Amanda Scott (26 page)

Sobered, she said, “I do not expect you to, sir. Moreover, whatever the circumstance may be, I am certain the whole matter can be put right just as soon as we reach Glen Drumin and explain things to my father.”

“There is nothing to explain,” he said coldly, looking more dignified than she had thought it possible for any man to look wrapped up in a quilt.

He and James departed, and she wondered why she should feel disappointment that the problem Kate and her cohorts had created should be so easily resolved. For it would be resolved, of course, though there might be a bit more to it than Rothwell thought, since many of the people at the inn this night would be only too delighted to spread word of her so-called marriage. The thought of being married to him ought by rights to be dismaying, and was certainly not a thought over which to linger, but in her mind’s eye she could still see his smooth skin, pulled tight over muscular shoulders that proved, had she had any doubt, that his elegant coats required no padding.

She had caught more than a glimpse of shoulder, however, and she felt warmth flood her cheeks at the wish that she might have taken more leisure to look, to see what the front of him was like. She had not seen many naked men, and most of those were related to her and were much older than she, with hairy chests and backs, even hairy backsides. But Rothwell’s back had been smooth to her touch—tight, smooth, and hard with muscles. His weight on top of her had not been at all frightening after that first violent moment of waking. She would sport a few bruises from his fall though. She thought one of his elbows might have grazed a rib.

Marriage. It was not the first time the thought of it had drifted through her mind. She had assumed that one day she would marry, that her father would suggest someone or that some young man from another clan, or even her own, would come courting her. But that had been when she was younger, before the troubles. She had not thought much about marriage since the uprising, for there had been too much worry at the time, and too many difficulties afterward, including MacDrumin’s devilish whisky.

She wondered what Rothwell would think should he discover the laird’s primary source of income, especially since he liked the whisky. She had seen that much herself tonight, for Conach MacLeod, like most hosts in the area, sold only whisky purchased at prices uninflated by the wicked English duty, and to her certain knowledge, he purchased his from Andrew MacDrumin.

Despite increasing anxiety to convince Rothwell that reasons existed for actions even as unconscionable as Kate’s, she had managed to avoid any mention of whisky. Illegal production was much more prevalent in the Highlands than activities like Kate’s, and Maggie had a notion that Rothwell would be even less tolerant of smuggling than of robbery. He would no doubt threaten to hang the smugglers, too. In England criminals were no doubt hanged in vast numbers. Indeed, she knew they were, for not only had she been threatened with hanging herself but she had seen with her own eyes felons hanging in chains along the road to London.

England was a dismal place. She could not imagine living there for any length of time. She was not like Lydia or Lady Rothwell, glorying in social activities like masquerades, routs, and musical evenings, reveling in such mundane daily decisions as what to wear and how to arrange one’s hair. Not that there had not been pleasant moments. The bedchamber she had occupied had been the prettiest of its ilk that she had ever seen. For that matter, Rothwell London House was more magnificent than any house she had ever seen, even in Edinburgh. And the gowns—she regretted the fact that she had not stayed at least long enough to collect the last several being fashioned for her by Lady Rothwell’s mantua maker. Not, she thought with a sigh, that Glen Drumin was any place to wear such things. It was a pity one could not take the best of both worlds and somehow mix them into a pleasant whole. One could not, however, and lying there in bed, smelling the damp, familiar aromas of the Highlands—the pine trees, the peat, the herbal tang of plants and shrubs, even the rain hushing through foliage and pattering on the window—knowing she was nearly home again, she made up her mind that once she reached Glen Drumin, she would never leave it again.

She slept at last, and the next morning when Maria came to help her dress, she realized the woman was unaware of the events of the previous night, and was glad of it. At breakfast when Rothwell asked Conach about horses, she kept her eyes riveted to her bowl of porridge, loath to interrupt, but hoping that Conach, who seemed much more cheerful than he had the day before, would not attempt to cheat the earl, since she had told the latter at least twice that MacDrumin kept horses at the inn for the use of anyone who required one to get to Glen Drumin.

To her profound relief, Conach said civilly, “The laird keeps three here, yer lordship, and for my sins of the nicht, I’m bound tae offer ye three more. And, gin ye wish it, I’ll ha’ the rest o’ yer bags carried on tae Glen Drumin. That be fair enough, I trow, for an honest mistake. I didna ken ye was wed tae the laird’s daughter.”

Deciding the marriage business had gone far enough, and certain that Conach would be reasonable now that his temper had cooled, Maggie said, “I think perhaps you ought to know—”

“Maggie, hush,” James said with unwonted sternness, and at nearly the same moment, Rothwell held out his hand to Conach and said, “I will accept your generous offer, landlord, and I thank you for it. Chelton, collect at least a change of clothing for Mr. James and myself; and Maria, do the same for Miss … that is to say, for your mistress. We’ll use the sixth horse as a baggage pony, but we’ll not be able to carry a great deal with us, so use some judgment and work quickly. We leave as soon as the horses can be made ready.”

Obedient to the wishes of both gentlemen, Maggie held her tongue, and was not surprised when the Cheltons, to whom news of her marriage must have come as quite a shock, did likewise. Not until they were actually on the road did Maria, riding stiffly beside her with Rothwell, James, and Chelton behind, demand in much the same tone she might have used in London to know what the landlord had meant by saying Rothwell had married her.

Quietly Maggie said, “It is a simple misunderstanding, Maria. Pay it no mind.”

“But that man addressed you as his ladyship,” Maria said. “I should like to know by what cause—”

“Enough, Maria,” Rothwell said. “As Miss MacDrumin said, there has been a misunderstanding, which in view of our position as foreigners in these parts, we thought it best to leave alone.”

Maria sniffed. “No doubt a wise decision, my lord, for it is a barbarous land peopled with barbarous folk and not fit for persons of consequence.”

Chelton said, “His lordship did not request your opinion, Maria. He’ll be better pleased if you hold your tongue.”

Seeing Maria’s painful flush, Maggie snapped her mouth shut on the rebuke she had been about to utter herself, and even felt a stab of pity for the woman.

A moment later Rothwell said in his customary, placid tone, “Fall back and ride with Chelton, Maria, and see what you can do to soothe his temper. I want to ride with Miss MacDrumin.”

Maria did not look at all pleased by the request, but she did as she was bid, and as Rothwell brought his bay horse alongside Maggie’s gray, he said, “You may instruct me, Miss MacDrumin. I am rapidly learning that you were quite right to take me to task for my ignorance about my Scottish estate. Is this dreadful specimen truly one of Wade’s roads?”

“It is,” she said, grateful for his matter-of-fact tone, “and it will get a good deal worse before it gets better.” The river Spey, swollen from the recent rains, flowed swiftly past on their left, and the area around them was lushly green, but the mountain pass ahead rose all the more starkly because of that. “The road took six months to build,” she told him. “It was built when I was three, so I cannot tell you much about that, but Papa remembers it vividly. They used it to transport troops and artillery from Stirling to Fort Augustus.”

“Surely that cannot be right,” Rothwell said, frowning. “To transport artillery means using wheeled vehicles.”

“But they did,” she assured him. “General Wade himself drove over it with his officers in a carriage drawn by six horses, all the way to the summit and down the other side. It is still possible to take two-wheeled carts over the road, but most folks prefer to walk rather than chance a runaway carriage.”

“Why has it not been better cared for?”

With a wry grin, she said, “Do you think we wanted it, sir? Not only was it an unwarranted intrusion into our midst but an inconvenience as well. Our horses are not generally shod, you see, and the gravel whetted away their hooves, rendering them unserviceable. For that matter, many of our people do not wear shoes. Clambering over river stones is nothing to them, but gravel is intolerable to their naked feet. And this track has been used by cattle drovers for over a hundred years. The gravel wore down the beasts’ feet, and they too had to be shod. Which all goes to show,” she added bitterly, “that we ought to have a Scottish king who would understand such things about us.”

“Neither your bonnie prince nor his father fit that qualification,” he said, but his tone was matter-of-fact, not argumentative. “Not only can they know little about your troubles, despite the young Pretender’s sojourn in these mountains, but they are Catholic. Perhaps you do not understand the importance of that fact, but—”

“Don’t patronize me, Rothwell,” she snapped. “I know about your Act of Settlement. It was passed by the English Parliament, never by the Scottish.”

“Here, you two,” James said, urging his horse up on Maggie’s other side, though the road was scarcely wide enough to accommodate three abreast, “no wars today. Look at this splendid scenery instead. By old Harry, it’s enough to turn me into a landscape painter. And at least, ahead, with loose scree above us and a sheer wall of solid granite below, we need not fear being attacked by wild men and thieves, leaping at us from the shrubbery. Isn’t that right, Ned?”

Maggie opened her mouth to tell him what she thought of such nonsense but shut it again when she saw the amused twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose you think that observation a humorous one,” she said, “and I suppose you believe, too, that women ought not to discuss politics. You will soon learn, sir, that Scottish women discuss many things that properly bred Englishwomen do not. We have no good opinion of English government for one thing, and reason is on our side. Your Act of Union was no more than a political move to abolish the Scottish Parliament and our Privy Council, and the result, as anyone of sense would have known, has been total rule from London, which no one in Scotland wants.”

“Perfectly understandable, too,” James said. The road had begun to rise sharply, and he let his mount fall a little behind theirs. But still apparently determined to keep the conversation on harmless topics, he demanded identification of every bird, plant, and animal he spied, exclaiming in delight when a huge osprey plunged to the river to catch its dinner.

His efforts were admirable, but it was not long before a chance remark of Rothwell’s stirred Maggie’s temper and she accused him of refusing even to try to understand the Scots.

Exasperated, James said tartly, “As I recall the matter from my history lessons, ma’am, nearly as many persons in Scotland as in England advocated passage of the Act of Union.”

“True,” Rothwell said, but Maggie saw that he was watching her expectantly, his look one that might have been respect.

“Because we were supposed to gain by it,” she snapped. “Instead we have endured oppressive taxes and a government over which we have no control.”

“And so,” Rothwell said, “the Highlanders make their own rules and conduct their own affairs without regard for the laws that govern the rest of the country.”

“But that has always been our way,” Maggie said. “We were isolated from everyone else for so long that we learned to build on our personal loyalties and traditions, and that has been our way since long before England even had a government, sir. Our civilization was already old when the Romans invaded Britain.”

“That does not mean your way is the only way,” he replied, and his calm incensed her all the more, since it seemed to her that he was now dismissing her arguments as he would those of a child. He said, “As I pointed out in a previous discussion, it is not we English who are forcing all the changes here.”

“You are quite impossible, Rothwell. You are so all-knowing, so superior in your English sense of rectitude. It is a pity that I am too much of a lady to slap some sense into you.”

“You are welcome to try if you like, but I must warn you that although I allowed it once, I am not likely to let such behavior become a habit with you.”

She stared at him, caught the glitter in his eyes, and a shivery chill swept through her body. The desire to slap him vanished like smoke in the wind.

James chuckled. “I don’t advise violent action, ma’am. Ned may look like a fop, but he is quite able to defend himself.”

Dragging her gaze from Rothwell, she managed to smile at James and said, “Fine words from you, sir, or do you believe violence should be solely reserved for men to use against women?”

“I?” James looked surprised. “Why are you attacking me? I am not a violent man.”

“Are you not? What about what you did to poor Kate?”

“Poor Kate, is it? That was not violence, ma’am, that was well-merited punishment. Your precious Kate was scarcely an innocent victim. The little vixen aimed a pistol at me and spat in my face. If she had been a man, I’d have done worse than put her over my knee, so she ought to count her blessings.”

Since Maggie did not feel that she could defend Kate’s actions, she was glad when Rothwell suggested just then that they dismount and walk the horses for a time. The mountains around them looked blue in the shrouding mist, but they could see Ben Nevis, rising above the rest.

Though they soon remounted, their pace remained slow because of the very steep incline, and became slower when Maria’s mount cast a shoe and she was forced either to walk or to ride pillion with Chelton. Maggie had noted by then that the increasing height of the road and the frequent sheer drops were making Maria excessively nervous, so she made no effort to urge her to move more quickly.