Highland Sword Page 19

  “You could write,” Maisie suggested.

  “You have a wicked sense of humor,” Fiona added.

  “That’s true,” Maisie agreed. “Your tongue is as sharp as the dagger you carry in your boot. And I know. You’ve poked me with it enough times over the years.”

  “There you have it. You could write satire,” Fiona concluded. “Prose versions of the kind of work Madame Laborde produces.”

  “I can’t be someone else. I can only be myself. Even if I don’t know exactly who that is. Even though I have no idea right now what the future holds or where I want to be a year from now, or ten years.”

  Morrigan turned to the window and pushed open the panels. A blast of cold air hit her in the face—exactly what she needed to stop the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes. She couldn’t understand what made her bring up such a topic. In her mind, the fog swirling around the future was getting thicker. She doubted that anything said here would help her see what direction she was intended to go.

  Maisie approached her from behind and wrapped her arms around her. Morrigan leaned her head back against the woman who had become a sister.

  “I could suggest that this upheaval within you is due to the possibility that you’re in love, but I fear you might throw me out this window.”

  “I think that is a suggestion right there.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  Maybe she was in love, she thought. But that wasn’t the reason for her unhappiness.

  “Do you remember this past August? How you fussed and worried and had to talk to Niall before you two were married?”

  Maisie sighed. “That was a difficult moment for me.”

  “I know it was. You knew who you were, and you wanted to make certain that he understood your dreams. That he respected your chosen path.”

  “Everyone finds their own path. But for some people it takes time,” Maisie said softly. “This is just a morning mist that is obscuring the future right now. You need to keep moving forward, one step at a time. The path will show itself.”

  “I pray that you’re right. But sometimes I feel like I hear a bell tolling, far off in the distance. I move toward it, thinking it’s beckoning me toward the start of something new … but then I freeze. My fear is that my past will one day be exposed and become quicksand beneath my feet.”

  CHAPTER 23

  AIDAN

  Edinburgh

  Aidan listened as the bells in the tower of the Tron Kirk pealed six. Sitting back in his chair at the Bull’s Head Tavern, he wondered vaguely how many times he’d heard them ring the hour from this very spot.

  Across the table from him, Captain Ian Bell took a long, satisfied drink from his tankard. It had been a good day for both of them. Bell was one of the directors of the Orphan Hospital in Bailie Fife’s Close, not far from where they were having a celebratory supper. For several years, they’d worked together in situations where a father or mother had needed a barrister to represent them in court while the bairns needed a roof over their heads. Aidan provided the legal support, and Bell saw to it the children were cared for.

  Today, Aidan had successfully defended a woman arrested at a protest last month. This evening, she’d been reunited with her children at the Orphan Hospital.

  The captain had been relieved when his friend returned from Inverness in time for this trial. Aidan told him about the delays in the north, about the trial of the two brothers, and about meeting the son of Scotland. When he mentioned Isabella Drummond, Bell pushed his tankard away from him.

  “The doctor … Isabella Drummond? The wife of the late physician, Archibald Drummond?”

  Aidan nodded. Cinaed’s name and rumors about his connection to the queen and Bonnie Prince Charlie had raced across Scotland like wildfire. He was a luminary who had suddenly appeared in the firmament, and everyone wanted to know more about him. The identity of his wife, however, was less well known. Aidan went on and explained their relationship.

  Bell laid his hands flat on the table. “The entire Pennington family is indebted to that lady.”

  Aidan knew that his friend had married Lady Phoebe Pennington, but he was surprised they knew Isabella. A powerful and progressive family from the Borders to the Highlands, they had for generations been a force for change. Their politics had much in common with his own.

  “Isabella Drummond operated on my wife’s sister Millie,” the captain continued. “Saved her life.”

  Before he arrived at Dalmigavie Castle, Aidan had heard about Isabella and her abilities as a doctor. Upon meeting her, however, he’d soon learned that her glowing reputation didn’t come close to doing justice to the woman’s prowess. She was a marvel.

  As was Morrigan. He tried to be attentive of the conversation, rather than reminisce about the kiss in the garden before he left. He kicked himself for not going to her sooner. The day after Samhain. Those were precious moments that they’d lost. He missed her.

  “Is there a chance you’ll see her again?”

  “Absolutely,” Aidan said. “Why?”

  “If you do, you can tell her that we think of her often and fondly. Lady Millie just had a baby boy of her own this past summer. She’s living up in Aberdeenshire.”

  He was a lost man, for even the mention of babies had him thinking of Morrigan. Maybe they’d be lucky enough to have a daughter first. A lass with Morrigan’s eyes. Her strength. Her courage. He didn’t realize he was running his finger over the mark on his eyebrow until the captain remarked on it.

  “If you ask me, that wee scar over your eye gives you more of a soldier’s look.” Bell raised his cup to Aidan in a toast. “To my friend, who fought Napoleon to the end and still came home unscathed to do battle in the courtroom.”

  Aidan scoffed. Ian Bell had done his share of fighting on the continent, but he’d ended up languishing in a French prison in Lille after being badly injured and taken at Talavera. He and Sebastian both carried their own scars, though Bell’s didn’t show. All scars didn’t come from the battlefield.

  After returning from France, Ian had lost his sister to a murderer here in Edinburgh. In the course of his search for her killer, he’d found the love of his life. Though Aidan’s knowledge of the full story was sketchy, he did know that it had taken the two of them to stop the predator.

  “To my friend, who survived the French and the dangers of the Auld Reekie’s Vaults. We’ll see if you survive fatherhood.” Aidan raised his own cup. “You must be anxious to get back to your family in Fife.”

  “I am, indeed. We have another bairn on the way, you know.”

  Aidan smiled. “Congratulations, my friend.”

  “Incidentally, I dined with Phoebe’s brother yesterday. The viscount said the word around Advocate’s Close is that while defending the two radicals from Elgin, you dragged that hanging judge Ruthven around the courtroom until he hoisted a white flag.”

  “Between you and me, the man is a heartless cur. Someday, I’d like him to feel the consequences of his actions.”

  “Well, my brother-in-law says the other judges in Edinburgh were quite happy to see Ruthven set back on his haunches. The man is a—”

  The door opened and the captain stopped as Sebastian strode in. He spotted them and came over. Bell rose, and the two friends exchanged their customary greeting.

  “Hullo, Cannonball.”

  “Good evening, Lille.”

  They sat down.

  “Have you heard the news?” Sebastian asked.

  Before he could continue, shouts and cheering were heard from outside. The noise of the crowds was growing.

  “What is that?” Aidan asked, looking out the window as people poured out of taverns and coffeehouses. “From the looks of things, it can’t be war. And it can’t be a protest.”

  Just then, a red-faced fellow burst through the door, shouting, “The queen won! She beat them—king, lords, and all. And ’twas Brougham who done it! They say the crowds carried our lad on their shoulders through the streets
o’ London!”

  A cheer went up in the tavern.

  Queen Caroline had returned to London to stand trial before Parliament on charges of adultery. All based on falsehoods and accusations concocted by the jealous king demanding divorce that she was not willing to grant. Henry Brougham was defending her and had apparently carried the day. And as the cheering in the street affirmed, she continued to be the queen of the people.

  “Well, there’s my news,” Sebastian said dryly. “But this came for you from the very man of the hour himself.”

  He pushed a letter across the table.

  As the two men talked about the surprising turn of affairs in Westminster, Aidan opened the letter from Henry Brougham and perused the contents. The queen wished to see him immediately.

  CHAPTER 24

  MORRIGAN

  The mail coach ran between Edinburgh and Inverness on a daily basis now, and for the past year, its route had been extended all the way to Thurso on Scotland’s northernmost coast. The world was shrinking. From Inverness, a rider employed by Searc brought the mail every day to Dalmigavie, a convenience unheard of just a few years earlier.

  Morrigan knew that since their arrival in the Highlands, Maisie regularly corresponded with the cities in the south. She exchanged letters with a woman named Ella who ran the meetings of the Female Reform Society in the absence of her and Fiona. There was also her ongoing communication with various newspapers about the publication of her articles. From midmorning on, Maisie always stationed herself by the laird’s study and waited for the courier.

  On a grey morning at the beginning of December, she delivered a letter that had arrived for Morrigan, much to her surprise.

  “Who would write to me here?”

  “Perhaps it’s from Mr. Grant.” Maisie’s eyebrows went up and down suggestively. “I’ll leave you to moon over every word.”

  The handwriting was unfamiliar, but she had no idea what Aidan’s writing looked like. There was no initial or other mark on the wax seal. Surely, the Grant seal would be recognizable. Morrigan felt somewhat apprehensive as she walked to her window and broke open the letter.

  It took only a moment to scan the brief contents, and she grew sicker with every successive line.

  Miss Drummond,

  I am in urgent need of a small supply of money, exactly one hundred pounds. I am a friend of your uncle Robert Wemys of Perth. More than a friend. I am like his brother. It was in the confidence of our relationship that he confided in me the details of a shocking and sordid event between you two.

  Based on his own words, you conducted him with a boldness unbecoming of a young lady into your own bedchamber. Some conversation ensued, he informed me, from which it was quickly apparent to him that certain consolation was welcomed.

  I had every intention of relaying this account to a number of newspapers that would pay handsomely for a report about certain women who not only entertain a familial connection with the son of Scotland, but who also have undertaken to have an understanding with a barrister, Mr. Aidan Grant of Carrie House. Acting out of a sense of profound honour and decency, I wish to offer my assurance to you that such scandalous information should never see the light of day.

  I am anxious to receive the slight sum mentioned above and would be honoured to meet with you personally. At that time, we can settle the matter of my financial needs in person at the auld hunting lodge off the road between Dalmigavie Castle and this city. If you find this suitable, we can meet on the eighth of December around the hour of ten in the morning.

  Until then, madam,

  I remain your humble servant,

  K. Baker

  Her breaths were uneven, anger pushed a scream out of her chest. She had been a victim of villainy. And now this scoundrel intended to blackmail her. He would make public a secret that she’d lived with for all these years, an effort made for the sake of the peace of mind of others. She yanked open her door and charged out. This worm K. Baker was detestable enough, but it was impossible to fathom how a person could be so vile as to brag about a crime against a child? And lie about it? She read the letter again. There was no indication of a date when this occurred. Was he insinuating that she had been an adult?

  Morrigan had heard that Wemys was declining rapidly by the day. But he couldn’t die soon enough to suit her.

  “Morrigan?”

  She didn’t realize where she’d been going until she came face-to-face with Isabella coming out of her medical room.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She was too upset to speak, and the words died on her tongue.

  Isabella immediately took her hand and pulled her inside, closing the door behind them. She glanced at the letter in her hand. “Did you hear from Aidan?”

  “It’s not from him. He has no cause to write to me.” She waved the paper. “But why would a total stranger think there’s something between us?”

  Without asking, Isabella took the letter out of her hand and read it. As her fury grew, her face turned a deep shade of crimson.

  “Who gave you this?”

  “It arrived with the mail this morning.”

  “Who would do such a thing?”

  “Wemys has to be behind this. He lied to some other scoundrel about what he’d done. The vile dog.”

  “You must get him to talk about this.”

  She was right. If Baker knew, then how many others had Wemys bragged to. He’d pretended he was remorseful and wanted forgiveness. But this proved there was no end to his evil. He’d trumpeted his sins about like a town crier. He was lower than scum.

  “It occurs to me that the timing of this is very suspicious. Why now? If he’s known about what happened for all these years, why wasn’t he blackmailing Archibald? Your father would have paid any amount to protect you from public attention.”

  “Maybe he thought my father would murder him. There is nothing in here that says this didn’t happen last month or last year.”

  “The same thing may happen to the cur now. I’m quite sure Cinaed and Niall and Blair—and Searc as well—would fight one another to be the one putting a bullet between the eyes of this man. You know how highly they all value you.”

  Blair would kill without asking why, but the others would need to know the reason. Hurrying toward the tower rooms with Isabella beside her, Morrigan’s mind was on Aidan. His future was being shaped in this moment. The hopes of so many rested on his shoulders. She didn’t want to compromise him.

  But how could this Baker know about her connection with Aidan? She supposed that anyone who’d seen them together at the Samhain celebration would suspect they had an attachment.

  The letter burned her fingers. Nothing was simple. There’d be no quick end to this. If Baker’s account was made public, there would be no mention of how young she’d been at the time. They’d print the lies and say she was an incestuous siren and seducer. She thought of the caricatures of Madam Laborde. They drew attention, regardless of the fact that they were lies and fabrications. Would there be caricatures of this? How low would they stoop in depicting such a vile event? Tears blurred her vision, and she brushed them away discreetly.

  “Whatever it is, however this needs to be resolved, I’m beside you,” Isabella said as they reached Wemys’s room. “I’ll help you, however you see fit.”

  Her heart ached. Morrigan thought she’d closed the door on what had been done to her. She wanted to let him die, put the mess behind her, and look to the future. But the door had been once again kicked open. She was exposed, vulnerable. There was no escape. His viciousness would outlive him.

  They passed over the threshold, but she wouldn’t venture in too far. Isabella spoke to the servant who’d been watching Wemys, and the woman quietly slipped out.

  The emaciated skeleton of a body was all that remained under the blanket. He was far weaker than the last time she’d seen him. His breathing was labored and erratic, and his mouth moved as if to gulp at the air.

  Morrigan watched Isab
ella go to the bedside. She closed her eyes as she tried to clear her thoughts and decide what she had to do.

  Paying Baker wasn’t the answer. Killing him was at best a temporary solution. Someone like him would no doubt have put in place the threat of others to step in with accusations of murder if he didn’t return from the arranged meeting.

  She didn’t want to hurt the people she loved. Morrigan didn’t want what little peace they had to be taken from them. She didn’t want to put their lives at risk on her behalf. What if she went away? With her gone, there would be no connection that could harm Aidan at least. He had the most to lose. When Isabella and Maisie and Morrigan left Edinburgh, they’d been going to Halifax in Canada in order to disappear and start a new life. What if she did that on her own?

  She hesitated. This was exactly what her father had done. He’d taken her and run away.

  She watched Isabella check on Wemys.

  “He’s due to have more laudanum,” she said as she came back to Morrigan. “But I’ll not give him any until he awakens and you speak to him.”

  Morrigan had thought a weapon in her hand could protect her. What she needed more at this moment was a clear, strong mind. She needed a strategy to beat rogues like Baker and Wemys at their own twisted game. She sat on a bench by the window, and Isabella sat beside her.

  Time ticked slowly by. Isabella refused to leave, even when Morrigan suggested it.

  “I failed to be there for you for those first six years when you were in my life. But no more.”

  Morrigan felt herself once again able to breathe as the other woman’s arm slipped around her. Mother, sister, friend—Isabella was all of those things to her and more. And right now, it was good to know she wasn’t alone.

  How long they waited, she wasn’t sure. But eventually Wemys became more restless. Weak coughs bubbled up, and bloody froth formed at the corners of his mouth. Morrigan waited a while longer until the man’s eyes opened. It took a few moments for him to focus on her. When he did, a tear ran down his face. His expression reflected fear and defeat and sadness.