Chapter 5
The cold dampness of Edinburgh woke Mal out of his stupor as they moved down the narrow street to another equally narrow passage.
A discreet bawdy house was tucked here. Its proprietor had sent a boy running to the tavern in search of Will Mackenzie’s brothers.
Mal understood why when they reached the place, Jeremy in tow. Shouting came from the upper reaches of the house, the rooms accessed by a rickety staircase that led to a leaning wooden gallery.
A deep voice was carrying on in Highland Scots, admonishing, demanding, then lapsing into cajoling, laughter, and singing. The songs were the same as Alec’s but much, much louder.
The proprietress of the house, a thin woman with an angular face, was from Glasgow. Mal could usually understand only about two words in six she said, but tonight she was very clear.
“Get him out.” She glared at Mal and Alec. “He’ll bring the constables down on us if he does no’ shut up and go away.”
“Easy, love,” Mal said. “We’ll take him. Alec, pay the good lady for her trouble.”
Alec shot an annoyed look at Mal, but his pouch of coins came out and silver found its way into the proprietress’s hand.
The woman looked less unhappy but remained planted by the foot of the staircase, as though ready to shove them out at a moment’s notice.
Mal tipped her a wink as he followed Alec up the stairs, Jeremy trailing behind. The tall lad looked around with much interest, indicating louder than words that he’d never been in a whorehouse before. The English whelp was too innocent to be believed.
“She were a fiiiiine lassie,” came the booming baritone. “With a bosom so sweet, and bum so large, and between her legs a . . . laaaaaad.”
“Is that a song?” Jeremy asked, his face red but his eyes sparkling with humor.
“He makes up his own,” Mal said. “Young Master Jeremy, meet my brother, the rakehell himself, William Ferdinand Mackenzie.”
Alec had crashed through the bolted door at the top of the stairs to reveal Will, clad in nothing but a plaid wrapped around his hips, standing on strong feet, serenading two tired-looking women who lounged on the bed. It was evident that they’d had enough of him.
Will turned blearily as they burst in. “Mal!” he shouted. “How fine to see ye, runt!” He spread his muscled arms and rushed at Mal, crushing him into a hug.
Will was the tallest of the Mackenzies, the biggest and broadest, a giant of a man with dark red hair. Being embraced by him was like being squashed by a bear. Will was as warm as a bear too, and about as hairy and smelly in his unkempt state. He must have been there for days.
Will lifted his head and looked past Mal at Alec. “Angus!” He shouted. “Won’t hug you. You’re a bastard. I only love the runt.”
“I’m Alec,” Alec said, sounding less drunk. “Angus is at home.”
“Good!” Will pounded Mal on the back then released him. “He’s not here to spoil our fun. Who is that?” Will scrubbed both massive hands through his unruly hair, which made it stand straight up, and pinned Jeremy with a tawny stare. “Are you a Mackenzie, lad?”
“’Fraid not,” Jeremy returned. He only looked slightly alarmed, which meant the boy had mettle. Will Mackenzie undressed and roaring drunk was not an easy thing to take.
“The Honorable Jeremy Drake, sir,” Jeremy said. He executed a practiced though wobbly bow.
“He’s a bloody Englishman!” Will rubbed his eyes and stared at him again. “What are ye doing with a bloody Sassenach, Mal? Did he arrest you?”
“He’s a friend,” Mal said. “My friend. Dress yourself, man. We’re going.”
“So soon?” Will looked confused. “But I’ve only just started the singing.”
Alec took a comfortable seat on the bed, giving the ladies there a smile and also a few coins for putting up with his brother. “And you’re in good voice,” Alec said, soothing him. “We’ll be off, and you can sing to us.”
Will gave him a doubtful look. “Well, all right, but you’re nae so pretty.”
“I’m glad of it,” Alec said. “Mal, get him decently clad . . . Och, man, I did nae need to see that!”
Will had stripped off the plaid and let it fall, revealing his hard-muscled thighs and the large thing dangling between his legs.
Alec covered his face and moaned. Mal ignored him while he fished up Will’s clothes from all over the room and helped the big man put them on. Jeremy watched, still flushed with drink, but enjoying the comedy.
Will got stuck inside his shirt, his arms flailing, unable to find the holes. Mal helped him, got the shirt settled and the plaid wrapped about his waist again. Waistcoat, stockings, boots, frock coat—all went on—then Will had to spend at least fifteen minutes looking for his hat.
They discovered that the proprietress had it. When Mal and Alec finally shoved Will out of the bedroom and to the staircase, Jeremy trailing, the proprietress held up a battered Scots bonnet. Will had to be helped down the stairs—his legs kept bending every which way.
Will reached the bottom at last and grabbed the hat from the woman’s thin hand. “Thank you very much,” he slurred. “Ye have a fine establishment. Until next time.”
He tried to bow and fell into Mal’s arms. Mal pushed him to his feet, hearing the clink of more coins as Alec placated the woman once again. Jeremy grabbed Will’s other arm and assisted Mal in squeezing his brother through the narrow door and out into the cold cobbles.
Will threw off their holds as chill night air poured over them. “I’m fine. I can walk meself.”
He couldn’t, very well. The four of them stumbled down the passage and to a larger street.
“Where are we going?” Will asked at his usual bellow. “Another nice house?”
“Home,” Alec said sternly. He looked at Jeremy. “Best you nip off to your own digs, lad. If Will gets us arrested, ye don’t want to be with us.”
Jeremy glanced at Mal, and Mal gave a reluctant nod. He liked Jeremy, but it was time to part ways for the night.
“Aye, go on.” He locked his fingers around Jeremy’s sleeve and pulled him aside. “I can call on you tomorrow, eh? So we can begin. I’ll help you win the hand of young Audrey, and in return, you slip me in to see Mary. Right?”
“Yes.” Jeremy’s eyes warmed with his smile. He clasped Mal’s hand with a firm grip of his own. “You’re a gentleman, Mackenzie, even if you’re a Highlander.”
“Aye, don’t I know it.” Mal clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him away.
Jeremy tipped his hat to Alec and Will, and turned and walked away into the darkness. His footsteps were uneven, his gait slightly swaying, but he’d be all right.
“Now, then, Mal, help me.” Alec scowled and bent to the task of getting Will indoors.
By the time they reached the house the Mackenzies lived in during their excursions to Edinburgh, Will was walking better on his own. A footman opened the front door of the house and assisted them inside; a second footman scurried down the back stairs to alert the rest of the staff that the Mackenzie brothers were home.
Will had lost most of his drunkenness by the time they reached his large bedchamber upstairs. Will let the rail-thin, red-haired valet who’d appeared—Naughton, who looked after them all when they were in the city—pull off his boots, then Will collapsed full-length onto the bed.
Naughton took the soiled boots away, as well as the frock coat Will had thrown off, frowning in disapproval at the mud on both. As soon as the door closed, Will sat up, the disoriented light leaving his eyes.
“Well, lads,” he said.
Mal found a stool by the fire and stretched his feet to it. He hated being cold.
Only a few candles were lit in the chamber, and the dim and wavering light cast weird shadows. Alec’s straggling hair was thrown into huge silhouette against the fireplace.
“Well?” Alec prompted.
“I heard quite a lot to tell Father,” Will said. He looked pleased with himself. “A few of Cope’s men were in that house.” Sir John Cope was the English general unlucky enough to command the British troops in Scotland. He was expected to deal with Charles Stuart—Teàrlach Stiùbhart—and his Highlanders if they made their way toward Edinburgh. “They tried to ply me with questions, find out who was with Teàrlach and who wasn’t, but alas for them, I could barely think, let alone speak, eh? Won’t be able to go back there if it’s full of loyalists, though, I’m thinking. Pity. It was a good house.”
“You mean the ladies there would put up with ye,” Alec said with good humor. “As long as ye paid them well.”
“Enough from you, whelp. What have you got to say?”
“Plenty,” Alec said. “But not about the Jacobites. Mal thinks he’s smitten with an English lass. Daughter of Wilfort, no less.”
Will pinned Mal with a fierce gaze. “Are ye mad, runt? Wilfort is at King Geordie’s elbow.”
“Not his daughter’s fault,” Mal said. “Mary’s a lovely lass, and better company than you lot.”
“Watch it, lad.” Will sat all the way up, his laughter gone. “I’ve seen what happens to you when you want a woman. When ye want anything, actually. You pursue it beyond reason.”
“Only when it’s worth it.” Mal folded his arms, looking back into the fire. Mary’s hair was the color of the hottest part of flame.
Alec’s shadow moved as he and Will exchanged a glance.
“This time ’tis dangerous,” Alec said quietly. “What with Duncan hot to drag Charles Stuart to the throne and Da denying that with every breath, this is nae a good time to be near anything English. Ye deflower the daughter of the Earl of Wilfort, he’ll come after ye with half the army and have your head on a spit. Leave her be, Mal.”
The part of Mal that was his common sense told him his brothers were right. Mary wasn’t a barmaid or a young Scottish lass he could woo without compunction.
Mary’s father had power, wealth, and influence—he could destroy Mal and all the Mackenzies with him. Mal had no doubt that his own father, to keep his standing as Duke of Kilmorgan, would happily throw Mal to the wolves in order to placate the English bastards.
The other part of Mal—the part of him that let nothing stand in the way of what he wanted—knew he couldn’t let Mary go.
Something had happened when he’d seen her, like a sudden completion of himself. As though he’d been walking alone most his life, and all at once knew he’d never be alone again.
This knowledge had intensified when Malcolm had touched her, had closed his fingers over the warm lock of her hair. Two parts of a single whole had met, briefly contacted, and had been pulled apart again.
Mal would spend the rest of his life if necessary to put those two halves together again.
He realized his brothers were watching him, waiting for him to reassure them. He couldn’t. Mal could only look at them, willing them to understand.
Will and Alec exchanged glances again, this time resigned. They knew exactly what happened when Mal took something into his head.
It warmed Mal that they ceased trying to stop him. They were making a silent pact to watch over him, and keep their little brother as safe as they possibly could, no matter what.
Mary knew exactly when Malcolm Mackenzie walked into the salon. She had her back to the door, her fingers plucking out an even tune on the harpsichord, but she knew.
The very air seemed to vibrate, to warm. The sound of his low voice confirmed his presence and sent a shiver down her spine.
Mary’s hands faltered. She missed a few notes, then more notes, which made Aunt Danae glance at her in concern.
Mary never made mistakes at the harpsichord. She learned every piece perfectly, note for note. Her music master despaired that she put absolutely no passion into the music, but Aunt Danae said that didn’t matter—most of the people Mary would play for had no emotional response to music anyway and would only hear her technique.
But now Aunt Danae blinked as Mary skipped an entire page and stumbled the piece to the end. Her audience applauded dutifully, then put their heads together to criticize her in whispers. The need of people to constantly critique others puzzled her, but it was part of her world.
Mary left the stool, saying she needed air.
Aunt Danae caught her elbow. “All you all right, my dear? I knew this crush was a mistake. Lady Bancroft always overdoes. Ah, here is Master Jeremy, come to make it all bearable. And his . . . friend?”
The last was directed at Malcolm, who was dressed as he’d been last night, in formal frock coat over kilt, his smile wide, his tawny eyes sparkling.
Jeremy was with him, as though they were old acquaintances. Jeremy introduced Malcolm, and Mal held out his gloved hand toward Mary.