Beloved Imposter (37 page)

“You knew about the betrothal between the earl and my cousin.”

“I heard. I could scarcely believe it. Felicia is no’ a beauty but she could marry much better.” Cameron’s gaze found his. “I would not be surprised if she had run to the Macleans herself. With my daughter’s help.”

Jamie did not say anything.

“I know my daughter,” Cameron said. “She is shy and even timid at times, but she would do anything for someone she cared about.” He paused, then asked, “Would you?”

So he was not so sure after all about his future son-in-law’s motives.

“Aye,” Jamie replied. “I hope so.”

“Then if you need assistance, come to me.”

They finished the meal in silence, Jamie mulling over what had been said, the offer of assistance. He knew the Cameron chief and had always liked him, but the man usually faded away beside Angus Campbell. Now he wondered if he had underestimated him.

Jamie left and started for the tavern where Lachlan stayed. He had not gone far when unease crawled up his spine. He looked around. The road was nearly empty of both people and conveyances. He was sure, though, that some noise or movement awakened his senses.

He could not go to Lachlan’s tavern now. Not if there was the slightest chance that he was being followed.

He turned down another street and walked briskly to another tavern and went inside. It was not crowded. He took a chair against a wall, where he could watch the door, and ordered a tankard of ale.

When it came, he took a sip and almost spat it out. It was the worst he had tasted.

Two men entered, their eyes sidling around the room. They were dressed roughly, and one had a scar above his eyes. Both were armed. They sat at a table and ordered ale.

Jamie finished his ale and ordered another, raising his voice slightly to fake drunkenness. He drank it quickly, tossed a coin at the man who owned the establishment, stood, and strode to the door. Once outside, he hurried down the road until he found an alley. He entered it and backed up to the building. The walls were dark with smoke from peat fires, and he wore a dark mantle. Even if someone peered in, they would have difficulty seeing him.

He waited.

In minutes, he heard loud, disgusted voices. “Wher’ did ‘e go?”

“The earl will ‘ave our ‘eads.”

Jamie wanted to step out and smash their heads together. Instead, he slunk back into the blackness of the building. He had discovered what he wanted to know. He had apparently worried the Earl of Morneith. Whether the two footpads had been ordered to follow him to learn more about him, or whether they had been dispatched to kill him was the question.

The answer was not important enough to alert Morneith that he might not be the foolish, greedy man that Jamie planned to portray. Better to let the man’s lackeys make excuses for their own incompetence.

But he had learned that he would have to be very, very cautious in the future.

Chapter 25

Two days after the incident outside the tavern, Jamie dressed in one of the rooms allotted to his father at Edinburgh Castle. Frustrated that he had not received a reply from Morneith, he’d spent a restless night after returning from yet another tavern.

He was sick of spending each evening under the pretense of debauchery. He enjoyed lifting the cups with friends, but he had never liked excess. He’d been cautious about seeing Lachlan too often and had made a habit of going to several taverns.

He had not seen the two men who’d followed him that one night, but he had sensed eyes on him. Someone was obviously interested in his movements, and that someone had employed better spies. Had that person felt the two men had lost Jamie out of carelessness, or because Jamie was more than he appeared to be? He suspected Morneith had waited to meet with him until finding out as much as possible.

As if he had mentally summoned the earl, a servant knocked, entered, and handed Jamie a card.

It was from Morneith.

Jamie bade the man to enter and then allowed him to stand as he finished washing. Jamie looked at himself in the mirror. He had not yet shaved and decided not to, nor did he comb his hair. He wanted to look as if he’d had a long night of drink and perhaps worse.

He poured wine from a pitcher into a goblet that sat on the table. It was an ungodly hour to drink, but good theater. Then he condescended to look at Morneith’s man, who did not quite conceal his anger.

The message was verbal.

“The Earl of Morneith would be honored to accept your invitation to sup. He suggested tonight, if that meets with your pleasure,” the emissary said. He was unexpectedly well spoken, obviously more than a footman. Was he here to weigh Jamie?

“Tell your lord that I eagerly await his presence,” Jamie said wryly. He named a late hour.

The messenger continued to hold his ground. “His lordship wanted to know if your father will be present.”

“Nay, he is suffering from gout,” Jamie replied.

“I will inform him. Thank you, my lord.”

Jamie studied him. The two who’d followed him earlier had the mark of scoundrels about them. This man looked, and sounded, more presentable, and yet there was a feral gleam in his cold, dark eyes, which lingered far too long, and familiarly, on Jamie.

Jamie did not want to be obvious in his own perusal, although his mind was quickly memorizing the man’s every feature, the clothes that proclaimed him a rank above servant. He turned his back and poured more wine into his goblet. He drank it in one long drought, then turned back as if he’d just then remembered the man.

“Are you still here?” he said carelessly. “You are dismissed.”

Swift and ugly anger filled the man’s eyes before he bowed slightly, then turned. His shoulders were rigid with insult.

Jamie smiled to himself. He had taken an intense dislike to the man, something he rarely did, particularly when he had no reason except for physical looks. There was something about his visitor, though, that raised hackles along his neck.

He placed the goblet down. The wine was thick and sweet in his throat. He was surprised to find it inferior to that which was offered him as a prisoner at Inverleith.

Jamie went to the narrow window and looked down over the courtyard. He watched as his visitor mounted a horse. No mere servant. He wished he could have asked the man’s name, but that might have been revealing. The man he wanted Morneith to believe he was would not ask a servant’s name.

He only hoped that his act was convincing. Morneith had to consider him a blackguard and reckless fool. He doubted whether he could secure an admission from him; if not, Jamie wanted to bait him into attacking him. It was risky. He knew that. And he hadn’t told his father that part of his plan. But he wanted this done, and he wanted it done quickly. He wanted to stop the siege against Inverleith and see Felicia free and safe. He wanted to hold Janet in his arms and explain everything to her.

He shaved and combed his hair. He had to learn more about Morneith’s “messenger.” But that would have to wait. More urgent matters were at hand.

Felicia walked alongside Alina, ready to steady her if she started to fall. The dog, Baron, had been left in the chamber. Felicia feared that he might trip Alina in his attempts to get as close as possible to his young mistress.

They reached the steps. Felicia suggested Alina wait there until she found someone to carry her down.

Felicia found a burly man in the great hall.

He looked at her curiously. “Ye are the Campbell wench.”

She internally winced at the word but tried not to show it outwardly. “Aye.”

“Alina is my cousin’s lass. He said ye have been good to her.”

“She is easy to be good to.”

“Aye, she is a sweet lass.” He did not say anything more but followed her up the stone steps to where Alina waited. “Want to go for a wee walk, do ye?” he said.

“Lady Felicia is taking me to see her foal.”

The man’s eyes turned to her again, then he simply nodded and picked Alina up and followed Felicia down the stairs. “I want to stop in the kitchen,” Felicia said.

She collected two carrots, gave one to Alina, and the three of them went to the stables. Felicia could not help glancing around to see whether there was any sign of Rory, even though she knew there would not be. Days had passed since the night in the nursery, and she’d had only a few glimpses of him. He had been away most of the time.

Now she understood why. Her anger was gone, lost in the stark pain she had seen in him. He had not lightly dismissed her as she had believed. He truly thought that he was doing what was best for her. Best for his clan. He was mastering his own needs for those of others.

But he did not know what was best for
her
. She would run toward a few moments of happiness, even knowing they might be of short duration. After tasting the sweetness and passion of the moments with him, she did not think she could bear to live without them. It was one thing to live without knowing love. It was another to know and lose it out of cowardice. And live with regret.

She shook the thought from her head as she led the way to the stall where the mother and offspring were stabled. The Maclean clansman held Alina so she could see the foal inside. The baby was eagerly sucking her breakfast.

“Ohhhhhh,” Alina said. “She is verra bonny.”

“Aye, she is.” Felicia held out the carrot to the mother, who accepted it daintily, then started munching.

But Alina’s eyes were drawn to the foal, which was still endearingly awkward with its long spindly legs. The foal stopped suckling and regarded the three of them with eyes that seemed too large for her head.

Alina held out her hand, and the foal took a cautious step forward, then another, until Alina could touch its velvet skin. The baby nuzzled her, pushing against the small hand.

Alina laughed. It was the first time Felicia had heard the sound. She wished with all her heart that she could tell Alina that she could ride the foal one day. She wanted to keep the family here and teach Alina to read and write, to ride. To laugh. To dance to the pipes.

She ached with the need.

She had always loved children, but she’d never felt this fierce maternal instinct before.

Alina is not mine
. She has a mother and father and brother. And even perhaps a young lad to marry someday.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Wanting was such a fierce thing. And she wanted so much. Rory. A child. No, children. She wanted to excite Alina’s natural curiosity and then nurture it in her own children.

Fiercely and with incredible pain, she realized that to stay would put Alina in harm’s way again. Alina and her family, and other families like them. Felicia really had no more choice than Rory. She knew that, and realized now what he had been trying to tell her. You cannot buy happiness with someone else’s pain.

She felt something soft nudge against her hand. She opened her eyes and looked down. The foal was nuzzling her now, as if she sensed Felicia’s distress.

She stepped back out of the way and ran into something hard. She whirled around, anticipation and joy belying that resolve.

But it wasn’t Rory. Her heart plunged as she recognized the helmet, the chain mail.

Douglas. The man who, with Archibald, had plotted to take her and bring her here.

She wondered how long he had been there.

“Milady,” he acknowledged. He looked uncomfortable.

She waited for him to continue.

“The laird said you might like to go riding. I can accompany you.”

“Where is he?”

“Patrolling, my lady.” It was obvious he planned to say no more.

She hesitated. The sun was bright, the sky a rare blue. The temperature was warm for autumn in the Highlands. She would need no cloak. She was sorely tempted. But instead she asked a question. “You did not find Lachlan or my cousin?”

“Nay. They are gone. We heard that they reached the Cameron keep and left for Edinburgh.”

“How do you know?” Relief flooded her, but uncertainty remained as well. She still could not imagine Lachlan being a traitor to the clan.

“One of our clansmen is married to a Cameron. He just returned.”

She puzzled over the news. Why would Lachlan go to Edinburgh? And Jamie? Had he gone to his father? Would he help in raising an army against Inverleith? Against Rory?

The thought was another sharp thrust inside. She still could not believe he had abandoned her, even if he realized she was in little danger from the Macleans.

“I can take Alina back,” the burly clansman next to her said.

“I do not know your name,” she said.

“Brian, milady.”

She turned to Alina. “I will see you later.”

“Can I stay here longer?”

“As long as you and Brian like,” she said.

She followed Douglas down to where the mare was already being saddled. She darted a quick glance toward him.

“Lord Rory said you would want to go,” he said.

He assisted her into the saddle, then easily swung onto his own mount.

The gate opened as they neared it, and he rode in silence. His face under the helmet was nearly invisible. She did not know what he was thinking, but she did sense he was not happy with his orders.

Even while she enjoyed being outside Inverleith and on a horse, she felt something was wrong. They rode for nearly an hour, then he turned down a path, the path that Rory had taken her once. It led to a rise, then to the sea.

As they reached the crest of the hill, she saw a ship anchored just off shore. A long boat was pulled up on the beach, and several men sat nearby.

She halted her mare and looked at her companion.

“It is Rory’s
Lady
,” he said. “He sent for it some days ago.”

That was around the time Lachlan and Jamie left. “Why?”

“It sails for France,” he said. “Rory said you wished to go there. I have a message for someone you can trust in France, as well as sufficient gold for you to take up residence.”

“What if I do not wish to go?”

“He told me about Lord Morneith,” he said. “He said you’d hope to go to France before Archibald—” He stopped abruptly, his mouth pursing into a grimace. ” ‘Tis my fault it all happened.’ I should not have encouraged Archibald with his lunatic idea.”