DARE THE WILD WIND (22 page)

"No matter how many perish?"     

Cumberland
knocked the silver and gold goblet violently from the table beside him.  "My father the King was far too easy with the Jacobites after the 'Fifteen.  I mean to see to it no Scot raises a hand against the Crown again."

Their eyes locked for a second.  William Augustus was the most brilliant soldier Drake had fought under, as shrewd about human weaknesses as he was about strategy.  And utterly without principle.  It had been lunacy to try to sway him.

"Sir, I make no claim to the r
ight to dictate royal policy," he gritted out with difficulty.  "But I ask your indulgence.  I've been in Scotland too long.  Allow me to return to England."

Cumberland
's corpulent face was unreadable until he spoke.  "Very well, Stratford, if you've sickened of this business.  But don't think you've ended your service with me.  I'll call on you again when I need you, and I trust I'll have no sentimentality from you about our enemies in the field."

Drake bowed, g
rateful for the Duke's assent. "I'm first and last a soldier, Your Highness.  And always ready to do service to the Crown
.” 

Chapter
14

"Whatever you do, Geoffrey mustn't discover your plan."

Brenna knew Eleanore Wittworth didn't speak idly.  If Lord Wittworth discovered what they intended, he would pack them personally back to Lochmarnoch. 

After a day
long foray into Inverness to find out what he could, Geoffrey Wittworth had arrived at the gates of the estate late last night.  And called Brenna and Fenella into Redstone's downstairs drawing room, where Eleanore sat waiting on one of the striped silk settees.

"Both y
our young men are alive," he said, dispensing with a greeting.  "And I have the assurance of a reliable source that Lord MacCavan is demonstrating remarkable powers of recuperation."

A dizzy wave of relief washed over Brenna.  Fever and festering wounds killed more men than sword and shot, and she had fought the constant fear
Cam's wound had been left untended.

"What of Iain?" Fenella broke in, forgetting the difference in rank th
at had kept her silent till now in Wittworth's presence. 

Letting out a tired sound, he crossed the room to the great hearth, and rested a delicate fine
  boned hand on the garland friezed mantel.  Ringing a balding pate, Geoffrey had a flyaway fringe of wispy brown hair rapidly going white, and in the snug silk stockings rolled over the knees of his breeches, his legs were spindly as a sparrows's.  His diminutive frame and the plump belly that strained at the buttons of his waistcoat might have lent him a comic air, but his eyes were a shrewd slate gray, and they met Fenella's reluctantly but squarely. 

"He was trapped under his horse when it fell.  He has a broken leg and hip, and he took a shot through the neck."

Fenella's pale face looked bloodless for a second.

"Not the kind that's ordinarily fatal," he added quietly.  "But, at present, he's more of an invalid than Lord MacCavan."

"Will we be able to see them?" Brenna asked quickly.

He shook his head.  "There isn't any possibility of that."

"But, Geoffrey, surely there must be a way," Eleanore put in.  "Lady Brenna and Miss Strath have taken considerable risks to follow these two young men from
Culloden Moor."

"Regrettably, there isn't.  The best consolation I can offer is that both men received medical attention aboard ship."

Brenna gave thanks for that much.  "There must be someone with the power to arrange it."

Geoffrey drew a shallow uncomfortable breath.

"Only one man close to
Cumberland would have heard you out in the cause of a Scot.  And the Earl of Stratford is gone."

Brenna stiffened.  Drake Seton was the last man she could go to, the last man to grant her any favor.  She could picture the pleasure the Earl had taken in ordering
Cam into irons.  If he had boarded a ship for England, she heartily wished it would sink.

"There must be someone else," she floundered, desperate.  "A man of your influence  must have other connections."     

"You overestimate my importance," he said in an abrupt testy tone that silenced her.  Then he recovered his dignity.  "I apologize to you both.  I'm afraid I've found it difficult to tell you the rest."  Lord Wittworth's glance moved from Brenna's face to Fenella's, and Brenna's throat constricted.

"Lord MacCavan and his cou
sin were taken aboard the
Hornet
two days ago.  It sailed last night with the tide."

Brenna's heart plummeted. 
Cam was gone, already somewhere at sea.  The Rebels would be tried in London, where the Duke of Cumberland could expect British juries to be far less fainthearted in condemning captured Scots.

"They can't mean to try them all," Brenna said in disbelief, her voice strange and thin in her ears.  He agreed.

"One would think there are too many to put in the dock.  But they fought against the King, and the Crown regards that as treason."

It was the one word Brenna had refused to think or speak.  It carried a penalty for
Cam she couldn't bear to acknowledge.

"I know
Cam's estate may be forfeit to the Crown," she managed, stubborn denial in her voice.  "That he might even be transported."

"If  he's fortunate.  This won't be like the 'Fifteen.  There won't be any Act of Grace to pardon this crop of Rebels."    

The warning chilled Brenna. 

"But surely if the clans lay down their arms...?"  Eleanore cut in before Brenna could speak.

Geoffrey sent his wife a softer look, but his words were candid.  "They no longer have the luxury of that gesture.  They're defeated
, utterly at the mercy of Cumberland's army."

"Then what purpose does it serve to try them?" Brenna flashed in sudden anger.  "Why not simply parole them on an oath of loyalty to the King, and let them return home?"

"To fight again, if the Pretender isn't caught?"  Lord Witt
worth shook his head.  "His Majesty and the Duke mean to drill a very harsh lesson into the Scots. 

"The Rebel  leaders will bear the brunt of the King's wrath.  Cameron MacCavan is the chief of his clan, and his cousin was his second
in command.  I can't encourage the hope in either of you that they'll get off lightly.”

*****

Brenna refused to slink back to Lochmarnoch in defeat.  But with their hopes so slender, she knew she had to try to persuade Fenella to turn back. 

"I know how strict your father can be," she said when they returned to her room in the seaward wing of the house.  "But if you go back now, it's still possible he'll take you in."

"And if I don't, he may
disown me?" Fenella finished.  "Do you really think I'm such a coward?  That Iain means less to me than being safe under my father's roof?"

Brenna knew going on would cut her last tie to her own life at Lochmarnoch.  But there was one difference between her and Fenella.  Despite his rigid views and sermons, Andrew Strath loved his daughter.  And Brenna could promise Fenella very little once they reached the limits of Fiona Dalmoral's small legacy. 

She forced herself to speak plainly.  "What if
Cam and Iain are transported?  And we have no way to follow them?"

Fenella's face told Brenna she knew what it would mean to be alone in a foreign and hostile country.  The Rising would make them unwelcome and despised in
London.

"I'll make my way somehow, with your help or without it," she said quietly. 

Brenna responded with a rueful laugh.  "A great deal of help I'll be.  Malcolm will be pleased to forget he ever had a sister."

"Then we'll be in the same straits," Fenella told her.

They debated whether to take Eleanore Wittworth into their confidence.  In the end they knew they owed her that much.  Brenna found Eleanore in her boudoir sitting room.

"You're quite mad.  Two women traveling alone in times like these?  Either of you would be enough temptation for the most civilized of men.  You may never reach
London."

Brenna lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal her sheathed dirk.  "I won't go unarmed."

Eleanore recoiled in surprise, then let out a half
unnerved laugh.  "I see you are a Scot.  Do even the women do battle?"

"If we must," Brenna told her.

"What have I done, encouraging you in this?" Eleanore asked with a visible pang of guilt.  "Fenella has far less to risk than you in an escapade like this.  You stand to lose your reputation and your position in society, every privilege of your title."

"I don't care about society or my title," Brenna shot back.  "I only want to go to
Cam."

In the end, Eleanore saw she couldn't sway Brenna's resolve. 

"Very well."  She rose from the lacily carved walnut chair by her cloisonned dressing table.  "If I can't change your mind, I suppose I'm obliged to give you what help I can.  But on one condition.  Geoffrey mustn't know.  He can be quite protective, and he considers both of you his responsibility until you're safely home."

"What will he do when he discovers you've helped us go?" Brenna asked, pricked by her conscience.

"Beat
me, of course," Eleanore repressed a bubbling laugh at Brenna's expression.  "Dear child, he's never lifted a hand to me.  Geoffrey will huff and puff, and forgive me in the morning.  A dash of contrary behavior is the spice in any marriage    I highly recommend it to keep any husband's respect."

In spite of herself, Brenna couldn't suppress the start of a smile.  "You seem to deal very well together."

Eleanore's brown eyes sparkled, and her mouth dimpled into her sudden brilliant smile.  "Geoffrey was the best bargain of my life, and he spoils me scandalously.  But he can be quite the bear if anyone else crosses him.  That's why you'll need to do exactly as I say."

As soon as Geoffrey's mounted figure disappeared past the gates of the estate the next morning, Eleanore called for a team from the stables and ordered them driven to the nearest coaching inn outside Nairn.  Journeying overland to
England would be far too slow.  From Nairn, they would make directly for Aberdeen, where they could find passage to London.  With Malcolm and many of the Dalmorals' neighbors in Inverness, Aberdeen was the nearest seaport where Brenna and Fenella could safely seek to board a ship.

At Lady Wittworth's suggestion, Fenella would travel in the guise of Brenna's maid.  Their plaids and the gowns they had worn on their trek from Lochmarnoch tucked inside two portmanteaus Eleanore insisted they carry, they said their goodbyes.

"You've done
more for us than anyone has a right to ask," Brenna said, surprised to feel a twinge of regret at leaving this Englishwoman who had become such an unlikely friend.

"Nonsense," Eleanore told her, her own expression betraying the same emotion, though she was too matter
of fact to admit it.  

"You can hardly travel without bag
gage, and the few extra things my maid slipped inside will serve to give them a little weight."

Then, to Brenna's surprise, she quickly embraced and released her.  "Take these letters."

Eleanore gave Brenna a note and a stiff, folded sheet address
ed in her own hand.  Each was sealed with a crimson dollop of wax, stamped with the Wittworth coat of arms. 

"The note is for my housekeeper on
Grosvenor Square.  I've instructed her to make you comfortable in our townhouse there."  She indicated the larger missive. 

"Use this if it's of any help wherever your young men are taken."  She went on, regret in her voice.  "I'm sorry it can't be more.  It's only a request to hear you out as a favor to Lord Wittworth and to me." 

She made a small, unrepentant face at wielding Geoffrey's name without his consent.  "Above all, use it if you find yourself in an uncomfortable situation.  You're still a Scotswoman, and after what we've seen of the army's behavior, you may need to prove you have friends at court."

Eleanore's meaning was clear.  A claim of kinship to a loyal Scottish baron would stand her in far less stead than a connection to members of the English nobility.  A testimony of friendship could well cause the Wittworths undue displeasure from the Crown, but Brenna knew refusing Eleanore's gesture would insult her.

She accepted the letters with a grateful squeeze of the other woman's hand.  "I'll never forget you."

"It's hardly likely I'll forget either you or Fenella," Eleanore responded in a deliberately dry tone.  She signaled to the footman to help Brenna up into the coach.  "Now go.  And Godspeed."

             
                                                                        *****