them together.
They’d have a grand wedding when the time was right. Mal had sent his letters off to Lord Halsey’s man of business before they’d left Edinburgh, telling him to free Mary from the contract her father had signed with Halsey. He wanted no legal way for Halsey to make Mary’s life—or even Wilfort’s—miserable.
Once Mal received word that the contract was clear, and Prince Charles either went home or sat uncontested on the throne, he and Mary would wed.
Mal was daydreaming of his life with Mary as he rode home one day in late November. She’d grace his behemoth new house and its gardens, and more importantly, their bedchamber.
A plume of smoke rose from the hills ahead of him. For a moment, Mal didn’t understand what he was seeing, until a blacker smoke billowed from the trees, and he heard distant shouting. His body chilled while his heart pumped, and he moved his horse faster, then faster.
He reached the bottom of the hill to Kilmorgan and found what he’d dreaded—fire and smoke pouring from the castle. Mal leapt to the ground and sprinted up the path, his breath labored, as though his chest were being crushed to one, hard point.
Ewan burst from the castle’s door, straight into Malcolm. “Everyone’s gone!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “They took ’em. Except your da. He’s inside, and I can’t bring him out!”
Ewan collapsed in a fit of coughing, and Malcolm, his world spinning into madness, ran inside.