Chapter 5
ELEANOR AND HANNAH were left alone in the stable, which was nothing more than a long shed partitioned into four compartments.
They’d have to sleep on a pile of hay with two smelly horse blankets for warmth.
It wasn’t loathsome to them.
Many were the nights when, by choice, they slept with the horses back at Ingledew.
They dared to whisper to each other.
Their heads were close together and not even the closest horse was disturbed by their barely audible conversation.
“We’ve been kidnapped by the vilest of England’s enemies,”
Hannah complained.
“What do we do?”
“We pretend to be boys or girls or maidens or guards or whatever they expect.”
“But they’re taking us to the Beldorney estate.
Isn’t that where Captain Luxbury was taking you? Us?”
Eleanor grinned in the dark.
“Perhaps our trunks will be there before us.”
She closed her eyes as there was no reason to keep them open.
But as soon as she did, an image of the handsome future Laird of Castle Caladh bloomed on her retinas.
He had touched her when she almost fell.
His strong fingers may well have left a mark on her upper arm, but all she remembered was how every nerve in her body had responded.
“We have to run away,”
Hannah pleaded.
She shifted her weight, rising to a sitting position.
“We could steal the horses.
There are three.
We could ride two and lead the third so they’d have no way of coming after us.”
Eleanor put a hand out where she thought Hannah’s shoulder might be, connected with her neck, and gently pulled her back down to the hay.
“No.
We are in the middle of something extraordinarily important.”
“El, I’ll do whatever you say.
You know that.”
“Good.”
Eleanor rolled onto her back and closed her eyes again.
“What did you think of them, Pascoe?”
“The young lairds of a castle?”
There was a hesitation.
“I thought them fairly handsome, even in those short skirts they call kilts.”
There was a yawn in her voice.
“But I won’t be distracted, not if I’m to play the guard.”
“I rather like the position we’re in.
It’s more exciting than the games we played with the Miller twins, when the Chaddertons pretended to be the colonists, revolting against whichever Miller twin was playing the King.”
“It was William, he always played the Regent.
Callum and I were nameless soldiers.
And you, you were best at being General Howe.”
Eleanor still whispered.
“I was.
And those childhood war games may serve us well.
Who would expect two females to execute a military deception or two? I wonder …”
Eleanor paused to form her racing thoughts into words.
But Hannah’s breathing grew steady and she didn’t ask Eleanor to finish her sentence.
To herself Eleanor continued to consider the situation: she pondered the difficulty of pretending to be a boy who was pretending to be a princess.
How amusing.
She yawned.
But it was also quite terrifying, for it was obvious to her that Lady Beth and Luxbury’s plan to make her queen was known to these Scotsmen.
They were equally set on subverting the plan.
If they knew that not only wasn’t she a lad, but she was the lass they were arranging to … oh! Good heavens! … was she to be a part of arranging her own demise?
Eleanor’s sleepiness fled.
These thoughts kept her mulling over their predicament for a lengthy while.
She would have liked to talk it over with Hannah, but the sound of her gentle breathing dissuaded her.
She listened to the other night sounds.
The hoot of an owl? A rustling in the straw, perhaps a mouse? She wasn’t frightened.
It was Hannah’s steady measured breathing that calmed her.
She considered how she might undermine both plans.
Her loyalties should lie with the English … and yet, if her mother were somewhere in Scotland, then it might be advantageous to burrow into the Highland life.
Hmm.
And that made her think about Keir McKelvey.
At twelve and thirteen she’d had no romantic interest in the Chadderton boys or the Miller twins.
At sixteen she’d gotten her monthlies and curiously that had awakened some sensibilities toward the male species.
Cameron had held her interest for a while. And now, at nearly eighteen, she noticed dreadfully clearly how differently her mind and her body reacted to disagreeable men like the ship’s cook or Tavish, as opposed to the genteel Luxbury or the fetching McKelvey men. Mmm, the McKelvey man to be precise … Keir … future laird …
She nodded off finally, but woke when the horses made snuffling sounds.
“Who’s there?”
she called out, suddenly feeling vulnerable in the dark.
“’Tis only me, Malcolm, come wi’ me pony.
Me da told me to follow after ye.
Remember?”
Eleanor felt Hannah move.
“Pascoe, Malcolm is here.”
“Malcolm?”
She sounded groggy.
“Aye, ’tis me.
Dae nae worry.
I’ll be asleep a’fore ye can say g’night.”
Eleanor felt him nestle down beside her.
Then he lowered his voice and whispered, “G’night.”
***
KEIR ENDURED HIS brother’s questions with patience.
He, along with Tavish and the cabin’s owner, Thomas Buchanan, had taken turns fielding the what if’s and but’s and why not’s of Logan’s misgivings.
They sat around a table in hand-made chairs that Thomas’s father had crafted before he lost a hand in the battle of Culloden.
Thomas hated the British and got up from the table several times to check that his shed had not yet been burned to the ground by the prissy English lads Keir had allowed to bed down there.
“Sit yer arse down, Thomas,”
Tavish scolded him again.
“They be soundly sleeping.
Ye’ve nay a ting to worry yerself over.”
“But …”
Logan raised his brows yet again, “ye said yerself, they were more clever lads than ye’d met before.
Could they nae be workin’ fer the crown?”
“’Tis a thought,”
Tavish said.
Keir dropped his head and shook it slowly side to side.
“Nay, brother. Nay.”
He’d twice before refuted that selfsame fear.
Thomas moved away from the window, threw another log in the fireplace, and lowered himself onto his chair.
His face was long and hawkish, his salt-and-pepper hair worn long and styled back in a mane.
He tapped his blackened fingertips on the tabletop.
Keir lifted his head.
“The dress, Thomas? Could ye fetch it?”
Thomas nodded at Keir, one eye gazing on the black-haired Highlander, the other eye fixed on his own nose.
The chair creaked as he rose again.
The cabin had two adjoining rooms.
Thomas took one of the candles from the mantel and lit his way to the bedroom.? He grumbled loudly, but returned with a grey shift and a formless dress that needed mending.
“’Twas all there be in the trunk.”
Keir recognized the shift as an undergarment.
He averted his eyes immediately.
His three older sisters had trained him early on to look away and though there was no woman in the room, he felt his skin go warm.
Tavish grunted, scratched at his whiskers, and laid his head on his arms.
“Looks proper enough to me,”
Logan laughed, “fer a scullery maid.”
He nudged Keir.
“That town we skirted, could we nae fetch us somethin’ better from a seamstress there?”
Tavish popped his head up.
“Stealin’ from a Sassenach ’twould be more to me delight.
I saw a redcoat on the vessel, a’searchin’ through a pile of lady things a real inspector tossed.
Two trunks of dresses.
I’ll send me boy back in da mornin’.
He’ll sniff’em out.
Swipe a couple.”
Keir nearly upset the table.
“A redcoat! With trunks of women’s things?”
He saw confusion on the other men’s faces.
“Were there women on the ship, truly?”
“I dinnae ken.
’Tis most unlikely that frigate would carry passengers.”
“But there was a redcoat.
Did ye notice, was he a captain or a general?”
“A captain, by me chin.
I ken the difference.”
“They let generals bring their wives, but a captain …”
Keir thought a moment, “… a captain couldna bring his wife.
Were there other soldiers?
“Nary a one to poke his nose in me business.”
“No soldiers.
That could mean this redcoat ye saw was secretly escortin’ the verra woman of their scandalous plan.
Two trunks.
’Tis a clue.”
Keir narrowed his eyes and thought.
Logan and Thomas watched Keir, while Tavish yawned and stretched.
“Ye got a new plan.
I see it formin’,”
Logan said.
“Och, I do.
The captain shan’t arrive at Beldorney Hall with a lady and two trunks, nae before us.
He’ll be obliged to rent a wagon, stay the night at the Drovers Inn … mm … we’ll need to use yer wagon agin, Tavish.”
He opened the sporan at his waist and withdrew two coins.
He slapped them on the table at Tavish’s arm.
“Are ye plannin’ on killin’ the redcoat?”
Thomas’s eyes focused on Keir’s face for an instant before one went askew.
“’Cause if ye are, I’ve got it in me heid to make a wee bit of payback for me da’s injuries.
I’d slit a redcoat ear ta ear, if ye think it necessary.”
Keir heaved out a breath.
“It may well be, Thomas.
Ye’re welcome to come along.”
***
ELEANOR CAME AWAKE to light streaming in through the open barn door and a face, a dirty one, staring at her, not six inches from her nose.
“Get back,”
she demanded in her best imitation of a Chadderton brat, “or I’ll wallop you into the river.”
“Ain’t no river here.”
Malcolm scooted back though.
“Why’s yer face like that? Ye sleep like me little sister.
Be ye dreamin’ o’ the fairies? They put angels’ faces onto girls, ma says.
Better watch out, I could see one a’formin’.”
Eleanor sat up and took a longer look at the boy resting on his knees and knuckles, leaning in as familiar as a mother hen.
She scrunched her face into a boyish, she hoped, scowl.
“Malcolm, is it? You talk a lot.
How old are you? Twelve?”
“Fourteen, this winter past.
Tall as ye be, ye miserable Sassenach.
I thought … och, never mind.”
Eleanor looked over at Hannah who was wide awake.
“Pascoe, did you know the fairies here could turn our faces into girl faces?”
She smirked and a look passed between them.
Hannah pushed herself up to sit, ran her fingers through her hair to remove bits of straw and dirt, and spoke to Malcolm.
“We may need your help in conjuring up some of these fairies, boy.”
She started to sneeze.
“Call me Malcolm.
And ye be Pascoe, I heard this one called ye that, but,”
he looked at Eleanor, “what be yer name, Englishman?”
“Eldridge, but call me El, though I suspect the Lord may want me to be called by … mm, something befitting a lady’s maid, as that is what I’m to pretend to be.”
She shot another look at Hannah who’d finished sneezing and was now moving onto her knees and rubbing at her crotch like they’d seen the stable hands do.
Hannah ended with a contented grunt then raised a fist and punched at the air.
“I’ve got it.
I know what you could be called.
How about Eleanor? That’s rather close and I won’t spoil the ruse if I call you El.”
She nodded at Malcolm who began to nod in rhythm.
“We should practice callin’im her and she.”
Malcolm started his own scratching routine.
“Malcolm, that is a very good idea.”
Eleanor gave him a hearty slap on the back.
“Now … my stomach is grumbling.
We’ve manly appetites, no matter our size. Agreed?”
Malcolm flicked a booger away and nodded.
“Me da, Tavish ye ken him as, will have somethin’ tucked away for us.
Follow me.”
***
KEIR AND LOGAN hadn’t needed much more sleep.
The last hours of the long night were spent discussing possible hitches and glitches in their proposed plan as Thomas slept in his own bed and Tavish snored on the table.
“I ken there’ll be complications, the first being how to explain a Hanover heir in a farm maid’s dress, but …”
Logan peered into the pantry cupboard that Thomas had promised held a bowl of eggs.
“Brother, dae ye ken how to make these into our breakfast? I dinnae fancy eatin’ raw yokes.”
Keir snorted at his brother.
“I dinnae believe ye’ve nivver seen cook boil an egg.
Ye spent half yer life in the kitchen, nosin’ the pots ’n pans.”
“The sun’s up,”
Logan ignored Keir’s taunt, “so I’ll try wakin’ ole Thomas.”
He stepped to the door and knocked.
When there was no answer, no sound even, from the other side, he nudged the door open and spied.
“Nae sign of Thomas.
He musta sneaked past when we all laid our heids on the table, like Tavish.”
“Gone to the jakes, no doubt.
Or checkin’ on his sheep.”
“Or collectin’ more eggs, I hope.”
Tavish woke then, as the outer door sprang open and Thomas returned using the front of his shirt as a basket.
“Got ye more eggs.
When me family was here, me hens were used to layin’ for seven hungry mouths.”
“We’ll pay ye for yer fine hospitality, Thomas.
Did ye notice … were the lads awake?”
“Yup.
Two turned into three.
All headed for the jakes.
Got an extra horse in the shed, too.
Fair small.”
Tavish stretched.
“Me boy, Malcolm’s pony.”
“Ye can send him home, Tavish.
We’ll have nae need fer the lad.”
Keir adjusted his kilt, felt the need to go out and relieve himself, and headed for the door.
Outside he surveyed the farm and fields.
The morning was crisp and clear, the heavens a cloudless blue; the sheep were far out in the pasture; a few chickens pecked at the ground around the house.
He looked to a copse of trees he intended to make use of and saw Malcolm finishing his own morning ritual there.
Keir looked in the other direction.
At the jakes stood one of the English lads, the one he thought could play the guard.
Then the second lad, the one who caused his brow to furrow, came out of the outhouse and looked to the sky and smiled.
It was a curious act and more curious when his companion did the same. He didn’t understand at first, but then he figured they were simply in awe of the fine Scottish morn, a treat for English men used to grey days.
Keir signaled them to come to the cabin.
Their smiles were gone by the time they reached him.
They came up slowly with some hesitation.
He was well aware of the reason behind their reluctance to get too close.
He knew he was an imposing figure, but perhaps with a more substantial Scottish diet than the gruel and soggy biscuits the English fared on, they’d fill out.
“In ye go.
I’ll join ye to break our fasts as soon as I tend to a wee bit o’ business.”
Malcolm raced up, slapped both lads on their backs and scooted into the cabin in front of them.
The screech one of them emitted made him think of Fenella.
And that gave him another thought.
They’d have to pass near enough to her place on their way to Beldorney Hall.
Surely he could convince her to lend them a dress.
Of course, it would have to be her best one to be presentable for his purposes.
Well, she owed him, did she not?
He walked off to the trees thinking about that simple little sound.
A feminine squeak, it was.