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“You’re here to witness me crossing over.”
“No.” She handed him the letter. “This arrived today.”
Perhaps it was the time she’d spent with Isabella. Maybe it was the knowledge that Wemys was dying. Or acknowledging to herself that she was a fighter. Whatever it was, a sense of calm possessed her that struck her as surprising, if not miraculous. For the first time in her life, Morrigan was above the chaos, observing events dispassionately. She was in control, capable of taking the time to think and make decisions. Aidan’s strategy had been to use this man’s testimony to counter the government’s charges against the Chattan brothers. The thought occurred to her that perhaps she could get him to leave behind a letter, a document that stated what he’d done to her. There would be no secrets to expose then. Everyone would know the truth.
But did she have the strength to face this scandal here in Scotland? To fight this ongoing evil that haunted her? Or should she run? Even as the question crossed her mind, Isabella appeared at her side and took her hand.
Morrigan knew the answer before the complete thought formed. She would stay. She would fight. That was who she was.
The simple task of holding up the paper to his eyes took great effort. His hand shook. She watched his face as he read it. Finally, Wemys let the missive drop.
Morrigan picked it up. “How? How could Baker know? What are the lies you told him?”
He closed his eyes and tried to force air into his wasted lungs. Finally, he managed to get out a few hoarse words.
“That letter in your hand. It’s not from Baker. He’s just a tool. A messenger. Burney is behind this.”
Morrigan felt the ground tilt under her. “How could Burney know what you did to me?”
He averted his gaze. He couldn’t look at her. “Your father came looking for me. I was hiding in Baker’s rooms. In Perth. He left a letter. He threatened to kill me for … for what I’d done to you.”
Morrigan thought about her father leaving and going back to Perth. He’d packed his pistol. She was certain he would have killed Wemys if he’d found him.
“Baker had me confess what I’d done. He stole your father’s letter and later gave it to Burney.”
“Why?”
“We both went to work for him not long after. Burney collected information on everyone. He paid well for anything he could use against his enemies.”
He coughed so violently that for a moment Morrigan thought he’d never take another breath. It took a few moments to recover.
“That is Burney’s way. He ferrets out secrets, then twists them, creates scandal where there is none. That’s how he gets people to work for him. And keep working.” Wemys fought to take in air. “The old fox is using it now to get at you. He’s created a story so shocking that it ruins you and everyone around you before you have a chance to explain. But all of it is a test. He’s waiting to see how you react. If you pay, he knows he has you.”
“And if I don’t pay?”
“He still has you.”
Morrigan thought of the caricatures. Could she live with herself if her likeness was at the center of one of those flyers pasted to so many walls?
“Beat him at his own game.” Wemys groaned in pain. He was growing weaker. “He’s thrown you a line. Grab hold of it. Yank the fox out of his hole. These Mackintoshes will know what to do with him.”
She had so many questions now. She wanted to know as much about Burney as she could learn. Wemys talked to her. He told her what he could remember until he could go on no longer.
Isabella gave him another dose of laudanum to lessen his pain. The two women stayed at his bedside as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
Then, at sunset, he stopped breathing altogether.
CHAPTER 25
AIDAN
Brandenburgh House
Hammersmith, England
The drawing room of the queen’s residence on the outskirts of London was decorated appropriately with gold brocade curtains, Persian carpets, and Sheraton furniture of an earlier generation. Her defiant nature, however, was evident in a trio of Scottish Robert Adam chairs by the fireplace and the conspicuous display of Italian landscape paintings on the walls. In the eyes of the nation, she’d been absolved of her alleged love affair with Count Bergami, but she was not about to hide behind any pretense for her visitors. Aidan heard there was even a rumor circulating that she might publish a memoir.
Queen Caroline’s trial in the House of Lords was behind her, but it was clear to Aidan that she knew her battles were not. As she stood by the window, she pointed out five places on the street beyond the wrought-iron fence.
“For a week, the good tradesmen of this village built celebratory bonfires out there, Mr. Grant.” The queen turned her dark eyes in his direction and gestured to Henry Brougham, who stood by the fireplace. “My good friend here tells me the king was furious about the people’s happiness over my vindication.”
“It was very gratifying, Your Majesty, to see the country rejoice at your triumph,” Brougham responded.
The queen waved him off. “Though it would have been even more gratifying to see Lord Liverpool’s government fall and throw all of those scoundrels out, starting with that weasel, Lord Sidmouth.”
“Indeed, ma’am. The Director of the Home Office has been entirely too independent, I’d say.”
She turned to Aidan. “But I’m told Sidmouth and his pack of backbiting curs have been subject to your lash in Inverness, Mr. Grant. You outsmarted Sir Rupert Burney. Well done.”
Aidan bowed slightly. “Thank you, Your Majesty. But it was a minor skirmish.”
“Don’t understate your victory. And don’t underestimate the lengths they’ll go to repay you for their humiliation.” She looked at her lawyer. “We know that our enemies here will not rest until they’ve roasted us on bonfires of their own. Isn’t that true, Mr. Brougham?”
“Quite true, ma’am.”
The queen was a petite and energetic woman, and Aidan felt the same magnetic quality about her that one felt in the presence of Cinaed, her son. They both had a charisma that kept a person’s attention on them. He couldn’t help but think that Queen Caroline was a force that the king clearly felt he could not compete with. Rightfully so.
“Prinny’s efforts to cast me off, however, have also brought out some unexpected friends.” She gestured to the gilded, upholstered chairs by the fireplace, and the three of them sat. “That is the reason I asked Brougham to bring you to London. I’ve learned that even my own household cannot be trusted with secrets.”
“I’m at your service, ma’am,” Aidan told her.
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. And I know you can be trusted. I have a task of the greatest importance I’d like you to undertake.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair for a moment. “The king’s younger brother William paid me a visit during the trial. Under cover of darkness, of course. Still, having the Duke of Clarence here in my drawing room was a kindness I’ll not forget.”
Her eyes wandered momentarily to the brightly colored painting of an Italian villa in summer. The scene was remarkable in itself, but even more so contrasted with the grey London winter outside the windows of Brandenburgh House. A reminder of sunnier days, Aidan thought.
“He and his wife, Adelaide, were the only ones in the family who sent condolences to me in Italy upon the passing of my daughter Charlotte.”
Perhaps not altogether sunnier days. As Aidan considered her words, it occurred to him that in communicating with her, the Duke of Clarence was showing evidence of character that his older brothers lacked. The king had spent a life of dissipation and the Duke of York, the heir-apparent, was by all accounts eating and drinking himself into an early grave as well.
She was silent for a moment, but she rallied immediately. “William knows about my son Cinaed.”
After her clandestine trip to the Highlands, rumors began to circulate widely, so knowledge of her connection with the son of Scotland w
as hardly surprising. Aidan sensed that the whole nation knew of it.
“Clarence was very interested to learn more about him—specifically, what his intentions are regarding the future of the Highlands.”
Of course, he would be interested, Aidan thought. The Duke of Clarence was a Hanover and third in line for the Crown. The son of Scotland was a threat to them all.
“I answered none of his questions. But when I asked if he would consider meeting with Cinaed, he was extremely eager.”
Aidan couldn’t help but glance at Brougham. The importance of such an event was not lost on him.
“Many believe that Clarence will be king. It’s unlikely that either of his brothers will be producing legitimate offspring. The king will not, I promise you, unless he murders me. Which is quite possible, of course.” She held Aidan’s gaze. She was in deadly earnest. “But the point is that the duke knows it is in his and the Crown’s interest to forge better connections with the north. He told me, confidentially, that he felt the government has failed miserably in its responsibilities toward Scotland.”
The queen stood and the men did, as well.
“Clarence has agreed to meet with Cinaed. You, Mr. Grant, must make it happen.”
CHAPTER 26
MORRIGAN
Two letters came from Aidan on the same day, and they couldn’t have arrived at a better time. He’d written them more than a week apart, and Morrigan felt her spirits rising before she even broke the seals.
The first letter contained, for the most part, news of his travels. Writing from Edinburgh, Aidan told her about a court case he’d won and mentioned the mutual friends the two of them shared. The city was still seething with rebellious spirit and anger against the Crown. Without changing the seriousness of his tone, he went on to tell her that he’d visited the bookshops by St. Giles’s. He’d purchased some volumes that he was having shipped to Dalmigavie. The title of one in particular was of great importance. It was “a philosophical tract on romance entitled Love And Madness. A Story Too True. In A Series Of Letters Between Parties Whose Names Would Perhaps Be Mentioned Were They Less Well Known Or Less Lamented.” He closed his letter with a postscript saying that his brother wanted to be remembered to her.
The second letter came from London. He’d been called there on business with Henry Brougham, who was the current focus of popular adulation following his victory in Parliament over the foes of the queen. Morrigan couldn’t help but smile when he told her that a bookseller in Bond Street had sold him a political pamphlet of critical importance that he would be bringing back to the Highlands personally, since the mail service was far too unreliable. The title of the book was Who Is The Bridegroom? Or, Nuptial Discoveries. In his postscript he regretted to inform her that he’d been forced to murder his brother Sebastian after a period of intense provocation. Aidan was not at liberty to divulge the crux of the matter, however.
That same day, she had to head down to go meet with her would be blackmailer.
The moss-covered hunting lodge was ancient, but it was still an impressive building. Morrigan had stopped here once before, en route to Inverness when a cart horse had gone lame. Just a short ride from the road, the lodge was isolated enough for this meeting with Baker, but safe enough for her. This was still Mackintosh land, and she knew there were watchful eyes on her as she rode into the clearing that looked out toward the sparkling river in the distance and the glen.
By a tumbledown stable, a nervous little man in a thick woolen coat and tam stood beside his horse. Even as she approached, it was obvious he was shivering. She wondered if it was caused by the chill wind or fear.
Morrigan reined in her mare a dozen paces from him. She didn’t dismount. “Baker?”
He removed his hat and held it into his chest and nodded. “Aye, mistress. Kenneth Baker.”
“You sent me a letter.”
For the first time, Morrigan had a clear look at him, noting the blotchy skin and red nose. Rather than looking steadily at her, his eyes darted nervously toward the path leading from the road. He appeared to be expecting a wild boar to rush out from the bushes at any moment and tear him apart, or a band of Mackintosh fighters. He pulled his tam back onto his head.
“I did, mistress.”
“You asked for money.”
“Aye. A hundred pounds. It said so in the letter.”
“Do you get to keep the money, or do you have to give all of it to him?”
Baker stared at her, slow to comprehend what she was saying. “Give it all to who, mistress?”
“You know who. Sir Rupert Burney. Or do his henchmen take it from you? A bunch of rogues and thieves. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He started saying something—his first impulse being denial—but he sputtered and backtracked and stuttered. Morrigan interrupted him. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ll not be played for a fool, Baker, not by you or your master.” She didn’t wait for him to pile on more lies. “You will take a message for me. Tell him I wish to keep my past private.”
Baker scrunched up his face, staring at the ground between them, and Morrigan knew this meeting was not going as he thought it would.
“Then pay the hundred pounds, miss,” he said hopefully, though it sounded more like a question.
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t have access to that kind of money here in the Highlands. Sir Rupert should know this. And I’m not willing to ask anyone at Dalmigavie Castle for it, since your lies are the very thing I would not care for them to hear.”
Baker straightened. He apparently felt he was moving onto more solid ground. “That sounds like a hard place you’re finding yourself in.”
“Not as hard a place you are in.”
“What do you mean, mistress?”
“I want the letter you gave Sir Rupert. My father’s letter.”
The man stared, knocked off balance again.
“I know you got it from Wemys, and I want it back.” Morrigan spat out the words. “This is not about a paltry hundred pounds. Your master needs to tell me exactly what he wants in return.”
“I don’t know, mistress. This ain’t what he said … this is too…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe you should talk to him yourself.”
“I’ll do that.” She leaned forward in her saddle. “I’d have talked to him today if he had the bollocks to come himself. And you can tell him that too.”
Baker’s eyes widened at her words. “He’d never come.” He glanced around him at the meadow and the surrounding forest. “It’s not safe here.”
“Exactly right. And yet he can send you. Look around you. You’re on Mackintosh land. Do you know what the laird’s men would do to a dog like you? Especially after I tell them Sir Rupert sent you?” She paused, letting her words sink in.
He edged closer to his horse.
“They’d string you up from the castle walls at Dalmigavie. You’d end up as food for their pigs. How does it feel to be expendable?”
“Not good.” He was paler than when first she arrived. “But Sir Rupert won’t be happy, miss. I had my instructions. I wrote the letter. You were to pay. And then he’d tell me what to do next. Maybe if you come back with me?”
“A helpless maiden like me?” she scoffed. “It’d hardly be safe for me, would it?”
He at least had the decency to shake his head. “Nay, miss.”
“He’s a villain. You know it. I know it. But we both know that neither you nor I can beat him.”
“True, miss.”
Morrigan watched him glance nervously at the road again. She guessed Burney wasn’t the only one Baker was afraid of. He could already feel the Mackintosh rope around his neck.
“Very well, Baker. This is what I want you to do. Go back to Sir Rupert and give him my regards. Tell him I have no money. At the same time, I want no bad blood between us. And I want my father’s letter.”
Baker shook his head. “I’m telling you, miss, he won’t
be happy. Not happy at all. This won’t come out well, not for you nor me. Sir Rupert likes to have his plans followed, just as he lays them out.”
Morrigan wondered how many entrapment schemes Baker had been involved in over the years. According to Wemys, the man had successfully led a half-dozen unsuspecting reform groups into snares of Sir Rupert’s design. He seemed too simple. Perhaps that was his charm, though. That and following Sir Rupert’s instructions precisely.
“The world is not a happy place. Is it, Baker?” Morrigan reached in her pocket and took out a letter. She held it out to him. “This will make him feel much better.”
His face clouded over with suspicion, and he squirmed. “Is this for me?”
“It’s for Sir Rupert. For him only.”
Morrigan waited until the lackey mustered enough courage to take the letter from her hand. He retreated quickly.
“What’s inside will prove my value and worth. It conveys to him my willingness to cooperate in exchange for my father’s note. Trust me, he’ll be satisfied.”
Morrigan didn’t wait for a response. She turned her horse and started back to Dalmigavie.
In her letter to Burney, she was providing him with valuable information—the location in Maggot Green of a warehouse containing a stockpile of weapons that disappeared from a British shipment about a year ago.
As Cinaed and Niall always reminded her, sometimes you had to lose a small battle to win the war.
CHAPTER 27
AIDAN
A letter from Morrigan had been waiting for him when he returned to Edinburgh from London. Her tone had been cordial. She’d found a well-read volume in the library that he needed to read, study, and commit to memory on his return to Dalmigavie. The title was The Fault Was All His Own. In A Series Of Letters. By A Lady. In her postscript she stated her absolute faith in Sebastian’s recuperative abilities.
Winter had the Highlands firmly in its grip when Aidan and Sebastian returned to Dalmigavie. As the two men approached the castle the day before Hogmanay, a heavy snow blanketed the village. Regardless of the weather, Aidan’s heart warmed at the thought that Morrigan was safe here within these walls.