The Devilish Lord Will: Mackenzies, Book 10 Page 15

  “I came to keep an eye on him, Captain,” Josette corrected Will. “But I understand Will’s point. If Mr. Macdonald has never seen you, Captain Ellis …”

  Ellis looked pained—but one reason Will found success as a spy was that he took advantage of opportunities.

  Will stuck out his arms to show off his garish coat. “It might be a bit large for you, Captain. But we’ll do our best.”

  Chapter 16

  Captain Ellis was red-faced and uncomfortable in the long yellow-and-blue frock coat with belling peplum, clocked silk stockings, and velvet knee breeches. He refused the wig but combed his hair until it was sleek, wearing Will’s light blue tricorn hat with long feather.

  “I look the veriest macaroni,” the captain growled.

  “It doesn’t suit you,” Josette agreed. “But it’s just right for fooling Mr. Macdonald.”

  Even less did Captain Ellis’s uniform suit Will. He stood in it as though his skin wanted to shrink from the fabric. Ellis was slightly smaller in build, and Will had to hunch down so the fit didn’t look too wrong.

  “Just don’t injure my horse,” Captain Ellis warned as he climbed into the carriage with Josette.

  “Never fear,” Will said. “Let Josette do most of the talking, and nod idiotically. Sir William is too stupid to be anything but what he is—a weak man who only wishes to keep himself in his comforts.”

  “I understand,” Captain Ellis answered. “But I won’t use that inane laugh you concocted. Your father would be horrified.”

  “Aye, well, he’s already horrified enough at me and my antics. Mary would kiss you, though.” Will laid his hand on the open window, his face turning serious. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll protect Mrs. Oswald with my life,” Ellis assured him.

  “Ye damn well will.”

  Josette saw that Will hated letting her walk into this snare alone, even with the captain to protect her, but he was doing so because they had no choice. Will didn’t want her anywhere near Macdonald, or the Highlands, or Scotland altogether, she knew. The look on his face was what she felt on her own when she worried about Glenna.

  “I’ll take care, Will,” she said softly. “I promise.”

  He didn’t look any happier, but he straightened and waved the carriage on. Bhreac, already on the coachman’s box, clucked to the horses, and they jolted down the rutted road.

  * * *

  Shieldag Castle wasn’t a castle. It might once have been in its distant past, but now it was a manor house along the lines of Sir Harmon’s.

  The house’s wings stretched across the hill like a dam, windows glittering between tall columns of golden stone. The whole thing might have been lifted intact from a corner of Berkshire and dropped into the middle of the Highlands. A large gate separated the estate from the road, and when that gate clanged shut behind the coach, Josette felt distinctly uneasy.

  Will had left them at the gatehouse, astride Ellis’s horse, pretending he’d been an armed escort, a soldier guarding them from the Scottish barbarians. Josette didn’t like the empty feeling that struck her as she watched him ride away.

  “Better that he goes,” Captain Ellis said in a quiet voice.

  Josette realized she was craning her head to keep Will in sight as long as possible. Captain Ellis, awkward in the finery, studied her with understanding in his blue eyes.

  Josette turned from the window and sighed. “I know, but I’ll be happier when I see him again.”

  “Why are you helping him?” Captain Ellis asked her, concern in his tone.

  “He is helping me,” Josette said quickly. “You might say we are pooling our resources.”

  The captain did not change expression. “I’ve seen young women fall in love with Mackenzies before. The Mackenzie men are not the sort who marry a woman respectably and tuck her into a comfortable house while they go about their dangerous business. They drag the lady into that dangerous business with them, no matter what the cost to her.”

  “I know,” Josette said. “I’ve met Lady Celia and had letters from Lady Mary.”

  Captain Ellis’s politeness fell away, and for an instant, Josette saw anguish. “Is Lady Mary truly happy? Or must I sail to France and tear Malcolm Mackenzie’s limbs from his body?”

  Josette didn’t hide her smile. “I’m pleased to tell you she is very happy. Lady Celia with Alec, as well. They are a close family,” she finished wistfully.

  “I spent many months in the Mackenzie house,” Captain Ellis said. “Malcolm will eventually settle down, I believe, no matter how many mad schemes are in his head. Alec has a child and his painting commissions to keep him steady for his wife. Will is a different man entirely.”

  “I’ve met his brothers.” Josette tried not to sound defensive.

  “Will is restless,” Captain Ellis went on. “Both he and Malcolm have it in their heads that they are the protectors of their family—their father and eldest brother were too busy with their own needs for that. Malcolm fulfills this obligation by finding ways to make money and keeping a close eye on the family. Will does it by absenting himself and fighting the rest of the world to keep his brothers and father free. He won’t have time for a wife and children.”

  Josette let her eyes go wide, even as a lump tightened in her throat. “Goodness, who said anything about that?”

  “I see how you watch him. I see how he watches you. He cares for you—have no fear—but do not expect him to buy a cottage and raise sheep while he looks after you. He will not stay home long.”

  “This I also know,” Josette said, deflating. “I am not a silly young woman stupidly in love with a handsome man, Captain. I’ve known Will a long time, and I’ve learned exactly what he is like.”

  She swallowed and folded her hands in her lap. Will was a stone who gathered no moss. He never remained in one place long enough to put down roots.

  But then again, neither did Josette stay in one place long. The pair of them might roll along together …

  Josette pushed the thought firmly from her mind. Will would never be hampered by a woman in skirts dragging a nearly grown daughter and a baby with her.

  Will’s baby … Her heart gave a lurch.

  The coach also lurched, plowing through a water-drenched rut before skimming between two massive doors pulled open to admit them to an arched portico. The carriage went right inside the house, the roofed passage clearly made for guests to descend out of the wind and rain.

  A footman, a sullen Scotsman, opened the carriage door and set down a cushioned stool without looking at Captain Ellis or Josette as the captain handed Josette down. The footman ushered them into an echoing, slate-floored hall and held up a stilling hand, indicating they were to wait there. He then waved the coach off, and Bhreac, in keeping with his persona, clattered it away.

  Unlike Sir Harmon’s home, where guests wandered at will and servants darted about amid music floating from Lady Bentley’s clavichord, Clennan Macdonald’s house was deathly silent.

  A staircase encircled the wide hall, whose walls were covered with paintings of haughty Scots in tartans and bonnets, ladies in stiff ruffs, horses posing as stiffly as the human beings, and landscapes of wide green spaces. One picture depicted a craggy castle that might be the predecessor of this house. Weapons from various periods in history interspersed the paintings, reminding the viewer that this was the home of warriors.

  Josette had learned in her roaming life what wealth looked like and what it could buy. Every item she saw in this hall—paintings, swords, rugs, tables, chairs, candelabra, statuettes—had cost a nice sum of money.

  “He’s got a bob or two, hasn’t he?” she whispered to Captain Ellis.

  She said it in her Anna voice, in case they were overheard. Her words slithered up in a soft hiss, the syllables lost in the space above them.

  A door banged somewhere on an upper floor. The footman who’d admitted them reappeared and jerked his head to indicate they were to follow him up the stairs.

>   The footman never spoke. Was he a defeated Jacobite, angry he had to grub for Mr. Macdonald? Or was he a loyal member of Clan Macdonald, surly toward all outsiders?

  More riches were evident as they went up one flight, two flights, a third. They left the staircase, the footman leading them down a hall that was long enough to allow Josette to catch her breath. Captain Ellis, not winded at all, walked beside her in silence.

  At the end of this corridor, the footman opened two carved double doors. Beyond this lay a series of small chambers, one leading to the next. Each room was filled with paintings Alec Mackenzie would enjoy.

  So would their original owners, Josette realized as she walked beneath them. She’d known enough artists and art collectors in her life to have learned something about paintings. Two pictures from the collection of Louis of France hung in the second antechamber—Josette had seen the depiction of indoor life painted by Mr. de Hooch and the turbaned man by Mr. van Rijn blatantly displayed by his majesty.

  In the third anteroom was a painting done by a more recent artist, and a very good one—Alec Mackenzie. The model dancing as a nymph near her forest pond, clad in only a translucent drapery, was Josette.

  Josette stopped in her tracks. Captain Ellis nearly ran into her and then saw what held her gaze. Her face heated as Captain Ellis stared at the painting then quickly averted his eyes, cheekbones staining red.

  “Should we retreat?” he whispered into her ear.

  Josette shook her head. In the picture, she was a small body in a trailing cloth, her head half turned from the viewer. A cascade of curls further obscured her face.

  She’d only recognized the painting because she remembered the long sessions in Alec’s studio while he worked on it, small Glenna playing in the corner. Alec and Will had been ingenious at procuring toys for the girl.

  Josette also knew that an artist’s model dressed in ordinary clothing was not often recognized, unless she was extremely famous. Josette, while she’d done well for herself, had been relatively unknown—her modeling career had not lasted long, a few years only. The artists of France had forgotten her by now.

  Captain Ellis looked unconvinced, but he continued walking. The footman had neither noticed their exchange nor slowed his pace.

  The last of the series of rooms was flooded with light from four tall windows. A fireplace loomed on the opposite wall, lit against the cool air. A desk sat nearer the fire than the windows, its top littered with books and papers.

  The man who rose from behind the desk and waited for them to enter was clearly their host, Clennan Macdonald.

  He was about fifty, stout with good eating, but hard-muscled like many Highlanders. He’d have been at home in a plaid, but he wore a well-tailored suit of dark blue, his waistcoat pale ivory silk, no laces or ribbons in sight.

  “Good afternoon,” he boomed in a rumbling voice as he looked them over with keen blue eyes. “Welcome to Shieldag. My friend Sir Harmon said I could be of assistance to you.”

  “Sir.” Captain Ellis swept him a bow, taking off his hat. “It was kind of you to see us.”

  “Sir Harmon and I often trade favors,” Macdonald said. “Sit down, man. Let me pour you some whisky.”

  He did not include Josette in the invitation. Captain Ellis escorted her to a chair while Macdonald picked up a gilded bell from his desk and clanged it as though summoning the clan to a moot.

  Macdonald did not speak as they waited but he looked Captain Ellis over thoroughly then turned the same assessing gaze to Josette. She made certain her expression remained interested but vapid, a woman who followed her beloved husband wherever he went but didn’t want to clutter her mind with the details.

  Another Scottish servant entered, thunked a tray with decanter and glasses on a side table, and stalked out.

  Macdonald moved to the decanter. “A wee dram, Sir William? The one Scottish thing allowed to continue, the uisge beatha. I closed down all the unlicensed distilleries in the area—the one that brews this belongs to me.”

  Captain Ellis accepted the glass of amber liquid Macdonald handed him. Macdonald did give Josette a glass as well, with the tiniest amount of whisky in it.

  Josette doubted that Mr. Macdonald had succeeded in completely shutting down the unlicensed stills. From what Will had told her about illegal whisky brewing, a tiny still would spring up in a cottage in the next glen, and another, and another. A crofter only needed to hammer together a copper vat and some tubing, hide a portion of harvested barley, and begin. The crofters might not produce the best whisky in the world, but they could sell enough to get them through a winter as well as warm their own bellies.

  “Thank you kindly,” Captain Ellis said. His voice had lightened, though it held nowhere near the silliness Will achieved. “Sir Harmon won’t have it in his house.”

  “Nothing but French wine and brandy for him,” Macdonald said, relaxing as though Captain Ellis had passed a test. “He turns up his nose at anything made on his home isles. Strange man. To your health.”

  Captain Ellis lifted his glass. “Slàinte. As you say in the Highlands.”

  Macdonald looked startled then burst out laughing. “Your accent is deplorable, but ’twas a valiant effort. Only don’t speak that word in these halls. The Erse language is outlawed, don’t ye know?”

  “Yes, I knew that,” Captain Ellis said somewhat stiffly. “A joke.”

  “A joke that will have British soldiers stringing you up by your balls, sir,” Macdonald said jovially. “What would your pretty wife do then, eh?”

  Josette managed a giggle and sipped her whisky. Will had given her a taste of his family’s malt long ago—a soft and smooth liquid that tasted of Scottish winds. What was in her mouth now had a harsh bite, almost like vitriol. She swallowed and couldn’t help a cough.

  “Fair and strong,” Macdonald said, resuming his seat. “Like you, Lady Jacobs.”

  Josette wiped her mouth with her hand, managing to look flustered.

  “Now then, sir, I don’t have much time for niceties,” Macdonald said, turning back to Captain Ellis. “Sir Harmon sent you to me for capital.” He tapped the letter Will had managed to unseal, read, and reseal before they’d resumed their journey. Will had shared the contents with the rest of them, filling in Captain Ellis with any information he did not yet know.

  Captain Ellis cleared his throat. “Afraid I’m rather up against it. Investments not what they were.”

  Macdonald watched him with a wise air. “Never are, lad. What makes you think you can invest what I might give you any more skillfully?”

  “I intend to take direction,” Captain Ellis answered, as Will had coached him. “Sir Harmon will help me, as will his man of business.”

  Another loud laugh. “Watch yourself there. Sir Harmon is not the shrewdest mind on the Exchange. There is a reason he lives in the middle of nowhere and refuses to leave his house. Take advice from me, laddie, and only me. I’d like to see my coin again.”

  “Of course, sir,” Captain Ellis said with respect in his voice. “I realized long ago I had no head for business.”

  Macdonald slid a gaze over Josette. “Distracted, no doubt.”

  Josette contrived a blush. Captain Ellis looked pained, and Josette saw him struggle to maintain his composure.

  “Where did you meet your wife?” Macdonald asked him abruptly.

  Josette answered before Captain Ellis could. She knew by heart the story of Anna and William that she and Will had concocted, embellished, and built over the years. “In France. Paris.”

  Macdonald nodded. “You’re French, aren’t you?” he asked Josette directly.

  “My mother was,” she answered as though slightly ashamed of this fact. “My father was Mr. Garfield of Wiltshire—”

  Macdonald raised a beefy hand. “Spare me the pretty lies, Lady Jacobs. You might fool the world—you might have even fooled your husband, I don’t know. You’re a common tart, aren’t you? If a beautiful one. What possessed you to take off y
our clothes for Alec Mackenzie, of all people?”

  Chapter 17

  Will rode slowly around Shieldag Castle’s grounds, watching the house and the road beyond. The rocky hills were trackless, and he guided the horse with care to avoid holes that could break his mount’s leg or even kill it.

  He saw no one else about. The narrow road they’d traversed, which Macdonald had no doubt improved at his own expense, was the only way in or out of the glen. A hardy clansman could hike over the hills on his own, but food, drink, and luxuries would have to come by that road.

  This place could be cut off at a moment’s notice—probably was in bad snow or rain. A man could be trapped here, or he could defend it against all comers. Macdonald had chosen well. If the British had been defeated, the Bonnie Prince’s father now on the throne, Macdonald could easily have holed up here until he made his fellow Scotsman believe he’d really been on their side.

  But the Jacobites had been defeated, and now Macdonald had blocked himself off from Highlanders seeking vengeance.

  Not that he’d remain secluded for long. Macdonald was a schemer, always had been. The plan to have Alison McNab marry his brother Horace, who’d died this past year, had been Clennan’s. Alison’s father had possessed plenty of lands, cattle, and money, plus she’d have brought the loyalty of many McNabs with her.

  Clennan had been livid when Alison had met Will’s father and decided to elope with him. It had been a love match, the two of them besotted. Alison’s father had forgiven them, but Clennan Macdonald never had. He’d encouraged his entire clan to hate the Mackenzies.

  Will studied the massive house below him. Palladian style, as so many manors were these days, every wealthy man wanting to replicate an Italian palace. Mal would know exactly what date the pile had been built and exactly what each feature was called.

  He saw Bhreac, small and far away, lounging against the wheel of the coach in the drive outside the house. No worries that any would recognize him—though Bhreac traveled extensively, he’d stayed well away from the Highlands during the Uprising. Playing both sides of the fence, as usual.