A love so blind 9789492397270, 9492397277

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C. HAMPTON JONES * A LOVE SO BLIND * Wellington’s Heroes Series Book 1

HamptonJones Books, The Netherlands MMXVII-IX Published in 2017, August. * Editor: Alex Blackburn ISBN/EAN: 9789492397270 * Copyright/all author’s rights/publishing-rights/2017 C. Hampton Jones, HamptonJones Books, The Netherlands C. Hampton Jones’ right to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 * This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. * No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. **

For my loving husband Jan Herman who made all those years of writing possible.

Chapter 1: JOHN MONTGOMERY'S PROLOGUE * "I apologize, Lord John, but the Duke insists that you leave the dogs outside her Grace's apartments." Lord John Montgomery, the Duke of Rothford's second son and ‘spare,’ looked inquiringly at the dignified butler and then down at his two hunting spaniels. "Mother always allows Boris and Bastet in, Tubby!" Mr. Tubbington sent the young lord an exasperated look. "Did Mr. Powell not warn you, my lord, that the situation warrants some, ah... decorum, this time? Why don't you wait in the antechamber so that I can call your valet to change your coat and socks, and wash your hands and face?" "Wash?" John asked with a frown. One washed in the morning after a night of rest soured one's mouth, and one bathed in the evening when invited to the ducal dinner table. His valet Smithy would dunk him in a bath after a particular fall from a horse into a mess, or when he smelled... The butler only nodded and opened the door to the small waiting room next to the entrance of the Duchess' apartments. "Take Lord John's dogs to the kennels, Mordecai," Mr. Tubbington ordered the burly footman who seemed to have been standing watch at his mother's door

forever, "I'll send a message to Smithy myself about Lord John's requirements." He looked back to see the Duke's twelve year old son seating himself hesitantly on one of the straight-backed wooden chairs in the waiting room. He nodded in approval while straightening his face immediately back into a bland sort of severity. Then Tubby flicked two fingers at a young under-footman who had been standing motionless in the hallway, and sent him on his errand after an urgent whis-pered conversation. John heaved an impatient sigh. He was not used to being asked to wait, but looking at his dirty hands, he agreed with Tubby that he might need some of his valet's ministrations. He had been in the stables, taking care of his new hunter, a birthday gift from his elder brother Randolph. His father, Jonathan Montgomery, Duke of Rothford, had always taught him that true warriors in the Middle Ages always took care of their own horseflesh and that was exactly what John had been doing this afternoon. Somebody shrieked in the room next to the antechamber. John listened intently. He knew that shriek too well. It was doubtlessly his mother, the Duchess. "You will do as I ask, Jonathan!" her harsh voice threatened. Ah, yes, threats! His mother had always been a master at threats. John had been on the receiving end of them countless times.

John never understood his mother's urge to always assert herself in that fashion. She did not need to use threats: everybody in the inside and outside of their extensive household always ran to indulge his mother’s many wishes, however reasonable or unreasonable they were. He heard his father mumble something inaudible. That was nothing new either; his mother seemed to possess all the available power over everybody who lived in their London household. Even over his father, despite the fact that his father was an acclaimed war hero from the long gone days when he was the colonel of his own regiment, and despite the fact that now that he was the Duke of Rothford, one of the most powerful men in the Realm. "A tit for tat!" his mother yelled, "I'll curse you on my deathbed if you ignore my wishes, Jonathan Montgomery!" His father's answer was muffled, but John could hear it anyway; his mother should not take things so hard, the girl had been just a fling when he was in the North... John shifted his chair so that he sat closer to the wall behind which his parents quarreled. A girl? His father had been seeing a girl in the North? Ah, yes, was mother talking about that very beautiful blond woman John once met when he and his father were taking a ride all the way from the castle in Stirling to a 'strong house' near Bannockburn?

He was only four then and was riding his favorite pony Leslie. It was one of the longest rides he had ever made with his father. Father was unusually distracted until he’d seen the woman standing in front of that house with a five-yearold boy taking a protective stance next to her. Even at the very young age of four, John had noticed the woman’s ethereal beauty. A different beauty when compared to his mother's. The Duchess was always elaborately dressed and coiffed. She was never seen without her cosmetics, her white mask of rice powder, her painted blushes and her kohl-accentuated eyes. John was not able to tell the true color of his mother's hair, as he had never seen her real hair; it was always tucked under the huge colorful elaborate wigs she wore. His mother's dresses were more than enormous; they were like battleships enfolding her entire figure, giving her an unreal doll-like appearance. He did not doubt that she would receive him in the full regalia of her position. She might even wear an enormous hat while she was stretched out on one of her gilded chaises-lounges. The girl from the North had been wearing a simple grey dress with a squared apron. Instead of dainty highheeled shoes, she had worn sturdy leather clogs. She had long blond hair in one big braid that fell all the way to her very shapely rear, which was not hidden behind the frame of whalebone or horsehair.

He had watched her with big, round, amazed eyes, looking longingly at the sweet mobile features in the most beautiful face he had ever seen. Her voice sounded animated and musical and her laugh was melodious because of its dark richness, which was so different from the haughty pouts and titters he was accustomed to hearing, coming from the languorous aristocratic ladies that would clog the ducal residences. Since knowing this woman he had secretly frowned upon the artificiality of court dress, the wooden corsets, the unseemly low décolletages and the harsh make-up that made the women look like puppets on a string and move in a similar wooden manner. His father and the woman had talked for some time. His father had seemed urgent about something and the woman had shaken her head and pointed at him and the boy, whom he later heard was called Lochiel. In the end, the woman gave in to his father's urgings and told the boy Lochiel to take care of the little Lord John. Lochiel admired John's pony and John magnanimously told him he could ride Leslie if he wished. Lochiel had shaken his head. He had his own pony but they surely were not allowed to ride their ponies on their own, so they took John's pony and his father’s horse to the stable behind the house instead. They had played there almost until the evening when his father hurried out of the house at last, a bit flushed with his clothes looking as if he had put them on without the help of his valet.

"You must agree that our John must have the same chances to be happily married as we had, my darling," the Duke was pleading. The Duchess started to say something but she got stuck in a coughing fit. The Duke urged her not to upset herself so much. Then John heard his father agree. "If you think this is so terribly important, I'll sign the papers for the betrothal, Elisabeth." His mother cried between racking coughs, still accusing the Duke of 'damned betrayal.' Half an hour later, wearing clean clothes and the scent of expensive lemon soap, Lord John Montgomery heard that he was to be betrothed to a girl called Lizzie Campbell, obviously the 'tit for tat' his mother had shouted about before he came to her bedchamber, and that he was sup-posed to marry her when the girl would reach the age of sixteen. Quick calculations told Lord John that he would be twenty-four by the time the girl was marriageable, so he decided not to worry about this arranged marriage with a little chit nobody knew a thing about, apart from his hysterical mother. As he had expected, she had been lying fully dressed on a chaise, sporting a three-foot peruke with a large cartwheel hat on top. When she sneezed, she lost a chunk of maquillage from her cheek which fell unnoticed into her high, white powdered, corseted bosom. She wore lace gloves, which he kissed once carefully, after making her an obligatory deep leg.

He remembered acutely how the girl from the North had drawn him against a soft bosom which smelled of woman, lilac soap and, strangely, a bit like his father. She had kissed him goodbye with gusto and a smile. He imagined sometimes he could still feel those soft lips on both his cheeks and in his dreams as a boy, who was waking up to sensuality; they tended to turn into something very exciting. Since that day he always seemed to remember the smell of her lingering arms and her wondrous blond hair. He only understood Tubby's remark about 'decorum' in the evening, when his father told him that the Duchess, his mother, had sadly passed away. Father looked unhappy enough, but Lord John thought he’d noticed something of relief as well, which no doubt was due to the fact that his mother was now free of the ailments from which she had been suffering since Lord John's birth. John felt regret that his mother had passed from one world into another, which he could not reach, but was not surprised when tears would not fall. He had been closer to his nurses and his nannies, rather than to the doll who had been a duchess and maybe even once a mother because the doll had birthed him more than twelve years into the past. Without knowing it, he was betrothed at his mother's death-bed at the respectable age of twelve, when he had only been wondering if his mother had ever had blond hair in a braid that touched her rear.

When the date of his arranged marriage came closer, Lord John started to balk. He was by then more or less in love with the refugee Russian Countess Maria Katrina Oblinsky, whose whiteblond hair reached her hips when it was down and who liked to walk around in the clinging dresses of the preRegency days which were so fashionable at the court of the upstart self-proclaimed emperor Napoleon Bonaparte in Paris. His father had sent him twice to a small village near Glasgow to court the little chit he was betrothed to, but in view of his love for Maria Oblinsky he had hated every minute with her, not willing to agree that his future bride was actually exquisitely beautiful and a very proper virginal fiancée. Maria could not lay claim to any of those characteristics; she was about twice Lizzie's age and was experienced in things that had to do with whips, shackles and silk bed sheets. In the end, the Duke had to promise that Lord John would become the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, instead of his brother Randolph, upon the Duke's demise. Randolph did not mind handing over that title 'in advance' to his little brother, because he would become the new Duke of Rothford, which was a more elevated title anyway. The title of Marques of Lorna and Kintyre was only a courtesy title, normally given to the heir. So Lord John, by that time a spoiled cad with a bad reputation and the worst sexual appetites, prepared to go to Edinburgh to marry the Right Honorable Elisabeth

Campbell, a chit without a dowry or any ancestry of note, in exchange for being Marques one day. John would be happy to be titled at last. His debts were piling sky high and he feared he could not hold out much longer on the credit of being the Duke of Rothford's spare son. He hated Lizzie Campbell more because she stood between him and the chances of marrying an heiress who could get him out of his self-inflicted dire straits. The only thing Lizzie Campbell would bring him was her body, which generated him nothing but obligations he did not care for. * * *

Chapter 2: LOCHIEL’S PROLOGUE * The woman threw off his hands when he tried to grab her by the waist. "Piss off, Lochiel Cameron," she hissed, "I told you to get lost before!" She turned and pushed him hard against his chest. He stumbled backwards on the ancient flagstones of their farm, landing on his butt. "But Catriona..." She hovered over him, her hands on her hips. "Why can't you get it into your stupid head, Lochiel? I don't want you here anymore! I don't need you here anymore! I've got those four sons to take care of and the last thing I want is for you to disturb my rest at night." He slowly scrambled up from his humble position. "What do you mean, Cat? They are my children as well!" She sneered at him, her changing face showing him a glimpse of her true age. "Sure they are yours, Lochiel," she answered with contempt, "and I don't need another one, nor do I need another child like you in the house. Go back to Edinburgh to play the soldier for that despicable Sassenach that calls himself our Duke!" She turned and marched into the kitchen. He put on the coat of his lieutenant's uniform. "If that's what you truly want..."

He heard despair in his own voice. The wife that was almost ten years his senior really wanted him gone? She reappeared in the doorway and knocked a hand against her head. He stared at her in bitter disappointment. Hard headed? His wife accused him of having a skull too hard to understand what she was saying? "What about us, Cat?" he almost whispered. "You knew there was not an ounce of love between the two of us! The only thing you always wanted was to rut! I allowed that. I needed bairns for the Clan, as father told me. Now you can go away. Just send your money for the boys and go fight a war somewhere, Lochiel." "What about the farm?" he asked, ice sliding down his spine. The farm had been bought with his mother's money. "I'll take care of the farm. You go and earn your sons' education. Now go!" She pointed to the front door. "My mam’s inheritance paid for this farm, Cat! Why would I leave? Everything's mine by right." Catriona stepped closer to him. He could smell her breath. It had become stale in the five years they had been married. “‘Coz you're a lousy farmer, Lochiel, that's why! You're not worth shit here! And don't start whining about your mam. Everybody knows she earned her money on her back, fucking bloody Sassenachs!" Blood rose high in Lochiel's cheeks.

"My mother married a Scott who protected me and fed me, Cat MacGregor, and don't you forget it!" "That old Cameron was not your father, you idiot! She married him for his money and then killed him, I swear to God! Now, go away, leave us in peace here! Go back to your whores in that God forsaken town!" Lochiel looked at her with desperation. He knew they were ill-matched, but just to go away and leave his little boys again? Cat suddenly seemed to remember something; Lochiel's protective streak that had made him agree to this ridiculous marriage. "Just go, Lochiel," she said almost pleadingly, "you know there's nothing for you here. I'll take care of our bairns. I am sure I'm doing this right. Is é Dia amháin a thab-harfaidh breithiúnas orm!" He looked wide-eyed at her when she pleaded with him in his mother's language. It had been their lovelanguage for God’s sake! Only God would judge her here? "Come back for the boys when you can find the time; on Sundays. Now just go, there is a world waiting for you out there." Lochiel left, looking back longingly at the small windows of the bedrooms where the boys were sleeping in their snug cots. He was not welcome anymore in his own house. He shook his head. Catriona MacGregor got him by the balls! She had married him and made him buy the farm the MacDuff's, her nephews, had put up for sale,

before leaving for the Americas with the money he had inherited from his mother. Catriona had birthed four sons in almost as many years, not a small feat at thirty years and up. Now she had sent her husband off to make the extra money she needed for herself, the boys and her bloody clan, without the benefits a husband earned for his efforts; a place in her bed when he came home. He clenched his jaws together. She was thirty-five against his twenty-five. God, if a man ever could be rewarded for being used, he'd earn the first prize! He looked back once more at the house that was rightfully his, tears of rage burning in his eyes. His horse was tethered to a gatepost. Lochiel looked up to the sky. There was no way he would be able to reach Edinburgh today but the weather was probably good enough to sleep under the sky, although there seemed to be frost in the air. He swung onto his horse that blew a greeting softly through its nose. He turned back to see if Catriona would be standing in front of a window to wave goodbye, but there was no one to witness his shameful retreat. Off to Edinburgh, he thought sourly, and if possible, a new life. * * *

Chapter 3: LADY SOPHIA'S HAVEN * He stirred when she entered the bedroom. She put down the tray and bent to kiss him on his wiry hair. It was grey as the color of the clouds over London. She smiled when he opened his eyes reaching for her and pulling her into the sumptuous bed. She giggled and kissed his mouth, feeling the bristles of his upcoming beard. "Hm," he murmured, "where have you been, my love? I missed you when I woke up." She snuggled her head between the apex of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his beloved scent. "I don't believe for a moment you were awake earlier," she accused him with amusement in her voice. He grinned in her hair. "But I was, my love. Can't you see I raked the fire?" She leant her head back to watch the big fireplace in the bedroom. "How sweet of you," she said laughingly, "the house is damn cold, you know. There are just enough servants to see to our needs. How well organized you are, Jon!" He shifted on his pillow, taking her shoulders with him. "Whitesands," she whispered, "I love the house. Is it yours?" "Do I smell coffee?" He sniffed profusely. She hastily untangled herself from him.

"Coffee and honeyed scones," she confirmed, grabbing a big porcelain cup by the ear. "Drink it quickly, before it gets cold. That kitchen is miles away from this room." She sat up against the headboard. He followed her example and scrambled up from the big pillow, pushing it behind his back before he took the cup from her. "Is there a scone without honey?" he asked, "That damn tooth is playing up again when I eat sweet stuff." She nodded and smiled, then dangled a scone without sugary confections before his eyes. He grabbed it and bit into it with vigor. She closed her eyes and leant against the headboard, sipping the black coffee with relish. She had already eaten a scone, while she was waiting for the cook to finish the tray for her, and had decided that one was enough. She had put on weight these last years and even when Jon told her that he thought her beautiful the way she was, she still felt the need to be a bit trimmer. He kissed her neck, wafting a scent of coffee and early-morning odors toward her. She bent to kiss his head. "It's Sophia's." "What?" She shook herself out of her reveries on getting slimmer and more beautiful. “Whitesands!" he nodded, swallowing the last of his scone, "Richard gave it to her after a bit of a nudge." His nudge, no doubt, she mused.

"Why? Sophia does not need a dowry. She swore never to marry after, well after, you know?" "Groathill? Yes. That does not mean she does not need a place of her own. Anyway, I had the impression that Celia wanted her out of the house in London, now that she has conceived again. I don't think that Sophia and Celia get along well at all. Richard always adored his sister and that does not sit well with his wife." She nodded distractedly. After the rape of Sophia Grey, a Duke's daughter, the Duke of Lindley Richard Grey's inte-rest for his sister seemed to have tripled. He had been very protective towards her, setting other evil whispers into motion. His young spoilt wife did not like Lady Sophia at all. That she could understand; a young bride always wanted everything concerning her marriage for herself, including her husband. Sophia had definitely stood between Celia Grey's wishes and her Duke. On the other hand, Celia Grey was a wimp. Her father, the Earl of Cornwell, and his atrocious wife had spoilt her rotten. Audrey had mourned Richard Grey's decision to marry the ninny, but at twenty-six, no young man of the Quality could be considered wise. She had hoped however that Richard would have chosen a girl like his older sister; Sophia was extremely beautiful, intelligent and forceful. She ruled the extensive ducal households since she was a slip of a girl of fourteen. Richard and Sophia’s father William Grey, Duke of Lindley, had died of a liver disease when Richard had been less than three years old.

"It is a beautiful place, Jon. Does your stepdaughter know we are borrowing it from her?" Jonathan Montgomery, Duke of Rothford, shrugged. "There is not much that slips through the mazes of her net of intelligence. Of course she knows about us, Audrey." He felt her breath choke and reached out to pat her hand. It felt dry and slightly brittle. "Don't you ever worry about my stepchildren, dearest! They are on my side, remember. I have been their surrogate father for almost thirty years." She could only nod. It did not bear thinking about the rumors of her liaison with Jon Rothford reaching the ears of her vengeful husband. Even when he was far away on his estates in Scottish Loghaire, she feared his wrath. They had not slept together since she conceived Hengist, their second son, as she could not abide his touch. Her husband had been fast enough to find his release and consolation with an endless string of lovers and mistresses. There were enough Scottish girls who would gladly share his bed for an extra meal and some coin. Still, he would not take her unfaithfulness lightly. Men like Loghaire would never feel comfortable wearing the horns. She watched her lover from under her lashes, drinking the last of her coffee. She wondered if Jonathan even suspected that he had been the hero of her dreams for the best part of thirty years. She had seen him for the first time when she was

invited along with her husband to his marriage to the beautiful widowed Elisabeth Belding, then Elisabeth Grey, Duchess of Lindley. Agnew had almost left her at home because she was huge with their first child and he despised the look of her, but she had insisted she wanted to come to the wedding. She had never set eyes on Jon before. Agnew hated to entertain "Sassenachs," the Gaelic word of mockery for the English. When she had her come-out in Lon-don, Jonathan was governing his duchy in the North together with his ailing father. She had hated the new future Duchess of Rothford on sight, understanding very well that it was the green beast of jealousy instigating her dislike; how had such a lowborn woman been able to catch a Duke and a future Duke in a row? Elisabeth Grey had been a lowly colonel's daughter, with a doubtful possession in Ireland that would probably make him some sort of a squire at best. Her mother was rumored to have been an actress, but nobody could tell for certain, as she was originally Irish-born with a hoity-toity name, of which one doubted it was truly hers to carry. It had all been quite lowering, although Jonathan Montgomery was elated to have Elisabeth as his wife at last. Audrey knew he had almost dueled with old Lindley over her in earlier days, but when he left the country for one of the wars against the French, Lindley had seen his chances and secured her for his bed with a wedding ring

around one of her grabbing fingers, something Jonathan had not been willing to gift her with at the time. Jonathan had hardly been able to await her year of mourning before tearing her to the altar after William Lindley’s death during her fifth year of marriage. At twenty-two Elisabeth Belding had been more beautiful than ever. She had borne Lindley two children: Sophia and Richard, who got the most wonderful stepfather in the kingdom, when she married Jonathan Mont-gomery. How ugly Audrey had thought herself to be at that wedding! She had never been known for her beauty and Agnew had only married her for her money, bragging to his friends that he would take her from behind, so that he would not have to see her ugly face. To hear that rumor had hurt her deeply, but then she had already been pregnant with their first-born, Philip, and it had taken the future Earl about a year to come back to her bed. He had not bedded her the way he had bragged to his friends that he would. In fact, he was quite amorous, strangely enough, until she ended that by telling him there was a new child on the way. Since then she had locked her door to him. He had tried to approach her a few more times after Hengist was born, but she had denied his rapprochement, suspecting that he did not have any of his disgusted lovers available and therefore turned to her as some last resort. She had felt such a relief not to have to share his bed anymore!

Audrey was the Duke of Lindley's niece, twice removed. Her father was one of the Duke's many cousins; her mother had been a Wharton of the rich branch from that illustrious family, bringing in a lot of money and a good dowry for her ugly-duck daughter. Loghaire, then only Andrew Agnew, had pounced upon the dowry and as he was mostly in Rothford's Scottish camp instead of Lindley's, her parents had agreed to the marriage: Loghaire was needed for the balance between the two Scottish Dukedoms and when the future Earl of Loghaire had a Lindley in his bed, they figured that the balance would be even. Jon took her in his arms the moment she finished her coffee. "Jonathan, we have to leave!" She squirmed in his still strong arms. He kissed her on the top of her nose, smiling that dashing smile at her. "Just one more time, my beauty. I will have to go to Edinburgh for John's wedding and I doubt we will be able to see each other there in this lovely fashion." My beauty. He had said it again. "Why do you call me that, Jon?" she whispered. "Beauty?" His eyes started to gleam. "Because you are beautiful, Audrey, look at yourself!" "You know I am not. I could never hold a candle to your wife..." She felt him stiffen the moment she mentioned his long dead wife.

Then he kissed her firmly on her lips. "Elisabeth was a passion from the time I was a young foolish buck. True, I married her in haste after Lindley died and if I may believe the stories, it was better than a fairy-tale." "What do you mean? As far as I know it was the most romantic love tale of the century," she protested. He pulled a face, holding her close. "It took me a while to find out that she was a manipulative shrew. Shrew as in shrewd. I don't think she was capable of love. The older she got, the more the beautiful, golden apple turned out to be rotten on the inside. She could play the part of the loving wife and 'grand amour' extremely well, but in the end, I knew her for the self-centered and spoilt woman that she really was. She had no heart, Audrey. Proof of that is that on her deathbed she forced John to marry that little chit, Lizzie Campbell. John was only twelve, for God's sake and Lizzie probably not even four years old. Do you know why?" Audrey shook her head slowly. Like everybody else in the kingdom, she had always wondered about that strange deathbed-wish. “The little girl was her father's granddaughter. He had begot-ten a son by some girl of the Scottish gentry, but he was already married to Elisabeth’s mother. The Campbells of Ayre adopted the boy; I guess they were the girl’s aunt and uncle. Elisabeth would go to all sorts of lengths to improve the lot of her own family. She didn't care that John, as a Duke's son, should marry a

high social flyer with money to boot, not some poor nobody from a Scottish village, but I cannot come back on that promise. Not even for John’s sake. He hates the chit, of course. He’s twenty-four and in love with some terrible Russian countess." She smiled bashfully. "I am sorry, Jon," she whispered, "but still that does not make me beautiful..." "But you are!" he said urgently before kissing her again. Audrey blushed, pondering that she had not yet cleaned her teeth with mint water. He only continued after a long lingering kiss. "You have the most beautiful heart in the world! I always admired your softness and calmness. My God, Audrey do you know how much a man can crave peace and quiet when he lives next to a termagant? Do you know she actually blackmailed me into complying with her so-called deathbed wish?" "You, Jonathan?" Audrey exclaimed with a shocked voice, "How could she ever... You are the most powerful among the Dukes of the Realm!" He grinned at her, suddenly finding again the sense of humor that she admired so much in him. "After she had Randolph she stayed in London. The Queen wanted her as a Lady of her court. That suited her damn well. She needed the admiration of the courtiers, the Queen and the King more than she needed my company. When I was back in Stirling, I saw Maighread

again. There were precious few Scottish girls who could compare with her beauty..." He quickly kissed Audrey's cheek when he saw her eyes darken. "I knew of Maighread since she was thirteen years old. She was Stirling's miracle girl. Her old father, a MacDonald sired her when he was in his sixties and her mother had already passed by her fiftieth birthday. Her beauty was absolutely blinding. When I came back to Stirling she was nineteen years old and I managed to seduce her. Our son was born before Elisabeth had John." Audrey's eyes widened. "You have a bastard son in Stirling?" Jon shrugged. "As far as I know he is in Edinburgh now. I got him a commission with the Black Watch, because that was his heart's desire. He does not know about me, though. When Maighread was pregnant I had to marry her to one of her old cousins who was on the brink of death. I bought her a house outside Bannockburn. Her so-called husband died within the year. Elisabeth never forgave me the faux pas. She brought it up into our relationship whenever she felt like being spiteful. She would only forgive me on her deathbed if I married John to Lizzie Campbell. That's how it all came about. A 'tit for tat' she called it. I could never tell John what was lying underneath this situation of his marriage, though." "Do John and Randolph know about this half-brother?"

He shook his head. "Another one of the promises you made to Elisabeth?" she asked incredulously. "I can only tell them when I lie on my own deathbed." "Oh, Jon,” she exclaimed, "you cannot be serious! What if you die far away from them, or very suddenly? You must tell them or leave them a note in your will!" His grin suddenly appeared again. "Now that I told you my story, you owe me a big fat swive, Ma'am!" She watched him closely, her green eyes turning from tender-ness to lust. He grabbed her around her waist, reaching for a firm buttock. She had passed her fiftieth birthday some time ago, but for him she was like the sun and the moon together in the sky. He had known willowy beauties in his life, but as he had told Audrey already, he preferred the friendship of a woman he could talk to, whose beauty shone from within, to the quickly fading beauty of spiteful and spoilt women. She had become his haven in a rapidly changing world, Audrey Agnew, Countess of Loghaire. She sighed when his hand opened her robe, reaching for the apex of her thighs. Jonathan Montgomery had been her lover for the last two years. They had met again at the court of George III. She could not believe her luck when the most handsome Duke of the kingdom started stalking her. When she had given in to his wish to share a bed with her, she had

been amazed. Bedding Jonathan had been so very different from her husband's rough attentions. She had never known what lovemaking could mean to a woman, and Jonathan, perceptive to the core, had taught her what it could be like. She now feared that she was addicted to him, hardly believing her luck and her fortune of being chosen as his mistress. He had asked her to meet him at Sophia Grey's lovely mansion. She understood now that Sophia tried to be at White-sands whenever she could, but the affairs of the Lindley properties often prevented her from living there. Poor Sophia, with her self-induced spinsterhood, because a rake had not taken 'no' for an answer at a party in the country, where the Crown Prince was present. Her mother had decided to 'cover the situation up.' The man who had dared to rape her daughter was too ineligible to become her husband. He had only been one of the Prince’s ‘low-life cronies.’ Elisabeth Rothford had never liked complications. She had shushed Sophia, saying that nobody would notice the fact that she had lost her maidenhead if nobody knew about it, conveniently forgetting that the case of Sophia's maidenhead had been food for the sniggering court for a month. Audrey decided to pay Sophia a visit in London the next day to bring her a big bouquet of flowers. Within a few days, she would leave for the North for John Montgomery's wedding as well. Whether she would add her company to Jonathan's was still undecided, but if he would ask her, she knew she would come gladly.

She sighed when he rolled her on her back. "Jon," she murmured, "at your age you should wobble grandchildren on your knee, instead of attacking honorable women!" He cracked a laugh. "Audrey, any man will tell you that they will always prefer a good swive over dandling children. Just start moaning, will you? I love it when you moan!" "I love it when you make me moan, Jonathan," she mum-bled, after which he groused about women always wanting the last word and not knowing when to shut up and enjoy themselves. * * *

Chapter 4: LOCHIELS SLIGHT PREDICAMENT * The sergeant scratched his head when he looked down on the young lieutenant. Gads, but the man had really superseded himself tonight! He was stretched out on the flagstones of the small tavern, lying in a pool of blood and vomit. The stench rose to high heaven and he wondered where he could best take hold of the man to drag him away without having to cope with blood and vomit on his hands and uniform. There was nothing for it. Taking him by the legs would lift the short battle kilt the lieutenant was wearing and give all and sundry the sight that should normally be reserved to wives and lovers. He just could not do that to the lieutenant: Lochiel Cameron was known to be as prudish as a virgin. He might be lying passed out in a tavern of bad repute but he would never touch the women there. As far as Sergeant Burns knew, he was still a fervent believer in his wedding vows even after his wife had liberated him from them by refusing him access to his own farm and marital bed. "Stupid sod!" the burly sergeant muttered. Like everybody else in the regiment he had heard about the young man's mishap with his wife and had felt sorry for him, but then he had always deemed the whole situation idiotic. No young man in his right mind should marry a woman ten years his senior! And just look where it had

got him! Passed out in his own vomit and blood, and God only knows what else, on that dirty floor! "I bet you'd welcome some help," a low voice rumbled behind him, "we'd better get him to my mother's house, Colin. There's no way we can get him back to the barracks in that state." Sergeant Colin Burns turned to the big youth standing behind him. He had to duck as the tavern was low and he hardly fit between ceiling and floor. "Lieutenant Agnew!" Colin said in delighted surprise, "I'm truly glad to see you, sir! I asked Morty to get me some help, but I didn't think there was a hope in hell that you would come to the rescue." "I’d just arrived from Stirling when your man came racing to the barracks. We'll bring him to the Countess' residence. I have it on good authority that she's in London, so she cannot cluck about him or tell me what bad company I keep nowadays. Right, you lift him under his right arm and I'll take his left. Prepare yourself for a long haul; my mother's house is on the outskirts." Colin nodded eagerly. Lieutenant Agnew was only twenty-three years old, but like Lochiel Cameron he was already a legend within the Scottish regiment. Everybody knew that he was the Earl of Loghaire's spare son who had refused to go to some Sassenach city to study and disappear into the life of the London Quality. He had joined the Scottish regiment of the 42nd Black Watch instead, receiving his training in Stirling, away from his father's influence, and became a first lieutenant without paying for his commission.

"You'll be staying in Edinburgh for some time, Lieutenant?” Burns asked the impressive man who had taken Lochiel's left shoulder. Hengist Agnew turned his face away from Lochiel and swore. "Damnation, what has he been drinking? He smells like a pile of shit!" Burns laughed. "He's out cold with it. Damn, the man is heavy! He must weigh twenty stone, sir." "We'll take him between us, Sergeant. That will be easier. We'll put him on my horse even if the poor beast will probably balk at his smell. You'll have to come inside the house as well; there is enough staff to clean us all up. I understand my brother came to the house for the wedding already. My mother insisted and lo and behold, he listened. She has the house entirely staffed now to tend to Philip’s specific needs and her own when she’s back." Hengist put his foot against the door to open it, as nobody in the tavern seemed inclined to give them a hand at all. "The wedding, sir?" the sergeant inquired. “Lord John Montgomery is to be shackled to a girl of Ayre, a baron’s daughter. The problem is that he does not want to be shackled to anyone, let alone to that girl. If ever, he needs to marry an heiress.” "Like this one should have done," Sergeant Burns nodded with his head into Lochiel's direction, "but he's

been married for five years now and has four kids, all sons. He's been busy, you know." Hengist rasped a laugh. "I know. I’ve known him for years, since the happy days when he hadn't yet taken it upon himself to provide the MacGregors with a bunch of boys for their clan. I heard she threw him out of the house. His house. Never marry a hag, Sergeant, they get to you and you’ll have to turn in whatever you possess, and then you'll find yourself out on the cobbles." Sergeant Burns peered sharply at the Earl's son. He had heard rumors about the lieutenant stalking the beautiful Marguerite Ross, who was said to be very recently betrothed to one of the richest men in the Realm. She was to marry Fat Alexander within a year. He had only heard about the girl's beauty, as he had never set eyes on her. Her mother and stepfather, Lord and Lady Mac-Kenna, took care that she only went to church and the lending library, places Sergeant Burns never chose to visit, not even to lay eyes on the most beautiful girl in Scotland. On the other hand, it had not stopped the lieutenant from flirting with other women. The lieutenant had definitely been under Meighen Guthrie's skirts. When he had stopped seeing the girl, her wails had been heard all over the Firth. A boy was holding Lieutenant Agnew's horse on Mona Street. The Black hated Lochiel's smell as Hengist predicted, but the lieutenant just threw the man over the saddle, bottom up, took the horse by the bridle and

walked the long way home, an eager Sergeant Burns following him, excited by the prospect of entering the residence of the Earl and Countess of Loghaire. Lochiel woke up with a blinding headache. He brought his hand to his head and touched a cotton cloth bandage. He felt his stomach heave and managed only by sheer iron will not to puke on the laced sheets. Laced sheets? He squinted at the fancy bedding through his blistering pain. He was lying in a huge bed with soft feather mattresses. His head was resting on a large pillow. He groaned, not comprehending why he was not lying on his hard and rough bunk in the rented room he recently shared with his army friend Peter Wallace, in the vicinity of the Edinburgh barracks. Somebody close to the bed heard him stir and groan, and hurried out the door of the sumptuous room. Lochiel closed his eyes again, feeling sick with the worst kind of hangover he’d ever experienced in his life. He heard a man bark a short laugh. He whimpered and slowly opened one eye, which made the man next to his bed laugh even louder. "I asked my father's valet to prepare you something for that hangover,” the man said, coming slowly into Lochiel's focus. "A little hair of the dog won't do you any harm, I'd say." Lochiel opened both his eyes wide. "Hengist?"

He noticed his voice was only a croak. The man pulled a chair close to the bed. "Don't move, Lochiel. I don't know how you did it, but you managed to almost split your head on the floor of that tavern. Gads, I am afraid I cannot admire your taste for drink-houses nowadays. Thank God I ran into the boy who had been sent by Sergeant Burns to let us know that you were in trouble. I'd never have been able to find you otherwise." He turned to somebody Lochiel could not see. "Here, my friend," Hengist said, holding a glass with a straw close to Lochiel's mouth. "That's Derrick's special cure against hangovers as big as a Bengal tiger. The doctor told me you would need to lie down for a few days. You may have a bad concussion." Lochiel's eyes squinted after he had drunk the potion Hengist fed him. "No heaving!" Hengist warned and nodded in approval when he saw Lochiel choking back the impulse to feed the special cure to the rugs. Lochiel swallowed and then gasped. "Can't stay,” he groaned, "I need to pick up Montgomery's chit in Ayre. Nairn told me to get it done as soon as possible." Hengist's look darkened. "Is John not going to pick up his own bride?" Lochiel dared to shake his head.

"He'll be arriving nigh on the night before the nuptials. He won't spend one more hour here than needed." "Why you?" Hengist asked. Lochiel sighed. "I'm known as a notorious married man, remember? She's considered safe with me, I guess. The whole family over there will join us anyway." "Well, you can't go today or tomorrow and that wedding is still two weeks away. Let me tell Nairn you are badly hurt. Maybe he'll send someone else." Lochiel looked almost cross-eyed at his friend. "No use talking to you now," Hengist grumbled, rising from the chair. "Let me get a message to Nairn and we'll see, al-right?" There was no answer. Lochiel was asleep again. Hengist shrugged and walked out of the room. * * *

Chapter 5: AN ESCORT FOR LIZZIE CAMPBELL * "So, he is on his way at last?" Bernadette Warleigh sat down on a chaise, looking at a distracted Lizzie, who was fumbling with a bow on her dress. "Do you think it is improper to wear this dress, Detty?" she asked, studying herself in the mirror. Without waiting for Detty's answer, she scoffed: "Mother says it's quite improper, but what does she know? She's only an Irish squire's daughter. I heard décolletages in London are a lot lower than this one." Detty looked confused at her friend, who was also supposed to be her cousin thrice removed. Lizzie was the most beautiful girl in the world, everybody claimed, with her dark curly hair, her eyes the color of cornflowers and her rosebud mouth. Contrary to the dumpling Detty, her figure was dainty and her waist slim, emphasizing the broad hips. Even at sixteen, her white breasts almost over-flowed the deep cleavage of her dress. It was a pity that Lizzie knew all about her lovely assets, though. The fact that she had been betrothed to a Duke's son since she was four years old had not helped her to develop a sweet character. She might have been an adorable child, if her father had not taught her that she was very special, with the best marriage prospects in the whole of Scotland. Inevitably, that had made her arrogant and haughty as a young girl, and almost unbearable for the girls of her age at fifteen. The only

one who was able to cope with her was Bernadette Warleigh, daughter of an impoverished squire, because she simply did not care about Lizzie's self-centered nature. She did not listen to Lizzie's babbling and selfimportance; she just sat and nodded, dreaming about the heroes from the gothic novels she devoured every day. Bernadette was not truly down-to-earth; she was just floating on some cloud where most people could not reach her feelings, or her sensitivity for things un-fair or untrue. Detty was still turning Lizzie's remark in her mind. Why did Lizzie say that her mother was only a squire's daughter? Lizzie's father, Barry Campbell, had only become a baron since Lizzie's betrothal to Lord John, now twelve years ago. Before that he had been a squire as well and not a wealthy one either. "There was a messenger saying that your escort is on its way at last, Lizzie. Aren't you happy?" Lizzie turned around to glare at her friend on the pink embroidered chaise. It was by far the most beautiful piece of furniture in her sumptuous bedroom. Her bed and furniture were made of rosewood, true, and her curtains were of expensive pink satin, but according to her maid Mattie a chaise like that did not exist anywhere else. It had been hand-embroidered in very little stitches. Lizzie did not like to ponder on the fact that it had taken her mother months of needlework to finish the piece of furniture designed especially for her beloved only daughter's room.

Since her father had become Baron of Ayre, more or less a courtesy title because it was newly created, there had been entitlements; the manor itself and monies coming from six sheep farms, and the land that stretched along the wide river. Lizzie was not able to recall what her former house looked like before they came to live at Sweet Stream Manor. Mother had wanted to take her there one day but she had always refused to see it. She had insisted that Sweet Stream Manor was her house and not some grubby old place. Her mother had looked at her with sad eyes, but then Lizzie did not remember when her mother had ever seemed happy. She did not understand her mother's attitude at all. It was true that her mother was not able to hold a candle to Lizzie's beauty and of course all the good assets Lizzie possessed had come from Lizzie's father. At the age of forty-one Barry Campbell was still a big handsome man. Lizzie had inherited his black wavy hair, although his eyes were of a more greyish than blue hue. He had tall muscled limbs because he liked to be at his farms and rode his horse every day for hours. Lizzie loved her father to distraction, but it was generally known that although her father liked his daughter a lot, he had always mourned the fact that his wife had not been able to birth him a son. There had been other babes after Lizzie was born, but they had died either within a few weeks of their birth or months before they had been due. Barry’s relationship with his

wife had deteriorated after the local doctor had told Sarah Campbell that a new pregnancy might well cost the Baroness' health or her life, while the chances that she would bring a babe to term were probably nonexistent. The time came that Sarah Campbell heard of her husband's infidelities and the fact that a few lowly maids had been able to bring the birth of his bastard children to a successful completion had sunken her into a deep depression. Although Sarah had hoped to find some consolation in her beautiful daughter, that hope proved futile when Lizzie became an adolescent. By then, Lizzie did not see any reason to become a comfort to her ever-saddened mother; she preferred the company of her father, who only rewarded his daughter's adoration by staying away from the manor for whole days in a row. Barry hated it when women started clinging to him. It had been Mattie who had warned Lizzie that the Baron preferred to find his delights somewhere else, presumably as far as Glasgow, where the women were willing and less prudish than in the county of Ayre. Lizzie had been hurt. She could not imagine why her father had to go after 'willing' women when he had his beautiful daughter at home. Now at sixteen she was happy to go away into the world. The marriage to Lord John suddenly looked a lot more appealing than one year ago. When Lord John had visited her, at the Duke's urgings, he had been arrogant and unfriendly, but everybody around Lizzie had consoled her with the fact

that Lord John was rather young to contemplate marriage and could not be expected to be overjoyed about his coming nuptials. Sarah Campbell had been aghast at his bad manners, but by that time, nobody but Mattie took any notice of the Baroness’ feelings. Lord John had even pointed out to the Baroness that he was not remotely interested in his future bride and her Irish-born mother, which carved the insults even deeper into the Baroness' mind. When she had dared to complain to the Baron about the young man who was to become their son-in-law the Baron had been irritated. Of course the young spare was less than nice; the marriage was an arranged one, wasn't it? The Baron did not doubt however that Lord John would make an aboutturn about Lizzie as soon as he had bedded her. She was a beautiful girl and everything would be fine as soon as Lord John had 'broken her in.’ The Baroness was aware that her husband used a terminology that was rather apt for horses but not for humans, let alone her daughter, but did not know how she could make her husband see things differently. Lizzie seemed blessedly unaware of Lord John's bad temper and arrogance: she had fallen in love with his startling handsomeness and thought nothing less of him than that he was to be her knight in shining armor, coming soon to ride her into a golden sunrise. On the contrary, her mother's worries irritated her to no end. At least it had not helped Lord John at all to be so rude; there had not been a cancellation of the betrothal.

In March, the Duke of Rothford wrote a long letter to Lizzie's parents arranging the nuptials for May the 27th, exactly twelve years after his sweet wife's sad demise. Barry Campbell had only shrugged his shoulders, leaving his wife and daughter in a state of vast excitement over the preparations for the wedding. Lizzie would marry in Edinburgh in the chapel of the ancient Edinburgh Castle, where Kings and Queens had been wed through the ages. Lizzie had little experience with men or boys, as everybody had known that she carried the stamp of 'reserved for a Duke's son,' which meant that not one young man in the neighborhood had dared to approach her or tried to court her. She had some knowledge of what happened between two wedded persons. She had entered the stables a few times when two horses had been brought together for breeding purposes and Detty had provided her with some naughty books, which always ended with the heroine kissing the hero. Also, she had witnessed the carnal love between a milkmaid and a stable-lad, unwitting at first and afterward with unmitigated interest. Watching with climbing excitement, she had felt pangs of delicious thrills somewhere in her underbelly and had found out that if she rubbed that place somewhere between her legs, she could bring herself to unexpected ecstasy. She started to stalk the couple on their quests for privacy, amazed at the fact that people could enjoy such crude acts so very much. She started to dream about the

couple's fumbling and couplings at night and had found the secret joy of self-induced orgasms. Soon enough Lord John had replaced the stable-lad in her erotic dreams, so now that she was to marry her Duke's son at last, she felt more elation than dread of spending the wedding night with him. "I think the dress is lovely, although a bit daring..." Detty answered her question at last. Lizzie pouted when she thought she heard some criticism in Detty's judgment. "I think Lord John will love it!" she countered, "The last time he was here, mother dressed me as if I were a ten-year-old little chit. He will see the change in me and adore me for it..." Detty nodded hastily. It would not do to counter her friend and make her angry. She was to marry that very handsome Duke's son after all, and Detty was not going to annoy Lizzie so as to prevent her taking her to Edinburgh as a bride's maid. The miracle was that Detty had been invited to accompany Lizzie all the way to Edinburgh as her closest friend. Detty's parents had not been so fortunate as to receive an invitation as Squire Warleigh and his wife had not been socially elevated enough to be able to mix with the illustrious wedding company that would await Lizzie in Edinburgh. Lizzie's parents had been forced to pay for Detty's bridesmaid’s dress as there was no way that the Warleigh family would be able to afford such a luxurious frock to be worn for one occasion only.

Lizzie had chosen the color and design of Detty's dress so that it would enhance her friend’s countenance. She had admitted that Detty was far from enticing: the girl had mouse-grey hair, a rather plain face, and she was a bit chubby due to her fondness of sweetmeats. It was not in Lizzie’s best interest to haul about an ugly bridesmaid, so for the first time in her life she had tried to make Detty look more beautiful. Detty was elated to see the peach-collared silk and the matching lace trimmings of her dress. She was to wear fake silken orange-blossoms in her hair and a small mother-of-pearl necklace that would be Lizzie's bridal gift to her, or more exact: the Baroness' choice of gift for the faithful friend. Lizzie's dress was a cloud of pearly-white silk, embroidered with pearls. The pearls had been Lizzie's choice. She had rejected the crystal bangles that the modiste in Glasgow thought suitable, stating that if one married a Duke's son one should be wearing real jewelry and not fake ones. Her mother had been shocked by Lizzie's choice. In her book pearls were similar to teardrops and only worn at funerals. Lizzie had not given a jot about her mother’s opinion, of course. "I want to talk to Samantha today," Lizzie suddenly stated. She rose hastily from her chair in front of the mirror, calling for Mattie. "Samantha?" Detty asked wide-eyed.

Everybody knew that Samantha was a witch who lived in the woods with all sorts of animals. "Mattie, Detty and I are going for a ride in the buggy. Get me my shawl just in case. Do you want to come with us? Then we don't have to take a stable boy to drive us there." Mattie looked askance at her little mistress. She was only twenty-three years old, but had lived with the family since she was thirteen. When Lizzie had turned fourteen the Baroness had thought it wise to ask Mattie to take care of Lizzie's wardrobe and bodily needs; she would need her own ladies' maid anyway when she was to go to Lord John's household. Mattie had always liked to take the ribbons after one of the grooms had taught her to handle horses and carts. Lizzie had more than once used her skill to drive her to places her parents would not approve of. Lizzie abhorred driving anything. She had been taught well how to ride a horse, which she did with a firm hand and a straight seat due to her father's lessons. His praise had been more important to her than her initial fright of horses. Still, steering a contraption through a crowd was akin to doing a servant's work, in her opinion, and that of course could not be expected of a young woman who was to marry a Duke's son. Mattie had balanced her role as a ladies' maid between the Baroness and Lizzie and it had been clear from the start which was the more demanding of the two.

She was very fond of the poor Baroness, who had her own bedroom in the house since the Baron had decided to openly stray from the marriage bed. Mattie's fondness for the Baroness was reciprocated: when the Baron had been drunk and tried to lay his hands on Mattie while she made Lizzie's bed (Mattie was the epitome of a healthy and busty country girl) she had cracked a bedpan on his head, earning her the Baron's disgust and the Baroness' delight. Mattie was born on one of the tenant's farms and had always had a healthy outlook on life. There had been a nice man once whom she went steady with, but he had left for the soldier's ranks of the Scottish Stirling regiment and his homecomings had been far and few. Mattie had given up on him after he had not reappeared for more than a year. Now she hoped she would be able to find somebody in Edinburgh or London; wherever life would take her with her young mistress, as the boys in Ayre were not much to her critical liking. Mattie was a down-to-earth girl with a good eye for character. She had not liked Lord John one bit for his arrogance and sarcasm. She had watched her little mistress' growing feelings for the cad with a sinking heart, as she did not suppose any good would come from that union. Although she thought Lizzie rather spoiled and naive, there was room enough in her heart to love her. Strangely enough, Lizzie tended to forget her selfindulgences when Mattie was around, uncharacteristically treating her like an older sister.

"Do you think you should go there today? What if Lord John arrives and you're not there?" Lizzie put up her chin. “Samantha's only a half an hour's ride, I'm certain we will be back in time. I need to consult her on some matters." Mattie knew exactly on what matters Lizzie wanted to consult Samantha Ferrer. She decided that it would be wiser to go with her charge. Lizzie might need her after the consultation. Mattie did not have a lot of confidence in what was going to happen to Lizzie's future and if Lizzie wanted Samantha to look into her cards to tell her what the future would be holding for her, she'd better be there to do damage control. "Are you certain you want to know what the cards are saying?" Samantha Ferrer looked at Lizzie with some concern. Samantha Ferrer was a stunning redhead of nearly twenty-five years who had been widowed since she was twenty-one, when her husband and babe had died in the fire at their farm. She had preferred to sell the Ferrer property and to live in a small cottage in the woods of the Ayre district. She had some goats, chickens and sheep and nurtured an herbal garden. People had started to look at her in strange ways when she had started to sell potions and lotions, which earned her the reputation of being a witch. Her red hair

did not help that reputation either, nor the fact that some gypsy woman had taught her to tell people's fortunes by reading her playing cards for them. The fortune telling had become her best paying sidekick since the time she lived in her cottage. Barry Campbell had not hesitated to give her his protection though, bartering his help and protection against the use of her very delectable body. Mattie had noticed at once that Samantha was breeding, although she hid the fact well under her wide apron. Mattie had no doubts there was a new illegitimate Campbell on the way and she looked at Samantha with disapproval, although she also sensed some envy. Barry Campbell was too handsome of a man for his own good. She had slapped him more than once when he'd made some obvious advances at her, but she had done that for her poor mistress' sake. The Baroness suffered under Barry's shenanigans with all the willing girls in Ayre and Mattie was wise enough not to start anything with the Baron under Sarah Campbell's nose. On the other hand, Barry Campbell was food for any girl's fantasies and if Mattie had lived far away in some cottage in the woods instead of at the Campbell's residence, she wasn't so certain that she would not have succumbed to Barry Campbell's charms. Apart from the fact that Barry Campbell had become Ayre's most notorious stud, he also had a reputation as a great lover. Mattie had indulged with her soldier in some hurried

lovemaking and honestly, she would not have minded matching her experience with the good-looking Baron. "Why else would I be here?" Lizzie asked with a pout. "Because the cards may not always tell you what you would like to know," Samantha explained patiently. "I have laid them now on the table and something tells me there are a few things in there that you may not like to hear at all, Miss Lizzie." Lizzie looked adamant. "Just start, Samantha. I'm paying you for it, remember?" Samantha sent a worried look at Mattie who just shrugged. "Oh, well,” Samantha peered down at the cards again, "I see that you will be leaving soon for a town near big water..." "Everybody knows I'm to leave for Edinburgh!" Lizzie scoffed, "Tell me something I don't know yet!" Samantha sent Lizzie an exasperated look. "Fine," she mumbled, “so you will be leaving for a new life. It will not at all turn out the way you expect, though. I see here a Jack of Hearts who will interfere in the life you think you have got all worked out. There is a Jack of Diamonds here who will show himself very shortly in your life and then he will go on a faraway quest. That quest involves a woman, see, the Queen of Spades here." Lizzie frowned.

"What do you mean with all those Jacks? I don't understand a thing you are saying." Samantha shook her head. "Patience, Miss Lizzie, let me explain a few things. Look, the Jack of Diamonds is probably your husband to be, as you are the Queen of Diamonds. Matching court cards are mostly couples. You have a short bonding with this Jack of Diamonds, but he will disappear from your life for a long stretch of time. See, he is on your left which means he is only shortly with you and the card between you and him is the seven of spades which means separation. Left stands for past. You will be sad because you and the Jack of Diamonds are surrounded by clubs. Clubs mean, in this case, tears and sadness. On the other hand, there is this rapidly approaching Jack of Hearts on your right. There are many hearts involved with you and the Jack of Hearts which means, ah, love of the body more than the mind." "Don't you think the Jack of Hearts is my husband-tobe?" Lizzie interrupted. Samantha shook her head. "Jack of Hearts is almost always the lover. He's known to appear as a lover in any deck." "What about my marriage?" Lizzie asked, now a little bit panicky. "You'll marry, alright," Samantha continued, staring at the cards before her, “and there will be children. But I see a lot of secrets here. Sorrow and loneliness, Miss Lizzie. There is also... bodily harm, for yourself and the persons around you, and..."

Samantha suddenly stopped. She stared at the King of Clubs, who was a bit removed from the Queen of Clubs. "There is this couple," she whispered, "they are estranged and the man, the husband..." "Well?" Lizzie asked sharply. "There may be an accident. They... Their..." "Does it have anything to do with me?" Lizzie stamped her foot. The reading had not at all gone the way she had expected. Samantha hesitated. She passed her apron alongside her eyes as if wiping away a tear. "Ah, by the time things proceed you will be far away from this couple, Miss Lizzie." Lizzie nodded. "It does not have anything to do with me, then? Anything else I need to know?" Samantha sniffed, rubbing her belly unconsciously. "No. Except that you will not want for anything, in a material way, ever." Lizzie gave Samantha a shilling and sent Mattie a look of disgust. "We're finished here!" "I'd like Samantha to read my cards as well," Detty objected. Lizzie sat down on a simple wooden chair, impatiently tapping her foot. Samantha was already shuffling the cards for Detty. "I see this husband for you, Miss Detty," Samantha said, "but he is far away, maybe even as many as seven years, because he is at the brink of the frame. You will

marry him and he will obtain a very elevated position in life, although it won't seem so in the beginning of your marriage. You will give your love, however, to somebody else. Somebody you will meet soon and will know for years. He will be the one to give you your heart's desire in some way. Your life will be quite balanced in the beginning. See: the diamonds neutralize the hearts and the spades are neutralizing the clubs. You will only find true love when you... when you go for it." Detty looked confused and then elated. "So I'll marry a man in an elevated position and I will find true love?" Samantha smiled at her. "That's the gist of it, Miss Detty." She mused that in the end all the women who wanted her to read the cards wanted to know the same thing: will I find true love and will I marry. "Can we go now?" Lizzie asked impatiently, rising from the chair, "Lord John may be arriving any minute." Detty gave Samantha some coins and thanked her profusely. Then she had to race after Mattie and Lizzie who were already getting into the buggy. "Oh, darn!" Lizzie exclaimed, "I forgot my shawl inside. Will you get it for me Mattie? Just fasten the reigns to the knob on the side!" Mattie hurried out of the cabriolet, at the same time preventing Detty from entering it. Something shot from under the brushes, followed by a big hound.

The horse in front of the buggy lifted its legs and screamed. It balked at the two noisy creatures and started to run with the buggy swinging from left to right behind it. Lizzie, who had just wanted to sit down, shrieked with terror and fell backwards onto her seat. Mattie and Detty cried out simultaneously when they saw the buggy catch up speed as the horse jumped into a fast gallop, disappearing into the direction of the road to Ayre. Lochiel looked morosely behind him. When he had left Edinburgh four days ago, he had been in a black mood and for some reason that mood had not lifted. He looked up at the sky and swore under his breath. This May had been a very wet month and looking up at the sky told him that they had not had the last of the rain yet. He grimaced at Sergeant Burns who was heading the half-platoon of the Highlanders of the 42nd. Yesterday they had travelled between Castle Stirling and Glasgow and the rain coming from the North had proven to be unrelenting and cold. Their stay in Glasgow had been short and uncomfortable: the inn where they stayed only had room for them in and above the stables. The badly maintained roof leaked and made their short sleeping time miserable and wet. Sergeant Burns had laughingly told Lochiel that he had been spoilt during his stay at the barracks in

Edinburgh, and Lochiel supposed that he was right. Also the featherbed that he had occupied while in Hengist's mother's house had been too soft and luxurious; making him quickly forget what the life of a soldier was really about. Not that he truly knew of a soldier's life. Being stationed in Edinburgh was hardly a punishment for a man. The barracks were not badly appointed and the room he rented along with his new friend, Lieutenant Peter Wallace, was big and agreeable. They were lucky enough to find a batman whom they both paid for, and who also took care of their 'bodily needs' such as clothing, laundering, feeding and taking care of their horses and weapons. Lochiel looked down at his horse; a hefty black stallion with a pedigree better than that of an earl. He could not believe it when Colonel Nairn told him that Captain Rutherford, who had died from a bad, festering leg-wound he received when he was on a mission somewhere up North, had given him the horse in his will. He had hardly known Rutherford, although it was true that he had done him a few favors when they were both at Stirling Castle during Lochiel's training. Stirling. His face soured again. He had done his utmost to arrive as early as possible with his men in Castle Stirling so that he could ride all the way back to Bannockburn to visit his boys. The ride had been for naught. His wife had left for her father's farm in Dumbarton and had taken the boys with her. The only persons he had found there taking care of his farm

were two of his wife's cousins who were indifferent and close-mouthed. When he passed by his mother's great-house he had not bothered to visit. The Camerons who lived in it were virtual strangers to him. Catriona was the one to claim the rent for the house every month and he knew that the new tenants were gruff and unfriendly. Not that he cared. His mother had been dead for almost twenty years and he had been dragged from one Cameron family to another. When he was fourteen years old he received the unexpected and merciful news that he was to be trained as an ensign at Stirling. He gazed up at the sky again, hoping that they would reach Ayre before the rain would start to fall. When he heard the screaming he looked with confusion at his sergeant, who pointed to some commotion on a parallel road near the curb. "What the...!" "Buggy stampede!” his sergeant cried out. A horse stormed onto the road, dragging an open carriage. Lochiel's eyes widened when he saw a female figure holding on for dear life in the dangerously tilting vehicle. Lochiel touched his horse with his spurs and it sprang immediately into a wide gallop. "I'll get to the woman, you take that horse, Colin!" he cried to the sergeant.

The sergeant signaled to the half-platoon to continue on the road and spurred his horse as well, heading quickly towards the wildly meandering vehicle. Lochiel had to pass the run-away carriage on the left in order to be able to reach the screaming girl, who was grabbing the left side of the fast moving buggy. He stood heavily in his right stirrup to lean over the side of the buggy, which suddenly and mercifully followed a straighter track due to Sergeant Burns having forced the runaway horse into a straight line. "Try to stand up!" he hollered at the girl. She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes, her mouth wide open in a shriek. "I'll catch you!" he shouted at her, "Just stand up so that I can reach for you!" He kept one eye on Colin Burns who rode next to the frightened horse, trying to slow it down. "Keep her straight, Colin!" he shouted. The girl only leant against the left side of the buggy, still grasping at the side. "Now!" Lochiel leaned as much sideways as he could on his fast moving horse. The girl saw his hand coming and rose to an almost standing position. He grabbed her by the waist, hoping that his horse would continue to run in a straight line, even if he was poking it with his right spur. "Jump!" he ordered the girl urgently.

She jumped up, enough to give him a firm grip around her waist. She clung onto his right arm while he threw her inelegantly in front of his saddle. She ended there on her stomach, wildly waving her arms, seeking for something to hold. She managed to grab his left upper arm and he swung away from the fast moving vehicle. He heard her cry out and brought his horse to a slow trot. "Don't be afraid," he reassured her, still gasping with his efforts. He grasped her around her stomach and slid her in front of him. God, but the girl was a lightweight! Her long black curly hair had come loose and some of it waved against the side of his face. It smelled clean and feminine. Something below his kilt started to stir and he bit his lip in exasperation. He could not get horny just because he held some child in his arms! How old was she? He peered down her long neck and saw two beautiful white globes that were resting in a slightly askew low bodice. Damn, not a child exactly, but a very young woman! He felt his groin tighten and shifted her away from him. It was safe enough. Akbar had slowed down to a light trot and would soon start to step. The girl started to sniff and he leaned a bit forward to hold her tight. He noticed his arm was circling her waist right under her delectable breasts. "I thank you, sir," she said stiffly, swallowing her tears. She obviously felt embarrassed. Lochiel wanted to

let go of his armful of this small woman, but was not certain if she would be able to keep herself upright on his big horse. Not all women were used to the height of a horse. In the meantime, Colin had taken hold of the bit of the spooked horse. It slowed down in an instant. "I'll have Rigby take over and drive the buggy, sir!" Colin called to Lochiel. The soldiers had followed them in a fast trot and were almost upon them. Corporal Rigby jumped from his horse, throwing the reins to a nearby rider. He walked to the buggy that had come to a standstill now. The spooked horse was breathing heavily and Rigby took her by the nose, softly speaking reassuring words. "You can go back into the buggy, Miss, if you wish,” Lochiel said softly to his armful. She turned around to him, shoving her firm behind into his kilt with the movement. Lochiel almost began to pray in despair. For the journey he had pushed his sporran to his side on its belt and nothing separated him from the little lady except for the wool of his kilt and the flimsy cloth of her enticing dress. She shook her head, staring at him with the bluest eyes this side of the Realm. "No, no!" her rosebud mouth pleaded, "I can't go back in that thing!" "You cannot be very comfortable on my horse's shoulders, ma'am," he drawled.

Christ in heaven, but the little lady was a beauty! He was not used to sheer beauty. Catriona was in a way handsome enough, but her rough ways and equally rough life had prevented her from becoming even remotely beautiful. There had been only one sheer beauty in his life but she had died eighteen years ago. "I'll lean against you, sir," she said imperiously, "I'm used to riding, so the height of your horse does not frighten me." Lochiel opened his mouth to protest the idea. The last thing he wanted was to feel that feminine firm butt in the hollow of his thighs, but she just wriggled her backside between his legs and leaned back against him. He pressed his lips together. One more movement like that and he would shame himself and stain his kilt! At least the little lady was not aware of his predicament. She pushed her head under his chin and relaxed against him. Lochiel secretly peered at Sergeant Burns who was obviously trying not to laugh uproariously. Damn! The man had noticed his precarious ‘position’, and near panic, and deemed it very funny! "We'll take the buggy to your place, ma'am, wherever that is," Lochiel rasped, "you just sit tight." Lochiel woke up with a shout on his lips. He sat up and looked around the strange room. The small window of the room was opened wide to let in a cool breeze. The sky was coloring a dusky grey through the slits of the thin curtain that lifted on the light wind.

He swore softly and lay back on his pillow. He turned his nose in the pillow, inhaling the scent of the handkerchief that peeped from its hiding place where he had shoved it close to the headboard. Damnation, to be a married man and to revert to the ways that had only occurred in his boyhood! He could not remember the last time he had to ejaculate into a handkerchief after having been plagued by an unwelcome but persistent hard-on! The girl he had rescued from the stampeding buggy and horse had turned out to be the same person he had to guide back to Edinburgh; Lord John Montgomery's bride! She had sat against his underbelly, which had simply been on fire all the way, while she had ordered the half-platoon to the small cottage of a devastating beautiful, but pregnant woman. Two more women were waiting there for the buggy's return: a girl with mousy hair but quite a remarkable bosom who was called Detty, and a girl in servant's garb, who turned out to be Miss Lizzie's waiting woman and an acquaintance of a stammering Sergeant Burns. The whole damned cavalcade had ridden to the manor of Baron Bentham Campbell of Ayre. The two women had sat in the buggy, of which Rigby had stoically taken the reins, while Miss Lizzie sat between Lochiel's legs, obviously innocently leaning against his rock hard dick, which had refused to go down and become limp as it should be. Before Lochiel jumped down from his horse, he allowed a snickering Sergeant Burns to lift Miss Lizzie

from her unknowingly indecent place on the horse, giving him the time to turn his sporran back in front of his belly. The chit had waited for him to clamber down from his horse. Lochiel blessed the fact that he had worn thin, short underwear; he never enjoyed the shifting and shoving of his bare bum and unmentionables on a horse's saddle, thank you very much, so his genitals had some sort of restraint under his short battle kilt. The sporran had hidden his condition, thank God, but that was about all the blessing he would get that day. The Baron was at home to receive them, after a stay for a few nights in Glasgow. The servants whispered that he had just ridden in before the cavalcade arrived. For some reason, the Baron took a liking to Lochiel and remained close to him for the longer part of the day. Lochiel was even invited to take his supper with the family in their sumptuous dining room. At least the Baroness had given Lochiel a small single bedroom in the house as his sleeping quarters. His twenty men escort, Sergeant Burns, and Corporal Rigby were staying in the servant's quarters and in the rooms near the stables. Lochiel was glad to have a room all by himself. It took him only a few jerks to relieve the unwelcome erection he had been forced to nurture since he had thrown Miss Lizzie in front of his saddle. He felt humiliated and ashamed. He was a married man, by God, with four boys to his name and such immature behavior made a dent in his pride. Yet every thought, scent or word from Miss Lizzie sent him

reeling back into the unwelcome state of his straining nether regions. He hated himself for it. She was only sixteen years old compared to his almost twenty-five. He was supposed to prefer older women, at least older than himself. Here he was slavering after a girl who would normally not yet be deemed out of the schoolroom and, if she had been destined to be a proper miss, heading for her first curtsey to the Queen at eighteen. God, if she had not pushed her amazing butt against his crotch he would never have been in this state! Or would he? He wondered if he even liked her. She was impervious, snide and self-absorbed. He had quickly made that assessment after she came home. He straightened his sheet and blanket over his big body, trying to ignore the fact that he was hardening again. He could have a lie-in for sure: they had arrived at their destination and his men were going to enjoy a day of rest, whatever that would entail in a Baron's household. After several tries to get back to sleep, he sighed and reached for his handkerchief again. “He's very handsome, isn't he?" Detty put her chin on her knees. She was in Lizzie's bedroom where they shared a tray as Lizzie had refused to go down to the morning room for breakfast. Lizzie looked mulishly into the mirror. Her mood had not improved since she'd found out that Lord John had not bothered to come to accompany her to their wedding

in Edinburgh himself, but had sent all those soldiers instead. Soldiers! It had been a big blow to her self-esteem. She did not know how to behave after that telling insult Lord John had dealt her. For once, she had the impression that the staff in the house were gloating at her and did not feel a bit of compassion for her. That had been another blow. She had always been convinced that absolutely everybody in the house adored her and wanted the best for her, but that idea had collapsed completely after the arrival of the lieutenant and his soldiers. "Do you think he's of the gentry?" Detty wondered, “A Cameron, they say. Camerons can be anything, although I'm not sure if there is an aristocratic Cameron now..." "Will you never shut up?" Lizzie growled. Since Detty had put her eyes on the lieutenant, when the half-platoon had gone to pick her and Mattie up at Samantha Ferrer's cottage, she had not been able to think of anyone or anything else. At least Detty had felt obliged to commiserate with Lizzie, although in her own airy fashion. Lizzie still blushed profusely when she thought how that lieutenant had thrown her over his horse's shanks. She must have been some sight for all those rough men! She refused to regret that she had come home sitting in front of the lieutenant's saddle, although her mother had gasped with shock at the indecency of it. Worse, her mother had shrugged when she had complained about

Lord John's insult for not coming to escort his own bride. When Lizzie complained to her father, he just squeezed her against his big chest, saying that in those elevated aristocratic circles one possibly did not concern oneself with the logistics of getting a bride to town. In any event, her parents were to take her there. He assured her that he had never seen anybody with an escort of twenty military men before, especially when they only had to go to Edinburgh. He reassured her by saying that only the Queen would have a force like that catering to her travelling needs. Lizzie listened to his words and heard, probably for the first time in her life, the telling things that were not being said aloud; Lord John had not cared a jot about how she got to Edinburgh. She gnashed her teeth. Oh, but that cad was going to pay for the insult! She suddenly knew exactly how! "According to Mattie the lieutenant is married!" Detty gasped, holding her hand to her heart in a dramatic fashion. Lizzie frowned. "How would Mattie know that, Detty?" "That Sergeant Burns used to live around here as a lad, Lizzie. It seems she's on specific terms with him, but I don't know how specific. Oh well, my father would not take a mere lieutenant as a son-in-law lightly anyway." Lizzie watched her friend closely and smiled wanly. How Detty could run away with her thoughts!

Did she care that the lieutenant was married? She bit her lip. No, of course not. It was actually great news, for what she had recently cooked up. She was going to have an affair with the handsome lieutenant! She was not going to 'save' herself for that arrogant cad that was supposed to become her husband! All the better that the lieutenant was married, so she could never be in a position to have to marry him instead, if she was found out. She put her mouth in a grim line, wondering how difficult it would be to have the lieutenant delightfully compromise her. She suddenly saw the lieutenant in the place of that stable boy and felt a pang of desire race through her body. Ah, but he would be perfect! But how? How? * * *

Chapter 6: THE SEDUCTION OF LOCHIEL CAMERON * "Your soldier friend said that the lieutenant liked me, Mat-tie?" Lizzie posed innocently on her chaise in a fashion she thought would become the future wife of a Duke's spare son. Mattie frowned while she folded Lizzie's laundered nightshift into a drawer. Lizzie looked far too smug to her taste of late, especially after the blow to her pride from Lord John not showing up at Ayre to fetch her. She had expected Lizzie to explode in one tantrum after another and now that she had done nothing close to those dramatics it occurred to her that Lizzie might be up to some severe mischief! She blushed when she thought about Lochiel Cameron. Colin Burns had been rather explicit about Lochiel's attraction to Lizzie, as Colin had been a witness himself to Lochiel's 'elevated' state of mind and body when Lizzie had been sitting innocently in his lap. It had been cause for crude amusement for the whole group of soldiers and it was just as well that Lizzie did not have a clue about their bawdy comments about her rescue from the spooked buggy. Colin Burns had lived close to Ayre in Green Stream when Mattie's parents were tenants there. Colin was already in his thirties and Mattie had known of him, but never had much contact with him. Colin had remembered her boyfriend Malcolm Beam, as he had been

in Stirling when Malcolm was training there. According to Colin, Malcolm had left for the Americas with the first of the 74th Regiment and was hunting red skins or Revolutionaries. Mattie had been disappointed that Malcolm had never writ-ten to her about his whereabouts but then he probably did not know his letters anyway, so she told herself to stop thinking of him. She really had started to like Colin Burns a lot. Colin had been married years ago but his wife had died and he had not bothered to find himself a new one. Colin was quite handsome in his own way. He was stockily built with bulging muscles, favoring his blondish hair short and curly. He was respected amongst his men, and as a regimental sergeant he was the highest ranking in the class of common soldiers. Colin had known Lochiel Cameron for a couple of years now. They both had their first training in Stirling, Colin as a soldier and Lochiel as a very young ensign. They had become friends when they were both sent to Edinburgh about four years ago, when Lochiel had become a second lieutenant and Colin had gotten his chevrons, first as a sergeant and within three years as a regimental sergeant. Lochiel was already married, to everybody's disgust or amusement, at the time he went to Edinburgh. Colin had told Mattie about the recent developments in Lochiel's marriage, shaking his head for the 'puir laddies' sake.’

Mattie tried to imagine how anybody could throw a handsome specimen like Lochiel on the cobbles, just like that, but on the other hand, she could understand how hard it would be for a woman approaching her forties to be harassed by another baby in her belly. Her mother had told her that babies at a certain age could be like a bomb or a blessing. Mrs. Cameron must have realized that and probably made the hard choice of keeping Lochiel out of her bed. Mattie could not help but wonder what it would be like to be tenderly loved by the likes of Lochiel Cameron in the snugness of a marital bed. She started when Lizzie repeated her question impatiently. "The men are teasing him with it, Miss Lizzie," she admitted, "although rather in a good humor, says the sergeant. When Mr. Cameron is in a foul temper, he knocks them over single-handed. Sergeant says he can be quite a handful, but seems to get away with a lot. The men say he is protected, whatever that means." Lizzie started to curl a lock of hair with her fingers. "How would I know that a man likes me, Mattie?" Mattie looked helplessly down on the clothes she was folding. How was one to tell, indeed? "They blush when the girl of their dreams is near them, I guess,” she offered, "I'm truly not certain. Men are such different creatures than us women, Miss Lizzie. Some are quite clear about it, others never seem to show anything."

There she started to think again of the Baron's very blatant advances. It had involved him pushing his erected flesh against her bottom when she was working in a bedroom. She shuddered at the thought of it, but admittedly not entirely in disgust. Maybe if Colin... "Detty says that a man will show you his interest when you are close to him, but I would not know how to get close to him. At dinner I'm placed between Mama and Papa and the lieutenant is all the way at the other end of the table." "Why would you want to invoke the lieutenant's interest, Miss Lizzie?" Mattie leant against the chest of drawers. Unlike Detty and Lizzie, who were lingering about, she was kept on her toes by the two demanding young ladies and their mother. They would leave for Edinburgh within two days and Mattie was tired to the bone as the packing, cleaning and sewing of the three ladies' wardrobes was solely her responsibility. Lizzie stuck out her chin. "I happen to like the lieutenant, Mattie. He saved my life, remember?" "You're to be married in about ten days," Mattie said evenly, "why don't you prepare for it to become Lord John's true wedded wife?" "For that cad?" Lizzie asked angrily, "I'd rather drown myself!" Mattie shook her head, just hoping that Lizzie was in one of her mulish moods and that she had not decided to

start to play with that handsome lieutenant's feelings. The man deserved better than that. "Detty, I'm of a mind to seduce the lieutenant!" Lizzie announced. Detty had been reading one of the Baroness' books. The manor had a small library and perusing it, Detty had found a gothic novel, which took her breath away because of its daring contents. She looked up non-plussed. Lizzie stamped her foot. "I need your help with it, Detty. I'm going to his room tonight, but you must stay in my bedroom when I close it with the key so that no one can enter it and see that I'm not there. I'll put the key under the door, so that which one of us needs it can get it." "What?" Detty looked wide-eyed at her friend, "You cannot just walk into his room and present yourself, Lizzie. You are marrying in less than ten days’ time." Lizzie put her nose in the air. "Don't patronize me, Detty! That's exactly why I want to do it. I don't want that cad to get what is a woman's most precious thing to give, to quote my mother. I'm not even certain that Lord John is going to marry me, but if he does I'll take care he gets a tainted bride. Now, you'll have to help me. The lieutenant drinks sparingly at dinner, but we need him in a bit of a deluded mood. I will suggest to Cook to organize a little party for the soldiers in the barn as we will all be on our way the day

after tomorrow. Dad would no doubt love to be there as well, so we will not tell Mother." "Can we go as well, Lizzie?" Detty asked eagerly. Lizzie stamped her foot again. "Don't be such a goose, Detty! You're a seventeenyear-old unmarried virgin. You can't feast in a barn with lowly soldiers!" "If I'm to believe Samantha, I'll be unwed for another seven years at least," Detty argued. "This could be my only chance at fun, Lizzie. Your mum will be on top of us when we leave for Edinburgh, there is no way we will be on our own for even a minute or so. And when I get home again..." Detty swallowed thinking of the boring and strict household she had to spent her days in. Her father and mother were sticklers for propriety. They had seven children of which three were daughters to be married off and they guarded the girls like hawks. At least one should be able to make a good match with a baron or a squire or someone else of the lower gentry. They would not risk any scandal in their family. It was a public secret that the elevation of Detty’s father into a Baron was solely due to the fact that her parents had adopted a boy, notably their fourth son, who was the Earl of Loghaire’s bastard by his wife’s lady’s maid. What Detty also knew was that this boy, Peter Wallace, was responsible for a very much desired raise in the household income as the Countess of Loghaire paid handsomely for his ‘upkeep.’

Detty actually adored Peter and saw with much regret how her three brothers liked to abuse and humiliate him. All this and more made living at home an ordeal for Detty, the ugly chubby duckling that would probably never change into a beautiful swan. Lizzie shrugged. "I will not be going of course, but do whatever you please. Just watch out that my father does not notice you. There will be hell to pay if he does. And don't get drunk on whatever Cook will serve them. You will be useless to me when you are in your cups." She hesitated when a thought came to her mind. "I better ask Cook to start the party at teatime, and then all the servant girls will be taken when the lieutenant comes to the party at nine after dinner. He may only have the option to drink and go to bed at his usual time. I'll have to ask Mattie to steer away all the girls from him when he comes in." She smiled wickedly. Detty shook her head in admiration. "How will you go about it, Lizzie? It's not as if you have any experience with this..." Lizzie flashed her teeth in a glum smile. She thought of all the times she had spied on the amorous couple in the stable and haystacks. She did have an inkling what it was about. More than she was prepared to tell Detty. Detty looked quickly around her and skipped behind a bale of hay.

After the dinner at the house had been finished, she had darted to Mattie's room, taking a serviceable dress, a servant's bonnet and a petticoat out of the servant’s closet. She had discarded her corset to dress hastily into Mattie's extra gear. She knew Mattie's dress would fit her, as Mattie was almost as voluptuous as she was. She plucked at the bosom of the dress. Darn, she had the udders of a cow! Although the dress looked decent enough on Mattie, Detty's bosom seemed to overflow the neckline. She should really stop eating all those sweets, she mused; nobody would want a wife with breasts like udders! It had not been hard to slip into the badly illuminated barn. Although there were only two lanterns hanging at the doorposts of the main entrance spreading an eerie light, she had taken a back door that gave entrance to the tack room and the alley to the stables. They had constructed a large table in the middle. A huge keg of beer was placed next to it on a pedestal and people were busily using it. Detty sniffed and smiled: the beer was the sort that was heady and heavy. Leave it to Lizzie that no one would escape a bad hangover in the morning! She noticed that the baron and the lieutenant were sitting together on a makeshift bench. The baron was drinking beer but Lochiel was sipping at a glass of wine. Ah, prudent man! He must know that drinking that sort of beer on top of the wine he had at dinner would be a strong inducement into instant drunkenness.

She almost squeaked when something underneath her moved. "Hi, love," a male voice slurred, "where there's room for two, there can be room for three!" A female voice giggled from under a tangle of clothes. Detty jumped backwards and blushed. The man had moved to sit up and Detty had the full view of naked legs and hips and all that was in between. "T...thank you, I'm looking for somebody..." The man ogled her neckline with apparent gusto. "Must surely be me..." he muttered. He suddenly fell backwards, as the woman who had entangled him had given him a push. "Piss off, fat cow," the woman hissed,” this one's mine for tonight!" Detty swallowed and nodded. She stepped back and almost tripped over another couple that was stretched out against the wall. Darn, she had obviously walked into a real Sodom and Gomorrah! She peered at the two men at the makeshift table. They were still talking, while the baron seemed to drink deeply. The couple she had almost stumbled on had continued their amorous business. Detty tried to distinguish their faces but the couple did not strike her as familiar. She started to feel something like a panic. There should have been about forty people at the impromptu feast but she saw only a few and they consisted mainly of couples in one state or another of 'fraternizing.'

The entrance door closest to her opened and closed and from behind a sturdy wooden pillar, she saw Mattie who had just entered the barn. The sergeant was right behind her and Detty wondered if they had been at some spot behind the stables doing the same thing almost everybody seemed intent on in the barn. Mattie stood on her toes to kiss the sergeant who then went to the makeshift table. Mattie disappeared again through the back door. Detty hesitated. She wondered if she could follow Mattie and ask her if it all was going to plan. On the other hand, she was not certain if Lizzie had told Mattie about the real reason for this 'feast' and in that case she should let sleeping dogs lie. Mattie could be a stickler for propriety anyway and send her back to the house. In the end, she decided to bolt for the backdoor that had just opened to let a woman inside. The light of the outside lantern fell on the front of Detty's dress and she stood stock-still when she saw that her bosom was almost entirely exposed and the paleness of her chest almost functioned as a guide-light. She looked around her in rising panic and saw that the baron was watching her from his plot at the table, which was less than seven yards away. Detty decided to flee and ran through the small door, almost careening into a very drunken soldier who was obviously following the woman who had just come inside. The man, who was in uniform, grinned lopsidedly at her and held out his arms to stop her. Detty

took up her skirt and raced away from him. She ended up in a dark corner somewhere behind the stables and stopped, breathing heavily. Suddenly a hand grabbed her by the waist and turned her swiftly against a broad chest. "Ah, but you are not leaving this exciting party, are ye?" a voice said huskily. She recognized the voice immediately. The man did not wait for her answer but took her into a clinging embrace, rubbing a very hard part of him against her belly. Detty tried to push the man away, but he forestalled her. "Come on now, love," he muttered. "You’re a new one here, are you? God, but you have a nice pair of knockers in there!" To Detty's horror, he put his hands in her neckline. The buttons on her bodice sprang away and she found herself helplessly staring at his hands that lifted her breasts out of her dress and started to fondle them. Her knees weakened and she feared she was going to faint. Oh my God, to fall into the hands of the baron in such a fashion? What if he recognized her? The man pushed her against a trough and lifted her on top of it. She sat rigidly on the brink of it, afraid that she would fall backwards into the drinking water. His mouth had left her lips and went directly for a nipple that had hardened involuntarily. He moaned and bit her softly in one breast while he kneaded the other. She had to hold on to his upper arms as she did not

know whether she would faint or fall backwards into the through. He suckled a breast and she was certain she was going to swoon with the feeling. Then his hand reached for the hem of her skirt and he went straight away to the apex of her legs, where her pantalets were slit for convenience's sake. His mouth went back to hers while he stroked the unclothed part of her underbelly. Detty never had a man touching her in any sort of intimate fashion. Her sexual experience was lamentably limited; her parents never allowed her close to anybody, let alone a real man. She had learned to touch her own body in the loneliness of her own bed, but having a man do to her what she had guiltily done to herself was another thing entirely. The baron was known as a very experienced man and the fact that he was playing this game with her made her quake in her shoes. She had always admired the baron for his dashing handsomeness and to be the subject of his amorous treatment was strangely elating. She felt very feminine when he started to whisper naughty things about her chest. His one hand kept on searching within her pantalets and she involuntarily opened her legs wide to give him all the access he wanted. His mouth went to her nipple again while he seemed to lean away from her. He had withdrawn his hands and she soon found out where they were: they were opening the plaque of his breeches.

The light was very dim in the corner where they found themselves, but when he rose to stand straight, she saw that his breeches were down on his knees and from under his shirt jutted something very big and erect from a black hairy nest. Her eyes widened and she bit her lips not to embarrass herself by shrieking in shock. "Come on, baby," he growled, taking his erection in a hand and rubbing alongside his shaft, "let's open those nice legs wide!" Detty was hypnotized with the view of the baron coming to stand before her. He shuffled very close to her, prying her legs wider apart. He put the head of his shaft in front of her entrance and pushed, burying himself almost to the hilt in her. She blooded her lip with her bite in order not to cry out in pain. He was stretching her to her limit and along the way, something gave... "Christ," he murmured, "you're nice and tight and slick!" He started to move inside her, dragging his erection out and then pulling it back in with harsh strokes. Detty stiffened at the pain he caused, and when she moaned, he just went faster. "Almost there, sweet thing," he mumbled. He loomed over her, making those pumping movements, and she wondered when he was going to stop because everything started to burn inside her. "Ah, Gods," he groaned, stiffened and then he relaxed against her.

He withdrew and made fast work of drawing his breeches up again. "Here," he said gruffly. He fished a guinea from his pocket, the gold shining in the spare moonlight, and put it into her slack hand. He turned around and left, leaving Detty sitting on the through, her legs wide and her eyes unbelieving. It took her a long time to do her clothes up so that she could enter the house without seeming notably indecent. Tears were rolling along her cheeks. Detty did not know if it was because of the pain she had suffered under the Baron's rough ministrations or the humiliation of it. Something dripped alongside her pantalets. Detty was certain it was the blood caused by the piercing of her maidenhead. Later she would dis-cover it was mixed with his seed that he had so negligently spent into her body. She knew she would never be the same again. It took only a few minutes for Lochiel to fall asleep: the moment he put his head on his pillow. At the feast in the barn he had been drinking with Colin for the bigger part of an hour after the baron had suddenly left. Lochiel had followed the man's gaze, when a girl with a decidedly full neckline had shown herself in the light of the door that led to the stables. At that time, Lochiel had had about six glasses of wine: enough to feel very comfortable with himself but still far from being inebriated.

He had felt a familiar spark underneath his kilt when he ogled the big-breasted girl: the baron was a lucky sod that he had his girls waiting for him for a ride! He had taken a deep breath and Colin had looked at him in a strange way. "How was your evening?" he asked Colin innocently, as if he had not seen the kiss the servant girl had bestowed on his sergeant. "Not over yet," Colin said with expectations glowing in his eyes. "She had to go back to help the ladies undress. I'm sleeping in the tack room tonight, I played Bradley for it." Lochiel sniggered, feeling the wine going slowly to his head. "I could have helped her with that undressing." "I bet you could," Colin teased, "especially Lord John's little harridan!" Lochiel frowned. "Yeah, that one especially. I have a bit of unfinished business with her." He felt himself growing hard further, just mentioning the girl and imagining her in a definite state of undress. Colin looked sideways at him. Lochiel Cameron was a man who kept to himself, so it was probably the drink talking now. It had only been a few weeks or so ago that he had to drag him from that disgusting hovel where he had been drinking himself into a stupor. At least Lochiel did not seem to be in a twist about Catriona anymore, now that he was talking about Lord John's little witch lady.

"Who was the girl the baron was after?" Lochiel asked wanting to change the subject. Colin laughed. "Beats me, I was only staring at her tits like everybody else around here!" Lochiel just nodded. He was more a man for nice bums than big tits. Catriona had always been rather thin with small breasts, but she had a great butt. He sighed. Maybe it was time he tried to catch up with his sex life with one of the available wenches here, but he saw none around him that were not somewhere else, already occupied. He turned to the stone bottle that contained a few more glasses of wine and shrugged. He had never really been somebody for the rough professional women, although there had been enough of those in Stirling before he married Catriona. On the other hand, he could still not believe that he was actually hankering after a diminutive, doll-like, sixteen-year-old girl, who all his men considered a little spoiled hag. "Drink it up, Lieutenant!" the sergeant urged, "It will all be gone tomorrow, you know!" Lochiel nodded again. Wine was as good as anything to drown his longing for a child-woman he would never have. Lizzie tiptoed from her room. She closed the door and put the key underneath the ledge, hiding it from the light of the candle that was lit in the hallway on a small table.

She was wearing her nicest shift under a silk wrapper that was lined with lace from Flanders. She had taken them earlier out of one of the chests that were sup-posed to contain her trousseau just like the adorable slippers that were on her feet. She looked around in exasperation: Detty had never showed up to take her place in her bed. It was now past midnight and she did not expect her friend to come to her rescue anymore. She bit her lip angrily, wondering if Detty had been imbibing at the party and lost track of time. There was nothing for it now, she was on her own. She crept silently past her parents' bedrooms. She had heard them go to bed; her mother early as ever, her father earlier than normal and probably quite drunk, if she judged by his unsteady footsteps and his off-tune humming. Lochiel's bedroom was one of the 'lesser' bedrooms in the West wing of the house, close to the servants’ stairs that led to the kitchens, two stories down. Lizzie's bedroom was situated at the beginning of the East wing looking out on the front lawn just like her parent's bedrooms and the guest rooms for the more important guests. Lochiel had been deemed important enough to have the right to his own bedroom in the house, as he was an officer in the King's army, but because he was not of the gentry, her mother had decided on a bedroom that was hardly more than the small governess' room near the old nursery.

It was a bit of a walk, but as Lizzie's small porcelain clock had already struck the midnight hour she was certain that nobody would be about. She hesitated in front of Lochiel's bedroom door, wondering how long his seduction would take. It could not possibly be more than half an hour she figured, remembering the groom’s jaunts. On the other hand, she understood she was going to undertake something momen-tous and she felt a moment of hesitation. She started when the door opened with a loud click under her trembling hand. The lieutenant had forgotten to shut the curtains. The moon was shedding bluish light into the room and Lizzie could clearly see him lying on the bed. He must have been in some state of inebriation because his kilt and boots were thrown down on the floor in a heap while his white shirt hung askew on the back of a chair. He was lying stark naked on his back, a sheet partly thrown over his waist, leaving his long hairy legs bare. She listened a moment to his breathing and decided that he had not just restrained himself to the few glasses of wine that he had drunk at their dinner table. He was not exactly snoring, but breathed the way her father would after a rather heavy drinking bout. She stared at him, undecided what to do next. The stable lad and his eager girlfriend probably always had agreed on seeing each other somewhere for their secret amorous rendezvous. At least the seduction had obviously been a mutual thing. With Lochiel Cameron, she was not even sure if he was attracted to

her. His demeanor towards her had always been a little bit gruff after she had been sitting almost in his lap. Lizzie knew he had more than eight years on her and had been married for about five. It suddenly seemed to her that they were worlds apart. He was a man of the world with all his marital experience. Mattie had told her that he had no less than four sons and that he was deemed rich in the eyes of all the soldiers because he owned a farm and a big house in Bannockburn. She wavered and thought about aborting her bold idea of seducing him when he mumbled something in his sleep and put a hand underneath the sheet. Her eyes widened in shock when she noticed that he was stroking his shaft, that now started to tent the sheet. Lizzie quickly dispatched her wrapper and slippers. When she stood before the bed she decided to take off her nightshift as well, frowning about the fact that the choice of her delicate nightwear proved to be for naught. The lieutenant was lying in the middle of the bed, but there was enough room for her to lie next to him on her side. She entangled herself around his length. He was warm and smelled of wine and male. His hand crept from under the sheet and he rolled on his side, putting his muscled arm around her naked back. Then his eyes opened slowly. Lochiel was still dreaming. He was dreaming of a lovely and beautiful girl, that was way out of his league. He was dreaming about her

soft skin and wonderful round breasts. In his dream, he caressed her and smelled her. He put his nose into her black long hair that was held up in a ponytail. Oh, but she smelled like heaven! His mouth went to her long white neck and he pressed a long kiss on it, trailing it all the way to a very fine, hardened nipple. He moaned when he put his mouth on it and he thought he heard his moan echoed in somebody else's. His hand reached for the apex of her exquisite legs, stroking the small nubbin after he had opened her folds. She was wet and willing, so he pushed aside the sheet he was wrapped in and rolled her on her back. It was only a matter of seconds before he entered her, slowly, groaning when he felt her slick and narrow sheath receiving his rock hard shaft. He remotely felt that something gave way when he pushed his arousal deeper inside her. He felt his dreamgirl stiffen for a second and apologetically kissed a delectable ear. Then there was nothing for it but to answer this specific call of nature. He pulled in and out of her and could not help the incredible elation building up. He came with a shout and almost fell on her body that lay now stretched out on his bed, her legs very wide to accommodate his muscled hips. He wondered why his dream had not ended there. The girl started to push against his chest. "You're stifling me!" she complained. He did not know how fast he sat up, blinking his eyes.

The dream girl was still there in the moonlight: all delightful nakedness and a halo of black ringlets around her head, despite the ponytail. He grabbed for the candle next to his bed and lighted it with one of his fast sulphur matches. When the light started to glow and became a flame, he looked at her with amazement and exasperation. "Tell me I'm still dreaming!" he mumbled. She just looked at him showing her white teeth in a tiny smile. He sat back against the headboard, looking confused and very vulnerable. He suddenly did not seem so old anymore or so remote to Lizzie. "Why?" It was said in a whisper. "You would never have touched me otherwise." Although her answer sounded adamant, he noticed that she was looking frightened. He stuck out his hand and grabbed her by a shoulder, hoisting her next to him. "Why?" he asked again, his voice sounding hoarse, "Do you understand what we have just done? You made me take something that was not for me to take. You are to marry Lord John in about a sennight’s time!" Her shoulder felt very soft at the touch and he could not help his eyes roaming her delectable body. Oh, my God, but she was exquisite! He saw tears filling her eyes and to their mutual astonishment bent to kiss them away. "I wanted you to be the first," she suddenly sobbed, "I hate Lord John for not coming to fetch me! I know he

does not want me, but I know you did! I..., you... you... I felt your desire when I sat in front of you on that horse." Lochiel groaned. So she had noticed his arousal, the little chit! He had hoped she had been too innocent to understand his supreme interest in her. “I thought I was dreaming! I spent into you for god’s sakes! I breached you and what if my seed takes root in you?" For a moment, she looked at him with a startled expression. "Lord John will never know it was you..." she said hesitantly. He slapped his head with his hand. "Lizzie, I cannot cuckold the son of my ducal employer! Lord John’s father, the Duke of Rothford, is the highest commander of my regiment." She turned halfway and kissed his broad chin, already feeling the bristle of his upcoming beard. "Is that all you are worried about?" she asked mockingly. His expression changed to something that looked almost like shame. "Are you bleeding? Did I hurt you? Damn, Lizzie, it should never have been like this for you for the first time. You were a virgin! I drove you hard!" His hand moved to the apex of her legs again, as if he was softly stroking her. His hand came back covered in blood and he swore.

He looked her straight in her eyes. He had never had a virgin before in his life and the look of her blood was devastating him. "Are you still hurting?" his voice had become soft now. Lizzie shrugged. It had hurt of course, but not as bad as she had anticipated. She looked down and saw the reddish liquid slowly drip onto the sheet beneath her. Lochiel had followed her stare. He jumped out of the bed and almost ran to his washbasin which was still filled with clean water. He remembered guiltily that he had not bothered to wash when he entered his room, half-drunk with the wine he had been gulping last night. He wetted the washcloth and came back to the bed. "Open your legs, Lizzie," he urged her quietly, "I'll clean you..." Lizzie only nodded and let him go about his business. She suddenly felt very tired. She rested her head against the headboard. She hardly heard his panicked voice when he whispered: "Don't fall asleep here, Lizzie!" There was nothing to it; she slept. Lochiel looked at her with exasperation. He had an idea where her bedroom was, but he could hardly carry her all the way back there. He moved her into a lying position, blew out the candle, lay down next to her, tugging the sheet about them both. He knew he should feel remorse for what he did to her while he was in an almost unconscious state, but he felt an elation he'd

never experienced before. God help him, but the girl had given herself to him! * * *

Chapter 7: TRAVELLING TO EDINBURGH * Lizzie stared out of the travel-coach window hoping to catch a glimpse of Lochiel. They were travelling with three coaches: one for the servants who were elected to come with them, one that mainly held the luggage and one in which she found herself together with her mother and Detty. It seemed that they were all in a very quiet mood. Detty had tried to read her gothic novel in the swaying coach but had quickly abandoned the idea of being able to read without becoming sick. She now sat back in the soft cushions, riding backwards. She had closed her eyes to avoid having to look the Baroness straight in the face. It had taken her a long time to reconcile herself with what had happened between her and the baron. At first, she had taken the blame for everything that occurred between the two of them. She’d gone to this barn where almost everybody was in a state of inebriation and where she had seen things that must only have happened in the doomed cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. Shamefacedly she reminded herself of Lizzie's warning; as a seventeen-year-old virgin, one did not go to a feast like that. She had wondered many times how Lizzie could have been aware of what took place at such a feast. In the end she concluded that Lizzie could not have known, she had just been a lot wiser than Detty in the matter. But then of course Lizzie also had her own

little feast to look forward to and would not have had any business to go near the barn that night. She also knew that if she had opened her mouth to identify herself to the baron when he came after her, he would have stopped his pursuit immediately. Something had withheld her from doing what she ought to have done and now she must suffer the consequences. To her relief, at least not all the consequences of his blatant actions had to be borne; the morning they started out for Edinburgh her monthly period had come. Although she hated the inconvenience of it, she was fair dizzy with the relief of not having to cope with the punishment and hard consequences of having had casual sex with a married man and become pregnant with his child. Still, the situation rattled her. Not only did she feel inclined to avoid the Baroness, she found out to her own exasperation that she could not take her eyes off the man who had so unthinkingly taken her virginity behind the stables, and had paid her for it. Truth to tell, she had always felt some sort of girlie admiration for the baron; the man was as handsome as they came. Now that she had carnal knowledge of him (oh, God, that expression reminded her of her strictly religious parents) the admiration had shifted into something else. She could only define it as a sort of longing, and exactly that should abhor her, but didn't. She wondered if she had fallen in love with him! She shook her head at the duality of it all; her feelings of remorse for the Baroness because she had allowed the

baron to mate with her, against her attraction to the man. She knew she felt this attraction only because he had sought her out for his favors, which had been so flattering to her that she had let him do what should only be her future husband's right. She was a bad, bad girl! Her parents would be deeply shocked if they ever got wind of her reckless behavior and would no doubt ban her to a nunnery until the end of her days. On the other hand, even when she realized all this, she longed for the baron to do it all again, one more time to her, and maybe even a few more times. Of course, the baron was a cad and she had no illusions about him. She bent her head to watch through a carriage window if he was riding close to the coach, but she knew that was a futile thing. The baron would doubtless be at the head of the procession with the lieutenant. She scolded herself, placed her head against the side slabs of the high cushions and pretended to sleep. Lizzie put her head back against the soft cushions and closed her eyes. She was sitting next to her mother in the coach, but tried to remove her from her mind. She wanted to mull over her situation with the handsome Lochiel Cameron, because it had become something big, bigger than she had ever expected it to be. Of course, her seduction of him was not just an idea of revenge on Lord John. She understood now how much she had been attracted to the lieutenant, since he so valiantly rescued her from the spooked buggy-and-horse. At the time, she had let

arrogance prevail when she had been sitting in front of him on his big black stallion; she was to be a Duke's son's bride and did not look elsewhere. However, she had felt a grain of attraction at that time for the lieutenant, because he was her rescuer and the first man who really touched her in all those unladylike places, where he had put his hands in order to draw her in front of him on his horse. According to custom a man had the right to touch a young unmarried lady's hand only when it was gloved and he was not allowed to do anything more than bow over it and kiss the air. Apart from her father no one had ever touched her body before and she had felt a frisson of excitement when Lochiel had so expertly and blatantly handled her to get her out of the buggy. Lochiel had not shown any emotion towards her after he’d helped her from his horse when they arrived at the manor. He had been extremely polite to her, most definitely thanking high heaven that neither the baron nor the Baroness had been a witness to Lizzie's scandalous position on his horse, even if it could have been explained by Lizzie's fear of sitting in the buggy again. He had always been very quiet when he sat at her parents' table for dinner, only answering the baron's questions but never instigating his own, and that had intrigued her to no end; that and a growing admiration for him. Lochiel Cameron was everything a girl could dream of in a man. He was tall and manly, obviously because

of his un-fashionable muscled body, and the fact that he wore the highest rank within the group of soldiers. He seemed well bred; his manners were not lacking and apart from the aura of power he emanated because of his position in the group, he was polite and well possessed. He had none of Lord John's arrogance or her father's slightly disrespectful ways. So somewhere in her mind, he had become her blonde-haired and blue eyed fairytale Prince, her knight on the white horse, although Akbar was decidedly black. She knew now that she had worked herself into a 'fit' of revenge towards Lord John, to give herself a perfect reason to go to Lochiel Cameron's bed. Her problem now was that she did not feel a speck of remorse over what she had done deliberately just to defy her future indifferent and arrogant husband. Her initial shock of being in Lochiel Cameron's arms, naked as the day she was born, had worn off quickly when he showed his amorous delight of her, even if he might not have been fully awake and in a state of a dream. She had melted under his passionate kisses and his taking of her body had given her a feeling of immense power and lust. His concern for her afterward had endeared her; nobody was ever concerned about Lizzie Campbell as she had always seemed a self-possessed girl, never her father, hardly ever her mother and probably Mattie only once in a while. Lochiel had worried about the pain he might have inflicted on her when he took her virginity. He had

washed her and had been very kind even when he understood that the loss of her virginity to him had been a pre-arranged thing that had been cooked up by her young, but agile brain. After she had fallen asleep in his bed, he had joined her, waking her up at the first cock's crow. Although she had been slightly sore in her nether regions, she had allowed him to take her again. He had been a lot more patient and sweet with her then, compared to the frenzied first time of his mating. He had been eager to do more. He’d kissed her down there, until she cried out in the fiercest orgasm she'd ever had in her life and then had taken her swiftly, obviously not to incur more pain than she already felt. He had apologized for not being able to take her back to her own room; but of course, they could not be seen together by the servants. Instead of going straight back to her room she had detoured to the servant's stairway at the back of the hallway in the West wing. She had innocently entered the kitchen, claiming she could not sleep to a yawning Cook, who was already baking the bread she had prepared the day before. Cook had given her milk and a piece of freshly baked honey-cake, mumbling something about her understandable bridal jitters. She then had returned to her room by the wide staircase. She had been glad that Detty had not stayed in her room after all. She truly could not envisage how to

explain this tender and wondrous adventure to an innocent Detty. Because it would be her last day at her parental home, Mattie had allowed her a lie-in and had waited for her to wake up as late as eleven o’clock. Lizzie had wondered about her faithful chambermaid; the girl was in an indestructible good mood. Lizzie suspected it had been due to Mattie's own unexpected lie-in. Her mother never woke before eight o'clock but seemed to have allowed herself a longer rest as well. On the other hand, Mattie must have been able to join the party in the barn. Lizzie thought it well possible that the mutual attraction between Mattie and the sergeant had come to some sort of fruition at last. Detty had been later to get up than Lizzie, probably enjoying her freedom at the baron's house before she had to go back into the fold of her strict and dour parental home. The daytime had been long and dull. Everybody seemed to be in a trance about packing the final things that had to be taken to Edinburgh. Lizzie had not been able to detect Lochiel anywhere that day, until he appeared at the dinner table at eight o'clock. She sent him a longing look, but he had kept to himself, not even daring to look her in the eyes lest they betray to the other diners something of their very sudden mutual attraction. After dinner, father announced he had to see to a few more things before they left for Edinburgh. He quickly rose and before anybody realized it, he was gone.

The Baroness had looked quite sad. No doubt, the baron was going to see one of his many lovers in Ayre as he was expected to be gone to Edinburgh for about three weeks. She had nodded to Lizzie, signaling that she was to go to her room early, because there would not be any entertainments in the drawing room that evening. Detty and Lochiel had answered to that sign as well. Lochiel went to the barn to instruct his men about the last details of their leave on the morrow and Detty had been grateful to seek her room and probably her novel. Lizzie had Mattie dress her for the night in her lace nightshift again. Mattie had not asked any questions about her use of the flimsy thing, she had most definitely been keeping her head in the clouds and was probably glad that Lizzie did not insist on staying up. Lizzie had waited until the big clock in the hallway had struck twelve. She was not certain if her father had returned to the house yet, but she fully intended to avoid meeting him. When he came home at night, he normally had no consideration for any of the people in the house who were already asleep. He would call loudly for the butler or his valet Ingham and everybody would know that he had come home and exactly at what time. That behavior would certainly help Lizzie not to run into him on her own quest. Lochiel had still been wide-awake when she crept into his room.

The candle next to his bed had been burning and Lizzie did not remember a single word shared between them before he took her again in his arms and made passionate love to her. Lizzie had repeated her ruse in the morning after she left Lochiel’s bed. She went to see Cook, who was actually in tears because it would no doubt be the very last time that Lizzie would come into the kitchen to have her milk and cake. Afterward she had run into her father, who had probably just come home and was shouting for a bath. He had not even asked her for an explanation of her early morning wanderings. They were to leave at nine in a leisurely fashion, to get to an inn east of Glasgow. Lochiel had explained to them that they could take their time and that they could travel at their ease. He had sent messengers to specific inns that were able to receive such a big company as theirs and to ensure them reservations. In the carriage, Lizzie had been pleasantly sore; Lochiel had made love to her no less than three times again that night. There had been no talk between them about what would happen when they were travelling, let alone when they got to Edinburgh. Lizzie had all the faith in the world in Lochiel's inventiveness and that he would find them a place to be together, as he was the one to make all the arrangements when they stayed over in the inns. If not, she knew she was inventive enough to find a way

to have another fling with him. Making love to Lochiel Cameron proved to be very addictive. She had never bothered to talk about this new and secret situation between them, and whatever came up in her mind about the already cuckolded groom Lord John she pushed far from her thoughts. She just used the infallible part of her character that meant she just left things as they were and never looked ahead, or back; Lizzie lived in the here and now, and her here and now were only filled with the romantic and erotic thoughts and dreams of Lochiel Cameron, first lieutenant with the 42nd Edinburgh-based regiment. Lady Sarah Campbell, Baroness of Ayre, tried not to look at the two girls in the coach. Obviously, Lizzie had reconciled herself with her upcoming marriage because she had stopped pouting and was behaving almost pleasantly. That was a big change from the day when she had realized that her beloved Lord John was not going to fetch her for their wedding. Lady Sarah bit her lip. She was not certain whether her daughter was truly on the right track. She had seen the dreamy stares Lizzie sent the handsome lieutenant at the dinner table and hoped that her willful girl would only limit herself to stares and nothing else. The lieutenant was eight or nine years Lizzie's senior, she had found out through Mattie, but she wondered if he would be able to withstand the wiles of her stubborn daughter if he would be submitted to them.

She had been almost certain that Lizzie was up to something. Lady Sarah knew her daughter a lot better than Lizzie would ever admit. The Baroness had been subjected to many derogatory and cynical remarks since her husband stopped seeking the comfort of their marital bed, but being on the outside of her daughter’s and husband's attentions had made her a very good observer. Lady Sarah's biggest problem was that she still loved her daughter to distraction even if the girl could be nasty towards her and clearly favored her errant father over her constant mother. She forced herself to put her head down to look at her hands. Sarah knew that if she stared at her daughter, Lizzie would take offense as she always did when she felt that her mother was studying her. Lady Sarah worried about the upcoming marriage of her very young child to Lord John. The few times she had seen the boy he had been arrogant, remote and disdainful of his young bride. She had heard rumors about him mainly through her friend Lady Audrey Agnew, who was the Countess of Loghaire. She had met Lady Audrey Agnew about a decade ago at a house party of the Lindleys of Glasgow, who were Lady Loghaire's cousins. There had been an immediate bond between the two women, of which one was neglected by her husband, while the other hated the sight of her marital partner. The situation concerning the two adulterous spouses had been clear from the start of the party; both men had not spent a single night at the house of the Lindleys

during the party. At night, they were seen painting the town vermillion with women of very bad repute. It did not help that Rowan Lindley, the host of the party, had abandoned all pretense about his own marital situation and soon joined them in their debaucheries. Lady Loghaire just shrugged her shoulders in a philosophical way, but then everybody knew she was often hiding from her husband, as he was not abiding by the fact that his wife truly did not want his company anymore, in or out of the bed-chamber. Lady Campbell had felt humiliated by her husband's obvious disregard of her and Lady Loghaire had been quick to comfort her. Not that it had helped a lot; Lady Campbell had fallen in love with Barry Campbell the moment she had set eyes on him at a soiree in Glasgow, more than seventeen years ago, when she'd stayed with an aunt. At the time, the handsome Campbell had been a penniless squire who owned nothing but a ramshackle house in Ayre. Sarah's parents were of the Irish lower gentry and they were happy enough to get her matched to the poor squire, so they had increased Sarah's bridal portion, which she should have shared with her two sisters in Ireland, in order to make her a little bit more agreeable for Barry Campbell's hand. Barry Campbell had little choice but to agree to a marriage to the Irish girl. Everybody from Ayre to Glasgow knew about his situation, which not only involved his poverty but also his blatant behavior towards every person with breasts and a petticoat.

Against all the warnings, the young and vulnerable Sarah had hoped that her Barry would change the moment he married her, but that hope proved to be futile at once. She would have found herself stuck in a loveless, poor and boring marriage with an uncaring and destitute husband, if it had not been for that strange request coming from the house of the Duke of Rothford, that the second son was to be betrothed to the Campbell's only daughter Lizzie. Of course, Barry jumped to the occasion; he saw immediately the advantages of being tied to one of the most prestigious houses in the Realm. Nobody knew at the time exactly why the Rothfords were keen on such an alliance. At least the Rothfords decided that Barry's title might prove somewhat lacking for the bride of a Duke's spare, so they had him awarded with the title of baron, turning Sarah into a real lady and a Baroness at the same time. Barry had taken it all in his stride. He actually coveted the new possessions that came with the barony and managed to make them productive enough for the family to be able to live in a much better state than when he was a mere squire. His deceit and unfaithfulness never stopped, however, and after having had her devastating miscarriages, which resulted in Barry's avoidance of her bed, Lady Sarah Campbell changed from a lovely, chatty girl into a morose and depressed woman. Now she looked upon every woman with distrust, never knowing if they had shared her husband's abounding sexual relations and laughed about her behind her back.

In all those bad years Sarah had found some comfort in her friendship with Lady Loghaire. Audrey Agnew was not a beauty or impressive, but for some reason she gained everybody’s respect because she found the balance so well between being a countess and a human being. Sarah also knew that Audrey suffered greatly under the shenanigans of her eldest son, who was quite blatant about his homosexuality unless it concerned his blustering father, who was kept in the dark about the heir of Loghaire’s sexual preferences. It was no wonder that of all three men in her life Audrey adored her younger son Hengist. Hengist was about everything a mother would wish for in a son. He was caring, friendly, manly, protective and martial. It was just that he had been in love for years with a girl who lived with two grabbing parents and who seemed not very suitable for a marriage with an earl’s spare. Sarah had the impression of late that Audrey had taken a lover, although she had no clue who he might be. She was happy for her friend, but she shuddered for Audrey, hoping her husband would never find out. Loghaire was a man from the last century; he was abusive, arrogant, blustering, and impatient, like a feudal lord, and was certain not to wear the horns elegantly and with ease. It had been a bit uncharacteristic that Audrey had talked about Lord John in her letters. She had apologized that she was transferring this sort of information to Sarah, but apart from the fact that she had

thought Lizzie far too young to marry at sixteen, she was also convinced that Lizzie would never be able to remotely handle the cad that he had finally turned out to be. According to Audrey, Lord John had gone extremely wild when he reached his manhood, piling debts upon debts and keeping bad company, not only in his choice of friends, but also in his choice of women. He ran with a set with a horrible reputation and kept some Russian countess on a long leash who had found deplorable ways of gaining extra money to be able to indulge in her expensive lifestyle. Strangely enough the Duke, his father, never seemed to stop him, saying his son had to lose his wild hairs and sow his wild oats before he went to the rigors of marriage. Of course all this bad news had not moved the baron to either postpone the marriage or to cry off for Lizzie’s sake. "Are you comfortable enough, Detty?" the Baroness suddenly asked the girl opposite her, who was restlessly trying to get into a position so that she could have a nap. Detty looked wide-eyed at her, as if she had not understood a word the Baroness had said. "Maybe you should get a pillow from the box. It seems you are not able to get comfortable..." Detty only shook her head, realized her impoliteness and swallowed. Sarah wondered what was wrong with the girl. She looked pale and wriggled as if she was sitting on a colony of ants.

"Do you need to...?” Detty shook her head. "No, I'm sorry Lady Campbell, but I had the mishap of the start of my courses this morning. The first two days are always the worst and I forgot to bring the bark of the birch to ease the pain." Lady Campbell nodded; female problems were a safe subject to talk about in the intimacy of the travelling coach. "Mattie has no doubt packed the bark. She bought some when we were at Samantha Ferrer's place," Lizzie joined the conversation. She acted as if she was coming out of a nap, but she had not slept a wink all the time. Lady Campbell winced and Detty realized that the Baroness knew about Samantha's 'state of health' and who was responsible for Samantha's condition. The lady recovered quickly, however. "We passed Glasgow, so the inn cannot be far away from here. No doubt the goodwife there can brew some tea and honey to go with it, and you can have a few quiet hours before we have dinner. I am glad the lieutenant was instructed to take his time with the travelling. I am already fed up with being shaken like clotted cream in a bowl." "Was instructed?" Lizzie asked curiously, "Who would have instructed him, mother?" "Why, the Duke of course!"

Lady Campbell touched her hair. She had the feeling it had come loose after leaning her head against the cushions. "Your father-in-law-to-be is obviously very concerned with your welfare, Lizzie," she said with a smile. "He's most definitely the only one of that lot, then!" Lizzie suddenly retorted hotly. Her mother sighed. "Don't say that, Lizzie. They are all very kind men. What they might lack is a woman's touch. The duchess has been dead for twelve years and I imagine the household is running a bit wild. That's the challenge for you, you see!" "Kind?" Lizzie scoffed, "I don't think Lord John knows the meaning of the word! And what I was told about Lord Randolph might make any woman shrink back in fear." Now it was Lady Campbell's turn to become angry, even though she knew that Lizzie’s words touched on the very truth. "You should have an open mind towards your familyin-law, Lizzie! It won't do that you listen to the gossip of a few rabble-rousers! Don't forget that the Rothfords honor you greatly by having the spare son marrying you." Lizzie caught Detty's urgent glance. Indeed, it would not do any good to irritate her mother about this subject. All Lizzie needed now was her mother's compliance, so that she would not worry

about Lizzie and follow her every movement during the trip, let alone in Edinburgh. "We're there," she announced. She knew that she had to apologize to her mother to get her back into a friendly mood. "I'm sorry, mother," she said meekly, "I'm afraid I'm a bit nervous about everything." That seemed to have the right effect. "Of course, my darling," her mother agreed, "you're such a young bride. Let's get us some tea as soon as we get settled." Detty looked from Lizzie to the Baroness and suppressed a grin. God, but Lizzie was a devious girl! No doubt the coming days would prove to be enormously interesting! Lochiel watched as his men took care of the horses. He preferred to see to Akbar’s comfort himself, but there were enough men to rub his horse down while he concerned himself with getting the large company organized in the inn. He heaved a deep sigh. It had not been easy to ‘enjoy’ the company of the baron all the time when they rode at the head of the large group. He was still in some state of shock after Lizzie had left his bedroom that same morning. He had bedded her three times that night, because he had been horny, lusty, and insatiable. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had brought him to such a state of

lust and it worried him. Just thinking of her made him half-erect, which was also inconceivable. He just did not know how he got into this snitch. She was to marry his Duke's son and he had bedded her two days in a row, and was already devising a situation in the inn so that they could meet again at night! It had been less easy to get the whole travel company settled than he had thought. He had reserved a room for the baron and the Baroness together only to find out that they had not shared a bedroom for years and were not expected to change that situation. In the end after a lot of haggling and hassle, the room for the Campbells was going to be occupied by the husband and wife after all. The Baroness had noticed that the bed was big enough to lose herself and her husband in, and the errant husband had obviously decided that he might find himself his own place to sleep next to a more willing body than his wife's, so he could not be bothered to comment on the situation. Then Lizzie had argued that she was not going to share a bed with Detty, for some feminine reason or another, and luckily, the inn's goodwife had found Detty a small room all the way at the end of the long corridor that looked out on the herb garden and the stables. Lizzie had seemed very smug after this and had demanded that Mattie would sleep on a truckle bed in her room. Lochiel had searched for his sergeant's eyes; he knew that Colin had slept with Mattie in the tack-room after

the feast and he did not doubt that Colin would like to have her somewhere near him again in the night to come. However, the innkeeper had given him a room together with Colin at the back of the house, close to the men who were all put in the attics of the large stable building. Lochiel wondered at the night's eventual logistics, but in the end left it to all the ladies concerned to solve the problem of the real sleeping arrangements. The baron looked down on his food, a tasty steakand-kidney pie. He clutched a big glass of extremely good home-brewed ale. The inn they were staying in was an excellent choice and he inwardly toasted the young man who had followed the Duke's orders for the reservation. It was just that the inn did not seem to cater to other needs than sleep, food and drink. There were no girls that sent him inviting smiles in order to make an extra coin on the side for their sexual favors. After the baron had secretly inquired into the matter he had understood why; the innkeeper and his wife had decided that their three married daughters would serve the gentry in the taproom and exclusive dining room, while the soldiers were served by the 'lesser' staff in a barn, which were supposedly the ones who did take coin in exchange for a little romp in the hay. The baron heaved a sigh.

He was supposed to sleep in his wife's room that night and he did not think there could be a way out of that predicament. Even if he managed to find himself a girl for a roll in the haystack or an empty stall in the stable, there was no way he could sleep somewhere else than in his wife's room. The inn was on a crossroad, but at least ten minutes' ride away from the nearest village. He would not have minded to ride into that village in search of a willing body, but he did not know the village at all and feared that his search for a woman would probably prove in vain. He eyed his wife furtively. He had not slept with her for about ten years, so as not to put her in any danger after her miscarriages. He calculated that she was about thirty-six years old now and wondered if she was already in her infertile years. Barry Campbell was not a bad man. His only problem was that for some reason he needed to have sex with a woman at least once a day. He knew he was in a way addicted to it, but had never done anything to fight that addiction. He had gone to Samantha Ferrer the last night he had been in Ayre and she had accommodated his dire needs for relations of the flesh. She had also told him that the child that was cradled in her womb would be a boy. Barry was not different from any man his age and time; he wanted a son badly to continue the line of the Barony of Ayre. If he did not have a son on the day he

died, the barony would revert to his future son-in-law Lord John. The Duke had already advised him that Lord John would not need a barony as he was going to be the new Marques of Lorna and Kintyre the moment the Duke was to change the here and now for the eternal. All this was the reason that he had started to eye his wife again that evening; he needed a son badly and he wanted one badly. He was aware of the fact that the birth of a new babe might kill his wife, but he refused to be sentimental about it. If she had a son who lived, that would be fine and dandy. If she died, he could at least marry again and have another chance of a full nursery with the likes of Samantha Ferrer. He would not give a jot about her background if it came to the choosing of a new wife, only of her capability to fill the long-empty nursery with a few sons. He gnawed at his nails, something he was only apt to do when he had to make an important decision. At least his wife was still an appetizing woman. The baron studied her neckline unobtrusively. It had most definitely filled out after her pregnancies but it still seemed to be firm. He remembered she had nice legs and fleshy hips and not all of her thirty-six years should have changed that. Yes, she might do perfectly for tonight. Barry Campbell was always on the prowl for a girl in his bed every day or night, which meant that he had left his scruples behind a long time ago. He did not mind if they were close to toothless, thin or thick, sixteen or

forty, as long as they were accommodating. Now that there would be no chance of a fuck with the servant girls, which he preferred (it was so much easier to pay his bed mates a coin, than to have to cope with new assignments, indignant demands, or clinging, tearful girls) he would seduce his wife and try to plant a new babe in her belly. And to hell with whatever consequences! Lochiel buried his face in a heap of black curls, moving his hips in the age-old rhythm. He knew that the sky was lightening into a new day, but he had been so desperate for the giving company of his young lover that he had mounted her again to spend his seed in her one more time. He smiled when he heard Lizzie gasp in her new orgasm. His little Lizzie had proven to be a fast learner. After she had experienced her first orgasm by his cunning mouth, she had learned in no time at all to bring back that same feeling when he was sheathed inside her. Now they moved together as if they were a couple of many years. Lizzie had laughed when he had carefully entered the small room which had been originally reserved for her friend Detty. "Detty's sleeping in my bed, now," she had said with an amused smile, "Mattie has gone to your and Colin's bedroom, you are here with me and when the music stops we all have to be back in the right place!"

The music was to stop very soon, Lochiel realized. It was not that they had to move out of the inn at the earliest hour in the morning; the ride to Stirling would be maybe thirty-miles, which would promise to be only a six, or five hours ride, but he already heard the servant girls stirring in the big inn. Lochiel refused to hurry his last languorous lovemaking. He felt Lizzie responding and he wanted to make it all last as long as possible, as he was not certain if they could be together tonight, when they were staying in Stirling Castle. Stirling Castle belonged to the Duke of Rothford and it would be inconceivable to spend the night there with Lizzie who was to marry that same Duke’s son. Lady Campbell looked out of the window of her appointed bedroom with a frown, watching unthinkingly the hurried comings and goings of the servants in Stirling Castle. She saw Lieutenant Cameron in front of his group of soldiers, obviously directing them in preparation of the stretch, which they would travel between Stirling and Edinburgh. She turned when Mattie shyly entered the bedroom. The Baroness flushed deep red when she saw Mattie's precautions not to run into a naked and sated baron as had happened the morning before, when they had all slept in the inn east of Glasgow. It had been a happy night for Sarah Campbell, when her husband had entered their mutual bedroom and had

set himself to seduce his wife into submitting herself to him. He had taken the trouble even to make love to her twice and now, last night in the Castle, he had come to her again. Sarah Campbell frowned again while Mattie set to dressing her in a new traveling costume. She had been happily resigned to her husband's amorous mood in the inn: obviously, he had not found himself a bed-partner elsewhere, nor a place to sleep, or the combination of the two, and he had thought her an easy prey for his sexual urgings. It was just that he had come to her bedroom in the Castle again, last night, making love to her again before they went to sleep and again in the morning before he climbed out of her bed in search for his valet Ingham. She had never expected him to take the trouble to come back to her bedroom last night; she had noticed many a girl in the Castle ogling the baron with open longing and invitation. She had been wondering about his motives and she was afraid she understood them very well now; he wanted a son of her, his only legitimate breeding vessel. She did not know if she wanted to hate him for it. He must know that trying to get her breeding anew was akin to playing with her life. On the other hand, what use was it to live beside him, pretending that all was well, while she had to try hard not to sink into a deep depression all the time out of sheer unhappiness that he neglected her? "Not too many pins in my hair, please, Mattie! They give me a blooming headache."

She smiled and it wiped the frown from her face. Mattie looked at her mistress' face in the mirror. Lady Campbell was beautiful when she smiled, she should do it more often. "Did you already tend to my daughter, Mattie?" Mattie looked another way, feeling her face reddening. She had learned what her little mistress had been up to, those two nights of travel, and she had felt horror and admiration for the willful girl. "She's taking a bath as we speak, Lady Campbell," Mattie answered with hesitation, dreading Lady Campbell's next question. It never came though, as the baron entered Lady Campbell's bedroom, gallantly asking his wife to join him for breakfast. Mattie stared open-mouthed at them as they both descended the big stairway. Gods, had everybody gone crazy during this trip? * * *

Chapter 8: A WEDDING DAY * "I think it's utterly improper for you to ride in my coach to church," Audrey warned the grinning Duke, shifting on the couch to make room for him. "It's even more improper if we arrive with you sitting next to me," she objected when he sat down next to her. The Duke laughed and pinched her voluptuous knee. "You are very right, my dear, but then I have not been able to touch you for weeks, so oblige an old man, will you?" "Old, old!" she scoffed, "You're a rascal, Jonathan Mont-gomery. Stop pinching me, the coachman can hear me giggle!" He kissed her neck playfully and searched for her thigh under all the silk and lace of her skirts. "Hmmm, Audrey Lindley, I'd like to kiss you here and here until you squirm..." "Don't, Jon," she said weakly. She had wanted his touch since she had gone back to London from Whitesands and had embarked on a ship to bring her to Edinburgh. They had decided not to travel up North together as the chances of discovery of their liaison were too big to ignore. Jonathan had expressed the need to visit some of his estates North of York and had travelled over land, just managing to arrive in Edinburgh on the day before the wedding.

He had checked if John had already deigned to come, determined that if John would be too late for his own wedding, John was certain to marry Lizzie Campbell by his father's proxy instead. It had been a great relief for the Duke to hear that John was already in town in the company of his brother Randolph. He had shaken his head in disgust when he had heard of the debaucheries both his sons had been capable of as Edinburgh shook with the indignity of them. He had known his sons were never something remotely saintly, but their painting the town vermillion most definitely had a morbid and sadistic streak this time. He wondered how many people he would have to pay off to incur their silence about his sons' misdemeanors. "How are your boys, Audrey?" he asked her stoically, trying to get to the slit of her underwear between her legs. Audrey closed her eyes, determined not to settle her head against the back of the carriage. Her maid had done her utmost with her hair and the last thing she wanted was to go to church with her coiffure in notable disarray. "They're fine, I hope," she managed, wondering at her ambiguity, that she wanted his hand to settle at that intimate spot, on the other hand wishing he kept his roving hand to himself, as it was neither the time nor the place for such intimacies. He smiled as if he understood her line of thought, kissed her quickly on her ear not to harass her careful

maquillage and brought his roaming hand back to her knee. "Will they come?" Audrey lifted a shoulder, still very conscious of her lover's warm hand on her knee. "You mean, will they come and bring Loghaire?" she guessed with a small smile. When his eyes darkened at the mention of her husband's name, she hastened to say; "Hengist will be at the church, of course; no one as dutiful as my number two son. I doubt Philip will be there unless Randolph talks him into it, and still... No, we should not expect him anyway. Noon is too early for him to attend to any social event. Loghaire sent me a note that he won't get here in time. He had to do something urgent, like fishing for salmon or trout, or whatever." "He's not here?" The Duke grinned expectantly at Audrey. "Don't think you can climb through my window tonight, my love," the Countess answered tartly. "If Loghaire ever hears as much as a whisper about us he'll suddenly be visiting the house today. He never bothered to send me any notes in the past, so I am a bit frantic about this one. My brain is running around in circles to prepare myself for whatever he is up to. He's a big, old, wily fox, that one!" The Duke flicked his tongue along the delicious shell of her ear again, inhaling the fragrance that was so typically Audrey's.

"I'll have to feast on you during the wedding breakfast then. Just go to the room on the second floor which has been appointed to the bride. In the left paneling you will find a small door ajar." Audrey almost forgot to breathe in anticipation. Jon was going to have a rendezvous with her during the wedding breakfast! His hand went to her fashionable low cleavage. "I have to have you today, my darling. I may not be in the spring of my life anymore, but you most certainly have a knack of making something in me jump to the occasion." Audrey just shook her head at him, trying to keep herself from smiling at his ardor. "We're there. Look the whole regiment seems to be here for the event. " The Duke bent to look through the same window, almost sinking his head into her enticing cleavage. "It's only a platoon, Audrey, for the show of it. Do you see that handsome lieutenant there in front of it?" Audrey nodded. "I know him. That's Lochiel Cameron, Hengist's friend. He seems to have had a mishap and had to stay at my house for medical reasons a few weeks ago, but only for a day or two as he was assigned to go to Ayre and escort your soon to be daughter-in-law to Edinburgh." "Lochiel Cameron..." the Duke mused, “yes, I also have some acquaintance with him..." "You mean your wrong-side-of-the-blanket-son?" the Countess inquired flippantly.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the church. The Duke withheld Audrey from leaving the carriage. "How did you guess?" he asked with a pained smile. Audrey snorted. "That one is the spitting image of you when you married Elisabeth, just a bit younger and a bit blonder. That's the way with bastards. All of Loghaire's bastards are the spitting image of him, so why would yours be any different? It's Gods finger pointing, you know, for the whole world to see what their fathers deny them; the recognition of their true roots." When the carriage door opened she gathered her skirts and took the hand of the same person they had been talking of. The lieutenant led her carefully out of the carriage. "Lochiel!" she exclaimed, “You are always so gallant!" The man just bent his head in a deferential bow. "Ah," she laughed, "you're looking inordinately pale. You have no doubt been indulging during John's stag night, have you not?" She frowned when he just answered her with another bow. The Duke thanked Lochiel and took Audrey by the arm to enter the chapel of the age-old castle, looking back into eyes that were most definitely of his beloved Maighread's hue, in a face that so closely resembled his own. He smiled inwardly.

Beware that your sins will find you out! The sin that he still never regretted had certainly found him, as his stamp on his son's face was so revealing that he wondered why nobody came forward to accuse him of the adulterer that he once was. "He's a lovely fellow," Audrey said from the corner of her mouth, "that one does you proud, Jonathan!" Lochiel stood at attention, his broad sword following the line of his breastbone and his nose. He felt sick at heart and lonely. Within an hour, his love would be married to Lord John Montgomery, spare to the Dukedom of Rothford. There had been no more chances to see her after they had had a passionate tryst in one of the empty attics of the Stirling Castle. The attic had been dusty and stale with disuse and he had lifted her against a sturdy beam to make love to her one last time, with him standing and Lizzie clamping her legs around his waist. The back of her dress had been a dusty mess afterward. Once in Edinburgh the Campbells stayed at the Loghaires' townhouse and although Lochiel found an excuse every day to visit the house, no possibility had presented itself to be alone with Lizzie. Instead of intruding at Lord John's stag night, he had been out with Hengist, drinking till deep in the night, talking, but not daring to tell him of his new foolish adventure with the soon-to-be-wife of Lord John. He wondered why he had so soon forgotten all about his own wife, who had so recently ejected him from her and their sons' lives. There was only one answer: Lizzie

Campbell, very soon to be Lady John Montgomery had stolen his heart and his mind. "Bloody hell, John!" Lord Randolph growled at his brother, "Can’t you even stand straight? Christ, what will Father say when he sees you like this on your own bloody wedding?" "Why should I c...care," Lord John stammered, slightly pa-nicked, looking around for a pot or bowl to vomit in. He raced behind a pillar and his appalled brother heard him splash his meagre breakfast on the floor of the chapel. "Damn him to hell!" Lord Randolph growled, fishing a handkerchief out of his sleeve and signaling to a footman who hovered mercifully close to make an effort to get rid of the mess. He grabbed his brother around the waist, rubbing his handkerchief against John's mouth. "Clean yourself up," he ordered his brother, muting his voice as he saw his father enter the chapel together with the Countess of Loghaire. "Think about how you are going to be Marques one day, only because you are going to say 'yes' to that little beauty that Mother found you. You could do a lot worse, you know." "My tit for tat!” John sneered, “I'll marry her but I'll never consummate!"

"You will," Lord Randolph said through clenched teeth. "Don't you know Father made that a new condition? You'll never get Lorna otherwise." Lord John slugged against the bench he was to sit on later, refusing to return his father's nod of greeting when the Duke sat down in the first row. He felt like a sacrificial lamb. A very hung over sacrificial lamb. "They're all here," his brother hissed, checking Lord John's waistcoat for specks of vomit and wondering what his marriage kiss would taste like. No matter. If he knew John, he would not deign to kiss his little bride anyway, the stubborn lout! Mattie thought Lizzie would never stop crying and that worried her; Lizzie hardly ever cried. Not when she fell from her horse, a stool or her bed, never. Not even as a babe, had she deigned to cry. And now her little mistress was sitting there on her bed in her beautiful pearl colored, soiled, bridal dress, crying her eyes out. "Miss Lizzie... Lady John..." That last new courtesy title caught Lizzie's attention. "Don't call me th... that!" she hiccupped, "Don't you ever, ever call me that!" Mattie looked wide-eyed at Lizzie. There were only a few people in the world that could be called "lady" followed by their husband's first name. It was the prerogative only reserved for the wife of the son of a Duke and that was exactly what Lizzie had been for the last few hours. Mattie shook her head.

"I cannot be caught being disrespectful to the wife of a Duke's son," she warned. "Not even when the Duke's son has been disrespectful to his own wife?" Lizzie asked balefully, forgetting her tears. "Well," Mattie said, almost apologetically, "at least he bothered to consummate his marriage before he left for London." "Consummate?" Lizzie blazed, "What do you mean con-summate? Rushing me away from my own wedding breakfast to take me against the wall of my bedroom, only to spend himself on the floor and over my dress?" Mattie shook her head, trying to calm Lizzie down. "At least he couldn't have realized you were not a virgin any more..." That stopped Lizzie short. "What do you mean by that Mattie? How would you know?" "Oh, hell!" Mattie shook her head in dismay. Damn, but she had never wanted Lizzie to know that she was aware about her and the lieutenant. "Colin asked me to see to the cleaning of the Lieutenant's bed after that one night at home... It took me some time to find out whom the Lieutenant had so thoughtlessly breached, until that night in the inn near Glasgow. Detty told me that she had exchanged rooms with you, and as I slept with Colin that night, with the Lieutenant finding a bed elsewhere, it only took me a short time to put one and one together. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" Lizzie asked disbelievingly, "Well, let me tell you, I'm not! I anticipated that the cad would do a dishonorable thing and I was proven right in the end. He just raped me and spent his seed on the floor and my dress!" Mattie pushed her hand through her hair. Her bun had gone loose and she tried to pin it back. "There is no such thing as rape between husband and wife," she said slowly, more pious than she felt. Lizzie suddenly lay down on the bed. "I've a bloody headache," she announced. "Get me out of this dress, Mattie, and ask somebody in this rotten household to prepare me a posset." "You're not going back to the party?" Mattie gaped. "Don't be stupid, Mattie," Lizzie scolded, "my wonderful husband has gone back to London. Why do you think he was in such a hurry for this so-called consummation? He just wanted to catch the tide! No doubt the consummation was part of the agreement between him and the Duke; otherwise the cad would have skipped it entirely! You tell everybody what he or she wants to hear about my absence from that rotten feast, but I'm not moving from my bed, and that's final. Now, get me out of this dress or I'll take your scissors and cut it from my body! I'm glad my thoughtful husband ruined it thoroughly, so don't bother to have it cleaned, because I'll never wear it again, never!" Mattie only nodded and started to undo the many pearl buttons on Lizzie's back. Her charge might be strong willed as ever but she was right: she could not go

back to the feast under the circumstances, and with a stained dress. She would be quite safe in her own bed with Lord John gone. She rang for a chambermaid to order Lizzie's posset. Damn, but this long awaited wedding day had turned into a day from hell! "He's gone?" Lady Loghaire whispered disbelievingly. Sarah Campbell nodded sadly and shrugged. "He's the most arrogant lout I've ever seen in my life, Audrey. Maybe it's good riddance. Lizzie is too young to be able to put up with him anyway. And truth be told I don't fancy her having a baby in her belly too soon. No, let him go back to London and let's hope he won't come back disease-ridden." Audrey Agnew sighed softly. "I must confess I'm rather glad Philip did not show up at the breakfast. With all the guests from London, I'm not certain he would be in a mood to make any sort of a good impression. He likes to be contrary and shock people and I truly don't want to be regaled again of his last adventures with the despicable Lord Pedophile Poof." Sarah nodded miserable for her friend. Everybody knew about Philip Agnew's deplorable adventures with England's most renowned and richest pedophile. Philip thought it a lark and couldn’t care less about his mother's feelings.

Audrey never doubted her son had done it all for the money, starting about fifteen years ago with the seduction of the man. It had rocked Albion from the cliffs of Dover to the Hebrides. "How's Hengist?" Sarah asked. Audrey Agnew broke into a broad smile. "God forgive me for loving him more than my eldest, Sarah, but I do! I just wish he had not fallen in love with that chit that lives with the MacKenna. It's hopeless for him anyway, as they have betrothed her to that ghastly cit William Alexander. The good thing is that I will never be linked with her mother, Georgina MacKenna. That woman would be too much to bear for anyone. I'm thinking to ask Jonathan to give Hengist a place in some regiment far away, but I don't want him to go to Ireland or to the Americas, so I've kept my mouth shut until now." "Well," Sarah mumbled, “I suddenly just feel rather blessed to have only had a girl. It can't be easy to cope with boys like that, Audrey." Audrey looked quickly at her friend. "I hear funny rumors about you and the baron, Sarah. What if you conceive another girl?” Sarah blushed deeply. "He came back to my bed when we were travelling here and he is most insistent to sleep with me every night. The stupid thing is that I always wanted him to come back to me during those lonely years past and now I am not certain if I even remotely like him any-more! To know that the thing he sticks in me every night has

been about everywhere! Gads, Audrey, what if I conceive, indeed? The doctor and the midwife advised me against it and now Barry is playing God and toying with my life!" Audrey nodded. "I understand how you feel. I still have to hide once in a while when I notice that Loghaire is fancying me again." "What do you do to prevent it?" Sarah inquired eagerly. Audrey shrugged. "I just put one of the willing servants in my bed. Mostly, by the time he notices the exchange, he is too far gone to cry wolf." Sarah sniggered. "Oh, Audrey you are a character! But I have had that situation unwillingly too many times in my life. I won't be able to pull that off, you know." Audrey looked sternly at her younger friend. "It's either that or conceive, Sarah. Just remember that! Ah, the Duke must have come down from his little nap at last!" She waved enthusiastically at the Duke, whose valet had done his utmost to get him and his clothes back in the same pristine way as when he had entered the chapel that morning. "I'll check on my daughter," Lady Campbell said, "her maid is trying to signal me, see? I'll see you tonight at dinner then, Audrey." Audrey nodded distractedly at her friend.

Jonathan was making a beeline for her and she wondered if about everyone in the room could see his naughty smile and interpret it right; they had their little tryst in the room that Jon had pointed out to her. It had only been a matter of twenty minutes at the most, lest anyone notice that they were both gone. Jon had a girl waiting in the powder room to rearrange her hair, which was smart and thoughtful. As he had said, he was going to his rooms for a nap, he had disappeared into his own apartments after their little rendezvous, grinning about the fact that she was obliged to go downstairs again and act as if she'd had a hard time at the commode, dreadful man! Audrey could not help smiling. They were acting like twenty-year olds! How shameful! Before Jon could say a word to her, a footman bowed in front of her, presenting a letter on a silver salver. "What on earth cannot wait till after the wedding?" Jon scoffed, looking balefully at the reddening footman. "Don't scold him Jon, we'll know soon enough!" Audrey opened the letter and blanched. "It's Loghaire!" she exclaimed, "His doctor at Loghaire Castle writes that he has had a severe accident. He fell from a rock when he was fishing. Damnation, but I'll have to go home." "Not today, you won't," Jonathan insisted. "You cannot drive down there in the dark. We'll go tomorrow." "What do you mean, we?" Audrey demanded, "There’s no way you can come, Jonathan. If Loghaire is

only a tiny bit in his right mind, he'll understand about us." The Duke smirked. "Not if you introduce me as your new steward. I know you need one there, Audrey, now that you brought yours to the townhouse. Nobody knows me at your castle and I have not seen Loghaire since I married Elisabeth. Just let me get you there on time. I'm sure I can pull that off." Audrey looked at him blandly to hide her feelings for him as people were appearing to ask what was wrong. "We'll talk about it after dinner," she whispered, smiling wanly at a worried Sarah Campbell, who had come down again and who looked questioningly at her from a distance. * * *

Chapter 9: COMINGS AND GOINGS * "Alone at last!" Lizzie mumbled, eying her mirror, checking her face for traces of last night's distress, when the full impact of her husband's misdemeanor and subsequent cowardly retreat had tortured her brain and spoiled her night's rest again. Mattie brought her the new jeweled Indian turtle combs which the Baroness had given her when she had left her daughter behind in the ducal residence on her way back to Ayre. "Aren't you sorry everybody is away now?" she asked, taking a shawl out of a beautiful Rococo dresser that adorned Lizzie's bedroom. Lizzie just shrugged, trying to look indifferent. She did not want Mattie to know that she had almost begged her mother and father to take her back to Ayre when they had taken their leave of her. Detty had been hovering close, but Lizzie had not shown her friend her unease either. It was just no use. If she went back to Ayre, she would be under her mother's thumb again. She would be her 'own woman' if she stayed in Edinburgh, especially since Lord John had been in a great hurry to leave the premises and the nearness of his new young wife. At least the Duke had been so kind as to tell her to whom she had to direct herself if she needed anything. Anything included money; he had taken care that she

would get a monthly allowance that exceeded the word 'pin money' greatly. It was just that Lizzie felt as if she was looking into a great empty space when she thought of her stay in Edinburgh or her future. Nobody had stayed in Edinburgh. The very sympathetic Countess of Loghaire had left one day after the wedding as she had received news that the Earl of Loghaire had fallen from a rock when he had been fishing. She had expressed gratitude that she would be accompanied by a new steward for Loghaire while she was travelling down to the estate. The Duke had also left, although he had not told anybody where he would be off to, but then somebody as elevated as a Duke did not have to keep anybody alerted of his comings and goings. Her mother and father had stayed until five days after the wedding. Her mother had been quite pale when she said her goodbyes to her only daughter. Her father had been exuberant as always. For him life seemed like one big adventure every day, Lizzie thought sourly. Detty had been hesitant. Lizzie knew she really wanted to stay in Edinburgh with her, or anywhere, as long as she did not have to go back to her strict parents and the small mansion in Wattles. Lizzie would have loved the prolonged presence of her only friend, but it had been understood that Detty was required to come home as soon as her friend was

married. No doubt the Warleighs had expected Lizzie to leave for London or a honeymoon somewhere with her brand new groom and Lizzie just could not confess to the Warleighs that her so-called dream marriage was already in complete tatters. She also knew that the Warleighs would never ever agree that Detty could stay in Edinburgh without the trustworthy chaperonage of the baron and the Baroness. Lizzie might be married, but a sixteen-year-old married chaperon was hardly what the Warleighs would consider fitting for their own daughter. The Baroness had doubted the wisdom to leave Lizzie all on her own in Edinburgh, now that she was without the protection of her husband and the suddenly disappeared Duke, but there was nothing to it; Barry insisted that they would go home. He never had appointed a steward as he figured he could do such a person's work himself and he wanted to be certain that not everything was falling apart at home. The Baroness dearly regretted her good friend Audrey's hasty departure from Edinburgh. The Countess was the only person she would have entrusted the welfare of her daughter to. All the other guests were gone as well; the very handsome Lord Philip Agnew, Viscount Morvern, who was rumored to have been in a blatant new scandal with a known rogue had left, as had his martial and attractive brother Hengist Agnew, who had returned to the grounds of Stirling Castle. Everybody had gone: even Lochiel Cameron, although only a guest at the house of the Countess of

Loghaire and never a guest at Lizzie’s wedding or at the ducal residence, had been sent away on some mission or another in the Highlands. There was only one person who had stayed, and he was the one Lizzie least wanted to think about or to have close to her; the debauched Lord Randolph, heir to the Duke of Rothford, Lizzie’s feared brother-in-law. Even at the wedding breakfast, Lord Randolph had not been able to refrain from whispering lecherous remarks about and towards Lizzie. She had been bewildered by his constant breaches of etiquette regarding her and intuitively mistrusted him greatly. Contrary to his father and his only brother, Lord Randolph was not very handsome; his face lacked the lines that made the difference between handsome and plain. His hair was reddish and at the age of thirty-one, he already had a bald spot on top of his head. He was as tall as his brother, about six foot and something, but where his brother wore his height with pride, Lord Randolph tended to slump, which only gave him the air of someone nearer his forties than his thirties. Of course, Lizzie had heard the gossip about him, mostly through Mattie, who was friendly with all of the downstairs staff in the house. Lord Randolph did not seem able to make up his mind if he preferred boots to petticoats, or the company of handsome men over wanton women. There had been quite some stories about his lecherous lifestyle in Edinburgh as well in London. Lord Randolph had managed to frighten Lizzie with his suggestive remarks, especially after Lord John had

so uncouthly disappeared. She was very uncomfortable about his presence in the ducal residence in Edinburgh and she did whatever she could to avoid her brother-inlaw. To that effect she had to take her meals in her own apartment in the house, instead of in the formal dining room where Randolph had his dinners precisely at eight o'clock every day. Lizzie felt very much left alone, with no one to protect her from the evil likes of Lord Randolph, her gothic brother-in-law. She did nothing to interfere with the household, although the Duke had told her it was her due as Lord John's wife and the only female person of the ducal Rothford family. Lizzie was satisfied only to make her choice of the menu every day and had proficiently assured the housekeeper Mrs. Paine that things were running smoothly in the house. Mrs. Paine had looked at the young Lady John with pity. Everybody knew by now of the disgraceful way Lord John had treated his young wife. The scandal of the spoilt wedding dress had not remained a secret either due to the curiosity of a laundry woman, who had been sniggering about resistant and telling spots on the wedding dress that Mattie had been unable to remove entirely. It was just that Lizzie got bored out of her wits in Edinburgh as everybody worth his or her salt was still in London enjoying the last weeks of the season.

She tended to stay quite long in bed every morning, also to avoid running into her ungallant brother-in-law in the breakfast room. In the afternoon, she went for rides in the open carriage, taking Mattie with her as her companion and chaperone, although it was not necessary for her to do that now that she was a married woman. For the first time in her life, she regretted that she did not have a passion for something such as playing the pianoforte or embroidery, because she had nothing at all to do. In the evening, she tended to read the most atrocious gothic novels she could find in Edinburgh's lending library, and then she would go to sleep as soon as she felt like it, which became earlier every week. The lending library had a section which contained quite daring books that were forbidden to everybody underage or unmarried. Lizzie always went to that section right away, giving the books to one of the footmen to carry, who was known not to have a clue about his letters, so that he could not tell a soul what Lady John was reading. In August, her world was rocked when her mother wrote her a letter telling her she was in a 'delicate condition,’ which meant she had conceived during the travels to Lizzie's wedding in Edinburgh. Lizzie had heard the gossip that her father had gone back to her mother's bed, but was far from pleased to know that her mother was breeding again. Lizzie had thought her mother too old to be expecting another baby, although Mattie assured her that her ladyship was still at

an age where women could have a child and live through the experience. It was just not right! During her rides, Lizzie always took care to pass Edinburgh's training grounds for the 42nd Regiment. She had not had another chance to even talk privately to her lover since their evening in the attic of Stirling Castle. She had asked Mattie to inquire after the lieutenant for her. Mattie had been told that the lieutenant and the regimental sergeant had been sent on another mission after they had come home from the Highlands and that their new assignment had something to do with the new recruiting in the border country. Lizzie had shaken her head in indignation and impatience. She was bored, bored, bored! Of course, no news at all had come on the part of her errant husband and Lizzie couldn't care less about him. Her courses had come and gone several times now and Mattie had sighed in relief that neither Lord John's semi-rape nor Lochiel Cameron's carnal attentions had borne any fruit. Lord Randolph looked through slit eyes at his new sister-in-law. Although she was very young, he considered her quite a dish; she had nice round titties and a lovely bum. ‘Young’ would be some other experience for him; he had not had many young girls in his life because they

always posed a problem afterward, mostly due to indignant fathers and brothers. He’d had some ‘sold’ virgins just for the hell of breeching them, but that sexual experience had worn thin after a few times. She was standing before one of the bookcases in the library of Rothford House and whenever she bent slightly to have a closer look at the titles, she stuck out her fetching derrière. Randolph felt his cock swell and started to stroke the front of his breeches, not caring if one of the footmen, who was waiting at the entrance, could see what he was doing. Lord Randolph had felt the burden of boredom of late. He had not joined his friends on their summer's party hopping, which meant that they went from one house party in the country to another. He had preferred to stay in Scotland to fish and to hunt. The hunting season would go into full swing after the month of August was passed and no doubt his friends, who had not been lured by their mothers to the Small Season in London, would soon gather at his house to make the best of the hunting, bringing in enough whores and lightskirts for other sorts of physical enjoyments. Lord Randolph felt a bit at a loss; his lover, a man from the lower echelons of Edinburgh society, had to go to his home in the Highlands as he had been told that his father might be dying, and the whore who had been his favorite, because of her very special experience, had excused herself because she was in that period of the month that it was just not to his taste to have any sort of intercourse with her.

It truly amused him to spy on his little, innocent sister-in-law. John had told him what he had done to her before he left Edinburgh in a hurry. It was obvious that he had felt the need to tell his tale to his brother so that he would not miss out on his new title when their father finally cocked up his toes, and the story had intrigued Lord Randolph to no end. He wondered if the little bride had squealed when his brother had so roughly taken her against the wall of her bedroom. Lord Randolph liked his lovers to squeal once in a while. He had indulged in sexual play from the early age of eleven, which meant that at thirty-one he thought to have seen it all and tried it all. He tended to feel more aroused by the persons of his own sex, as he admired muscled bodies greatly, but he did have a penchant for women who squealed out of fear of him. His problem was that his height might be imposing, but it was not reflected in the size of his reproductive organ. A woman squealing out of fear of him helped him reinforce the illusion that she was scared of that specific part of him. Whores would say anything about him just for the blunt he would be throwing their way, but after all was said and done, it was just not the same. One of his best friends had introduced him into the world of whips and bondage, but Lord Randolph had soon noticed that he did not care for the victim part of it.

On the other hand, he greatly enjoyed being the one who inflicted pain for pleasure. Therefore, Lizzie’s apparent fear of him amused him. He could not care less that she took her meals in her rooms to avoid sitting through a whole dinner with him. Ah, but she was pretty and so very, very young. His brother was an idiot not to enjoy her to the full! What would it have mattered if he had stayed in bed with her for a week and then had left her? He wondered if John had been afraid to give her the respect due to her as his wife, if that was why he had not put his dick into her properly. He grimaced. John should have stayed to put a babe in her belly. It would not have shown respect, only good sense. She was very young to have a child and if she had conceived and then died in childbirth, John would have been free to do whatever he pleased. Now he was probably chained for the duration of a lifetime marriage to a girl he seemed to hate, although God alone knew why. After their mother died, John had told him about the extracted promise that he would marry Lizzie Campbell one day. Randolph had always been intrigued about that little piece of blackmail, but had not done anything to find out what it was precisely about. Randolph knew that all things would pop up from the mud one day and he was lazy and patient enough to wait for it to happen. "Can I be of some help?" Lizzie started when she heard his hated voice.

She turned around from the shelves she had been researching. "Err; I am just looking for... I am just looking for something that might be of interest, Lord Randolph." She had never used anything but his formal title when she spoke to him. "Ah," Randolph said benignly, "and what are you interested in, my dear?" He came a few steps closer to her and when the light of a high window fell on his white, heavy silk breeches, she saw a shadow on them that seemed to form a ridge. Her eyes widened and she swallowed. His bloody lordship was aroused? Obviously, he did not care that she saw him in such a state! Maybe he thought she still was too innocent to understand the lust he was apparently in? She quickly turned and fished a book from the nearest shelf. "This one," she said putting triumph in her voice. She turned around and ran towards the library exit. "Locke, my dear?" Randolph cried with sarcasm in his voice. "By God, my sister-in-law turns out to be a bluestocking!" The footman at the door looked at him when he smilingly started to nurture his erection again. "That you, Whitby?" Lord Randolph asked with a feral grin. Whitby was muscled, tall, and never averse to earning some extra coin.

"Come here behind this bookcase, you've got to take care of something..." Lochiel looked back at the ruins of what had once been a proud castle in the Lowlands. Akbar scraped an impatient foreleg on the rocky ground beneath him and moved to the side when Colin stepped his horse next to him. "You're getting squeamish, my friend!" Colin whispered at the young lieutenant, "You could have had her every night from the wet day we arrived here..." Lochiel shrugged. "She's not that pretty and I know Laird MacDonald warms his bed with her when his wife is visiting their relatives." Colin nodded and signaled at the soldiers that they were to leave. "As I said, squeamish!" "Get your horse to the back, R.S!" Lochiel snapped, "I don't want Akbar to take a bite out of his rump." It was Colin's turn to shrug. "Squeamish and in a bad mood, just like that devil of a horse you inherited." Lochiel did his utmost to hold his eager horse under control, flexing his muscled legs in the stallion's sides. He hardly ever used his spurs on Akbar. The horse was just too temperamental and proud for it. It did not matter. Lochiel was known as one of the best horse riders in the regiment. He could ride Akbar with the use of his calves. His mother had seen to it that he was

always able to ride high-spirited horses. It had been in her will that he would always be allowed to ride well and obviously his now long dead father had been able to provide for horses all the time, long after he had gone to his grave. Lochiel never got the gist of how his mother and father were able to get him the most beautiful mounts from the stables of Stirling Castle, starting with his lovely pony when he was four years old, until his last horse before Akbar. That horse had to be shot after it had broken its foreleg. After that tragedy, he could not believe his luck that Akbar was bequeathed to him by an almost unknown captain. Colin used to say that nobody would have wanted the bloody horse anyway. It was true that Akbar, although beautiful and sleek, had the character of the destriers of the Middle Ages. He truly seemed to think that he must fight alongside his master instead of just seat him through a battle, hence his eternal biting. The only person who had never been on the receiving end of his bites was Lochiel. The problem was that Lochiel often had to take care of his own mount, wherever he was, because hardly any of the grooms dared to touch the temperamental horse. Damn, but he was glad that MacDonald's lair had been the last place on his list. He had done the Duke of Rothford's progress, checking on the clans that normally paid homage to the Duke's House. There had been no surprises there. Rothford was one of the last Scottish Dukes, together with the Anglicized Lindley, who made an effort to seek

the clans' allegiances. The clans had hardly anything to say about their formal allegiances anymore, since the disastrous battle of Culloden, more than fifty years ago, where the English had defeated them. Perhaps defeated might not be the right word; annihilated would better describe it. At least, since the Highlanders had taken King George's shilling to fight his battles for him, the Scots had been allowed to wear their tartans and kilts again and use their bagpipes for their battle music. It still rankled with many a Scotsman that they were now fighting for the hated English king, who was a German anyway, but hungry beggars couldn't be choosers. Lochiel couldn’t care less about the stubbornness of the Scots; his mother had never sown the seed of hatred for the English, which was just as well, now. The many different Camerons who had interfered with his so-called education after her death, had obviously grudgingly paid for his tutors and had not cared a lot about the boy himself or how he would develop into a good Scotsman. Now at least he knew his letters and his ciphers, had a smattering of Latin and French, and had even learned how to dance. The latter was not his favorite pastime, but handy when he was invited to the officer's balls and routs in Stirling and Edinburgh. His Gaelic had proved to be minimal, the language had been forbidden for decades, but Catriona had swiftly brought him up to scratch with that part of the Scottish tradition.

In the end, his knowledge of Gaelic had earned him many a mission with the Scottish lairds who resided far up in the Highlands. It was also probably the reason why he had never been placed in the regiments that went to battle in the Americas and more recently on the Continent. He had never volunteered for them; he preferred his boys to have a father, instead of a distant memory. As he owned the great house outside of Bannockburn and the farm where his wife and sons lived, and he had a good education, people considered him a gentleman. It was true that the rentals of the house, the proceeds of the farm, and his lieutenant's wages, including the money he had inherited when his mother died, made him a well-todo Scott. He started to move forward at the head of his platoon, looking if the sergeant was back in his usual place at the back. He then stared sourly ahead, checking that the sun was climbing higher in the sky in the southeast. A week at least to get back to Edinburgh, he mused. Oh, yes, he had been horny enough to bed the MacDonald's chit, but the memory of a sixteen-year-old girl had kept him from indulging in a few nights in Merry MacDonald's arms and he did not want to run the risk of being bloody incapable, just like what had happened to him when he had been at the MacDowell’s stronghold a few weeks ago. It didn't matter that he had not been so hot for the MacDowell’s girl; what mattered was that he had not

been able to get his dick in the right position when she had come to his bed. It had taught Lochiel a small lesson; he really could not do it with one girl, when he was in love with another. In love! Lochiel swore under his breath. He had never been in love with anybody in his entire life. He had loved his mother to distraction and when she died in childbirth, due to the Duke of Rothford's seduction of her and her consequent conceiving of his child, he had been miserable and depressed for the bigger part of a year. He was only almost six years old when she died, but he had promised himself never to love again. Love hurt, if nothing else, and he was not going through the hurt anymore. He had avoided love when he married Catriona. It had been an agreement between him and Laird MacGregor’s daughter; she needed children for their dying clan and he had been fine with it all because he had nothing else to do. Between his fifteenth and nineteenth years his life had been rife with whores and lightskirts. Lochiel just loved a good fuck and being in the army was the right place to get all that and more. You were expected to blow your pay away on whores and drink, and Lochiel had done both. Now at twenty-five, his birthday had been this August and gone unnoticed by anybody, he looked at the ruins of his marriage and the disaster of having had adulterous relations with Lady John, wife of the son of

the Duke of Rothford, who was at the same time his employer. And God help him, somewhere in those days that he had met Lizzie Campbell he had fallen in love with her! The day of her wedding to Lord John he had been chosen to present a guard of honor at the Edinburgh Castle Chapel and all the way to the ducal residence. It had been pure hell for him. So when Nairn had asked who would do the Duke's progress he had volunteered without regret. He just could not stay in Edinburgh, when Lizzie and Lord John were there, celebrating their marital bliss. He had worried about the fact that he had taken her virginity, wondering if Lord John would find out and care enough to be angry and vengeful. He had actually liked Lord John very much, since that day when the boy had been four years old and his father had turned up at their house in Bannockburn. The Duke had visited his mother's house again a few times, always in the daytime and never staying the night, but Lord John had never joined his father again on his visits. Years later Lochiel had seen Lord John in Stirling and Edinburgh, but Lord John had never deigned to speak to Lochiel. Lochiel often wondered if he remembered the son of the beautiful woman whom his father bedded so eagerly, but then had concluded that four years of age were not inductive to such memories. Lochiel had never volunteered for escorting Lord John's wife-to-be to Edinburgh. Nairn had just given him the command and the half-platoon.

When he thought about it, he remembered that he had not been keen about the job until he sat Lizzie in front of him on Akbar. He looked over his shoulder at his sergeant. The man called him squeamish? As far as he knew Colin had not indulged in any haystack adventures either since his short adventures with Mattie! He smiled grimly. The hassle of being in love. That's what it was, a bloody hassle! Mattie hastened up the stairs and ran to Lizzie's apartments. She had helped Lady John prepare for bed only half an hour ago and hoped sincerely that Lizzie had not gone straight to sleep. She quickly knocked before scurrying into Lizzie's bedroom and saw to her dismay that the candles were extinguished. Damn, she had to wake her mistress up and fast! "Lady John, Lady John," she whispered urgently, changing to: "Lizzie, Lizzie, wake up, wake up!" She shook her mistress when she did not open her eyes quick enough. "What on earth...?" Lizzie sat up with such suddenness that she almost knocked Mattie's head with her own. "It's Lord Randolph!" Mattie wrung her hands: "He's drunk like a lord and on his way here. O, God, what can we do?" Lizzie's eyes widened to peer at her maid in the dark.

"What?" "I was bringing your laundry downstairs and he just left the dining room with those terrible friends of his and said he was going to give you a visit. And he sure did not mean talking!" Lizzie jumped out of the bed. "I'll hide in my dressing room!" "No, he'll look there first, if he does not find you here! You go into Lord John's bedroom and bar the doors! Quick!" Lizzie's apartment consisted of a small workroom, a private drawing room, her bedroom and her dressing room. From her dressing room, a door led to Lord John's apartment. Lord John's bedroom gave immediate access to Lady John's dressing room, so that her husband could come and go as he pleased to his wife's bedroom, if he would ever have felt so inclined. Lizzie hurried into her dressing room, opening the door to Lord John's bedroom fast. "Go, go!" Mattie shouted at her, "I hear them in the hallway. Go, shut the door and lock it!" She turned around when she heard heavy footsteps in Lizzie's drawing room, wringing her hands. What was she to do? Hide in the dressing room? A drunken Lord Randolph had already proven to be a disaster in the household, let alone a drunken, angry Lord Randolph. The door opened when she was still standing at the side of the bed, trying to make it look as if nobody had slept there. "Lizzie, my love," Lord Randolph leered at her.

His speech was blurred and Mattie could smell the waft of expensive whiskey coming from him. "I... Lady John is not here, my lord!" Mattie lifted her chin at his inquisitive gaze. The room was semi-dark, as the very last rays of sun had not yet disappeared from the August sky. Lord Randolph narrowed his eyes at her. "Where is sh... she?" "She was invited to Lady Loghaire's musicale tonight," Mattie quickly invented, "and will stay the night." She hoped Lord Randolph would not know about the emergency with the Earl that had taken Audrey Agnew all the way to the Loghaire estate in the south of Scotland. "Ah, so the tray that went up to Lady John today was eaten by you, then?" Lord Randolph snarled. Mattie could only tremble and curse the low neckline of her servant's dress when she saw Lord Randolph's eyes wandering down her throat. The neckline had not really been low but the size of her breasts induced the neckline to descend. "Well, if you t...take her place with h...her food, you can also t...take her p...place in another f...fashion." Mattie made her first mistake when she opened her eyes wide in abhorrence when Lord Randolph's remark sank in. "No!" she cried out, when Lord Randolph took a step to-wards her, "Oh, no!"

That was all it took to make Randolph's arousal complete. He had taken his share of the maids in his father's houses, but they had always been willing. This one was rape material! And God, he liked them to squirm and squeal in fright! "Oh, no!" Mattie cried out again. Damn, but she wanted to be loyal to Colin Burns! She loved Colin Burns and hoped he loved her back that way. Randolph grinned and grabbed her neckline with a very strong hand. It ripped apart when he tugged. He was a drunk and a debaucher, but he had his daily exercises with his beloved horses and his master of arms. The servant girl was no match for him. Ah, but she had nice tits! Mouth-watering tits! Maybe the disappearance of his little brother's wife was not so bad after all. And she was trembling with fear! He bit into her delectable flesh, not caring that blood seeped around his teeth. She screamed with pain and indignation. How dare he! He was really going to rape her? He pushed her onto Lizzie's bed, holding her down with one muscled arm, whisking down his breeches with the other. He tore her thin servant's petticoat and grabbed at her female flesh that was visible through the slit of her unmentionables. She squirmed and tried to kick him right at the thing that was pointing now menacingly at the apex of her thighs. He landed her a blow on her jaw that rendered

her almost unconscious and gasped happily when he felt his arousal double. It arouses him! Don't fight, he will give it all to you, measure for measure, she thought, fighting herself away from a panic. Oh, God, if you are not wet down there he will hurt you terribly and even tear you apart. He will love that. Think, think of the last time you were in Colin's bed, the night before Lizzie's wedding. Think how you loved his shaft to pound into you! Act as if he's Colin! Yes, Colin! "Oh, Colin," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. When Lord Randolph entered her as hard as he could, his eyes blinked in surprise. She was wet for him? She must like what he was doing to her? She moaned, but it did not seem a moan of pain to him. He started to ram into her, but soon changed his rhythm when he felt her inner muscles clench him. Oh, but that felt bloody good! God, she was narrow and wet! When he came with a shout, Mattie trembled underneath him, trying to hold her arousal at bay. Her orgasm was sudden and unexpected and shamed her to no end. She had come; he had made her come, this despicable cad! She tried to wriggle away from him, but he held her in a forceful grip and fell on top of her. She heard him snort and then snore. He fell asleep while he was crunching her into Lizzie's mattress? Mattie cried hot tears, trying to get away from under him, but he was heavy and held her tight even when he was sleeping.

"Damn it, but you'll suffocate me!" she cried in an indignant voice, pushing at his wide shoulders. He moved slightly to the right of her, still keeping her in his grip, still keeping his male organ inside of her. "You're not going any...anywhere," he whispered, wafting his alcoholic fumes in her face, "I like you fine. I'll just have to sleep a bit." Mattie tried to relax. It was no use anyway; he had done the deed and stopped moving a muscle now. She'd hate herself for the rest of her life. He'd raped her and she had in a way enjoyed it. Even if she had to do it in order not to be torn apart by his organ, so that she could bear Colin's children one day. She had to use her hand to muffle her sobs. The cad, the bloody, bloody cad! The Countess of Loghaire and her new steward were having lunch on the terrace of the castle that was enclosed by three walls. The steward, a kindly and distinguished gentleman, had just closed a huge ledger. "There is quite a lot of overdue maintenance to the castle, my lady," the man remarked. Lady Loghaire dismissed the old footman who had been hovering near the buffet table. "Thank you, Martin, we'll take it from here ourselves." She eyed the disguised Duke, who had been pottering around the estate now for more than two months. Two months of bliss, as her husband had been removed to the

ground floor for easier handling, while the so-called steward had a small room in the hallway leading to her own quarters. "So what of it?" she asked. "Everything is crumbling around your ears here, Audrey," he explained, his eyes shining, as he knew they had another one of their ironic arguments coming. "Yes?" The Countess buttered a freshly baked piece of bread that went incredibly well with the smoked salmon. "You don't care?" Audrey put the bread in her luscious mouth and shook her head. She took her time to chew and reached for a glass of white wine. German wine, she guessed, but then with the Alsace variety you never knew if it was French or German. "I'm not putting a penny into this pile of stone. It will be Philip's when Loghaire changes the here and now for the eternal, and I hate to throw my money into any of those bottomless pits of his! He'll only sell whatever is of value, Jon. I'm saving my money for Hengist. The fund is my own, to do with it whatever I please as per the nuptial agreements. It's bad enough that Philip gets all the entailed property. My townhouse in Edinburgh and my money are for Hengist; all of it. It's a pity that the house in London is in Loghaire's name so Philip will get his hands on that house as well but it's also a pile of useless bricks, anyway. I never use it as I'm staying mostly at your stepson's house."

The stepson being the Duke of Lindley whose house in London was huge, spacious and luxurious, although his father had left him almost destitute when he died. Richard Grey, the Duke of Lindley had worked wonders to get his finances back on track, although he still could not be considered rich. His wife was the daughter of the Earl of Cornwell and she had brought quite a lot of money into the marriage. One could not expect less of Richard Grey, Audrey thought fondly. Richard actually worked for his money. He was an eminent diplomat who was London-based at the War Office when he was not doing his work abroad. The old footman suddenly reappeared on the terrace, holding a salver with a letter. "It's for you, sir." He bowed at the aging, tall man, who had been their new steward for the last few months. Jonathan frowned. There was only one person into his and Audrey's secret in Edinburgh. The letter was from his secretary. "Damnation!" he swore after a quick scan of the letter. Audrey looked curiously at him. She had just dipped into a lovely peach pudding and produced a napkin to wipe her lips of the sticky substance which had remained on her chin. "Oh, damnation!" the Duke repeated, "I'm afraid our days of bliss here are over, Audrey! Lennox writes me that Randolph wanted to debauch Lizzie, but got to her

maid instead. There's no one to protect the poor children, now that everybody's gone." "Debauch Lizzie? That would be taking it all a bit far, wouldn't it?" Audrey said worriedly. "The lucky thing is that Randolph has taken a fancy to Lizzie's maid, so Lizzie may be relatively safe, but one can never tell. I'll have to go back. All Randolph's friends have arrived for the September hunts and that can only make the situation worse for the girl, now that John has seemingly forgotten about her." "I'll come with you, Jon." The Countess peered at the sun. "Two o'clock is my guess. We'll be there after midnight, if we hurry." Jonathan nodded. "You don't think you'll have to stay on for Loghaire?" She shook her head. "Everybody knows what to do for him here. His hip will probably be better in a month or so and as for his confusion, nobody can do anything about it anyway. No, let's go and rescue that poor child. We had a lovely time here, but we cannot shirk our duties anymore. I think it's best I take her under my protection as long as Randolph is around with his cronies." The Duke nodded, pleased with the practicality of her proposal. God, but he adored Audrey Agnew! "I'll don the strawberry leaves again, Audrey. Those months with you were too good to be true anyway." They smiled at each other and rose to oversee the packing of their luggage.

* * *

Chapter 10: REACQUAINTANCES * "So, now you appointed yourself Lady John's protector?" Hengist smiled ironically at his mother. She was seated in her private parlor, doing her utmost to look enthusiastically at the embroidery she had started long ago and for which she had lost the taste. "Lord Randolph attacked her maid and it was known amongst his friends that he had meant to have a share of little Lizzie!" she pointed out to him, "I understand that he tried to sneak into Lizzie's bedroom, but found Mattie there instead. Mattie luckily caught his attention for about a week, to distract him from Lizzie, and I was just in time to get the girl here into safety. The Duke agrees. I don't want to be rude, but what are you doing here, Hengist? Should you not be at Stirling Castle? It's the middle of the week and as far as I know there is no other ducal wedding forthcoming!" Hengist sat down on one of her dainty chairs, hoping that it would hold his bulk. "I have been reappointed to Edinburgh, Mother. Ruther-ford's successor went to Ireland with the new 2nd battalion and they were one captain short here." "What?" His mother's face lifted in a smile: "Don't tell me you have just been promoted! Aren't you a bit young to be a captain?" Hengist shrugged.

"There are only a few up to the job and I think Nairn preferred an Earl's second son over a gentleman-farmer." "Such as Lochiel Cameron?" the Countess asked her son, looking askance at him. "Ah, well, the stories about Lochiel’s heroism are rife," Hengist admitted, "but Nairn wanted my promotion, Mother. Be it as it may, I have invited Lochiel for dinner tonight, because Nairn asked me to hand him a little present." He pointed to a sword in a scabbard that he had placed on the side-table when he entered his mother's parlor. "It seems Lochiel had another part of an inheritance forthcoming. I never knew that Rutherford was a wealthy man, but it seems that this Klingenthal, supposedly the dead man's, has been bequeathed by him to Lochiel. Lucky fellow! First the most marvelous horse, and then this! It's the most beautiful sabre I have ever seen in my life, Mother!" He lifted the sabre out of its scabbard. "See how beautifully it has been made? And the balance! It's a French sword, but this one is not the patented one the French use for their cavalry. It's... it's simply magnificent!" "Maybe you should put it back into its sheath before you drool on it, Hengist!" his mother urged him. She smiled her secret soft smile. Jonathan had seen the English sword his other-sideof-the-blanket son had greeted him with at John and Lizzie's wedding. He had been appalled at the old

patented English sword Lochiel had carried, so the deceased Captain Rutherford had suddenly bequeathed a special French sabre to the unwitting Lochiel Cameron. Leave it to Jonathan to give him the best sword in the world; it had been his own. Jonathan had led his own regiment in the faraway past. He had been a colonel at the time when his father was still alive. No doubt the sword had been bought when the French were friendlier with the Scots than they were now. "You like it, Hengist?" Hengist only sighed his admiration. "There must be more where that one came from." She would ask Jonathan to find one for her son as well. There must be something alike in the Realm. Hengist smiled at her. "You're spoiling me, Mother." Audrey put her embroidery down and reached out for her son's arm. "You're most definitely worth spoiling, darling. How you live on your pay truly beats me!" Hengist just grinned. He got a very good quarterly allowan-ce, paid out of his mother's pocket together with his earnings as a lieutenant, now a captain. But a sabre like that Klingenthal easily cost more than four hundred guineas. “Now that you are back, you will be joining me at church again?" Hengist reddened. The only reason he had gone to church in Edinburgh was because Marguerite Ross, Lord McKenna’s stepdaughter, would be there every Sunday.

"How do you know, Mother?" She shrugged. "Mothers always know everything. You will be wasting your time though, she's been officially betrothed to that... that William Alexander. She may be off for a very quick season soon to make her curtsey to the Queen. I just don't understand those parents who give their girls in marriage when they are so young. Nothing good can come from that!" She frowned. She had known of her son's infatuation with the girl. Marguerite Ross was without a doubt one of the most beautiful girls in Scotland. She was of the lower gentry as her deceased father had been Baron Halkhead and it pained her that her son had not been deemed good enough for Marguerite's grabbing parents. But then old fat William Alexander was worth several hundred thousands of pounds and the parents were heading for Debtor's Prison, what with the debts they had incurred through their irresponsible lifestyle. Truth be told, their only salvation lay in marrying their daughter to an ogre with buckets of money. The MacKennas had a son, but he was still in his short pants. No chance of finding that one an heiress any time soon. Hengist did his utmost to hide his disgust. As soon as Marguerite married that fat ogre all hopes would be gone for him. He could only pray that the man would have the decency to cock up his toes somewhere during his betrothal to his heart's desire, but chances were few.

At least she should outlive the man? Still, the fatso might live to be a hundred. He suppressed a sigh. "Dinner is within an hour, my love. Do change into some clean clothes, please, as we are having guests at the table tonight. I'll ring for a bath for you." Hengist smiled. He had not had a bath for a month and well his mother knew it. A quick dive into a brook once in a while or a half-dump into a less than a clean trough were all the facilities Stirling had offered him for bathing. "Would you mind me sending a letter to my friend, that he is to stay here until Sunday eve? I'd like to introduce him to the luxuries of your care as well, Mother!" She just nodded fondly and waved him out of the room. Mattie took the brush made of pig's hair, bedecked with a silver medal that carried the ducal crest. "Please, put your head a bit backwards!" she urged Lizzie, who sat slumped in front of her mirror. She had to repeat her request, before Lizzie placed her head at the desired angle. "He did not even seem to notice me at dinner, Mattie!" Mattie noticed little Lady John was close to tears and shook her head. "Lizzie, how could he acknowledge you but for the merest politeness? You don't want Lady Loghaire to

know about what happened in Ayre and on the way to Edinburgh, do you?" Lizzie shook her head miserably. "He only bowed to me. He did not even kiss my hand, as gloved as it was. And as for the conversation at the table, it would not have mattered if I'd have been there or halfway to the Midlands! They were only going on about swords and I don't know what else. Soldiering and ranks and people nobody ever knew but them." She hung her head, for which she only received another one of Mattie's requests to put it slightly backwards again. "I cannot believe he did not notice you, Lizzie!" Mattie started to divide Lizzie's hair with a comb to make it into two braids. "Colin said the Lieutenant had been in a bad mood since he left Edinburgh. No doubt that was because he could not clap eyes on you for a long time." Mattie fervently hoped that had been the case. Anybody knew that men could be moody about just anything, but she needed to console her mistress. Lizzie pouted. "You've been seeing Colin again, then?" Mattie stopped her braiding for a few seconds. It had not been the sort of welcome they had both been so very eager for. There had been the bad burden of telling her lover that Lord Randolph had debauched her for the duration of a week, before he at last left for his hunting with his abominable friends. It had been Mattie's sacrifice to visit his bed, whenever the ducal

heir wanted her, and the wanting had come very often. Lord Randolph had been extremely horny and lusty that week and he had subjected her to a few of his treatments, of which his servants only dared whisper. Lord Randolph had known that Mattie came to him to keep him away from Lizzie and her fear had excited him. He had bruised and bitten her; even hit her, when she turned out to be unprepared for his hard trusts. Colin had been furious of course after she had admitted the situation to him and had told her she'd better marry him, so that she would not be subjected to that lordship's bad ways anymore. Mattie had been at a loss what to say, so the Regimental Sergeant had told her in no uncertain terms that if she wanted to stay in that house to protect her stupid little mistress, she'd better think again. Colin owned a small house in the middle of the old town and he would have her live there, and no doubt about it. Mattie had surrendered to his demands at last, but the reason was as shameful as the whole situation with his lordship had been: she had discovered that her monthlies had stayed away and would be absent for at least another eight months. What was worse, she had not told Colin about it. She had not dared; she feared he would go and take an axe to Lord Randolph. They were to be married in the next week, but of course, to cover the delicate situation she was in, she had allowed him to bring her to his little house and bed

her all night. Lizzie was entirely unaware of the situation, of course. "Colin... He wants to marry me," she suddenly blurted out. Lizzie sat up straight on the ottoman. "You wouldn't, would you? You cannot just leave me alone, with all those strangers!" Mattie almost swore. Her predicament was bad enough, without Lizzie claiming her. She decided that directness would be the best way to get the facts through to Lizzie. "I'm breeding, Lizzie," she said with emphasis, "whether I would marry or not, you won't be able to keep me when my belly swells to enormous proportions. I've never heard of any employer keeping her maid when she is bursting with child." Lizzie's eyes widened. "But Colin only came back this week and..." Awareness suddenly hit her and she paled. "Does he know?" "Know what?" Mattie snapped at her. She was feeling at the end of her tether. She was immensely tired as she had been up and about all day to get all Lizzie's personal things transported to Lady Loghaire's house. Her feet hurt and the last thing she wanted was Lizzie's criticism of a situation that had been created for her own protection. "You're... Oh God, Mattie, it's not Colin's, is it?" Mattie sank down on a nearby chair.

"Don't even mention it, Lizzie! The less that is known about it, the best it is for everybody. I don't want Colin to kill Lord Randolph. Maybe the child will be born late and he will never come to realize it's not his." Lizzie nodded and closed her eyes. Mattie looked at her with concern. Evidently, her little mistress had grown up very fast in the last three months. "Why do I have the impression that the situation between little Lady John and you is quite strained?" Hengist leaned back into the big winged chair in the library. He brought his whiskey to his lips, eying his friend. Lochiel slid his hand alongside the scabbard where his new sabre was sheathed. "Why would you say that?" he inquired innocently, just hoping that Hengist would be cheated by his indifference, "I hardly know the Lady, of course." "Of course!" Hengist parroted him, rather goodnatured. "How could you know her, after you have spent at least eight days in her company, at her father's house and on your way here?" Lochiel shrugged, stroking his new sabre more forcefully. "Tell it to me in your own good time, then," Hengist pro-posed with dismissal in his voice, "it's just that my mother is obviously wondering the same." "Oh, damn it!" Lochiel swore, suddenly desperate. "Hengist, you don't understand half of it!"

Hengist looked non-plussed at his friend. "I could always try, if you manage to tell me?" He had never seen Lochiel in such a mood before, not even when his wife had told him to stay away from her. "She was incredibly angry at Lord John, because he had not taken the trouble to escort her to Edinburgh. She came to my bed in revenge. And I, stupid idiot, I did not exercise the least restraint. On the contrary..." Hengist's glass stopped somewhere in mid-air. "You bedded her?" Lochiel looked grim. "From Ayre to the rafters of Stirling Castle." It was Hengist’s turn to swear profoundly. "He could have you hang for that!" ‘He’ was not Lord John, Lochiel understood. ‘He’ was nobody else but the powerful Duke of Rothford, the true commander of the 42nd Regiments. "I hope you understand now why our re-acquaintance was definitely strained from my part. I thank God on my bare knees that nothing came of it. Lord John never truly consummated the marriage, you know, so she would have been in a hell of a situation if she had conceived." Hengist's eyebrows rose about two inches. "He didn't?" Lochiel shook his head. "He spent on her shoes and her dress." Hengist did not bother to ask Lochiel how he came to that interesting piece of information. "Damn," he said softly, "you better race and hide, my friend. You may be thinking restraint is the wisest way

to go, but I have not read that on Lady John's face at all, and neither did my mother." Lunch with Jonathan in the small garden of the unused servants' house behind her own residence had become quite a delight. The servants' house was not used at all, now that Lady Loghaire kept her staff to a maximum of sixteen people. It would have been a servant's wing, but the part which had attached it to the main house had crumbled more than one hundred years ago and obviously nobody had bothered to repair that part of the wing. Audrey liked her little haven there and it was her only chance to meet up with Jonathan without the prying eyes of her staff. "Do you know the story of Tristan and Iseuth?" she asked Jonathan after devouring a very tasty peach. "The story where old King Mark sends his most trustworthy knight Tristan to pick up his new bride Iseuth in Ireland and the young people fall in love with each other?" Jonathan asked. The Duke loosened his cravat a bit. It was a very warm September day. "Let me help you with that," the Countess suggested, "I know how to knot it back." She reached over and deftly undid his tie. "That was indeed the story," she said conversationally, laying the tie carefully on the table. "Do I feel a lecture coming?" the Duke asked with a bright smile.

Audrey Agnew was one of the few women who had used her early education and her later married years to learn all that was of no importance to a housewife, but made her into a delightful learned bluestocking. Audrey shook her head. "No, I was just wondering about your third son and little Lizzie, formerly Campbell." They had decided upon calling Lochiel his third son, as in the first two being born within wedlock and the third son, who found himself outside of it. "Tristan and Iseuth? Lochiel and Lizzie?" the Duke frowned. His blue eyes studied Audrey intently. "Don't tell me..." Audrey shook her head. "It's only a hunch after I had them at my table last night." "Did they misbehave in some way or another?" Audrey shook her head again. "They were stiff and unresponsive, more like." "You're joking, right?" he nodded with relief. "No, indeed not! They should have had some understanding as he had gone to escort her all the way from Ayre to Edinburgh and he must have been in her close vicinity for more than eight days. They should have had a semblance of friendliness because of it, or at least she should have shown some arrogance, because he is only a lieutenant and she was the bride of a duke's son. But there was nothing. He did not look at her once and she showed some annoyance because of it. Trust my woman's intuition, Jonathan!"

"Oh, damnation!" Jonathan exclaimed, "If that is true I have to send him away from here. After all the trouble I went through to keep him safely in Edinburgh and out of some stupid war!" Audrey grabbed his hand. "We'll have to keep our eyes open. As it seems now, he avoids her like the plague. Let's hope it stays that way." He brought her fingers to his mouth, slowly kissing each one of them. "You're the light of my old days," he murmured. She smiled coyly at him, trying to keep a worried frown from her face. * * *

Chapter 11: CHALLENGES * "He still acts as if I don't exist!" Lizzie scoffed, studying a slightly crooked tooth in the mirror. "I feel so neglected, Mattie! At least you've got your Colin!" Mattie put Lizzie's coffer with her jewelry down on a low table. They were still staying at Lady Loghaire's house. The Countess had interrogated Mattie, behind closed doors, about what had happened to her in the ducal residence. After hearing Mattie's story she had quickly decided that Lizzie and Mattie would be safest in her own household, as nobody knew when Lord Randolph was due to come back to Edinburgh after his hunting and fishing spree. She was certain that he would come back to Edinburgh and this time find another victim in the household, which would not be Mattie but his sister-in-law. To Mattie's unpleasant surprise she had also asked about the Lieutenants' behavior towards Lizzie, but as Lizzie had never really taken Mattie into her confidence about the way things had been between her and the dashing lieutenant, Mattie had not exactly been lying when she explained that, in her opinion, she had seen nothing untoward between her little mistress and Mr. Cameron. Which, in a way, was true as Mattie might know of some things, but her eyes had never witnessed the evidence. When Hengist had again asked to invite his friend for dinner, the Countess had agreed and had even invited

Jonathan as well and a few more of her closer friends in Edinburgh. At least Jonathan had been pleasantly surprised to be able to share a few words with his 'third son,' even if it were merely pleasantries and some remarks and explanations about the 42nd. Lizzie had understood very well what was expected of her at the dinner table. She had been seated at Jonathan's right, also to show the Edinburgh gentry that her half-baked married state with Lord John was something the Duke 'approved' of. She had been lively and smiling and had hardly looked in Lochiel's direction, but an informed Mattie had known exactly that almost broke her heart. "No doubt the Lieutenant is being very sensible," Mattie mumbled, unpinning Lizzie's hair. She brushed it until it shone and stood to leave. "Colin is off duty tonight, so I'll go down to Baker Street, with your permission. I'll be back to get you your tray to-morrow morning. You'll want it at ten, as usual?" Lizzie shrugged sourly. Colin had married Mattie about ten days ago, but she and Mattie had decided that Mattie was to stay in Lizzie's service until it became impossible for the maid to do her duties. Lizzie had not wanted a new maid as long as Lady Loghaire did not force her to take one. The Countess, however, did not show any signs of asking Lizzie to send Mattie away for the sake of propriety.

Lizzie mulishly did not turn around when Mattie wished her a good night. Mattie quickly disappeared through the door. Lizzie walked slowly to the window and stared morosely into the garden. It was lit with only two lanterns, but her sharp eyesight was able to discern some movement in the shadows below. There was somebody in the garden, at an angle, so that he could see her window without being detected from the French doors leading into the big drawing room downstairs. Lizzie's heart lifted. She would have recognized him anywhere. An impish and expectant smile started to play around her lips. Lochiel had left the gentile company to its devices long before the other diners had all prepared to take their leave. It had gripped at his heart that he had not been able to say one kind word to Lizzie. She had been the belle at the table, chatting lovingly and politely with her ducal father-in-law and the Countess. The worst was that she had been wearing a corn-blue colored dress that matched her eyes and had been fashionably low cut so that her every movement had emphasized her lovely breasts and the white color of her skin. He had not always remembered to drag his eyes away from her whenever he caught himself staring at her. God, he had wanted her with a vengeance! It was lucky that he had felt the inquisitive eyes of Hengist and

the Countess on him now and then, whenever he wanted to feast on his view of Lizzie. If not, he might have made some sort of gaffe towards Lizzie and he was certain that the Duke, however nice he had been towards him, would not have allowed such a breech in etiquette regarding the wife of his younger son. He lit a cigar which Hengist had handed him just before he had gone into the garden, and eyed the window where he knew his sweetheart had gone for her night's rest. He suddenly saw some movement there and stepped back into the darkness of a huge oak tree. She was standing there, as if in the frame of a picture. She peered into the darkening garden and he wondered whether she had seen him. He uttered a sigh of disappointment when she suddenly turned away, but widened his eyes when she came back with a small glass lamp that she placed gingerly on the windowsill. Lochiel took a step forward. It seemed as if she looked straight at him. Her figure was now entirely lit and visible in the frame of the window. Then, to his shock and delight, she started to fumble at the bows of her nightdress. Lochiel quickly looked around him to see if he was truly the only one in the garden who was treated to this view of her. He almost dropped his cigar when she opened her nightdress wide to let it glide alongside her shoulders. The light of the lamp illuminated her firm breasts to perfection. Then she started to stroke her body, slowly and inviting, starting at her breastbone to turn circles

around her breasts. When she touched her nipples, her mouth opened slightly into a seductive smile. Lochiel threw his cigar down, stamped on it for good measure and ran to the place where he knew the servants' stairs reached the garden and spiraled up to the private quarters of the residence’s aristocratic inhabitants. He had covered her mouth with his own, when she reached her completion after their frantic lovemaking. He knew that she liked to squirm and loudly moan under his ministrations, and he had learned by now that she was a bit of a loud 'performer.' It had been impossible to reduce all the sound she made and he had turned around to watch her door. He had bolted it, but he expected somebody to knock on her door at any moment, inquiring what was wrong with Lady John Montgomery, that she should moan so. His own gratification, he feared, was hardly less loud, but that was understandable; he had not really had a woman since the evening that they had crept to one of the attics in Stirling Castle, more than three months ago. When she lay in his arms, sated and almost purring like a satisfied cat, he suddenly acknowledged with a jolt that, due to the suddenness of their lovemaking, he had not taken any precautions to avoid her conceiving. He groaned with annoyance. Lord John was far away in Lon-don and was said not to come back anytime soon.

He looked at her with anxiety, but Lizzie was blissfully asleep, without a worry in the world. Lochiel folded her into his arms, looking into the darkness of her bedroom. He swore he would keep her safe, although he did not have a clue how. God, he'd made a muddle of it, again, what with her married to a faraway Lord John and him a father of four sons! He knew he should not have gone to her bed anymore, but that was now a moot point because he had pounded into her with a vengeance, forgetting all about her safety and his obviously overly fertile seed. Exactly how he had earned himself a comical reputation after having fathered four sons in less than as many years! What if Lizzie's soil was as fertile as Catriona's? He knew as well, that he just could not keep away from her, with her so conveniently staying in Hengist's house. The ducal residence would have given him a hell of a problem to find access to her room, but here in the Loghaire Residence it was easier than taking cake from his baby son. He got up slowly and tiptoed to his own room, only a hallway away from Lizzie's. Not to sleep, oh, how could he ever sleep again with her only twenty yards away from his room! He would get the French letter, the shield he had obtained since Catriona had refused to allow him to come back into her bed. It had not seen a lot of use, as Catriona had not wanted him near her anymore, with or without shield, but now he would use it when he bedded

Lizzie. Because bed her he would; tonight and as many nights he could sleep at the Loghaire house. He knew for certain he had fallen in love with her, a sixteen year young married girl, and he was damned if he was going to deny himself the pleasure of sharing her bed, even if she did not love him back. He mused on that when his nimble fingers pulled the sheath out of a hidden pocket. Love? Could a sixteenyear-old girl fall in love? Her seduction of him had been quick and effective. Was that love? God, if he only knew... But then, did it matter? She wanted him and he wanted her, and maybe it would one day induce her to love him back. He was already rock-hard again when he hurried back to her room. Colonel Nairn frowned at his best lieutenant. "The orders are clear, Mr. Cameron! You are to join the battalion in Ireland. You will be leaving within two days with two platoons. You'll get Regimental Sergeant Burns to join you, as I cannot spare any more captains, so the two of you will have to maintain order until you reach Dublin. You may take time off tonight and tomorrow to take care of things here in Edinburgh, if you have to. Is that understood?" Lochiel had the awareness to nod briskly and say: "Yes, sir, thank you, sir," before he marched out of the Colonel's office. He wondered if anyone had seen him leaving Lizzie's room after their third night of lovemaking. He'd had the

impression that there had been somebody hiding close to the door to her bedroom. At least he had thought to have heard a faint noise, but he had put it to a cat tripping from one room to another. He realized now he had been walking around with his head in a cloud, not watching his surroundings, as he should have. God, he had been a fool! But sweet Lord how he had craved his nights with his sweetheart! He looked down at his sporran that hid the shield he had diligently used all those times he’d made love to her. They had both been insatiable, all those nights that he had been able to creep into her bed. He frowned. He had never been asked before to really leave Scotland, slightly to his own surprise. The 42nd fought for the King of England and they all had to go, one day or another, to a war somewhere. He pressed his lips together. Ireland was one of the choices, most definitely, but nobody fancied going there. The real battles were fought in the Americas and on the Continent. Ireland was boring and damp. The garrison in Dublin was there for the sake of the British, who tried to protect their material interests there, against the small revolts of the stubborn Irish. The only thing that was advantageous was that two captains had died there of late; one due to the bad climate and the other one was whispered to have succumbed to the pox. Lochiel now wondered if his health would withstand the circumstances, as they were known in Ireland. He was in robust health, but anyone could catch a fever of

the lungs there and die in that strange and often very wet country. Colonel Nairn shook his grizzled head when the young man stepped out of his office. He wondered what Lochiel had done to induce the Duke's wrath enough that the Commander felt compelled to send his secret son to Ireland. Nairn had been in on the Duke's secret for a long time: since the boy had joined the 42nd in Stirling, now more than ten years ago. He’d been surprised that Lochiel Cameron had not been appointed a captain, when they needed one badly in Edinburgh recently, but after he had heard some rumors about how close the Countess of Loghaire and the Duke seemed to be nowadays, he had at least understood why the younger Hengist had gotten the captain's commission, instead of Lochiel. It was certain that Hengist was to go somewhere else, any time soon. Napoleon held the Continent in the palm of his hand, winning one important battle after another. He was now turning his eye in the direction of the British Islands, blockading all trade and trying to pirate all His Majesty's ships. Open war with France could not be avoided. It was only a matter of time and finding the right warlord to head the troops. And what was more: Nairn would go, for certain. He was not the youngest of his Majesty's colonels, but nothing could keep him away from the fighting at the head of his elite regiments of the 42nd Black Watch.

Nairn actually liked Lochiel. He knew of his strange marriage and of the fact that Lochiel already had four sons at the age of four-and-twenty. It had been the reason why he had sent Lochiel to escort Lizzie Campbell to her wedding. The Duke had agreed, laughing about the coincidence that one son was going to escort his future daughter-in-law to a wedding of another. He had noticed the beautiful Klingenthal that Lochiel carried and had recognized it; he had started his career in the Duke of Rothford's first regiment when Jonathan Montgomery was only old Rothford’s heir. Nairn shook his head again, wondering why the Duke had never taken the trouble to acknowledge this son. No doubt it had something to do with that harpy Elisabeth Belding he had been married to. Men always tended to do strange things where women like that were concerned. He searched his coat for a cigar. He might have a stump left somewhere. Oh well, whatever the Duke wanted, the Duke got. No doubt about that. The experience might do the boy a world of good. Edinburgh was nothing if it came to gaining a first lieutenant experience. His progress in the Highlands had been quite fine, but that was not unexpected. The clans had become lackluster toward fighting the Sassenachs, now that most of their boys earned the King's shilling. He did not doubt that Lochiel's health could withstand the Irish climate and the appointment was for only a year.

Yes, he hated to see Lochiel go, but there was a time for everything. No doubt he would come back a captain, which was only a good thing. He found the stump in a pocket and lit it. October had gone and the beginning of November turned out to be freezing cold. Mattie wondered when her morning sickness would be over and calculated another month of hanging over her chamber pot every morning when she had to get up. Since Colin had left for Ireland she had come back to live in the Countess' house. It had been a great shock for both Lizzie and her to hear of the sudden decision to send Lochiel and Colin to Ireland. Lizzie had cried for days, at last confessing to Mattie that Lochiel had visited her room in three consecutive nights. He had not called at the house to say goodbye to her on the day of his departure, which was the only sensible thing to do. He had given Colin, and therefore Mattie, a message that they had to deliver to her by mouth, because he did not dare to write her the tiniest note. Now, seven weeks later, Mattie was putting away some of Lizzie's silken unmentionables. After she had her morning tea and scones, she felt quite fine. Lizzie, however, was trailing a finger alongside her dainty coffee cup. She had started to drink coffee after her marriage to Lord John, no doubt adapting 'grown up' customs.

"I don't think I want coffee, this morning," she complained. "Yesterday it gave me a wobbly stomach. Maybe it's better for me to drink tea." Mattie nodded. She knew everything about wobbly stomachs. Suddenly she stood stock still, staring at Lizzie's underwear. "Lizzie," she almost whispered, looking around her to see if one of the chambermaids was in the vicinity, "when was the last time..." She stepped closer to her little mistress who was still listlessly fingering her coffee-cup. "Lizzie, you must have skipped your... I have not noticed you having your monthlies. Your last one should be, oh, hell, at least five weeks ago!" Lizzie fell back on her pillow after having pushed aside her bed-table. She closed her eyes when she felt a bout of queasiness coming up. "That's good when I skip, isn't it? I hate the hassle of the bandages..." Mattie grabbed Lizzie's wrist. "It's not good, Lizzie, not at all! With the Lieutenant coming to your bed before he went to Ireland, you may as well be breeding!" she whispered urgently. "Breeding?" Lizzie asked faintly, "No, you're wrong Mattie, he used a shield, you know. To avoid that I would conceive, he said." Mattie felt a surge of relief. "All the time?"

Lizzie nodded eagerly. "All the time, except that first time. But out of so many times, it hardly counts, does it?" Mattie felt as if the world was falling down around her ears. "Once is enough, Lizzie, don't you know that? Oh, God, but you must be, what, two months on the way. That's too late for a potion." Lizzie stared at the woman who had proven to be her best help and most reliable friend. "I cannot be... No, you're wrong Mattie, it just can't be!" Mattie took off her apron. "You skipped, Lizzie. Oh, God, I hope I can find somebody who is a healing woman like Samantha. We must find some-body to help you. We must get rid of it as soon as we can!" "Mattie, don't leave me now," Lizzie begged, feeling panic washing over her. "How can we..., oh, but we need Samantha, don't we? We have to go home, Mattie, we know Samantha and we know she's good and clean. We'll just have to go home and everything will be all right! Fetch my clothes, Mattie, we're leaving today!" Mattie nodded eagerly. Yes, going back to Ayre might be the best solution. "We'll pack your things right now, Lizzie. I'll ask Penny to help us. Oh, God, if only Colin was here..." *

Chapter 12: THE CHANGELING * They had travelled in an unmarked carriage, although it had come from the ducal stables. Mattie had explained to the Countess and later the Duke that Lizzie wanted to visit her mother, as the news about her mother's pregnancy had not been good. That had not been a lie; the Baroness seemed to have had a bad time of her ‘delicate condition.’ The Duke had shrugged and agreed. He could well understand that a girl as young as Lizzie would like to be in the company of her mother in such anxious times, and as Lord John had not seen fit even to send one message to Edinburgh, there was no reason to keep her in the Scottish capital. Lizzie had been pale and distracted all the way from Edinburgh to Ayre. They had made the trip in only two days’ time. Obviously, Lizzie did not travel well, while she was breeding; Mattie could not remember if there had been some period when she did not use the bucket, both for vomiting and relieving herself. Mattie felt only slightly better. At least she could tell the two coachmen, who were now into her own secret, that it was her needing the bucket all the time. The mansion had been shrouded in total silence when they arrived, as the Baroness had taken to her bed. Her maid told Mattie that the Baroness had been bleeding all

through her pregnancy and her only hope of carrying the babe to term was to stay abed and not move. The baron was distracted and easily irritated. He stayed at home most of the time, starting to drink as early as the lunch hour, which was the time he normally woke, and not stopping until he went staggering to his bed late at night. Lizzie had been undecided what to do. She knew it was virtually impossible to have Lochiel's babe, but now that she had become so aware of the presence of a growing child in her womb, she was afraid to get rid of it, one way or another. Then, one cold November day the decision was taken out of her hands by the circumstances at home. The Baroness was very ill of late. She felt sick and dizzy and she started to vomit endlessly. Mattie had come into the Baroness' bedroom after the urgings of her maid and she was appalled at the way the Baroness looked. "We need to get the doctor, Brigit," she said to the Baroness' maid, who stood there wringing her hands. They heard some noise behind them. The baron stood in the doorway of his wife's bedroom, obviously in a far state of inebriation. "I don't want any doctors in the house!” he shouted, "Every time a doctor comes here my wife loses the babe! I need an heir, you dumb chits! That vile Lord John got my daughter, but no way he's going to get my estates as well!"

Mattie saw at once that there was no reasoning with the baron on that point. "Let me get Samantha Ferrer, my lord," she pleaded with the drunken man, "she'll know what to do, she's the local midwife and a healer." The baron's eyes lightened up. He had not set eyes on Samantha since September. She had been huge with child and he had never fancied a tumble with a highly pregnant woman, even if it was his own child she carried. He had drunken a vast amount of whiskey and Mattie thought with impatience that the baron would be of no use at all to help to fetch Samantha, but if the horse behaved, she could go and get her in the buggy. And when Samantha was here, maybe she could take care of that other problem that seemed to grow rapidly in Lizzie's belly. Lizzie nodded when Mattie told her she was going to fetch Samantha. She agreed with her father that a doctor in the house would be undesirable; she seemed to gain weight every day she woke up after a long night of sleep and was not keen on any doctor’s inquisitive eyes. She hoped and prayed Samantha would be able to come up with some solution. To be breeding frightened her to no end. She had seen her mother grow sad after every miscarriage and feared the worst of being pregnant herself. She felt sick and lonely. She felt herself longing for Lochiel, just to have him with her, to hear his low voice and have his arms around her.

Her feelings confused her. She had thought that her relationship with the 'simple' lieutenant had been first one out of feelings of revenge and later one of lust, because he had awakened her sensuality. She wondered now if there was more to it, although she denied that she had fallen in love with him, or some such thing; Lady John had no business falling in love with a mere lieutenant who was married with children. She felt the deep disgrace of having put the horns on Lord John and now to be pregnant with a bastard. She did not understand what was happening in her head and in her body. Yes, hopefully Samantha Ferrer would know some means to help her out of this situation. Samantha looked up into Mattie's worried eyes and shook her head. It had taken Mattie an hour instead of twenty minutes to get to Samantha's small house in the woods to pick her up as the roads had been covered with a thick layer of snow. Before they could go back to the manor Samantha had needed to tend to her animals first, because she might be away for the night under the circumstances. Samantha had been haggard and did not seem well. Mattie had wondered about that, until she discovered that Samantha had given birth to a child less than a week ago. There had been nobody to help her and it was lucky that the birth had been relatively easy.

Mattie had wondered what it must be like to birth your own child without the help or the support of anybody else. Samantha told Mattie that it would be better to nurse the child before they left for the mansion and that had delayed Mattie's return by almost an hour, because the sleepy child had been slow to suckle. Samantha had packed her belongings in two baskets, keeping a third on her lap and under her cape in which the baby slept during the ride to the mansion. "Her child is fighting her. It's poisoning her body and itself. There can be no hope for the child to grow to term. They'll be both dead by that time." She put her ear on the Baroness' belly. "I cannot even be certain if it is still alive now," she said softly. "There is only one solution: we have to let go of the child in order to save the Baroness." Mattie's eyes widened. "You think you can save the Baroness? How?" Samantha looked down on the unmoving body of the lady who had until now been some sort of a rival to her. "I'll have to give her herbs to drive the baby out of her body. Snakeroot and pennyroyal will do it. I brought it in my medicinal basket. Ask your cook to prepare hot wine with honey for the mistress and I'll mix the herbs in the meantime." She bit her lip and then asked: "Is the baron here? You better keep him away from this bedroom. I know he is eager to get himself an heir and we better wait to tell him that he isn't going to get one."

She looked down at the Baroness' white face again. "It would have been another girl, anyway," she whispered. "How do..." Mattie cut off her sentence. Of course, Samantha already knew what gender the Baroness was carrying. If not from her cards, then from... wherever that sort of knowledge came from. After she had given the order for the hot wine, she followed Samantha into the Baroness' dressing room. "Will it take long? If so we will need to bed you down here for the night. It's already getting dark outside and I don't fancy..." Samantha turned to face her. "Yes, of course I'll stay. It may take some time for the herbs to start working and I am not certain how the Baroness will react to them under the circumstances. She's very ill, you know. I need to give her a big dose as well, as she has long ago passed the three month's safety margin." She turned to her herbs that were lined out in small bottles on a side-table in the Baroness' dressing room. "Maybe you should make some more. There is someone else who might need that potion..." Mattie proposed reddening. When Samantha turned around to throw her a long look, Mattie blushed even deeper. "You don't want your unborn child, Mattie?" "How did you... Well, I imagine you notice such things!" Mattie blustered.

Samantha continued to pour the herbs into a stone bowl and searched for a heavy stone spoon in her basket. "You know,” she said almost dreamily, "when Morgaine expected her brother King Arthur's child, she wanted to get rid of it. She begged the Queen of the Fairies to help her. The Queen asked her if she truly wanted to get rid of the only child she would ever conceive in her lifetime..." Mattie's eyes widened. "Are you telling me that the child I carry will be the only child I'll ever have?" Samantha shrugged resignedly. "One never knows, Mattie!" Mattie's hands flew to her belly in an unconscious gesture of protection. "It's... I'm not asking for myself..." Samantha smiled thinly at her. "Let's do one thing at the time. Is that Brigit with the wine? Get her out of the bedroom, Mattie; the fewer to know that I'm here, the better!" When Mattie shushed Brigit out of the bedroom door, she was grateful that she had brought Samantha to the house herself. She had taken the buggy back to the stable with an uninterested groom fetching the horse. Samantha had already entered the house by the servant's entrance by then, carrying the basket with the babe in her arms. Mattie had taken her other baskets upstairs by the servant's stairs.

Nobody would know that Samantha was already in the house, which under the circumstances was just as well. Lizzie came harshly awake when a scream rent the night. She shook her head in the confusion of being halfawake. Dizziness overcame her and she had to lie back on her pillow. Oh, but this breeding business was very annoying! She wondered if she could get to the cup of water, close to her bed on the bedside table, as she felt nausea coming up. She shifted restlessly, when she heard another scream that was quickly muffled. Had that been her mother's voice? She sighed and slowly eased herself off the bed to take a seat in her bedside chair. Oh, but that nausea! She wondered if she would dive for her chamber pot first. She breathed superficially, trying to avoid her stomach heaving. In the end, she convinced herself to get up very slowly and walk to her door. She was shocked to see her mother thrashing around in her bed. Mattie stood by her head with a handkerchief, obviously to help her mother to muffle her screams of agony. Samantha was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her hands covered in blood. Blood that seemed to pour from the Baroness’ body.

Mattie shot Lizzie a warning look and Lizzie could do nothing but sit down in one of her mother's lovely embroidered chairs. Samantha got up and hurried to a bloody bucket, throwing something in it. There was another pail in which she quickly washed her hands. She muttered an oath when a baby started to cry and hurried into the dressing room. "Sh! Sh, my darling!" She got her baby quickly out of its basket, carrying it into the bedroom. "Mattie, please clean up her ladyship, while I nurse this young man..." They all looked up in a panic when the bedroom door flew open. He stood in the doorway, his chest heaving with the strain of climbing the stairs three at a time. He smelled of whiskey and of sweat. "Where is he?" he thundered, "Don't tell me you lost my heir again, Sarah!" His eyes widened when he saw Samantha taking a baby to her breast. "He's alive?" he asked with incredulity in his voice, "My son! He's alive?" Samantha gaped at the man who had been her lover for more than a year. The baron knelt before Samantha. "My son!" he repeated, and then started to cry in wild, anguished sobs. -

"He doesn't want to know the truth of it!" the Baroness said calmly, stirring her tea. "I've tried to explain the real facts of that night, but he just does not want to accept the reality of it. When I tell him I cannot have carried a child to term after five months, he assures me he bedded me before that time and that I'm just mistaken." Mattie looked miserably at her former employer. "What now, my lady? He already has registered young Robbie as his child in the church register and in the clan register." Sarah Campbell threw a look at Samantha who was nursing the Honorable Robert Campbell in her new capacity as a wet-nurse. "We came to an agreement, Samantha and I. Robbie is actually Barry's son and she will stay here and take care of him. One of the grooms is marrying one of the kitchen maids and we agreed that they could use Samantha's house until she wants to go back there. If she wants to go back there." Mattie stared at her former mistress, wondering how much effort it must take to agree to bring a young cuckoo into the nest after a baby had been cruelly removed from her own womb. The Baroness just sat on her chair, her back straight and some small embroidery in her lap. Lizzie sipped her tea as if nothing in the world was wrong. An absent smile played on her slightly swollen face. Mattie shook her head inwardly.

They'd had the dreaded conversation with Samantha about Lizzie's pregnancy at last. Samantha had been adamant about the situation with Lizzie. "I cannot give you the abortive mix, Lady John! It's too dangerous." Lizzie's eyes had widened. "But mother came out fine, Samantha! I'm only three months along! You said with three months it was still possible to..." "Your mother's life was threatened by the very existence of her own babe, Lady John!” Samantha had explained sternly. "There is no way I can give you the mix and possibly kill you! I could hang for that! The Duke of Rothford would hang me without a moment of consideration!" Lizzie's lips had started to blubber. "The babe is not Lord John's!" she had confessed shame-facedly. Samantha looked stubbornly at Lizzie. "I don't care who’s the babes are. It's too dangerous." 'Babes?" Lizzie had asked aghast, hoping she had understood Samantha wrongly. Samantha nodded with finality. "Babes. You are carrying twins. That's the reason why you show so fast." Lizzie had looked down at her belly. The contents of her womb most definitely already showed. "Oh, Mattie, what am I to do?" she had wailed. Mattie had looked pensively at her charge.

"There's nothing for it than to tell the Baroness and hope she will come up with a solution. I wouldn't know of anything else." Samantha had agreed. "She'll know what to do," she agreed. "She is very wise. We've all seen the evidence of that." Now it was Samantha's turn to blush. "Mother, you cannot just leave the house to... to father's lover! Even if it is Samantha! You need to stay to protect your interests!" The Baroness stared disbelievingly at her daughter, her pregnant daughter. Her daughter who was carrying twins who were not of her husband's seed. Then she smiled. "I have not liked your father for some time, Lizzie, and I gladly leave him here with the true seed of his loins, although the fruit was not mine to bear. Samantha can take care of little Robbie until her hair turns grey. I truly couldn’t care less about it." "But what if...?” "What if he goes back to her bed, you mean to say?" the Baroness asked coolly. "Well, what about it, Lizzie? I cannot claim that honor anymore. Another child would surely kill me! My only concern goes to you, now, dear. There is nothing wrong with me going to visit my family in Ireland with you. We can find a good place to hide there until you have the children. Thank God Ireland is deemed some sort of a backward country where one can disappear without a trace."

"But mother, what then? What if Lord John or the Duke finds out?" The Baroness stirred her tea without a sign of emotion. "We'll take it the way it comes, Lizzie. Who knows, we may find help in my motherland from an unexpected side. Didn't your lieutenant go there? Dublin cannot be so big that we are not to find him there. He's just as responsible for this mess as you are. And Mattie will be happy to see the father of her child, won't she?" "The father of her child?" Lizzie asked innocently. Ah, but that little morsel of information about Lord Randolph had not been shared with her mother. She doubted Mattie would ever tell anyone. "Yes," she agreed, "Sergeant Burns will no doubt be happy to see his wife again." The Baroness looked inquiringly at her daughter. She wore one of those dresses that were cinched under her breasts and not at the waist. Thank God for handy fashions! Discerning eyes would easily perceive her fast growing belly, but Lizzie never left her own room nowadays and Mattie was most certainly not going to impart any information about her little mistress to anyone else but Samantha and now Lady Campbell. "We'll take ship in Glasgow then, if you're up to it, Lizzie. Mind, it will be cold at sea in January..." "If we must," Lizzie muttered, knowing that there was no other solution open to them. A visit to 'her mother's family' was the only excuse to hide in some faraway country.

At least her sickness had slowly disappeared, due to Samantha's herbs and ministrations. She wondered if she would be able to stand a sea-voyage, but as it would be two days sailing at the most, she figured she would be able to cope with its unpleasantness. "We must, indeed!" The Baroness looked down at her hands. She could not wait to leave, as she knew that the baron had visited a reluctant Samantha's bed again. She hoped he wouldn't get her with child any time soon. Robbie needed nursing until he was at least one year old and a new child in Samantha's belly would dry up her milk. On the other hand, Samantha knew what she had to do if she found herself with an unwanted child. No doubt, there was a lot more pennyroyal and snakeroot in Samantha's basket. Well, she would not make that her problem anymore. She had her daughter to save and protect. * * *

Chapter 13: IRELAND * Lochiel had to restrain himself from eagerly approaching the barracks when the long avenue to his regiment's Dublin lodgings called The Barracks came in sight. Damn, but the mission had been cold and unnecessary! Nobody in Ireland was going to start a revolution in the excessive cold and sleety month of January! His long lines of marching Foot seemed to perk up when the barracks loomed against a grey sky. The men straightened their backs, their feet stamping in their black boots, the kilts swishing with the tune of Old Roper's team of bagpipes. "Parade, if you please, Regimental Sergeant!" Lochiel called at Colin. The sergeant nodded and shouted to the troops to march at the same pace, in order to find the exact prescribed space from each other. Lochiel watched the ninety Foot soldiers morosely. Some of them quickly stored pieces of bread in the hidden places of their uniform, wiping their mouths and their faces. "Muskets, if you please, Regimental Sergeant!" Colin faced the men. " Attention! Shoulder!" About ninety muskets clicked in place on the men's shoulders.

Lochiel nodded with approval and the platoons started to march again, this time with a swagger of bravado. He looked up at the sky, hoping that they would all be inside when the rain started to pour again. He nudged a fidgety Akbar into a walk. "Home soon, my friend!" he mumbled. Whatever home was. A room he could use all by himself with a small fireplace and hopefully some warm broth and fresh bread to strengthen him against the cold of the Irish winter. He had a one and a half person's sized bed there with a mattress filled with straw and two wool blankets. The richer and nobler officers brought their own bedding, filled with down, having their valets unpack the silken sheets and the porcelain services, the silver cutlery and the candlesticks. Lochiel had just taken over the crockery from his predecessor, who had been in equal circumstances as him; just an officer, nothing else. Colin grinned at him when the men dispersed to their appointed barracks, the kitchens, or the fields behind the barracks, where the unavoidable camp followers lived in self-made hovels and leaking old tents. "That was a nice jaunt into the country, eh? I wonder how many of the men will turn in sick tomorrow." Lochiel shivered. He did not think there had been one day without the clammy clothes, which could not dry because of the eternal rain. He preferred the cold of the Highlands to the always-falling sleet in the Irish hills.

"I'll bring in Akbar. It's not too late to report to Major Robertson, so I'll do just that after I have taken care of the horse." Colin nodded. Sergeants hardly ever rode horses on the missions of the Foot, not even regimental sergeants, so he could go to his shared quarters and take care of himself. He hoped the hidden bottle of whiskey was exactly where he had stowed it away. It was forbidden to bring liquor on the missions; soldiers had the reputation of drinking themselves into a stupor whenever they could and even in Ireland, where the fighting was few, drink was considered the root of all evil, failure and following all that: punishment. "I'll come to your room in an hour then, with something to warm you up." Lochiel's lips parted into a grin. "As long as it is something to eat or drink, Colin and not something to warm my bed." A few months ago, Colin had referred a juicy camp follower to the Lieutenant's room. Colin's good intentions aside, Lochiel had not fancied a dose of the clap at twenty-five, if ever, so he had refused to make use of Colin’s treat. There were many stable boys who had nothing on their hands in the Barracks' huge stables. The Ninth Cavalry had only practiced in the morning for a few hours on the parade-field; it was just too cold and rainy for the horses and they were all inside, munching on hay and staring out of their stalls.

Lochiel gave Akbar along with some money to the care of his favorite groom. The man nodded, stroking the striking horse over his long nose. Lochiel knew he did not have to tip the man; everybody there adored his horse and was pleased to do a good job on him, because at last Akbar had become a lot better behaved. They liked Lochiel; his rank was not so high as to frighten them and he refrained from the arrogant attitude that marked the noble officers. Whispers were rife about Lieutenant Cameron, but nobody knew the truth or the untruth about them. The attention he received due to those rumors made him even more sympathetic with the Barracks’ inhabitants. "At ease, Lieutenant!" Major Robertson pointed Lochiel to a chair and removed his glasses. "Your report, if you please?" "I'll write a report for you first thing in the morning, Major," Lochiel said politely. "We just arrived, and I have not seen my quarters yet." "Hm. Anything you'd like to tell me about now?" Lochiel's face hardened. He was not sure what to think of this major, who was somewhere in his fifties. He was tall and thin. People said he was unmarried or a widower without any offspring. The man always looked morose and hardly seemed interested in the officers around him. He was a far shot from his commander in Edinburgh, Nairn, who was rotund, hearty and easygoing.

Lochiel felt like shrugging, but remembered in time whom he was addressing. "Whatever we were looking for, we haven't seen it, sir." The Major nodded. The missions were mostly to remind the Irish that the English still ran the show there, rather than finding subversive persons in winter time. He watched the young man opposite him with some curiosity. He had heard quite a few things about Lochiel Cameron, his magnificent horse and the expensive Klingenthal that hung at his side. Actually, he was certain he recognized the weapon, although the ducal crest-seal had been removed from the pommel, replaced by a small plaque with something that looked like an eye; a sapphire forming the iris. Robertson had fought under Jonathan Montgomery before he inherited the ducal title, and like many in those days, he had admired and adored his commander. He wondered why the Duke had wanted to mark this man with the Klingenthal. Apart from his very blond hair and blue eyes he was the spitting image of the Duke. The Klingenthal with the removed ducal crest was in that case a clear statement; "hands off this man as only I will be fit how to deal with him." A good statement to make in an army which consisted mostly of officers who bought their commissions to impress their families. Under the circumstances, nobody would dare to seek a quarrel with the powerful Duke by insulting his son.

Robertson tried to look unobtrusively at the young man. He wondered if the Lieutenant knew or realised that he bore the stamp of the Duke on his face and in his bearings. He decided he probably didn't; acknowledged bastards of the highborn tended to act as if they invented arrogance themselves. Lochiel Cameron was known to be proud, but never to be arrogant. He was known to have married the daughter of the laird of one of the bigger clans, but if he had known he was the Duke of Rothford's son, albeit from the wrong side of the blanket, he would have realized that he could look a lot higher than a laird's daughter. "You may tell your sergeants that the two platoons will be off duty tomorrow and the day after tomorrow." Lochiel rose from the chair, his sabre making a thumping noise when it touched the seat. "Thank you, sir." "Oh, Mr. Cameron," the Major hastened to say, "about a week ago there were some letters in the mail for you. I took the precaution to keep them here, so that they would not go astray." He rummaged in a drawer and fished out a small package of letters. Lochiel took the letters from the Major, his heart beating in his throat. He hoped Lizzie had dared to write him at last. One letter bore the seal of Loghaire; the other one was sealed with a crest that was faintly familiar to him.

The Major looked askance at him. Two sealed letters with crests. Cameron must be a popular guy with the noble ladies! Lochiel saluted the Major and hurried to his room. He had recognized the second crest at last; it was Ayre's, Lizzie's father's. Lizzie moved silently from the bed so as not to wake Lochiel. There was a chamber pot under the bed, but she was too shy to use it in Lochiel's hearing and viewing distance. She grabbed her nightshift from the floor where it had lain in a heap, since Lochiel had removed it from her body the night before. Her prudence proved to be in vain, when he suddenly woke up, smiling roguishly at her, when he saw her trying to knot her wrapper. He stretched contentedly and she could not help ogling all the rippling muscles that were involved with the movement. "Where are you going?" She hesitated, color starting to bloom on her cheeks. "There is a chamber pot under the bed, my love. No need to go all the way into the outhouse in the garden!" "But you'll see me!" she almost wailed, not daring to add that he would hear her as well. "Darling, I lived with a wife for the bigger part of five years. I don't think anything would surprise me in that quarter."

He got out of bed in all of his skin and nothing else, and dove under the bed. "Here, the chairs and clothes will screen you off. I promise to stuff my ears, if you wish!" Lizzie nodded and waited until he laughingly closed his ears with his fingers. She still blushed when she joined him in bed again. He pulled her against his powerful shoulder. "Don't be shy with me, my darling. We're an item now, remember!" Lizzie leaned against him, for the moment happy just to have him close. "I did not hurt you last night, did I?" Lochiel whispered against the small shell of her ear. She shook her head and he started to laugh. "Stop being so bashful, Lizzie, I've seen it all before! Look, they are moving! My God, your belly is like a sack full of playing kittens!" Lizzie looked down her belly. It almost seemed that it had a life of its own, with all the bobbing and dimpling. Lochiel stroked her belly with his big hand. God, he remembered he had nearly had a heart attack when, almost a month ago, he had gone to the house at Customs Street. He had been invited, nay summoned, by the Baroness of Ayre to come and visit. The visit was extended also to Colin, who he had found waiting for him in his room at the barracks, after he had called on Major Robertson to inquire of him about the two platoons' progress in the Irish countryside.

He and Colin had found a slightly irate Baroness in the house, who had led them through the garden into another house, almost opposite the one in Customs Street. There they had encountered a happy Mattie and a bashful Lizzie, both in various states of pregnancies; hence his near heart attack and the Baroness' ornateness. Twins! She was carrying twins! Damn, but Colin had pestered him with the fact, joking that if he did things, he did them with double effort. After Lizzie's shy welcome the Baroness had insisted they both sit down with her because they needed to plan a few things. She told him the house on Customs Street was her nephew's, her now dead sister's son, who had followed his father in trade, hence the house near Customs Quay. He owned three of them, of which two had been recently vacated by British families who stayed in Dublin with the officers of the English Cavalry. The Baroness had seen fit to rent the vacated houses, which were both admissible by the three adjoining gardens and the stable-yard, which served the three houses. Later Lochiel heard that the houses had been rented by means of Lizzie's large allowance, which the Duke had settled on her, as Lord John's wife. He admitted that information had slightly hurt and insulted him, but the Baroness had told him in no uncertain terms that it was not his pride that was at stake. When she unfolded her plan to him and Lizzie, all for Lizzie's protection, mind, he had first grunted in dismay

and later in admiration for the Baroness' acumen at strategy and planning. Lady Ayre explained that she herself was to live in her nephew's house in Customs Street. She planned to go out into society whenever her 'condition' would allow that; she was in Dublin with her family for a much needed rest after having had baby Robbie, who had stayed in Ayre with his father and his wet-nurse. Mattie was to live in the smallest house, where she could receive her husband, when he was off duty. In the third house lived a widow, who had been married to a captain of the 7th Foot and who had tragically succumbed to a wasting illness. The Baroness had invited the woman to stay in the third house for a specific purpose. The woman, her name was Melanie Torrance, was ill herself, as Captain Torrance's so-called wasting illness had turned out to be the pox. She had no family of note to turn to and her husband's pension was hardly sufficient to allow her a decent household. All the money Torrance had owned had gone into medical treatments for his ailment. Everybody knew that Mercury was used to hold the pox at bay and it was terribly expensive. Lochiel had raised a brow when he heard this story, wondering where he would come in. "You will bandy about that you have entered a relationship with Melanie Torrance the moment you came to Dublin," the Baroness instructed, pointing at him. "I have asked her to put a pillow under her dress, which is to get larger every month, as she will be

supposed to bear your bastard children, all for the sake of your monetary protection. Whenever you visit her, you can cross the small garden to Mattie's house, where Lizzie will live in all secrecy. Nobody knows about the state of Melanie's health but us. When I wanted to have the third house she admitted the situation to me and she is grateful that we can provide her with some housing until she... well, until she goes somewhere else." "You... you will have me put up with someone who is poxed?" Lochiel asked her disbelievingly. The Baroness huffed. "As I told you before, it's not exactly your honor and reputation we have to protect. There are much greater things at stake with Lizzie! She's still Lord John's wife, whether you like it or not. According to the law, the children in her belly are his and nobody else's, but I hardly think we would like him to claim his fatherhood. I personally think he would rather kill Lizzie than to accept that he has been cuckolded by... by a lieutenant in his father's regiment. It is also hardly likely that he would have your children inherit the duchy of Rothford if Lord Randolph fails to do his duty." She took a deep breath. She had heard the rumors about Lochiel's possible parentage and in Edinburgh she'd had time and occasion enough to compare the Lieutenant with the Duke of Rothford. In her mind there had been no doubt about Lochiel's parenting; it had been too obvious. On the other hand, it was quite clear that Lochiel was the only

one not to see, whatever seemed to stare anyone else in the face, if they cared to look. "If anybody knows about her dreadful ailment, people will start to believe that you are poxed too, Lochiel, so we better all keep our mouths shut about that small fact. I would like you to be seen with her on small occasions, so that people will think you found yourself a ladybird in Dublin. By the time the children are born, she will be the one to show them to the world and as you are already married, nobody will lift an eyebrow if you adopt them and bring them back to Edinburgh." Lochiel nodded hesitantly and Lizzie looked wideeyed at him. "Lizzie will live in the smallest house with Mattie, but she is never, ever to show herself." "Will you allow me to see Lizzie?" he asked, eying his sweetheart with longing. The Baroness caught that look and sighed. "It will hardly help now to keep you away from her, would it?" she asked ironically. She felt some pain in the region of her heart. If ever Barry had looked at her like that! "It would be like shutting the stable doors when the horse has already fled, if you pardon me the expression, Lizzie." Lizzie looked at the floor and blushed. It all seemed so tarnished when her mother put the situation like that. "You don't actually have to see Melanie, Lieutenant," the Baroness said tersely, "just walk through her door to the back garden. The little gate to Mattie's house will

always be open. Just never forget to leave through Melanie's front door when you stay the night. " "What about servants?" Lochiel asked, ever the practical man. "I already arranged that laundry and food are done in my house for the two other ones. As long as Mattie is able, she will help to keep the house in good order along with the help of two maids who are to come in the daytime; which will mean that you must make certain to have left Melanie's house before the maids are there. On the other hand, you can reach the stable through the back door of both houses, so if you leave by the stables no one will be the wiser in which house you stayed. Whenever Mattie needs a maid in her own house, she will have to make sure that Lizzie is in her room and that she does not come out until the maid is gone. If Lizzie is detected, Mattie is to tell people that her terminally ill sister lives with her in the house. Such a sister we can 'kill off' at any time." After considering a few more details, such as putting a candle in a red glass on the sill of a bedroom door in case of emergency, Lizzie was left with Mattie in the smallest house, while Lochiel was to knock on Melanie's front door to get acquainted with her. Melanie Torrance proved to be a very agreeable woman in her mid-twenties with an obvious sense of humor. The moment she had put the cushion under her dress, she had stopped wearing her widow's weeds and when she opened the door to allow the Lieutenant to

step into her house, he liked her immediately without reserve. Lochiel was acquainted with the ravages of the pox on a body, but to his relief Melanie Torrance did not show any at all. He remembered to hold her in his arms for a semblance of an embrace, for the sake of eventual onlookers in the street and then quickly closed the door behind them. She quirked a very blond brow at him. "My lover, I presume?" she said with a hint of a smile. "Lieutenant Lochiel Cameron, ma'am,” he drawled. "Please, call me Lochiel." She invited him in for tea, obviously able to provide the beverage herself, as at night there were no maids around. Lochiel inquired prudently of what she knew about the situation. It appeared that she had been apprised of everything the Baroness had told him, except for the existence of Lizzie. Before he quite impatiently excused himself to duck through her garden to the other house, she handed him a key to the front door. With that key, she explained, he could come and go as he pleased. "Is there any small gathering I can escort you to, one of those evenings?" he asked her, true to form and the Baroness' instructions. She thought deeply for a while, frowning and squeezing her pleasant blue-grey colored eyes.

"It won't do to introduce you to my small circle of friends," she said apologetically, "the Baroness told me you are a married man and only a new unmarried beau would be acceptable for them." She looked down on her 'swelling belly' and admitted: “Since I had to bind this contraption around my waist I have not bothered to visit them. They would expire with the scandal of it. I think the best thing would be to take me out to supper in one of the better inns like Joey Pickwick's. Just a bit of a ‘secret’ supper in one of the private rooms, mind. More officers bring their... acquaintances there and if I remember circumstances in the army well, a whispering campaign will start at once." Lochiel nodded. "I'll fetch you tomorrow night then, with a hack. We'd better get this all over with as soon as possible, I think." "How was supper?" Lizzie tried to ask nonchalantly and was piqued that her voice had sounded rather sharp. "Fine. Mrs. Torrance is a very nice person," Lochiel said, studying his nails. He knew his Lizzie well enough by now and had anticipated some unpleasantness about his last supper with Melanie Torrance. She looked verily baffled at him. She knew he'd had more than one supper with Mrs. Torrance in Dublin, something her mother had stressed was necessary for their masquerade, and he had taken the wind out of her

sails by telling her that the woman she had started to see as her rival was 'a very nice person.' She looked down her swollen belly. Lochiel had enough experience after four children to see that she was huge, out of proportion even. "Does she put a pillow of this size under her frock?" she asked, frowning. Lochiel understood what she was trying to say. Any woman as heavily pregnant as she was now would stop showing herself in public. He cocked his head, looking at Lizzie's belly again. "Hm. I am truly not sure," he lied, "but it was the last time we decided to show ourselves in public." Lizzie frowned at the usage of the 'we' in his remarks. Lochiel suddenly took her in his arms. He knew by now that it would be the only way to avoid one of her hysterical fits. He understood very well how moody she was and how insecure. She had not been outside the small house since she had moved into it, in January, and now spring was heavily upon them. She had been so bored that she had even started to read some acclaimed books, something she never had done in Edinburgh, even when she went to the lending library every week. He knew most of the books of the lending library had been returned unread on the next visit unless they had been of a certain gothic and romantic content. The lending library had only been one of Lizzie's distractions from the boredom of her life there.

He tended to shake his head at Lizzie's inactivity. Catriona had managed their farm until the moment she was to whelp another of their sons, but then Catriona had never been able to lead the spoilt life of a baron's only daughter, nor the one of the wife of a Duke's son. Lizzie sniffed against his chin. "I hate it when you go out with that woman!" she said crossly. Lochiel just kissed the top of her head. Catriona had never been easy during her pregnancies. The situation obviously made women moody and vehement, but he had to agree that Lizzie took the cake. He had even agreed to go on another mission in March because the endless quarrels with Lizzie unnerved him. "It was the last time, Lizzie," he urged her. "Your mother was quite right with her scheme. The whole Barracks are buzzing with the indignation of me getting a captain's widow with child. Mrs. Torrance can now sit at home awaiting things to come." He sighed inwardly. Poor Melanie Torrance was getting the worst of her ailment still, and he had noticed a decline in the last few months. He was not certain how long it took for the pox to take a hold on her. She had told him she had been in the second stage of the illness, before it seemed to withdraw when they started the plan to make her known as his lover. She had begged him, however, to kill her when the last stage became apparent. That gave him something to really worry about. One did not kill one's lover when she

was very ill, it was just not done, but he understood her urgent request; the last stage of the pox was terrible. "You don't love me anymore, Lochiel," Lizzie pouted against his broad chest. Lochiel heaved another sigh. Not that again! At least Catriona had never bothered him with constant requests that he prove his eternal vows of love to her. Lizzie's demands of that sort had been constant. He had learned to give the right answers to them, although he was often not certain how true his answers were by now. The situation with Lizzie confused him. There had been a lot of mutual sexual attraction in Ayre and Edinburgh between them, but truth to tell: his heart had not been exactly free at the time, with four small sons in his care and Catriona somewhere still lurking at the sides. He knew perfectly well that Lizzie initially had in a way used him to take her secret revenge on Lord John and he was still not certain why she had seduced him in Lady Loghaire's house. She had spoken words of love to him, but he wondered if now, at seventeen, she understood the meaning of it. The strange thing was that he had felt an overwhelming longing for Lizzie when he had been shipped to Dublin and he had been certain he had fallen in love with her. He had been elated to find the Baroness' letter that Lizzie was in Dublin. The cold shower of water was when he was lead to the house where he had

encountered an already visibly pregnant Lizzie. The reality that she was carrying twins, his twins, had been a great shock to him. He had hoped that the first 'unprotected' time in her bedroom at Lady Loghaire's house had been without con-sequences, that one time that he had been so eager to put his hands and that other part of his big body on her and, God forbid, in her, that he had forgotten all caution and the safety of the sheath that was normally hidden in his sporran, but that he had left, God knew why, that specific night in his room. He found it ironic that Catriona had married him because of his possibilities as a stud for her clan and that he had proven his fertility with his little lover as well. He felt as if the gods were mocking him; Lochiel-thestud! He worried to no end that a missive from Edinburgh or London would reach Lizzie that requested her to join her husband in either city. It did not bear thinking what they would have to do to the twins in her belly when such a request came. It was just that the worry about her and their children put a nasty shade upon the fact that they were united now and that he spent almost every night sleeping in her bed with his long arms protectively around her. God, but they'd got themselves into a fine snitch here! He worried that he could never make an 'honest' woman out of her; he was married and so was she. Even if Lord John could be persuaded to let her go without doing her bodily harm, he was still bound to Catriona

and the boys. Catriona may have thrown him out of her bed, but she would never ever agree to a divorce, all for the sake of their sons and her precious dwindling clan. There was only one thing that would soothe the girl. Lizzie had become more insecure the more her waist seemed to extend with the growing children inside her. Lochiel knew that the only way for him to prove that she was still the beautiful young woman she was the day he had to hoist her in front of him on his horse, was to make love to her, her big belly notwithstanding. That had puzzled him; Catriona never had wanted him to touch her whenever she knew a child was growing in her womb. It had been a strange experience at first; making love to a woman who seemed to perpetually carry a bag with moving kittens in front of her, but they coped wonderfully well, although to perform the act needed some creative thinking. He started to kiss her, pushing her sideways against his suddenly eager body. He smiled when he heard her breath catch. At least they might be in for another day of peace when he bedded her till the stars fell from the sky. Major Robertson looked grimly at the group of officers who had assembled in the huge drawing room of the Barracks. "It was too good to be true that the Irish have been quiet since last summer," he grumbled. "I can only blame it on a mild spring that they have decided to come out of their despicable holes and dared to attack us

again! I don't know where the rifles have sprouted from, although we do suspect the Irish have had the help of the colonists as the rifles they are using are distinctly American." He looked at the group that stared somberly back at him. "Until we have caught the cowardly snipers, all leaves will be suspended and no one is to leave the barracks without our specific permission." He eyed Lieutenant Cameron when he issued that last command. Everybody knew that Cameron had taken up an affair in Dublin with the deceased Captain Torrance's wife, who was rumored to be in a delicate condition due to Cameron's liaison with her. That had kept the tongues wagging for weeks now as Lochiel Cameron seemed to visit the widow Torrance every night, although he was always back in time for the morning's appeal at the Barracks. The Lieutenant returned his look soberly. "Please instruct the troops accordingly, gentlemen. That will be all." Colin Burns stared into the fire of the sergeants’ communal room. Lochiel had just broached the news to him that nobody was to leave the premises of the barracks under any circumstances. Damn, but he had not even been allowed to get a message sent to Mattie that all leaves had been suspended until they had found the nest of snipers who

were firing bullet after bullet on unsuspecting soldiers of the British army. What worried him even more was that the snipers did not only shoot soldiers, but that they fired at everything and everybody British. It meant that the haven near the Customs' Buildings was not at all safe for the women who lived there. Worst of all was that Mattie was nearing the end of her pregnancy. She had borne their baby well, until now; she had only gained weight because of the babe, but was not swollen like Lizzie. Colin surmised that Lizzie had a bad time of it: she was huge with seven months of pregnancy, her ankles were swollen and her face had become puffy. She did not feel very well and according to Lochiel, she just lay on her bed the whole day, without moving a muscle. He shook his head again and hoped they would find the snipers before his and Mattie's baby decided to make an appearance into the world. He looked up when an ensign posed himself in front of him with that specific look on his face that made Colin rise and greet him perfunctorily. "Regimental Sergeant Burns, the Major sends his respects and requests that you find somebody to bring this message to the Castle." The young man clattered his sabre importantly and handed Colin the letter. "Sir, we just got orders to stay inside the barracks," Colin remarked looking at the seal on the letter.

"Nevertheless, someone has to bring this message to the Castle, Regimental Sergeant." Colin nodded and saluted the fifteen-year-old ensign. Oh, but he knew exactly whom he might find for the delivery of this message; himself. He had to get to Mattie's house to take care of the women's safety. The Baroness had taken on a strange sort of charity of late; she had become a helper in the women's ward at the hospital, especially assisting the midwives with the more difficult births. Very smart of her, but it involved a long walk to the hospital at the other side of the town, every day. Although the Baroness' reasons for this charity were not hard to guess, with the snipers, her education towards midwifing really had to stop for the time being. Colin ceded that there was truth in the saying that you do not feel the impact of a bullet in your body at the moment you are actually hit. The only thing you feel at that moment is something like a big push against your chest. He had fallen backwards when the bullet hit him, wondering why he did not feel any pain, only some numbness. Just when he started to feel some relief that his injury could not be grave, let alone fatal, something inside him seemed to explode, seemingly causing a crashing pain under his solar plexus. He gasped, feeling as if he was suddenly drowning in a sea of churning pain and misery. He lifted his head,

trying to focus on the man on top of the roof of a popular pub, who was evidently recharging his rifle. When the man shot him through the skull his last thought was regret for Mattie and their unborn baby. Then everything went black. * * *

Chapter 14: CONCLUSIONS IN WHITESANDS * Audrey Agnew squinted against the bright sunshine. May did that to the sunlight. In the daytime, the sun climbed high in the sky. She turned to watch the Duke who was lying on a daybed, trying to read a newspaper. "Getting bored at last with your embroidery, my love?" The Duke started to fold his newspaper until a footman appeared from the shadows of the house to take it over from him. Audrey frowned at him. "Don't act so cheerful with me, Jonathan Montgomery!" she grumbled, worry lacing her voice, "You gave me the jitters with that situation yesterday, you know! If it had not been for the doctor I doubt I would have been sitting here enjoying the sunshine, nor would you have been lying there doing a footman's job, for that matter." The Duke reddened and ducked his head apologetically. "It was only a slight attack, my love," he tried to reassure her. Audrey huffed. "You should have told me you have those bad bouts, Jonathan. We would have refrained from running around in circles, being agreeable to the Ton and Prinny. You... you..."

The Duke looked with bafflement at his lover who had always been such a strong woman and who now was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, it seemed. "I'm not dead, yet, my love." Audrey Agnew took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her ice-blue morning dress and started to blow her nose noisily. "You could have been, Jonathan, and tell me what would have happened to your sons then? What would have happened to me?" The Duke's face softened. "Please don't cry, Audrey. When I go, Randolph will see the errors of his ways, marry a perfectly suitable girl and sire four heirs. John will turn away from the path of his debaucheries and escort his recently returned bride from Edinburgh to London, for a very happy ever after." "Don't joke about it, please, Jonathan," Audrey pleaded sniffing, "you cannot joke about that sort of unfinished business. What about Lochiel, the son who carries your stamp right on his face?" The Duke sagged a little on the daybed. He did feel very tired after yesterday's attack. "I left my instructions with my lawyers, Audrey. Also for the twins he recently fathered. It may all still take a while, though." "You heard about the twins?" The Duke shrugged. "He brought them to Edinburgh after Mrs. Torrance was murdered. Mattie Burns is going to take care of them in her house on Baker Street. Lochiel also adopted

little Aggie, so that Mattie won't have to worry about the boy's upbringing. He's a very honorable man, my Lochiel. They made him a captain, Audrey, just like your boy. He's taking Hengist's place at the garrison now that Hengist will be leaving to join the first 42nd." Audrey peered at her ducal lover. "Do you think Colin is Aggie's father, Jonathan?" The Duke gave her a soft smile. "Dukes are just as good at counting as beautiful countesses are, my love. No, little Aggie has been conceived in Randolph's bed, or wherever he had Mattie when she conceived my first grandson. It will be his eternal punishment that he will never know about little Aggie." He chuckled. "Aggie won't have a better father than Lochiel, who will know Mattie's secret by now. God's blood, but he has seven sons now, can you imagine? While my own Montgomery spawns have none." "Don't call them that," the Countess scoffed, "they're not bad boys, Jon. I always liked John; he's just gone astray since you had him educated at Eton. He'll come around with Lizzie; we'll just have to give him some time. She's only seventeen, and he's not yet twenty-six." A footman brought a tea tray and the butler prepared to pour the tea in the dainty china cups. The Duke stirred his tea thoughtfully. "I don't know," he finally said, "we sent Lochiel away for a reason, remember? They saw him leaving Lizzie's room at five o'clock in the morning at your place. And

what about her disappearance act after she went to Ireland with her mother? She only appeared back on the scene when the news of her father's accident reached her in August. He died a few weeks later, after having begged the merciful administrations of his son’s wetnurse." "Barry Campbell died?" the Countess asked startled. "I thought you knew," the Duke said apologetically, "he fell from his horse, or so I heard, after having drunk himself into a stupor. He broke his spine on a rock, imagine that. He lived for a few more weeks after the accident and people doubt if he should have died at all, but that's what he wanted. At least he has an heir, although I don't have a clue how that can have come about. The Baroness did not look four months pregnant to me when John married Lizzie. But then, who cares? I have an inkling Barry did not want John to inherit the property anyway. Oh, I don't know, I would never have thought life in Scotland could ever be so complicated." The Countess sent him a soft smile, reaching for his hand. "Just don't you die on me, Jonathan! There is still so much for us to share together..." He nodded fondly at her, fighting a sudden bout of dizziness, when she lifted a blanket and tucked it around him with care. He smiled when he heard her say his favorite words: "I do love you so very much, Jonathan Rothford." He suddenly remembered a blustering earl, who lived in his castle near the border of Scotland. Since his fall,

he had gone into a decline. It was rather a blessing that he hardly seemed to recognize his wife anymore. They had gone back to Loghaire for a short visit when they travelled to London by land. It had been obvious that the Earl had no specific need of Audrey, so they had been happy to go to some Ton entertainments and flee to Lady Sophia's 'Whitesands' whenever they could. Jonathan heaved a happy sigh, thanking who ever found himself in heaven that he could have some peace and quiet in probably the last years of his life. * * *

Chapter 15: BAKER STREET * Lochiel approached the house from the back, although he knew that if there were any spies posted somewhere, they would know about his presence there. Lizzie had just entered Mattie's house at the front. Although the house was Mattie's, he had given up his room near the Edinburgh barracks, as Mattie had invited him to stay at the place that was once Colin Burn's heritage. Colin's father had been a baker, selling out his bakery and shop after his only son had expressed the wish that he'd rather fight for King George's shilling than work all night to provide Edinburgh's population with breads and scones. Lochiel cocked his head when a shutter was opened in one of the upstairs rooms. Mattie was no doubt taking care of the three little boys. She had nursed little Aggie herself, but for William and Bentham, or to Lizzie's chagrin Billy and Benny, Lochiel had found a camp-follower who had lost her 'husband' and her baby during the riots and skirmishes that escalated after Colin's death. The campfollower, Maureen, had seen a chance to find herself a new lover already; surprisingly in between the eight hours per day it took her to nurse his two sons. Mattie had deemed it necessary to provide Maureen with the herbs that prevented pregnancy as the twins would have to be nursed for at least nine more months.

It had been devastating to hear the news of the Baron's fatal fall from his horse. Lizzie had hardly recovered from the birth of the twins when she had been forced to go back to Scotland with her mother. The twins had been born a few weeks after Mattie had birthed Aggie shortly after Colin's death. The birth of Lizzie’s children had been nervewracking; the Baroness had been afraid Lizzie’s birth canal was not wide enough. That she had twins turned out to be a blessing in that respect: at not nearly eight months old they were small enough to pass her birth canal. It had been decided that Lizzie and the Baroness would go back to Ayre and that Mattie and the three children would move to Melanie Torrance's house, in order to take care of the poor widow, who went into a deep decline in summer, and to maintain the ruse that it had been Melanie who had birthed the children. Lochiel clamped his jaw when he remembered Melanie's devastating situation: the illness had gone to her brain and after some time there had been nothing left of the gentle lady he had treated to a few outings in order to convince the Dublin garrison that she was his lover and the mother of his twins. On the day of her departure the Baroness had called on him before she left with Lizzie. She had guiltily given him a bottle of laudanum and told him that certain doses could be deadly.

In the end he and Mattie had given the raving widow an enormous dose, but she had not easily succumbed to death. When the flaring riots went to a new height in August, Lochiel faked a burglary and slit her throat. She had already been blessedly unconscious due to a big dose of the opiate. Nobody in Dublin suspected that she had not been murdered by angry Irish revolutionists, but by the handsome lieutenant who had supposedly been her lover and the father of her children. It had been a relief for Lochiel to finish his 'Tour of Duty' and to go back to Edinburgh. At that time, he had not seen Lizzie for more than three months. She was standing in his bedroom in Mattie's house, smiling uncertainly at him. Lochiel felt his heart miss a few beats; she had changed so much in one and a half years' time! Her motherhood had added a few necessary pounds to her figure: it was no longer girlish, it was lush and appealing. The misery of the last few months was etched in her face, but instead of making her ugly it lent a ripeness to her, that had never been there when she was only sixteen years old. "Lochiel!" she breathed, clearly very glad to see him. She rushed into his outstretched arms, crying hot tears. "Oh, Lochiel," she sobbed, "how could I ever endure those months without you?"

Lochiel clasped his arms around her, his lover, somebody else's wife, but his nonetheless... At that moment, he did not want to care about what the future would bring. As long as he could love his Lizzie, the world would be perfect! * * *

Chapter 16: A MESSAGE FOR RANDOLPH AND JOHN * London, 1807 John looked with some alarm down on the letter, which was written by his father. None of the ducal crests or seals that were so distinctive of his father's ducal commands was waxed on it. Instead, it bore his mother's small seal, which his father had years ago created for her personal use. It was the second year after his father's demise and true to form Randolph had handed the letter to John with a secretive smile. "He wanted you to read it two years after his death, so here it is. I read it myself after Lyons-Crowns handed it over to me, before the will was to be read. Father wanted to be certain that there would be hardly any emotions involved when we read this, but I could not, for the sake of the duchy, keep this closed for two whole years." Randolph stirred his coffee noisily. John watched his brother closely while he was chewing his bread and eggs. Randolph had turned out a lot better of a duke than anybody had expected after their father had succumbed to a lingering heart condition. Randolph wore the ducal strawberry leaves quite well on his unfortunately balding person.

"Did you send her away?" he asked lightly, not wishing to refer to a letter he had not even read. Randolph shook his head regretfully. "She fell in love with Arthur Wellesley, she claims. I was getting bored with her anyway. She was quite jealous of Whit... of someone else. Why are you up and about so early?" Randolph looked carefully around the sumptuous breakfast room. Of course, his staff knew about all his vices, but his occasional lusty trysts with his former head-footman did not need to be bandied about by curious staff members. "I'm needed at the House today," John said distractedly. "We'll discuss if your friend Wellesley is right about a war on the Spanish-Portuguese Peninsula. He calls it Napoleon's backdoor. Parliament won't be happy about paying for another war but we think it cannot be avoided if we want to keep the Corporal from conquering the world. It's bad enough as it is. That man just won't stop winning all those battles." Randolph gave his brother a pensive nod. It still felt strange that John was such a rake in one way and that he took his duties at the House so seriously in another. "Prinny won't like it. He'd rather have Parliament spend all that money on him, so I guess the Lords will give in to the demand of a war somewhere on the Continent, just to annoy him." John rose from his chair. "I have to be off. I have to see to some things that seem to be enormously urgent."

He looked at his ducal brother with genuine curiosity. “Was she any good, that new chick?" he inquired offhandedly. "You've been talking to Whitby, haven't you?" John noticed that his brother sounded amused, more than annoyed. "Was she?" "Are you in need of a new mistress?" Randolph grinned. John shrugged without comment. "Getting bored, with them, are you? Why don't you send for little Lizzie? She's twenty now and my informants told me she's quite a dish!" John walked abruptly to the door. "I'll read this in the library!" he growled pointing at the letter. Randolph stared at his brother's rigid back as John stamped from the room. "As I am restricted by an oath regarding certain things, I am writing this down for your and John's eyes only and it is only to be read by you after my demise. To avoid excessive emotions regarding those matters I have requested you read this two years after the day of my parting from this world." John closed his eyes, leaning back into the bigwinged chair. His father had been gone for two years, but he still missed him sorely. He had died quietly, albeit painfully,

sitting in his chair in his study. A heart condition, the doctors told him. He had never told his sons he suffered from one. It seemed that Audrey Agnew, the Countess of Loghaire, his father's secret lover in the last years of his life, had been the only one to know about the Duke’s frail health. John had loved his father and he was certain that Randolph had, offhandedly, adored him as well. His father had been his hero, his war-hero. Before he took up the ducal strawberry-leaves he had been the Colonel in his own regiment that had merged later, after the Duke felt too old to hold a sword in his hands, with the famous ‘Black Watch’, the 42nd Scottish Regiment that used to be a Highlander regiment. When Jonathan Montgomery became a duke, he was the one with the most influence and the old king's ear. It had been a coup that he had married Elisabeth Grey, the Duchess of Lindley, after old Lindley cocked up his toes. Their children Richard and Sophia, John and Randolph's half-brother and -sister, had been moved under Montgomery’s care and they had been secured under his influence. Now Richard Grey, Duke of Lindley, was the one wielding the greater power in the Realm. Randolph did not even come close to being number six, but Randolph had never been overly ambitious about the position and had no wish at all to fight the Royal Dukes for it. "I regret that John was promised to marry Lizzie Campbell of Ayre at the early age of twelve. It was a

promise I made to your dear mother on the day she departed this world for another one. I am still under oath to be silent about the circumstances that eventually brought this marriage about." John stared at the words his father had so punctually written. They represented for him a world full of hatred for a girl he had never wanted to marry. He had left her in Edinburgh after the nuptials, making a mockery of the consummation by raping her against the wall of her bedroom and denying her his seed in the end. She had been wide-eyed with shock and only sixteen. Sometimes those eyes haunted him in his fitful dreams, but he refused to feel remorse about his terrible behavior towards the almost unknown woman, who since two years shared his title as Marchioness of Lorna and Kintyre. "I do think I owe you an explanation for this marriage that raised so many questions in the World of the Quality. I hope that your dearest mother will understand my wish for the release from her oath to her, when I am long in my grave. Your grandfather from your mother's side, Bentham Belding, had sired a son on a Scottish girl of the gentry when he was in Glasgow, supplying my Rothford regiment with extra men from his own.

This child was adopted by the Campbell's of Ayre. Your mother, my wife Elisabeth, wished to raise the child, Barnaby (Barry) Campbell, to the status that she supposed due to him. Therefore, she requested the betrothal between Lizzie Campbell (Barnaby's daughter) and John. I raised Squire Barnaby Campbell to the Barony of Ayre. If Barnaby would die without male issue, Ayre was to revert to John." John closed his eyes. He remembered the long ago quarrel between his mother and his father on the day he had been waiting for permission to be admitted into his mother's apartments. A 'tit for tat' she had called it. He wondered if his father would specify his 'tit for tat’ at last. "The reason for my giving in to those demands, which did not seem very fair towards John, was that I had wronged your mother by having an affair with a girl who lived in Bannockburn. Out of this affair two children were born. The younger child died when only a few days old, after having cost the girl her life when she birthed her daughter. The boy still lives on the day I write you this missive. I am under oath still not to reveal his name to you, although, according to my best friend Lady Audrey Agnew, Countess of Loghaire, he wears my face like nobody else. I did try to keep him under my protection and as a token of my marking and my respect I gave him my sabre, the Klingenthal, which my good father the

Duke of Rothford presented me with when I headed the Rothford regiment as a Colonel. I am not at liberty to reveal to you more about this son, your half-brother. I removed the ducal crest from the pommel of the Klingenthal, exchanging it for the sapphire that resembled the colour of his mother's eyes. It is my wish, though, that this man will one day be elevated into the peerage, just as I elevated Barnaby Belding, later Campbell, to a barony. I have been advised on this matter by Lady Loghaire, who pointed out to me the Barony of Halkhead that is 'floating' due to the demise of John Ross, Baron Halkhead, who left no male issue. I must leave the matter further into your capable hands to execute this request of mine, advising you to wait till the war with Napoleon is over. I deeply regret having put filial duty before filial happiness and if John wishes it, I grant him the permission to a divorce before the Scottish courts, although I cannot but point out to him that a divorce will bring Lizzie undeserved ruin, which will be contrary to your mother's initial wishes. Written on the 8th of March 1805, under the witnessing eyes of Lady Audrey Agnew, Countess of Loghaire. Your loving father, Jonathan Montgomery, Duke of Rothford etc." -

John dropped the letter into his lap and hid his face in his hands. His name had been Lochiel; Lochiel Cameron. He had seen him the very first time in the company of the most beautiful woman on earth. Lochiel had been five years old then. John had only realized that his father had bedded the woman after he had heard his parents quarrel about her on that fateful day, when his mother died. She had wrangled the promise of the betrothal of Lizzie Campbell to her second son from an ashamed and blackmailed duke. He understood his father's request to make Lochiel a baron after the war with Napoleon was finished; Lochiel was a warrior, an officer, and when the decision would be made in Parliament, he probably had to go to war like everybody else. His father wanted prudently to prevent Halkhead from being given to somebody who would only have the benefit of it up until the day he met with his death on a battlefield, which could be short. Father had always been a practical man. He felt relief that his father had been prepared to face the consequences of a divorce within the House of Rothford, but John already knew he would never divorce Lizzie Campbell. The shame of a divorce would reflect badly on his ancestral House and his own reputation. He did not need a wife, so he would leave her be, up there in Scotland. Randolph had not yet married, but he would do so within the coming years and then the

question of siring heirs for John would become moot soon enough. He heaved a deep sigh, feeling enormous regrets for his brave father, who had found his match and his superior in a calculating, shrewish woman. At least the burden, which had been with him in his grave, could now be shared with his two sons, although he did not have a clue as to how and when he could help his father in his very final wishes. Lochiel Cameron was the man with the Klingenthal he and Randolph had both once coveted. John smiled grimly. Neither Randolph nor he needed the Klingenthal but for the very few ceremonial duties they attended. His father had been right to give it to a warrior just like he had been himself, years ago. John rose and walked back to the breakfast room. Randolph was still leisurely reading the newspapers. He looked up at him with curious expectation. "Do you know who owns the Klingenthal, right now?" John asked him without any introduction. Randolph nodded. "That information was easy enough to come by; Father detailed everything in his ledgers and with the Klingenthal it was not different." "Do you know him?" Randolph looked down at his coffee and then he blinked at John. "A very handsome guy, that Cameron! He lives in Edinburgh. Why? We're not going to do anything about

Halkhead right now. The war with Napoleon is only beginning, if I got your drift." John stared at his brother. "We're not going to do anything about the fact that we have a half-brother?" Randolph shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "There's nothing we can do, John! We'll see how it all works out and I'll take the proper measures when the war is over." "You're probably right," John admitted reluctantly. "Got to go, give my regards to Harry." Randolph grinned. "I told you she's after Wellesley now, but he's never going to give her a carte. He prefers to spend his money on his soldiers instead of on his whores. The girl's more stupid than I thought. Women, bah!" "Can't agree with you more!" John mumbled, walking out of the ducal breakfast room. * * *

Chapter 17: LOCHIEL’S NEW MISSION * Rothford Hall, Edinburgh, December 1809 “You should not have come, Lochiel!” Lizzie wrapped the sheet around her naked body. “If someone talks, you’ll be dead! He sent that awful hound Mordecai up here. He’s been hearing rumours, I tell you.” Lochiel looked at his long-time lover with tenderness. “I’m leaving with the tide, Lizzie. You cannot expect me to just go away without saying goodbye. I may die out there…” “Oh,” she pleaded, almost in tears, “don’t say that Lochiel! Don’t you bloody say that! What will happen to the children if you’re dead and I am back in London?” He had to swallow. His throat was suddenly dry. Had he arranged it all right? Would the little ones be in danger when both their parents left Edinburgh? “Mattie is taking good care of them, Lizzie. Just stop worrying.” He started kissing a delectable breast through the cloth of the silk sheet. “Let’s not ruin this last farewell. Let me hold you one more time, mo cridhe.” Lizzie leaned back in the pillows, closing her eyes, promising herself that she would not worry, not when her lover would love her for the very last time. She would be so lonely again, tomorrow. Lochiel had been her rock for more than five years, after he had

saved her sanity when her pompous cad of a husband Lord John, the Duke of Rothford’s second son, had left her an hour after their wedding, after forcing her to mate with him against a wall in her bedroom, denying her the seed of his loins by spending on her dress and her legs. At least his anger and his brutish ways at the consummation of their marriage had hidden the fact that she had not been a virgin. That precious gift had been for Lochiel Cameron, at the time a lieutenant. He had escorted her from her home in Ayre to her wedding in Edinburgh, instead of that lout Lord John. He had been instructed to go with a half platoon of soldiers to the small village near Glasgow, where her father had been a newly-made Baron. Lizzie still did not know if it had been love at the time that had driven her into the handsome Lieutenant’s arms; she had been too enraged with her uncouth fiancé, truth be told, to think about love. Lizzie did not know how often she had cursed the long dead Duchess who had insisted that the ‘spare’ of the Montgomerys of Rothford was to marry that unknown chit from some hole in the ground in Scotland. The spare, now the Duke of Rothford’s brother, the illustrious Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, had hated her for it. Everybody knew that he had left her to rot in Edinburgh, while he played the rake and the cad in London. It was just her bad luck that his brother Randolph, the recent Duke, married an elderly woman who was possibly beyond her fertile years. When they were

certain there would not be a son forthcoming from that marriage, the siring of an heir was now John Lorna’s new task. Lizzie Montgomery, Marchioness of Lorna and Kintyre, although in name only, was ordered to come to London to humiliate herself before that damnable stud John Lorna; to give the ducal family that most wanted heir at last. She feared him, that so-called husband. She knew how ferocious he could be, his charm and good looks notwithstanding. Someone had betrayed them, for certain, as Lochiel, now a newly appointed Major in the 42nd Scottish Highland Regiment, had suddenly been ordered away to the war in the Peninsula and God have mercy on his soul! She sighed when Lochiel kissed her hard and insistent. And may God have mercy on her: a cheating wife who wanted nothing to do with her equally cheating husband because in her heart she knew he would break her traitorous heart into a thousand pieces, again. * * *

Chapter 18: THE CONSEQUENCES OF A MASQUE * London, 1811 Lizzie Montgomery, Marchioness of Lorna and Kintyre shivered. She was standing outside the big Morrison mansion and wondered for about the twentieth time if she was doing the right thing. Under her silk cape, she wore a Spanish dancer’s dress that consisted of layers and layers of black and red lace. The cleavage was daringly low. With her long black wavy hair falling practically unbound to her waist, she looked the epitome of a seductive Spanish dancer. A footman came out of the house to lead her up the great marble stairs, while the black town coach of the Hamiltons rumbled away. She felt a surge of panic. Oh God, had she really allowed Snow to lead her into this very uncertain adventure? His very distinct frame suddenly showed in the open doorway. She hastened to tie her black and red mask around her face. He had seen her arrive, then. She signaled to the footman to make himself scarce and stood stock still on the red carpet, waiting for the man in the doorway to come and get her. He held out both arms when he came to stand in front of her and lifted her high, kissing her on the mouth.

She struggled to free herself and he laughed with genuine amusement. "You look ravishing!" he exulted, "Don’t fight me, love, this party is of a very particular sort. Kissing in public is obligatory tonight!" She blushed at his words and felt the urge to run after the Hamilton’s carriage, jump in and go home where life would be safe and harmonious. And dull, she mused; terribly dull. Susan had arranged it all for her. She was to meet an aristocratic escort, who would take her to one of the notorious parties at the Morrison Place. His nickname was Snow, and she had met him only once before, when they both were wearing a mask, as they did now. When she had remarked that he looked quite familiar he had smiled at her. He had shrugged and nodded, saying that nothing in the Ton could be kept a secret entirely, but that for all parties concerned, it was better that they meet thus, keeping things uncertain for both their sakes. He took her arm and they rapidly ascended the stairs. "Act as if you have done this all your life," he whispered in her ear. Upstairs there was nobody to announce them. Most visitors turned out to be masked but some were a lot more recognizable, than others. Lizzie instantly saw the Prince Regent standing in the middle of the ballroom. Even with his mask, he was hard to overlook with his huge fat body. He had not bothered to put on a

costume for the masquerade, neither the man standing beside him. Lizzie let out a startled breath. Snow immediately bent to her ear as if to kiss it, urgently whispering: "That’s Randolph Rothford, alright. Be careful. We don’t want him to notice you here! He might spoil it all by calling out your name." He steered her away from the two prominent people, pushing her down on one of the many love seats. He motioned to a footman to bring them two glasses of champagne. She breathed slowly through her nose; that was Randolph Rothford, not John! She wondered if Randolph had recognized her, but if he did he would probably not show a thing; it had been his idea more or less that she went after John. "The mountain and Mohammed," he had said, looking her over with those light eyes of his. As John did not deign to show himself at the respectable 'Ton' parties, there was nothing but to look for him at the less-than-respectable ones. Snow put his arm around her shoulders, pushing his nose into the angle of her neck to kiss her with a smacking noise. She had to force herself to act as if she had never done anything else in her life, but to let a rake cuddle her in public brought a deep blush to her cheeks. She looked around her, panic rising. She had done some daring things in the past, but she had never been to

an orgy, at least, Snow had told her that the feast would probably turn into one. Nick Morrison had built a house a few miles out of London just to indulge in such daring parties. He was as rich as Croesus, but a known perverted baron, who could not be bothered with formal Ton events anymore. He’d had his share of 'cuts direct' in his life and had announced that Polite Society was not his cup of tea and could go and drown itself for all he cared. Snow caught her mood and wrapped her reassuringly in his arms. "Don’t fret," he whispered, kissing her softly on the cheek, "it’s the only way to get through to him. He hardly visits any official parties anymore since your father-in-law died." Lizzie reflected that was rather strange, as John seemed to take his position as Marques quite seriously nowadays. He had even taken possession of his seat in the House of Lords and did more than use it as a chair to sleep in. On the other hand; he was long married and did not need to find himself a bride amongst the young debutantes, so he did not need to show his face anywhere just to make a good impression on anybody. She wondered about the wisdom of this night’s whole venture again and then resignedly leaned back into Snow’s embrace. He reminded her of Lochiel Cameron; her long-time lover who had been obliged to leave her to play the soldier in the Peninsula. She surmised that somebody had spied on them in Edinburgh and had told on them.

Lochiel had gotten a major’s rank, had settled his affairs, had put their children, their illegitimate children, entirely into Mattie Burns’ care and had left with the early tide. She forcibly pushed all thoughts of Lochiel aside. Susan Hamilton-Downs had talked her into trying to get her husband back and that was the motto for tonight. Randolph Mont-gomery, her brother–in-law and more importantly the recent Duke of Rothford, had ordered her to stop hiding herself in Edinburgh and to come to London. He insisted she do her utmost to give the dukedom an heir at last, as his own recent wife Caro was not showing any sign of pregnancy. Randolph had seemed to become quite nervous suddenly about the fact that neither he nor John had sired any children on the right side of the blanket to date. It did not help that his recently acquired wife Caro was approaching the advanced age of forty-four. Lizzie wondered if she would recognize her errant husband. He had been twenty-four when she had last seen him, furiously and drunkenly fastening his wedding breeches after raping her on a chest of drawers against the wall of her bedroom. Now he was thirty. The music started to play a waltz. Snow rose, grabbed her wrist, murmuring that she would be better visible on the dance-floor. The dancing was obviously more a means to touch each other than a social function, she reflected after a few minutes. It seemed to her that all the paired dancers

were moving far too close, holding each other happily in indecent places. At least Snow led her expertly around the floor not indulging, like everybody else, in occasional grabs at her silk dressed bottom or thumbing her cleavage. At the end of the set, he only kissed her hand lingeringly. She was not a cold woman and the distinct atmosphere of sexuality started to get her in its grasp. Roses formed on her cheeks when Snow’s fingers trailed the space of her uncovered upper arms. It had been some time since a man had touched her. Lochiel had followed his beloved Highland Regiment into the South-European Peninsula, leaving her desolate and lonely, first in Edinburgh, then soon in London, after her brother-in-law had summoned her to the ducal townhouse in Arlington Street. Lizzie knew she craved love and affection. It had been initially the sole reason why she had succumbed to her adulterous affair with the handsome Lochiel Cameron, as none would be forthcoming from her errant cad of a husband Lord John. Once separated, they had decided not to write to each other, although once in a while she had written to Mattie in Edinburgh adding some words for Lochiel. It seemed however, that Lochiel had decided to cut the fine bonds with her entirely; there was never a note or news from him. He knew about the Duke’s summons and had obviously decided that it would be best if they let the past lie in the past and get on with their separate lives.

She had come to London without anybody knowing her or truly acknowledging her. Her marriage to Lord John Montgomery, now Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, had been almost seven years ago and if anybody remembered it, people were probably too embarrassed for her to mention it; she had been treated as if she had been plague-ridden in London. At least, when Randolph was entertaining, together with his homily new wife, Lizzie was always invited and thus she started to know people of the Ton; at the Duke of Rothford’s table it was inconceivable for the guests to ‘cut’ her, so she slowly started to build up her very own small circle of friends and acquaintances. Her first push into Polite Society came as a result of her friendship with Lady Susan Hamilton-Downs. Susan was a cousin to Rothford’s wife and the sisterin-law of George, the Duke of Hamilton. She was very recently pregnant. It turned out that Hamilton-Downs showed as much interest in Susan as Lord John had shown for Lizzie. That Susan was pregnant with his second child was because Hamilton-Downs took his obligations about getting an heir and a spare seriously, but Susan disavowed Lizzie of the notion that they might have even a semblance of a marriage. She explained that her husband would jot a note telling her when he would visit her bedroom. Unfailingly he would enter her darkened bedroom, lift the sheets, stick his thing inside of her and then would quietly steal away from her bedroom after he was ‘done’.

After a few years of such dealings Susan had stopped wondering about her husband’s rather strange behavior. She never saw him in the house as they kept different hours and their house in London was huge. Susan could not remember the times when they had breakfast together. Her dinners were a lonely affair with a tray in her apartment, unless they had to entertain or go somewhere together. He never spoke a word to her during such dinners, only the obligatory ones. Susan was, however, a very strong woman in constitution and character. At an average build, with a nondescript hair colour, a fine face with eyes that were a deep grey and always amused, she was what people would call ‘handsome, but not pretty’. She was very eager for the baby she carried to be born because she intended to indulge in an affair with a dashing member of the ‘Ton’ as soon as she had done her part of the marriage contract; taking care of the heir and possibly the spare of the line of Hamilton-Downs. She knew from rumors that her husband hoped that the new future Duke of Hamilton would spring from his loins, as his brother George had not yet found himself a new suitable wife after the demise of his first one. George Hamilton nurtured the same notions as his younger forty-one year old brother; that although wives might have some uses, they were not a very strict necessity in their lives. In order to avoid meeting her husband at his brother’s house, Lizzie gladly took up Susan’s invitation to stay at the Hamilton’s London residence whenever she felt like

it and whenever she could find the right excuse not to stay with the Rothfords. After Lizzie experienced a few nasty encounters and quite irregular snubs in London’s Polite Society, Susan had made up her mind: Lizzie had to reunite with her husband in some way or another, then at least then she could start to live the Ton life in London to the full, without the undeserved cuts or indignities she was exposed to right now. She was the Marchioness of Lorna and Kintyre, for heaven’s sake! Lizzie felt unsettled with this notion. Her husband had shown no interest in her whatsoever since she arrived in London. He had meticulously avoided the few social functions to which she was invited. After all those years of abandonment, she had learned to become indifferent about him, as one becomes indifferent about a family member who was not known and who had immigrated to the Americas. She had told Susan she really could not be bothered, but her friend had been adamant and had energetically started her investigations into John’s life in order to bring about the happy reunion of the long estranged couple. It was soon apparent that Susan had been slightly optimistic about the matter. John was still a first class bounder and rakehell, and a Whig to boot. He had taken up with the courtesans of Harriet Wilson’s clique for years and had many a mistress next to it. As he barely bothered to go to any of the respected social functions in order to avoid walking into his unknown, and unwanted, wife, he resorted to frequenting the less opulent but

mostly thoroughly indecent parties of which the more steadfast Ton members knew everything, but hastily assured everyone that they had never attended. Susan had decided, regretfully but firmly, that Lizzie should go to such parties as well, in order to seduce her husband into some kind of affection towards her. She stated that Lizzie was a most sensuous beauty, whom Lord John would never be able to resist, the moment he set eyes upon her. Lizzie had allowed herself to be convinced of that notion. She had thought Susan’s idea quite a lark; to steal upon her unwilling husband, ‘to make him fall madly in love with her’ or whatever would turn out to be a more realistic possibility. Susan had convinced the mysterious Snow to become Lizzie’s handsome escort, for a sum of money of course, suggesting that if the whole scheme failed, she could at least indulge in a love affair with the good looking and well-built Snow. Neither Susan nor Lizzie knew this ‘Snow’s real identity. Susan had heard about him, but professed she had never encountered him. He was one of the few men in the Ton who was known to ‘help out’ people for outrageous amounts of money in affairs of the heart or with slightly criminal situations that needed expert handling. Snow had only agreed to Susan’s written plea when it was certain that he could wear a mask. He was obviously a man who treasured his anonymity.

Susan had heard whispers about this Snow. The most insistent ones were that he was a high Peer of the Realm, who added to his income with the things he did under this secret identity. Now, Lizzie was holding hands with him in the middle of the ballroom of the raciest Peer of the Realm. Snow even caught her by the waist, almost hiding his nose in her deep cleavage. Lizzie mused that if her illustrious husband did not show up at the party, she would not hesitate to take Susan up on her offer and try a little taste of the man who was so boldly holding her; she had been deprived of ‘love’ for far too long. It was not to be; when Snow nuzzled her neckline, he muttered under his breath that their victim had just arrived. Lizzie had forgotten how tall and handsome her errant husband was. More than six years had been a long time. She gasped when she peered at his face, rugged with thick eyebrows over startling brown eyes. His nose was straight but slightly snubbed, which did nothing to diminish the sheer sensuality of his mouth, with the curved lips. He was dressed entirely in black and wore black Hessians instead of dancing shoes. He had not bothered to put on a mask. She swayed against Snow, feeling faint and dizzy at the same time. Snow, who immediately sensed her discomfort, grabbed her by the waist and turned her away, out of John Lorna’s sight.

He muttered something under his breath but Lizzie was too dazed to catch it. "Here!" Snow pointed to an area that was screened off by huge pots of palm trees. "Let’s retire to recuperate." He pushed her gently into a love seat and sat down close to her. "Are you alright?" he asked her with a concerned voice. Lizzie thought she heard a note of tenderness and wondered if she would just let her husband be and go on with Snow. She nodded and then shook her head. She opened her mouth to take in a deep breath. She felt as if there was a stone lying on her chest. "That bad?" Snow smiled. She sighed deeply and tried to award him a faint smile. "I did not... I was not..." she stammered. Snow kissed her trembling lips. "There!" he said again, moving closer towards her. "You’ve got a friend, you know. You can tell me." Her hands went to her face. "I have not seen him for almost seven years," she whispered, "but when he was standing there it felt like yesterday." Snow gazed intently at her. "That bad, huh?" he repeated, shaking his head, "So you were in love with him?"

"Madly," she confessed with a deep blush, "the moon and sun rose with him, you know. I was just a sixteen year old chit with a head full of fluffy clouds." She did not dare to tell him that despite her so-called love for John Montgomery, she had cheated him out of his husbandly rights to breach her. She had seduced a young lieutenant, out of spite for the indifferent groomto-be, who had only come twice to Ayre to make a mocking of his courting her. He had not even bothered to escort her from her ancestral home to Edinburgh, where they were to marry. Snow shook his head. "That won’t do. Not with this scheme we invented. He did not come alone, either." He took her hands in his, stroking the red silk of her gloves. "That woman he has with him is the worst opportunist in London. If I know her well, she'll be glued to him all night." He did not add that she was also the most wanted fuck of the Ton. If Ariel Broadhurst-Blackwood was after John, and there was no doubt about that, then there would be no room to maneuver Lizzie into the scene. "Let’s go home," she proposed suddenly, "it was all a bad idea anyway. I have to rethink everything, now that I have seen him again." Snow nodded sympathetically, rose and helped her out of the low couch. "I’ll get your carriage," he announced.

"I thought it was you!" a low baritone rumbled behind them. Lord John Lorna looked at Snow with his head cocked. He reached out to shake hands with him. "Business or pleasure tonight?" he asked in Snow’s direction, looking appreciatively at Lizzie. "Oh, ah, is it you Lorna?" Snow asked with obvious distress. John nodded knowingly. "Pleasure then, you rascal! Introduce me to this beautiful lady, will you?" "Eh... Eleanor..." Snow stammered, for once at a loss for words. Lizzie bobbed a curtsy before taking Snow’s arm. "We were on our way out," Snow explained apologetically. Lorna frowned. "So soon? They did not even start to..." "John! You cannot leave me alone if I do not know... Snow? Long time since I’ve seen you at Morrison’s!" Lizzie sighed resignedly. A very beautiful woman with jet-black hair had taken John Lorna by the arm, at the same time leaning over to Snow to kiss him on the mouth. She wore a black clinging dress and obviously, scandalously, nothing else. Lizzie just about avoided gaping at the stunning woman. She stepped backwards, ready to retract herself from the scene, but John reacted amazingly quickly. He grabbed her by the wrist with some force.

"You’re not really thinking of leaving, are you?" His piercing look shifted from her face to her black and red-laced bodice with the indecently low cleavage. The woman Ariel looked frostily at them, but said nothing. Snow turned to Lizzie. "We were not that much in a hurry were we, love?" he asked her, with meaning in his voice. Lizzie shook her head after some hesitation. She had not uttered a word yet in John’s hearing, afraid that he would recognize her voice. She pressed her lips together, scolding herself. He had hardly heard her voice in the past years! She had only squealed at him when he had mistreated her on their moment of ‘consummation’. How could he ever remember what she sounded like? "I am hungry!" Lorna declared suddenly. "Let’s head down to the buffet.” He grasped Lizzie’s hand, hooking her arm around his. He leaned into her, pressing the right side of his body suggestively into her hip and legs while he brushed a breast with his elbow. Lizzie looked at his arm in confusion and tried to retract hers, but John was definitely not going to let go. Snow and Ariel followed them silently. After the buffet, Lizzie flung herself into the ladies’ powder room. She stood there for some time holding her flushed cheeks with both hands.

Now what? She breathed in deeply. John had been all over her during supper. Lizzie had caught annoyed looks from Ariel Blackwood and amused grins from Snow when John had fed her tidbits from his plate, announcing to everyone and sundry that she was his new favorite, obviously removing Ariel Blackwood from her wrongly assumed place next to him. Now what? She sat down on a chair in front of the mirror. A fleeting glance assured her that her hair and mask were still in place. She put her elbows on the table leaning her head on her cupped hands. Did she still want him? The question shocked her into aware-ness. When he had been all over her, something had repeated itself in her mind, something very disquieting. She started to think; “You left me alone, you bastard, for all those years, and now you pretend I’m the answer to all your daily prayers!” To her own annoyance and amazement she found herself wishing that he had been speaking the truth; that she was his new favorite woman instead! She shook out of her reverie when the door opened. John entered slowly. He locked the door carefully. "There you are, my dove," he drawled lazily, "straight into my cozy dovecote!" He fingered his stock, untying it with one gesture. He then threw his black coat on the floor.

She sat frozen in her chair. Thinking about him and having him here in front of her in the flesh were quite different notions! Do I want this, she wondered. Do I truly want this? He took a few careful steps in her direction, sensing her hesitation. He cradled his crotch with one hand. Even with him wearing black breeches, she noticed his arousal. It was huge, just as she remembered it from that wedding day. She started suddenly. He had hurt her with that thing. She watched him with wide startled eyes. "Come here, my beauty," he whispered, "I’ve a mind to have you here and now!" He grasped her around her shoulders dragging her up out of the chair. His hand went to her mask, but she shook her head fiercely. "No, leave it!" "Oh, well," he murmured, leaning heavily into her, "give us a kiss, my love, you must have the most beautiful lips in the world!" He smelled of brandy and champagne. Lizzie knew he had been drinking steadily all evening. Kiss him? He had never kissed her before in her life! When he bent to take her half-opened lips in his mouth, it all came back to her; that scent of his, that maddening, intoxicating waft of maleness and Lord John. Damnation, but she could not help reacting to him! She did not struggle when he drew his tongue deep into her trembling mouth. She did not object when his

hand reached for the hem of her Spanish dress, lifting the skirt slowly and tantalizingly. He suddenly bent to pick her up, putting her on the dressing table, her bare buttocks on the warm gleaming wood and her dress almost up to her ears. Lizzie felt panic rising. It was a damn déjà vu! He had done exactly that on that long ago day of their wedding! A hand drifted to the apex of her thighs, expertly touching the folds of her warm cleft. He kissed her again, deeply. She had not put on her pantalets tonight. She wondered if it had been some sort of wishfulthinking or foresight. He groaned, smiling against her lips. "I’ve been wondering about your little cunny all evening. It’s as juicy and fleshy as I imagined!" He pushed a finger into her intimate depth and hummed again. "You want me, don’t you, my beauty? God, you’re wet!" I am, she thought in mortifying shame, I bloody want him to put that big dick into me, and not because he is John Lorna, my damned legitimate husband, but because I am hot for any cock now, even his! She moaned. I am a harlot, she thought scathingly. I could not care less if it was Snow’s, John’s or Lochiel’s. He let go of her lips and put both his hands on her thighs, pushing them apart. "And now for tonight’s main course," he whispered, kneeling in front of the dresser, pushing his head between her legs.

He tantalizingly let out his hot breath over the little nubbin crowning her cleft. Lizzie did not know if she actually screamed with pleasure or if she just imagined it. She clasped his head with both hands. He stuck out his tongue and started to lap her folds. "Oh yes," she panted, "oh yes, do it, do it to me..." She felt him withdraw his hands from her knees. She registered that he opened his breeches while his tongue was still probing and caressing. "You like that, don’t you?" she said huskily, wriggling towards his moving tongue, suddenly realizing he was licking her more for his own pleasure than hers. The movement of his shoulders and his arms showed her that he was masturbating while he was feasting on her intimate parts. "No, no!" she cried out, "I want you inside of me, I want... Oooh..." She moved her belly spasmodically when her orgasm came, very aware now that she was screaming. Lorna rose, supporting his cock with his hands as he steered right into the direction of her cramping sheath. When he pushed his hard shaft into her, he bent to close his mouth over hers. "Sh, my beauty," he urged her, "you’ll bring the house down!" He moved slowly inside her, almost thoughtfully. "Ah, yes," he groaned, "suck it slowly, beauty, ah, yes, now, yes, yes!" He ejaculated inside her and she felt the force of it, his body shuddering and shaking intensely.

Her only answer to that was to have another raging orgasm. She was positively a harlot; she thought when the Hamilton’s carriage sped back towards London. Even if she had mated with her own husband, she imagined herself the worst wanton woman. She had enjoyed the act immensely. Enjoyed! It had had nothing to do with him being her husband. She realized he could have been anyone. She shook her head. Now what? As soon as he had retracted from her, she had jumped from the dresser, and ran to the door, unlocking it with all the speed she could muster. She had run down the stairs, grasping her wrinkled skirts so that she would not fall, and had shouted at the footmen in the hallway to bring her carriage around. Morrison’s valets had been well trained. They did not move a muscle as she stood impatiently on the red carpet in front of the house. Her carriage had appeared in no time in front of the steps, together with her cape. She had repressed a wry smile. They must be used to disheveled Cinderellas flying out of the house while the festivities were still going on. * *

Chapter 19: LORD JOHN'S SEARCH * Lord John Lorna's long legs took the steps on the stairs to the balcony two at a time. "I knew you would be here!" he groused angrily, "I have not seen you anywhere at your normal haunts lately!" "Ah," Snow said lazily, "come and sit in my office." He pointed nonchalantly at the chairs and coffee table on the balcony overlooking the ballroom. John grunted and folded a leg under the tiny table. "I have not seen you since Morrison’s party..." Snow cocked an eyebrow. "If you would deign to show your face at a few of the formal Ton parties, you might easily have caught me there. If you were so anxious to see me, that is." "I’m here now, aren’t I?" John grunted, plainly in a bad mood. Snow suppressed a smile. Some very urgent business must have brought the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre to a social occasion such as a ball at the Surreys’ residence. Snow knew that under normal circumstances Lorna would not have wanted to be found dead at a gathering like this. "Where is she?" John asked tersely. "Where is whom?" Snow inquired with lifted brows. John clamped his jaws together. Snow’s lips lifted in a grin. Here was one man in distress! "That girl, Eleanor, or whomever."

"Ah!" Snow nodded, "The lady I brought to the Morrison party and whom disappeared like a thief in the night?" John only looked haughtily at him. They had both searched for the girl after she'd left that powder room in such haste. John had only explained to Snow that the girl had ran from him. He had not given any particulars about their very private encounter in the ladies’ powder room. Knowing the handsome promiscuous Marques, Snow could easily guess what had happened. Snow shrugged profusely. "I have not seen her since that party. I haven’t heard from her in weeks." He knew he should sound apologetic, but he didn't. John drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. "I’m sure you know where to find her," he said in an almost accusing tone, "you arrived with her at Morrison’s house!" Snow pursed his lips. He knew a business deal when it was coming. "She’s a married woman," he admitted truthfully, "it's hard to get through to her. Furthermore, I’m not so certain she wants to see you again, what with her disappearing and all..." John reddened. "Fifty if you can persuade her to see me again," he proposed stiffly.

Snow lifted his brows in surprise. Fifty guineas! John of Lorna must really have the hots for his own wife! He grinned. John knew him so well! Snow would never move a muscle for less. There were still his father’s creditors to pay off. The Marques of Lorna was aware of that. He had been in a similar state before he inherited from his father and managed to pay off all his debts, never to incur them again. He still visited brothels, but he never again put his hands on a deck of cards to gamble for high stakes. People were whispering he was on the road to becoming a reformed rake. Snow doubted that; everybody knew about the Marques’ somewhat unusual sexual appetites and taste for highly spirited drink. "One hundred and no guarantees! I’ll round her up, but you have to use all your special charms for whatever you want her for!" He picked up his brandy snifter. "Why?" he asked John. One hundred guineas was a bloody fortune! John just stared at him. He was not going to tell this man that he could not get himself going for another woman since he had been with that Eleanor. Oh, he was still capable of fucking, but he could only bring it to a good, but not entirely satisfying end when he thought of the chit from the Morrison Event. She had bewitched him! She had been so good at it! Most women always pretended, apart from Ariel Blackwood maybe, but this Eleanor had enjoyed it, enjoyed him.

Christ, he even rose to the occasion just thinking of her! He felt his groin stiffen, even now in this hot ballroom, talking to his friend of many years. "Oh, well," Snow muttered, "I’ll warn you when I can get her to meet you..." He suddenly swore and dropped his glass on John’s boots. Lorna jumped out of his chair when the crystal scattered into a thousand pieces on the marble floor. "Idiot, watch what you’re doing!" the Marques bellowed. Snow started to apologize profusely, in the meantime looking fleetingly over the balcony’s railing. What a time to enter the ballroom Lady Lorna, he thought. She’d cost him one hundred pounds if John saw her. Chances were small of course, now that her hair was all done up and she was not wearing a mask, but he could not take any risks. He watched Lizzie disappear into a crowd of people and then casually said; "You here to see your wife, John? I noticed her entering the ballroom." "Oh, for God’s sakes!" Lorna swore, "I’m out of here. You just take care of that little matter!" He thundered down the back stairs, leaving Snow bemused in the middle of footmen who were already efficiently cleaning away the debris of the broken glass. "Lord Andover!" Susan exclaimed when Tony had fought himself a path through the throng of people

surrounding Lady Hamilton-Downs and her intriguing companion. Tony bowed over Susan’s hand. "Ah, Susan," he ground out, "you’re getting prettier every time I see you." Susan grinned at him. He knew she was already months into her pregnancy, but that obviously did not bother him in the least. She thought that some men liked women to be pregnant with their husband's spawn. It just meant that dalliances would be entirely without consequences for ardent lovers. Anthony Andover, Marques Andover, was one for such dalliances, his marriage with the beautiful Pamela Broadhurst, daughter of the Earl of Allington, notwithstanding. Tony now peered at Lizzie, who was standing next to Susan. She looked ethereal in her white ball gown. By Jove, but the girl was one of the most beautiful girls in London! John of Lorna must be entirely out of his mind not to be willing to take her ‘back’ into his bed and acknowledge her as his wife. "Will you introduce me to your charming companion?" he asked, "I daresay I have never had the pleasure." "Of course, my lord," Susan replied in like courteous manner, her eyes sliding hungrily over Tony’s tall form. She licked her lips, knowing that she had to play the courteous game well. After a most proper introduction to John’s rejected wife Tony swept Susan away for a set of waltzes. Tongues started wagging behind fluttering fans when he

swirled Susan around the dance floor. Tony merely smiled in amusement. The whole Ton was watching Susan with the fervor of the mob. Hamilton-Downs was not interested in her after he had gotten her pregnant for the second time and it was expected that she would take a lover, after she had the babe, provided it was another son of course, or maybe even before she had it. She would have to find a lover who did not mind the slight movements of a baby in her womb while they were in the throes of passion. Many of the Ton ladies indulged in a discrete affair under such circumstances and Tony guessed that Hamilton-Downs would not care less, as long as the babe his wife carried was his. He dug his fingers deeper into her waist. Susan was a pretty lady and nobody knew that he found her character very attractive; she was fun to be with, sporty, charming and intelligent. He sighed. The signs were there, he was getting tired of easy lays and whores. God forgive him, but he was looking for a soul-mate. Well, a mate nicer than his shrew of a wife and more honest than the princess of the blood whom he had pursued relentlessly, until he was cheated by her; first by the fact that she had taken the palace’s doctor’s son as a lover, and later by the man with the scythe, when he’d taken her away in his knobbly, unrelenting arms. He looked deeply into Susan’s eyes when he twirled her around. Soon, he thought, I hope it will be very soon! -

"Is this what you want?" he asked her darkly, his breath coming out in excited rasps. "Is this what turns you on?" He had slapped her buttocks hard while he was riding her with feverish passion. She had screamed and clasped his arousal with her sheath as her spasms ran over her lithe body. She swallowed and ran her tongue over her puffed lips, which were just visible from under the silk black mask. "Do it, lover, do it again, oh, come on!" He accelerated the speed, ramming his engorged shaft into her hot cleft. "You’re insatiable, aren’t you?" he muttered, "I’ll have you from the back, sweet thing, get a fair sight of that juicy butt of yours... oh, God!" She had moved her body and he had not been able to avoid emptying himself suddenly inside her, again. He had been standing at the foot of the bed, for hours it seemed, and had been pumping into her, not letting go after the first time he ejaculated, as he remained hard and ready. She was incredible, an absolute licentious man-eater! She’d had no inhibitions, she’d just taken him, wrangling his last seed out of him. He threw himself next to her on the bed that creaked in loud protest. Although it was obviously meant for two people to sleep in, it was a small bed and he hugged her to him, out of necessity. There was a pearl of sweat on her shoulder and he stuck out his tongue to suck it.

"You taste so good!" he said again, knowing he was repeating himself, although the first time he had said it he had not been exactly licking her shoulder. She breathed heavily. Her mask was sticking to her face with sweat. She swiped away his shirt, which was trailing over her naked breasts. He had not bothered to remove it when he had attacked her in crazed lust, the moment she had entered the simple bedroom. Her hair had been done up in a simple knot, but it was now lying over the pillow in disarray. She looked down at her dress and worried about the wrinkles. Two buttons of her bodice were gone. He had almost torn her bodice in impatience and her shift had been shredded, but that small underwear would not be visible when she returned home. She felt his boots scrape against her silk stockings and sighed. Her slippers had fallen off on the floor when he had lifted her skirt in his haste to enter her. Apart from the pants he had dropped to his ankles, they both were fully dressed, although her clothes were now wrinkled and torn. He nuzzled her neck again, opening his mouth to swipe his tongue over the tender flesh, when he suddenly bit her, very hard. She let out a scream and struggled to get away from his bite. When he hung on, she swiped out her hand and struck him hard on his jaw. He wrestled to get hold of her hand, screwed it behind her head and bit her neck

again, crunching down on her other arm to pin her to the bed. "For Christ’s sake, don’t mark me!" she gasped. John got up from the bed, grinning cruelly at her. "I’ll mark you alright," he said from under his breath. "I’ll mark you again if you don’t promise to see me tomorrow..." Lizzie's hand went to the injured place on her neck. Tomorrow? She had been invited to George Hamilton’s wedding. He had found himself the richest bride in the Kingdom: Iphigenia Beckford, daughter of a very notorious man. He had not cared about his father-in-law-to-be’s vile reputation at all: the Duke of Hamilton needed money badly and Iphegenia was going to supply him with a lot! She got up from the bed, her eyes spitting fire. "Stay away from me, brute," she hissed, "I never want to see you again!" She snatched her hair together and folded herself in the big hood and mantle that had hung at the peg near the door. Thank God she had thought to bring her new maid into the house on the other side of the yard, which was a modiste’s shop. He got up from the bed in a flash, throwing her against the sill of the door, immuring her with his strong body. She hit her head against the white plastered wall, struggling to get out of his grasp.

"You like this, don’t you, my little dove," he murmured, crushing his mouth on hers in a passionate embrace. To her amazement, she felt the push of his thick arousal against her skirts. “No, no,” she whispered, wrestling to get free of him. "I have to go..." He caught his mouth to her lips again, tugging at her skirt. "I’ll only take a few moments," he groaned, ready to drive himself into her, "one for the road..." She gasped and felt her body melt against his. Wanton, wanton, wanton, but she could not help it. Christ, he was so damn good at it! God, she needed it so badly... After all those years of his neglect, she needed it so badly! He watched her go through the small door at the opposite side of the yard. He smiled cruelly. The lady looked a mess with her hair almost falling down her head. He wondered how she could manage to get back into her house in such disarray, what with her husband and servants probably waiting for her to come in for dinner. She must be of extremely good background, he mused. She spoke the posh sort of nasal English that was quite normal in the highest circles of the Ton. Her clothes were expensive and clean, and for that matter so was she.

He breathed slowly in and out. He was crazy with lust for her. He did not understand why. He’d had countless women in his life, although, to be truthful, never one of the posh sort that she was. He’d preferred women of the profession, with an exception for Ariel Blackwood. But Ariel was a selfish calculating bitch and half-sister of a nobody, who claimed to be a nephew to Cyril Fairfax, the Earl of Rotherham. No, this Eleanor was an entirely new duck in his pond and to his dismay he felt himself stirring again, just thinking of her. Sweet Jesus, it had been thus since he met her and had grabbed her in that powder room at Morrison’s Den. What the hell was wrong with him? He shook his head, in the meantime rearranging his clothes. He cursed softly. The place did not bolster a mirror of course and with the light fast fading outside the room, it was now shrouded in dusk. He peered through the small window at the house on the other side of the yard and took a quick decision. He was sure the maid at the modiste’s shop almost peed in her pants with terror when he grabbed her by the shoulders. He told her harshly to tell him who the woman was that had just entered through the back door. The door had not been shut and he had caught the first girl that had come into the kitchen. She looked at

him with big terrified eyes and he felt her shake with fear. "M’ lord, if you please!" an urgent voice exclaimed behind him and he let go of the terror-stricken girl to turn around. She was quite voluptuous and wore too much makeup: a whore he’d bet, dressed up as a modiste. Well, she would know the value of a guinea, if anything. He flipped the gold coin in front of her nose. Gads, she was smelly! "The lady..." he ground out, "the lady who just entered through the back door... Who is she?" She signaled at the poor maid behind her to leave the kitchen. She put her hands on her hips and jingled her big, hardly covered breasts in front of him. "Five of those, hon," she said, nodding at the guinea. "The lady is a good customer and as soon as she knows I told on her she won’t be back!" He just took out four more guineas. "Now then!" he growled, uncaring about the money, "Who is she?" The woman took one of the coins and bit on it, grinning at him with teeth that were black and brown with rot. "That would have been a right fine lady, m’ lord," she said tartly. "She’s the Duke of Rothford’s in-law, that’s what I know." He frowned. "Damnation, hag, don’t lie to me! Rothford does not have a sister-in-law!"

She lunged at his fist with the rest of the coins. "I’m telling you the truth," she hollered. "I know for sure she’s the Lady Montgomery of Lorna and Kintyre, you hear! My sister does the servants’ dresses for the Rothford household! Well, some of them!" He threw the coins on the floor in disgust when her scent wafted his way -- cheap perfume and grossly unwashed body, -- and fled through the backdoor onto the dirty yard. "Can’t be," he muttered. "Can’t be!" He opened the door to the small love nest again, clenching his teeth. There was only one sister-in-law to Rothford, his brother. He sat down on the bed that still smelled of their lovemaking and of her, and hid his head in his hands. He could not have been horny for weeks on end for his own wife! It was damnably impossible! She had always worn the black silk mask when she went to the rendezvous behind the modiste’s house. At first, she had not wanted to, when Snow wrote her about John's request. After meeting Snow again at the Grillon, this time without his mask, she had gasped with surprise when she saw his face because she had recognized him as a very important Peer of the Realm, her hunger had become evident again; her hunger for a man’s body.

Snow had treated her with nonchalant charm and an undercurrent of desire. In the end, however, he had handed her into a hansom without even touching her. At that moment she found out that she had gone almost mad with wanting, desire coursing through her body. After an almost sleepless night, she had agreed to see the Marques again. Snow had been quick to arrange the modiste’s backdoor; she would go in for ‘fittings,’ and hurry through the back door to the small house on the other side of the yard, where John would be waiting for her. They would mate like rutting beasts, mostly not even bothering to take their clothes off. John had quickly discovered that she would go over the edge faster if he hit her on the buttocks, while ramming deep inside her. Of late he had started to bite her, as he had bitten her on that cursed afternoon after their wedding. Her gloved hand went to her neck. Damn the man. She’d had to ask Portia, how a maid ever got a name like that she didn't know, to sew a Queen Elizabeth-like collar on her festive purple dress and a cover of lace to hide her neckline. His bites would still hurt, especially when the raspy lace touched the bruised spots on her skin, but there was nothing else for it. Damn him! Iphigenia entered the church dressed in a expensive cream coloured gown. She did not wear a hat, but a

diamond duchess’ tiara that caught the light of the candles on the altar. Lizzie sighed. The girl looked so full of expectation at her soon-to-be husband. The Duke of Hamilton wore his very official ducal attire. Lizzie noticed he hardly glanced at his bride during the ceremony. He only kissed her on the forehead when the official part was over. She would like to bet however that Iffy’s new husband would not take her against the wall of her bedroom, though, refusing to leave his seed inside her and spurting it all over her dress and shoe, then leaving her for more than six years. He might marry Iffy for her money, but he sure as hell wanted an heir as well! When the ceremony, that had been blessedly short, was finished, they all hurried to their carriages. Lizzie reflected that church ceremonies in the North and in Scotland were always so much more festive. The aristocracy in London could not care less about the formal part of a wedding, especially not about a church wedding, it seemed. They would all flock to the wedding breakfast instead, because eating was so much more fun than a sober wedding celebration in a cold church. She shivered when she thought of the chance that she might see John there.

Anthony Andover, the Marques Andover, lifted a brow inquiringly at her, handing her into her carriage. She shook her head at him. "Someone walked over my grave," she muttered and smiled in relief when he nodded at her with dancing eyes. She stared in shock when she saw the Rothfords’ carriage waiting in front of Hamilton’s large residence. Oh, she’d known the royal Dukes had not been invited as Hamilton wanted the company to be small. It was his second wedding and nothing to brag about, but the Rothfords had obviously received an invitation and accepted. She almost swooned when she saw John's dark head turned towards the carriage of the Rothfords. She gasped and clasped Tony’s hand forcefully, before lowering herself to the pavement. Tony pulled a face, rubbing his hand almost imperceptibly and turned to look right into the face of the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre. "Ah, Lorna," he said jovially, "here to claim your wife?" He grinned at John's mulish expression, but his changed to amazement when John bowed and held out his arm to Lizzie. "I most certainly am, Andover," John replied stiffly. "Ma'am?" She curtsied, keeping her head low to hide her face, then took his arm with trembling fingers. "Such an honor, husband!" she could not help whispering sardonically.

"The honor is entirely mine, ma'am!" he replied with clenched jaws. They walked the stairs rigidly, not seeming to notice the stares of the other guests. Lizzie caught Susan Hamilton-Downs’ look, worried and questioning at the same time. As they were a married couple, she did not have to endure him next to her at the wedding breakfast, but as he was with the highest ranked like her, he sat fairly close to her at the opposite side of the table. She toyed with her food, not daring to glance in his direction. Susan was seated at his right, looking rather put out with the placing. Lizzie hardly heard him talk and was certain that he was staring at her all the time; she noticed that his eyes were always riveted on her when she looked up to answer Tony Andover’s light, but slightly worried banter. When the endless breakfast was finished, she rose quickly, hurrying to the newlyweds to congratulate them once more, before taking her hasty leave, which had the character of a cowardly retreat. As the Rothfords seemed to stay longer, Tony insisted that the Hamilton’s carriage would take her to the Rothfords’ Residence and then return. She nodded gratefully, stepping inside the carriage with a thankful wave. The door at the other side of the carriage opened and she uttered a shriek as her husband took a place opposite her. He stared at her with a black scowl on his face.

She tried to calm her trembling hands, putting them inside her shawl. She had forgotten to put on her hat again in her haste to leave the wedding party and felt naked to his eyes. She gawked at him, her eyes wide with fear, when his hands struck out to her neckline, fast as attacking snakes. He tore her dress apart in one movement, uncovering the place where he had marked her with his bites, one day ago. His mouth lifted in a cruel smile and she cowered back against the wall of the carriage. His fists grabbed the sides of her torn dress, ripping it further apart, uncovering her lacy corset and parts of her silk shift. "Your game is at an end, sweetheart," he rasped, grabbing the front of her skirts, tearing the silk fabric of her shift as if it were paper. "We'll get you back home and I'll fuck you until you are with child!" "Please don’t!" she cried out, "Please, don’t hurt me!" His warm breath wafted over her breasts, which were popping out of the corset’s very low décolletage. "You like a bit of pain," he mumbled hoarsely against her breastbone, "remember?" She had not noticed him opening his trousers, but her eyes widened in shock when he pushed his hard member through the slit of her pantalets. His hand went to her mouth when she opened it to scream.

"Don’t, my dove," he panted, "you’ve been asking for this all afternoon, so I’ll give it to you. Hard!" That was the moment she swooned. She came to when somebody held a vial of smelling salts under her nose. She coughed when the stark scent reached her throat. Her arms were spread in an unnatural position and when she tried to move them, she felt the tug of silken bonds. Lizzie gasped in disbelief when she noticed she was bound to a huge bed. She was still wearing her silk dress although it was completely torn from her neckline to the frilled hem. When she moved her legs, she found out that they were tied to the bedposts as well, although they were given more slack than her arms. She cowered when the tall silhouette of a man showed against the faint light of the candles on the windowsill. "Please, John?" she whispered. He sat down on the bed next to her, his mouth in a sardonic smile. "So the wife came to me at last," he grated in a hard voice. She shook her head. "I did not mean to..." She fell silent. What had she not meant to do? He bowed over her to look into her face.

"What I mean to do, my dove, is to fuck you until I get so bored with you that I can get you out of my system. And then I’ll send you back to Stirling, or..." He stopped to think and then he smiled nastily. "I’ve got a property somewhere on the Hebrides, one of the foremost islands. I think it would please me to send you there..." She suddenly started to cry. "What have I ever done to you, John?" she sobbed, tugging at her bonds in a futile way to wipe away her tears. His expression changed for a split second into something unreadable. "You made me marry you," he replied hoarsely, but he knew he meant to say: "You made me want you like I wanted no other woman on this earth. Damn you!" * * *

Chapter 20: THE NEED FOR AN HEIR * The Duke of Rothford lit a cigar. He squeezed one eye shut against the smoke, in the meantime peering at John who was standing in front of a window looking out at the big formal garden. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, not an hour for social calls, so John had known that his brother wished to see him about some grave matters. He could easily guess what it would be about. "It’s all over London!" the Duke said in a menacing tone. John swung around quickly with all the agility that made him such an excellent horseman, hunter and sportsman. "Since when does Rothford care about what’s whispered in the Ton?" he demanded, refusing to hide the anger in his voice. "I was on horseback so there cannot be anything even slightly scandalous about me accompanying my wife home in Hamilton’s carriage." Rothford slammed his cigar on a wide ashtray after taking another impatient puff. John watched him with a raised eyebrow. "That’s no way to smoke an expensive Virginian," he mocked. Rothford pounded his hand on the table. He was expensively dressed with none of the sobriety his younger brother favored.

"Dammit, John, you could have been a little bit more discreet about the whole matter! What would have been wrong with picking her up at the Hamilton’s residence a few months ago? She’s your bloody wife! Why are you making such a spectacle of yourself?" John leaned on the desk behind which his brother had found himself a secure seat. "Because I did not want her with me at the time, that’s why!" he hollered, losing what little patience he had mustered for this conversation. Randolph Rothford looked genuinely puzzled. "I know you never wanted her and the story goes rampant that you never once visited her when you were in Edinburgh or Stirling..." He shook his head, waving the blond-grey curls that surrounded the bald spot on his pate. "For God’s sakes! Why, John?" John fell into an embroidered gold gilded chair. "Does it matter now? She’s at Half Moon Street right now." Rothford sighed, picking up the cigar again. "Do you bed her?" he asked quietly. John looked up startled at his brother. "Of all the interfering, meddling..." Rothford gestured impatiently, in the meantime looking for matches. His hand went to the bell on his desk while he muttered a curse. The butler must have been standing outside the door of Rothford’s office as he hurried in, while the bell still tinkled.

"Light the damn cigar, Potts, and bring some more coffee!" His eyes went back to John, who had put the back of his boot on his other knee. "You’re going to hurt something very vital with those spurs, John!" he remarked absently. “Did you have breakfast?" John only nodded. He had been up since six o’clock. He had fallen asleep in his wife’s bed last night and upon waking had scrambled out as quickly as he possibly could. He might be bedding her, but he was not going to indulge in any of those other husbandly situations like waking up with her or have breakfast with her. Rothford glanced at the door after Potts had disappeared again. "Caroline is not going to conceive anymore." John looked up in muted surprise. It was true his brother was near his forties, but there existed a little lady on this earth who bore his brother’s likeness and even his name, even though she was considered to be quite illegitimate. The Duke leaned back in his chair. "She’s never going to conceive, anymore." he repeated. John’s left eyebrow shot up. "She bloody well had ten children with Alvesley! Why wouldn't she be able to have one with you?" Rothford put his cigar back on the ashtray. This time he avoided grinding the tip.

“It helps if you fuck your wife now and then instead of the likes of Harry Wilson!" John suggested sarcastically. Rothford shook his head again. "There were times that I went to her bed weeks on end, but it just never happened. She’s definitely past her childbearing years." He regarded his younger brother somberly. "It’s your turn now, John. We cannot both die without issue. Chances are that Lindley will claim the Dukedom for all that we pestered him with the fact that our father was singularly his as well." John flashed a smile. "Possibly. Everybody knows old Lindley was already rotting away at the time of Richard’s conception." The Duke heaved a sigh. "Be that as it may, you’ll have to start bedding Lizzie, John! You’ve had time enough to play around. I personally don’t care a whit about your private lives, as long as you put some of the Montgomery seed inside of her." A footman knocked, opened the door and allowed another footman inside, who carried a huge tray with a large coffeepot and all sorts of scones. Potts closed the ranks. He immediately started to dole out coffee to the two noblemen. "Would you gentlemen mind very much if I joined you for coffee?" She was standing in the opening of the door, smiling sweetly.

Both men rose to their feet. "Why, of course, your Grace!" Rothford nodded at his wife. John bowed without a word and she curtsied quietly. "Lord Lorna..." Caroline murmured. Potts hastened to hold a chair for his ducal mistress. "You may all leave us," the Duke ordered the butler and footmen, "I will trust her Grace with the pouring of the coffee, if need be." Caroline nodded at her husband and then turned to John. "I’ve heard the most interesting news regarding the reconciliation of yourself and your wife," she remarked airily. John snorted with disgust. "The Marchioness and I share the same roof again," he allowed mockingly. Caroline Valliant, daughter of the Earl of Guernsey, had always been a stickler for the Rules, especially after her mother had made a fool of herself in front of the whole court regarding her behavior towards the Prince Regent, a few years ago. If the Ton had a long memory, hers was even longer. She hated it when John mocked her. He was certain she had been irritated by the scandal he had caused at the wedding of the Hamiltons by abducting his wife to his own house. Well, she could go to hell and back for all that mattered! He had never liked his sister-in-law; she was a shrew and he still did not understand why his brother

had ever bestowed the honor upon her to become the Duchess of Rothford. She was an old used-up bitch who divorced her husband, the Marques of Alvesley, because he had absconded with some fancy piece to India or something like that. And, hurray, the Scottish courts had been in favor of her claim for divorce, because Randolph wanted her as his mate and the Scottish court preferred to do his bidding. She had seen a chance to catch a Duke when her husband had, in poor taste, eloped with a lightskirt. Caroline had, since her marriage to Randolph, for some reason, always been slightly disdainful of John, probably because she sensed his disrespect for her. So now her conceiving years were truly over. That served the old bat right! No jumps to power from her in that respect! She could not do her duty for the duchy of Rothford and all was now in John’s hands, or actually to the appendage of his body he also used to pee with, if it came to the saving of the line. John was certain she did not like that situation one bit. Caroline nibbled on a chocolate puff, careful not to drop the cream on her dress. John watched her closely. She was probably thirteen years older than his own wife, and God, was she unattractive! Her love for sweets had cost her some front teeth and she was as thin as a needle, something he abhorred. Thinness was a sign of disregard in his book.

His thoughts drifted back to Lizzie, who was doubtless still sleeping their night together off in her spacious bed. He heaved a longing sigh. At least she had surrendered to a mood of compliance after the first night he had brought her back to his house. He had at last realized that she had been less reluctant than scared of him. It troubled him to admit that he had been almost ferocious that night. He had not cared where he had marked her until he had visited her the next afternoon. Although he had cleared away the silk bonds torn from his own stocks, the bedroom still bore the signs of violence and subsequent submission. He was worried about his carelessness to mark her where it showed; her face had been puffed at the side where he had dealt her a blow and her neck had been covered with bite marks. Her lips had shown scars and he wondered if he had been responsible for them as well, or that she had bitten her own lips until they bled. Thank God she had been asleep and he had left the room quietly. That same morning he sent a coach to pick up her luggage and her maid at the Hamilton’s residence. He had felt something like shame for his behavior towards her, but he knew now that he had not been able to help himself. He had gone back to her room that same night and had bedded her without saying a word, clamping down

his need for ferociousness and violence towards her, this time. He considered that he might never have dared to go back to her bed again, if he had not noticed that he had actually satisfied her, even when she had been bound to her bed. Christ, if that had not been his undoing, he did not know what was! He groaned inwardly. Like most men, he preferred to do the act fast and hard, as it was the best way to reach quick gratification. Most women of the Quality were not supposed to enjoy their husband’s couplings but the fact his otherwise unwilling wife did had turned a handle in his mind. He had been wild for her and he had done his worst to her. He was ashamed to admit that she had bravely undergone it all. He knew of a few men within his circles who liked to hurt their sexual partners, but as far as his understanding went most refrained from doing it to their own wives. He started to feel something devastatingly like shame again, but concentrated on his sister-in-law, the Hag, so that his sudden feelings of remorse could retreat to the back of his head. "I would like to hold a ball at the start of the New Season," she said. "Lady Lorna has to be presented to the Queen and we would favor it by sponsoring a ball." Her speech was nasal and dripping with arrogance. John looked questioningly at his brother, who only shrugged.

"In the meantime," the Duchess continued, "we would like to invite you both for an informal dinner tomorrow night." John sat up in alarm. He did not know much about female cosmetics but he was certain nothing could sufficiently cover his bite marks on his wife’s white shoulders and neck or the puffiness of her face where he'd hit her. Tomorrow was just too damn soon! He narrowed his eyes. "How intimate?" he asked with a growl. Caroline glanced coolly at him. "Thirty," she answered, "all of London’s finest; my parents, the Whartons of Wharton, the Leslies, the..." "Forget about tomorrow night, madam," John grumbled with hostility in his voice, "Lady Lorna caught a bad cold and is confined to her bed. Thank you for an entertaining morning, Rothford!" He got up from his chair, bowed at the two Graces and left them to their telling silence. John cursed and tied his stock again. Those bloody foolish nuisances! He looked in the mirror and gave up. He would have to go to his own room and call his valet. He glanced at Lizzie who was lying stark naked on her belly on her large bed. She had not bothered to wrap a sheet around her. John's mouth tugged into a sardonic smile. He hoped for her sake that she would not have to go to some occasion or she would have to stand up all evening. In a

bout of a sudden frenzy he had hit her buttocks so hard that they were still dark red. He looked at his hands, wondering what had gotten into him to actually spank his wife. He had never hit his mistresses or the whores he used to visit, although he had once in a while indulged in the specialized game that included inflicting pain on a woman, always one of that specific profession. They had always been reed thin and in a moment of revelation he had understood he was actually punishing his bloody, long dead mother! Why he was now ‘punishing’ his wife was beyond him. This ferocious streak in him baffled him and he had begun to wonder if he was becoming a case for Bedlam. He'd have to hurry. Randolph expected to see him about the Stirling situation. Damn nuisance, but now that Caroline would never give Rothford any heirs, Randolph had started to heap the affairs of the dukedom onto him. He was the official heir to the dukedom but Randolph had made it a special point to cram him with as much work for Rothford as possible, now any hope of a son for Randolph had gone up into thin air. “I'll be going to the Rothfords’," he gruffly announced, glancing again at her red buttocks. Lizzie did not bother to answer and in a way, he was glad. He had never wanted her to be informed about his day's businesses, or his nightly ones for that matter. He did not want any husband and wife exercises between them, other than what happened in the privacy of her bedchamber.

Inevitably, it had squirmed its way into both their lives; an occasional accidental breakfast together, a dinner invitation they both could not avoid, even some major events, which were impossible to refuse. To convince himself that nothing had really changed, he had resumed to frequenting his old haunts and after seeing Ariel Blackwood again at another party at Morrison’s Den, he had taken her to one of those alcoves to bed her. It had not been a great success. He clamped his teeth together thinking of the humiliation he had almost suffered in Ariel's arms. Well, so much for being able to fuck other women other than his wife! He did not care to understand what was happening to him and had decided just to sit it out. He would tire of his wife someday. He had to! Lizzie reached toward her bare back. Damn, John Montgomery to hell! He'd really done it this time. She bared her teeth in disgust. She had not even noticed how hard he had hit her until she had sat back on her bed. She sighed. There was no help for this. She'd have to ask Portia to bring in the soothing salve she used for her bruises. She looked down her breasts. Thank god he had not marked her where it would be visible.

She had acquired a masking cream that was of the same hue as her skin, but it tended to turn dry and itchy when she used it. Her eyes went to the small golden clock next to the bedside table. John came into her room at all hours, whenever the fancy took him. Those unscheduled trysts had caused them to turn up too late too often for appointments and invitations which had been cautiously put into their diaries by their secretaries. She had two hours left before Caro Rothford expected her for tea. She reached out for the bell on the table to summon Portia. She pulled a face. She was not sure if she wanted to maintain Portia any longer. She had the impression the girl gossiped about her and John and maybe she took bribes from rags that liked to feature scandals. There had been a scandalous article in one of those perfidious papers a few days ago, a rag that was devoured by all the gossips in the Ton. The rag had gone on about a 'certain Lord and Lady M. Mar. L and K. who had been reconciled recently and now were having problems to come on time to the different Gatherings in the Highest Circles, because the Mar. could not keep his hands and visibly his teeth off her.’ She had given the paper to John's secretary with a stony expression on her face and had not heard about it since. She put on her dressing gown and turned to watch her maid enter. She squeezed her eyes into slits. Portia was a

stupid girl if she thought she could tell on her employers and get away with it. She sat in the carriage with a feeling of triumph. She did not know it was in her; that bitchy self-contained way with which she could rule her staff with the lifting of one eyebrow, something her sister-in-law did particularly well. Portia had cowered and cried when Lizzie had confronted her with the rumors about her and John and she had been satisfied to throw the traitorous bitch into the streets without a notice or a reference. God, she wished Mattie had been able to come to London, but Mattie took care of Lizzie's twins and her own son in Edinburgh. Mattie had been everything for Lizzie, for years, and she missed her sorely, especially after the problems with Portia. She suddenly sobered. Had she really changed so much of late? Could she really imitate Caro Rothford's 'hag-like arrogance' so well that she was able to terrorize other people and discard them as if they were an overused rag or stale bread? She closed her eyes. She would not and could not look at the way she was leading her life now; it was such a far cry from all her dreams and romantic ideals she had nurtured as a sixteen-year-old bride. She gnashed her teeth; whose fault had that been in the first place? John looked puzzled at his brother.

The Duke lounged bemused in a high backed chair, leisurely smoking one of his eternal cigars. John sat quietly down in a chair, stretching his long legs. "I don't see the problem." "You wouldn't?" "Oh now, Randolph, come off it. I cannot see why a major in the army cannot become the chief of Clan MacGregor at Stirling, especially when he does it for his son who will be twenty-one in about ten years’ time. It's been done scores of times before, and you know it!" "Hm," his brother began, "so you don't recognize the man?" A quizzical look appeared on John's dark handsome face. "Of course I know about him. He leads the Royal Scottish Highlanders’ second battalion under Nairn, the famous Black Watch, and 42nd Foot, if my memory serves me right." "That is all you remember about him?" John shrugged. He had met Lochiel Cameron when he was five years old, when he rode his favorite pony Leslie in the company of his father, the duke. John had been just four years old. Lochiel had been very protective of his mother, who had been by all accounts his father’s lover in Scotland. His own shrewish mother had been a lady at the Queen’s court at the time, and had never wanted to journey up North

again with her husband, as in her opinion, the Scots were not more than savages. "What else is there to know?" He was damned if he was going to remember. They were talking about their half-brother. "He lived in Edinburgh from 1804 till 1809." "Yes?" "So did your wife." John sat up, bile flowing into his mouth. "What are you trying to tell me?" "They were noticed to visit the same address for about five years, John; Baker Street in Edinburgh." John fell back against the seat of his chair. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. "That's what I have against him, John. Apart from the other fact that he is the 'Man with Father's Klingenthal.' " "I don’t believe you." "I sent up Mordecai to verify it. Your wife once had a personal maid…” Randolph stroked his hand over his chin. Damnation, yes, the maid. The one he had gone at for the bigger part of a week, when his father and John had left the residence, after John’s disastrous wedding. "Her one-time maid married a Regimental Sergeant. They had a son after he died in Ireland. Mattie Burns. Burns owned the house, so Mattie went to live there after she came back from Ireland. Lochiel Cameron had fathered a twin on a Captain’s widow in the meantime, and Mattie Burns took care of them. The widow was

murdered or some such. Lizzie always visited Mattie, but she was known to be at the house with Lochiel Cameron when Mattie wasn’t there.” John buried his face in a hand. Blasted woman! So that was what she had been up to in the North! He squeezed his eyes shut to try to clamp down a feeling of... What was it? His stomach acted as if it wanted to rise. He took a deep breath. No! She was nothing to him, nothing! He'd be damned if he would show his brother he cared. He swallowed. "Well," he said weakly, "spirited girl, our Lizzie. Do you think she knew he is our brother?" The room went silent again. They both knew the question had been a rhetorical one. All people with intimate knowledge of Lochiel Cameron’s descent were long dead. John rose to stride to the buffet and poured himself a brandy. "Does it matter if he fucked my wife?" "Only when we are talking about the sister-in-law of the Duke of Rothford," the Randolph said dryly. John took a deep bracing gulp of his brandy. "So that's where her nice bed manners come from, then!" he mumbled. "My sweet Lizzie was educated by a big, strapping Highlander." He suddenly chuckled.

"This fine Scot might have saved the heritage of Rothford; do you know that, brother? If she had not been such a good fuck I would never have wanted to take her back!" Randolph stared at his brother. "So the stories are true then; a certain Lord and Lady L. and K.?" "Don't tell me you read that sort of filth!" "My wife does." Randolph scowled. "You've always been a lucky bastard, John. She's not only beautiful but obviously a feast for that big prick of yours as well! Oh fine, let’s give Cameron his chieftainship then!" John looked mulishly at his brother. "No!" he growled darkly, "No one fucks my wife and gets a reward for it! Let him go to hell, for all I care!" She was standing next to her bed when he entered her room. When he slammed the door, she looked up with shock and amazement. Nobody ever slammed doors in their household. He was dressed in his formal attire and loomed over her, dark and brooding. "So my little wife fucks Highlanders..." he said quietly, but the menace in his voice was darkly present. She gasped and half-turned to face him with big shock-stricken eyes. John registered that he had hoped that she would deny his accusations. When she didn’t, his fury rose to an even bigger height.

Her hands went to her throat. He offhandedly noticed her pale beauty, the rosy lips and midnight-blue eyes. He saw the vein that throbbed under her thumb at the spot where he used to mark her, the gentle swelling of her outrageously sensual breasts, which could drive him to that unhealthy madness. Damn her, damn her, the betraying witch, the bloody whore! He stepped forward and grabbed her by a red silk clad shoulder. She shrieked when the fabric tore. Something happened to his eyes. It was as if a blackred curtain closed on them and he grabbed her long neck with both hands and started to squeeze. She made a choking sound, panic rising in her eyes and she tore at his hands, clawing to wrestle them away. There was only emotion. There were no thoughts, there was only that soaring pain in his heart and brain that made him squeeze her harder, harder. She became limp in his arms, her eyes popping and turning in an unusual angle, her hands falling down her body, where they touched her table de toilette. Scissors! There were scissors on her small table! With great effort of will, fighting the darkness that threatened to surround her, she grasped the scissors and slammed them into his choking, numbing left hand. He swore ferociously and let her go at once. She tore away from him, scratching and clawing for the doorknob of her bedroom door. She raced into the hallway, oblivious of her torn dress. With no time to think she ducked for the stairs, instinctively trying to

find the safety of the big hallway, where the footmen would be on guard for arriving visitors. She registered with panic the growl emitting from her husband’s throat close behind her and jumped to the first step of the stair. Her soft slippers did not find a spot to diminish her speed and she suddenly felt the sensation of a world turning upside down, one in which she floated, floated until there was a crashing pain in the base of her belly and the shrieking, hollering hollow that was her breast. Then her world went entirely black. * * *

Chapter 21: AFTERMATH OF SALAMANCA * Salamanca August 1812 Hengist Agnew, Earl of Loghaire, former Colonel in General Leith's division, entered the big Spanish house cautiously. Although the battle at Salamanca had been won due to Viscount Wellington's patient stand, it was not at all certain that the Spanish were on the British side, now. The groaning and the smell told him he had arrived at the right place: one of the ‘hospitals’ of the British army that was situated on the outskirts of Salamanca. "My lord Loghaire?" The woman, who had seen him enter, quickened her pace in his direction. "Mrs. Williams!" Hengist exclaimed, "I thought you would have followed... ah... the army to Madrid by now?" The woman performed a quick curtsey and Hengist bowed at her. "The Major Lord Brondemeire asked me to take care of Major Cameron until someone came to pick him up. Are you that 'someone' my lord?" Hengist threw a concerned look around him as if he expected Lochiel to be waiting for him in the hallway of the house. "I came as soon as I heard of the Major's mishap," he confirmed morosely. "It took some time for the letter to

arrive at Lisbon, but here I am. How is he doing? Is he well enough to travel?" Cordelia Williams plucked at her apron. She was the wife of an elderly captain, Rory Williams. She had married Rory after he had lost his wife to a lingering illness and was looking for a new one, during his time at home after the British had been defeated in Spain under General Moore. Her parents had been sorry that she had decided to 'follow the drum' with Rory. She was their only child and they hated to see her leave Hull where Cordelia's father had recently purchased a shipyard. Her parents had understood her eager wish to see a bit more of the world and they were elated that she had landed one of the men of the prominent Williams' family. That family boasted a squire, some richness and quite a lot of standing in Hull. What they did not know was that Rory Williams was a reprobate and a cad, who did not seem to have the faintest notion of what it meant to be married and faithful. Cordelia had followed the drum since the British had restarted their war in Portugal to hold back the French troops and now, almost five years later she had become army surgeon Halden's best assistant. The house in Salamanca nursed the wounded that would never be able to fight anymore and who would all go home to England, Scotland or Wales to a very uncertain future. "He should be well enough to travel, my lord," she answered at last. "It's just that he has been blackened

with depression. Yesterday we had to restrain him from doing himself an injury. He just cannot accept what has happened to him." Hengist nodded and Cordelia saw a muscle tighten in his jaw. "Acceptance is the only way to recovery and being able to go back to a life," she said softly. "Losing one's eyesight is horrible for an active man like the Major." She fell silent. Everybody in the army had heard the rumors about the war-hero Major Lochiel Cameron; he was supposedly the illegitimate son of the deceased Duke of Rothford, he was supposed to be the lover of that same Duke's second son's wife, he was to be laird of the three biggest clans in Scotland... Now he was blind and helpless. Hengist stared at the woman who had become one of the famous nurses in Wellington's roaming army. She was not a beautiful woman, like his own wife Marguerite, but in Cordelia's case it was most definitely true that she possessed the thing that the French would call; 'je ne sais quoi’. Her hair was of a dark brown hue and probably long, although he could not tell exactly as it was done up in a tight bun under her improvised nurse's cap. Her face was a little too long to be pretty and her skin was definitely too dark to be ladylike. She was not a small woman either; her crown reached up to Hengist's nose and Hengist was a big and tall man of 6 foot 6 inches.

Like almost everybody else in the army, he knew that Cordelia's husband hardly ever sought her company in their tent at nights, as he preferred to play around with the blanket-girls, who sold their bodies for money, food, protection or whatever they needed most. Just like everybody else he wondered about Riordan Williams' good sense. "Follow me, please, my lord," Cordelia said briskly, "I'll take you to him and hope that you can talk to him. He's blind, but not dead, and contrary to everybody else here in this house, he still has the faculty over all his limbs. This way, please." "I like Madrid!" David exclaimed, "I could live here and not look back." Lord Christopher Andover, viscount Brondemeire, recently promoted to the rank of major in the King's army, raised a brow at him. "I remember distinctly you said exactly the contrary when we arrived here, Montague. What made you change your mind?" David reddened under the Major's criticism. "Maybe because he could cheat the Spanish from their money yesterday and is now soon to join one of their mistresses in her bed?" Major Lord Devon Broadhurst, third son of the Earl of Allington, poured himself some Spanish Rioja and in turn cocked a brow at young David Montague. "That's good reason enough!"

Kit laughed sourly. He'd had no such luck when they were playing piquet with the Spanish delegation's younger bucks. He searched his pockets for money. Gads, he'd have to find himself a cheap whore tonight if he did not want to be broke tomorrow. He looked up at the sudden racket at the door. "Lemme in, you fool!" a blond giant hollered at the elaborate footman at the door. The footman looked questioningly at the two majors. "You can let him in if he's sober!" Kit instructed the man and laughed when the giant pushed the footman out of the way. The poor man fell in a hapless heap on the floor. "Lieutenant Burroughs, that’s no way to treat his majesty's servants!" Devon mocked. The giant greeted him politely. "It's Captain Burroughs now, sir. The Peer brevetted me yesterday." All the men in the room started to crowd Jeffrey Burroughs. "Because you saved Major Cameron from a certain death at Salamanca?" Devon asked him after having congratulated the blond man. Jeffrey sat down on a sturdy looking couch and accepted a glass of wine. "Well, yes, that and a few things more. It's certain that the Peer had a soft spot for Major Cameron," he allowed.

"I understand you shot the hussar who went for his horse and his eyes," Devon spoke admiringly. Jeffrey shrugged and took a swallow. "Major Cameron was suddenly surrounded by them. Hard to miss him as an officer with that great sword of his and that quality horse he was riding... The horse went down and Cameron with him. One of our Rifles shot the Frenchie though, not me, and I dragged the Major out of the melee. Pity I lost my horse there as well. It was the last one from Cyril Fairfax' stables, damned Frogs!" "You don't have to worry about a horse," David interjected, "Basil is sending a new load of them and Cyril bought you three new ones of those, obviously. Those old goats don't seem to like it if we perish due to horses without enough stamina." That last remark was meant as a stab towards his halfbrother Basil Montague, Marques of Ware, who was about thirty years David's senior. The Marques did not approve of David's debauched ways, especially because David had gambled his inheritance away as soon as he could lay his hands on it. Basil did keep on sending his quality bred horses to the army, for the officers who could afford them. David was still on the receiving end of those shiploads, although Basil had cut him off of everything else that was worth a penny. The footman Jeffrey had thrown backwards came forward to apologize profusely. He was a Spaniard and had not recognized Jeffrey's blue King’s Cavalry coat, as the French were known to wear blue. The British were

mostly dressed in red and scarlet. The British King's Cavalry was the exception to the colour palette, which had turned out to be confusing again. Jeffrey looked down at his coat. "The red facings are not much help either," he agreed, "but I'm delegated King's Cavalry and still wont to wear them. I can't help some British king or another fancied the French colors." "Cameron lost his mythical horse?" Kit asked, reaching for his friend's bottle of Rioja wine. Jeffrey nodded soberly. "Almost his Klingenthal, as well. I went back for it." The men around him mumbled their admiration and some of them shook their head at his bravery because of a sword. "He loves that sword," Jeffrey said apologetically. David rose from his couch. "You coming?" he asked Jeffrey, "I included in the bet that she would take you as well." The men laughed at Jeffrey's comical face. It had always been Jeffrey taking the tab for his friend. Everybody knew that David had gambled his legacy away and was now destitute. When the two young captains left the officers mess the older men laughed uproariously, forgetting for a few moments the devastating casualties of a war fought in a foreign country. **

Chapter 22: A HOSPITAL IN TOULOUSE * Toulouse hospital, May 1814 Lionel groaned when somebody entered the cool hospital room. When the door opened a shaft of light speared right through the darkened sickroom and jolted a bolt of pain through his head. “Still that bad, Armstrong?” a deep voice rumbled. Lionel had to swallow before he was capable of answering. “That you, Hengist?’ he grated weakly. “The whole family and I are here, ready to pick you up and bring you to Bordeaux.” “Am I allowed to travel?” “You’ll have to. There will be nobody left here after tomorrow. I got you one of those French ambulances at last, so don’t worry. You’ll just have to share it with Brondemeire.” Lionel opened his eyes then. He had held them stiffly closed against the intruding light and the big man standing next to his bed. “Kit’s still here as well?” The big Scot, dressed in a short battle kilt and the paraphernalia of a Colonel, grinned. “And in a far worse way than you, I tell ye. That chest wound has wrecked him. It’s just that we are all leaving for Bordeaux, but he’ll be sure to be staying in France for a couple more months. He’ll need a lot more nursing before he’s fit to travel.”

“What about Berry?” Lionel asked. His batman had disappeared weeks ago during the battle against Soult and had not been found since. “Hello Mrs. Williams,” the Colonel greeted the nurse who had entered the room with professional quietness. “We can get Major Armstrong into the ambulance as soon as your orderlies have moved Lieutenant-Colonel Brondemeire.” He turned back to Lionel after having greeted the faithful nurse, who had stayed behind with a handful of medical staff in Toulouse. The whole British army had gone back to the French Atlantic coast. Now she was to travel back with the last casualties to Bordeaux as well. “We never found him. I’m very sorry. They searched every-where for him.” Lionel blinked. Berry had been his batman for about four years. “My horses?” “We saved your big black one from the looters. The rest I’m not certain about. Maybe they went to Bordeaux with the others. We’ll have to see.” Lionel almost nodded, but realized just in time that this would mean another sharp pain splitting his head. “My wife wants you to come back to Oporto with us,” Hengist said hesitantly. Lionel tried a short laugh. “Thank Marguerite for her kindness, but it’s in the wrong direction. My father had another apoplexy and wants me back home in Went.”

Hengist nodded and turned carefully on his heels as he still felt the wound in his leg, calling out orders to have Major Lionel Armstrong wheeled to the waiting ambulance. * * *

Chapter 23: ROBIN’S SECRET HOUSEGUEST * Hillview, Auldly, June 1814 He was glad somebody was indeed living in the mansion when he saw the travelling coach waiting in front of the house. He tried to increase his steps, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his left leg. Civilization at last! Thank you, Lord, he thought ironically. But then, how many houses in the country were empty of their occupants this time of the year? A gentile family, worth its salt, would not linger in the bare countryside, now that the Season in London had been in full swing for months. Thank God, country abiding gentry lived here! His horse clobbered slowly behind him, favouring his right forefoot. He talked to him reassuringly. “It’s all right Bo, you might look forward to some nice food and good clear water if good Christian people live here.” He smiled at his own words. War truly had made him a cynic. He touched the big black stallion’s soft nose and Bo breezed happily in his hand. Lionel looked down at his very dirty, dusty cloak that hid a threadbare uniform. He shrugged. His left boot had taken a sabre slash and looked quite odd now that he had tied a piece of rope around it to keep the higher part together. He had not been able to shave in a fortnight; he nurtured a

handsome rogue’s beard and moustache. Although he had dipped himself into a brook one day ago, he had not been able to entirely remove the stench from his body and clothes. The last time he had stayed in an inn, regrettably one of the worst sort, with nothing as handy as a tub to wash in, had been three days ago. The last two nights he had spent in an empty hovel and a smelly, though empty, sty. His dark blond hair seemed only darker, now that he had not been able to properly wash off weeks of uneasy travel. He knew he resembled a highwayman or worse, but he had not been able to do anything about it because his batman, who always took care of his gentleman’s hygienic needs as he had been his valet before they both left for the Peninsula, had been lost in action at the battle of Toulouse. As he himself had been severely wounded, he had not been able to search for poor Berry’s body, making certain that the valet would have gotten a proper burial in the far away French soil. He had the limited use of a batman for the duration of his voyage from Bordeaux to London, but the man had opted not to follow him to Went, but to visit his family, which had been the other way. His attention was diverted from the morbid thoughts about the death of his servant. Somebody was obviously leaving the house because a few footmen came down the terraced steps of the front porch, hauling a very heavy looking clothing chest. Groaning and mumbling, they strained to get it on to the coach’s roof.

Lionel approached them hesitantly. The coach driver looked up at him. “Sir?” The coach driver was a big man, dwarfing the two footmen in their blue livery. It was a warm summer’s day; they all wiped the sweat of their faces on their sleeves. Lionel stepped forward. Suddenly a shriek rang out. Somebody in a cloud of light blue silk, ruffles and laces stopped in front of Lionel and punched his stomach with a matching blue parasol. “Who is this, Holmen? Get out of here, beggar, you are straight in my path! Such insolence!” A pair of very green eyes peered at him and clearly decided he was not really worth the bother. Lionel thought the face would have been quite handsome if the lady had not borne such a look of disgust. When his gaze went down to her very busty neckline she lifted the parasol again and shrieking with indignation, brought it down on his head. He swayed, realizing that she had hit him on his recently acquired, hardly healed head wound. A wound that he had received during that last battle, three months ago. As he went down on the gravel he heard the sharp female voice say in triumph: “Serves him right. Holmen, call Old Roper to get rid of him, he stinks and he is lying in my path!” -

He opened his eyes a little and discovered that he was stretched out on a wooden cot. Somebody must have taken off his clothes because he was wearing a cotton night-shift, which did not seem at all familiar to him. He tried to move, thinking of Bohemian King, his horse. A sharp pain in his head forced him immediately back to immobility. God, he felt his stomach heave, and almost panicked at the thought of vomiting on his bed sheets. “Please don’t move!” somebody urged him. “Your head injury started bleeding again!” Soft hands touched his cheeks. “I have some cool water, if you are able to drink it. We put a straw in it.” The lithe hands brought a beaker with a straw in it close to his face. He sucked the water with his eyes closed. He was certain he had never tasted something so good and fresh before. “Slowly!” the voice urged him. The room was dark. He wondered if it was lack of light or if the night already had fallen. He tried to move his lips to form words. “Don’t talk!” she urged. “You are too ill! Doctor Brooks said your head wound has opened again and that your wounds are causing a fever.” He heard her rise from the chair next to the bed.

“I’ll go and ask Mrs. Roper to serve you a nice soup. You must be starving!” This time he managed to open his eyes in tiny slits. Gazing at him was the most beautiful face he was sure he'd ever seen in his entire life. Her eyes were big and of a purplish blue, her perfect oval face was slightly and unfashionably tanned, her nose was small and straight and her mouth was shaped of beautifully curved, full lips. He thought her hair must be black or dark brown. If it had not been for the screaming headache, he would have been sure that he had died and found an angel at heaven’s gates. “Horse?” he managed to ask. The face smiled at him. “Young Roper has stabled him. He is fine now. Jerry said he was favoring his front leg, but it is only a strain. Nothing that cannot be cured after a few days of rest! You both are utterly exhausted.” Her cool hand touched his head again. “The fever is down, I think.” Her smile was warm, showing perfect white teeth. “Clothes?” He almost gurgled the word. “Lippy had them washed and pressed for you. Don’t worry, please. Oh, I think Dr. Brooks has come back for you. You had us all in a tiff, you know!” She shifted, so that a man, probably the doctor, could sit down on a chair near his bed.

The doctor was a big man, his face clean-shaven with the look of a country gentleman. He smiled and nodded at Miss Purple-Eyes. “How is he doing, Robin?” he asked in a rumbling voice. “He just woke up, doctor,” her melodious voice chimed, “for now it seems that the fever is gone, and he drank some water. I’ll tell one of the Ropers to go and ask for some of Mrs. Ropers’ freshly made soup. He must be hungry.” He heard her go to the door and whisper to somebody who had obviously been waiting outside. The doctor took Lionel’s pulse. “A lot better!” he exclaimed, “A lot better indeed! You must have had one hell of a headache, sir! Pardon me the expression, Miss Robin. That’s a nasty wound there on your head. Hardly inflicted by the Baroness’ parasol would be my guess, although she may have contributed to your bad state now.” He pointed at Lionel’s left leg. “That cut looks like a saber slash! It is quite infected. I have put some worms in there to clean it all out. A thing I learned from a Russian sailor. You will know when they have finished eating the rot away because you will start to holler with pain when they start on your healthy flesh. Don’t be too valiant; I have to know when to remove them! Where on earth did you get that slash, if I may ask? You have not been dueling, I hope?” Lionel stared at Doctor Brooks. What would a country physician know, living safely in Yorkshire?

“War.” There was a sudden flutter of hands and feet. “He said war?” “I am afraid so.” Doctor Brooks leaned back in the chair. “There was a big battle on the Continent only a few months ago. I am afraid this young man was in it. What’s your name, sir?” Lionel swallowed deep. “Leo. Armstrong.” He was not sure why he had used the short version of his name. Surely these were good people who meant well. The doctor rose, taking Robin Purple-Eyes’ hand in his. “He won’t be well for some time, Robin. My guess is that he will need at least a fortnight to heal entirely.” He saw her hesitation and understood. “He was a little bit grubby, but he has the looks of a gentleman to me. If you cannot have him here we’ll have him moved to my house as fast as possible.” The girl’s eyes widened. “Oh no, Doctor, I would say it would be too torturous for him if he is moved today.” The girl’s grey gown rustled when she turned towards the door with Dr. Brooks in her wake. “Bertha and the Baroness will be away for at least a week and they never come to the lodge anyway. It’s normally the Ropers’ house, you know.” “Ah, the Lovely People,” the Doctor nodded.

Lionel wondered if there was some sarcasm in his voice. “The Ropers share rooms in the servant’s wings, now that Mrs. Ely married Old Roper. The lodge is not handy for the cook to live in. Not with the Lovelies’ demands when it comes to food. My guess is that Mr…ah,…Armstrong will be fine here.” The Doctor turned and pointed at the chair next to the bed with a pillow and a blanket close by on a chest. “Who slept here last night?” She blushed profusely. “I did. He was in such a bad state and I wanted somebody to be there if he woke up, or needed assistance. There was nobody else to take that chore. I will go back to my own room tonight if you think that would be more proper. It’s just that the lodge is not visible from the house and there is no way he will be able to warn any of us if he needs anything.” The doctor looked at Lionel. He was lying there motionless, his eyes closed. “Who took care of his bodily needs, Robin?” She hesitated. “The Ropers washed and bathed him. Why, he is too heavy a man for me to do that. I just do the nursing. Nobody around here allows me to do a thing, now that the Lovelies are away. Now, let me get you to the house for some refreshments before you ride back to Auldly.” Lionel did not hear the Doctor’s answer. He had unwittingly drifted into a very deep sleep again.

He looked up with an expectant smile when the door of the lodge opened. Yes, it was his Purple-Eyes again! Her hourglass figure for-med a sharp contrast with the sunlight behind her. She walked in slowly, carrying a large tray. “Good morning!” He was again amazed by her melodious voice. He did not doubt that if she had been a lady she would have sung at many a ‘musicale’. She put the tray on the table in the middle of the lodge. “Doctor Brooks said you might want to be up a little and try to take your meal at the table.” Lionel would have nodded eagerly if it had not been for his head. The stinging pain was gone, but he still felt quite woozy. He sat up slowly in the bed, pulling his legs over the bedside. She rushed by his side, to put her arm under his for support. He felt a soft breast pressing against the side of his torso and had to close his eyes. “Is it too painful?” her worried voice asked him. He clenched his jaws. He actually felt nothing but the soft breast. Women’s breasts! It had been so long! Damnation, he could hardly get an erection now that he was wearing this very loose tent of a nightshift.

He sucked in his breath, trying to concentrate on his headache, corpses stinking in a field, worms on his leg, any-thing, as long as it was not that soft... “Are you able to cope, Miss Robin?” “Oh! Andy! Do help me with Mr. Armstrong, please. The doctor wants him to get out of bed a bit so as to help his blood move.” Old Roper took Robin’s place and lifted Lionel easily onto his feet. Lionel found himself shuffling to the table. At least Roper’s interference had cured him from that one urgent problem. He sat down while Purple-Eyes removed the covers from the plates. “My God, is that a steak? And potatoes baked in butter? Are those asparagus? And strawberries?” he exclaimed delightedly. She grinned at him and took a chair opposite him. “Don’t be too happy, Mr. Armstrong; we are sharing.” She put some asparagus on her plate and started to eat them. Her tiny pink tongue sprinted in and out of her mouth as she devoured the asparagus one by one… Lionel moved his chair immediately closer to the table, keeping one eye on Roper, who was looking at him with a knowing smile. Christ, didn’t Purple-Eyes know what a sight she was, nibbling at those stalks! Down, Beast, down! he warned that specific part of his body that kept surging and hardening.

He knew he should concentrate on his food and not on the little lady opposite him. “The Doctor said you would be up to something more substantial.” “Yes, Miss Robin,” he succeeded to utter, “quite so!” She turned to Roper. “It’s alright, I think, Roper,” she claimed, “I’ll ring the bell when Mr. Armstrong is finished, so please don’t stray too far from the lodge.” Roper nodded, threw a look at Lionel, and then left the lodge, leaving the door wide open. Lionel swallowed profusely when she picked up a strawberry, dipped it in cream and put it in her mouth. Her lips almost made a sucking noise... “Do call me Robin!” she told him softly, after she wiped her hand with a napkin. “In that case I insist you call me Lionel!” He fixed his eyes on his steak. When was the last time he had eaten so well? At Madame Boissier's billet in St Jean-de-Luz for sure! That had been way before the battle at Toulouse. His friend, Kit Andover, Viscount Brondemeire, had been paying because he'd had a nice windfall; his brother the Marques of Andover had found him a rich bride with only a tiny smut on her blazon. “Dr. Brooks said some red wine would do you good. It strengthens the constitution, you know,” she said conversationally He nodded, hardly daring to think of that other part of his constitution that was strengthening. God, if this meal

could just be finished! He would crawl back into his bed and… “Lionel, would you mind telling me where you are from? We’ve been curious about you for more than six days, you know.” He stared at her, laying down his knife and fork. “You know your manners and you know how to use your cutlery!” She pointed at his knife and fork. “And Lippy says you were wearing a major’s uniform, blue and white with red lapels, which he said would belong to the King’s Cavalry.” He hesitated. “I guess you know it all then,” he admitted. “I’m Major Lionel Armstrong. I was on my way home when I suffered this little female and almost fatal attack on my person. I was looking for a place to rest and a bite, also for Bo. He stumbled somewhere close to this house and started to favor his leg. Poor boy, I was in such a rush to get home, that I forgot he is only a horse, albeit a fierce one!” He did not know why he ‘forgot’ to mention that he was actually Lord Lionel Armstrong, Baron Loveall, maybe soon to be Earl of Wentworth. Who cared, he never used his title in the army anyway, except when he was invited to Wellington’s table. The Marques of Wellington adored the company of titled officers. Her mouth shaped into a warm smile.

“That’s a strange name for a horse; Bo. Or is it Beau?” For a second he looked at her with a startled expression. Old Roper had told him yesterday that Miss Robin was the appointed keeper of the Hillview Mansion, as young as she was. Lionel presumed Roper must have meant ‘housekeeper.’ How educated was she that she also spoke French? “His name is Bohemian King, actually.” “Ah! He does not look very Hungarian, except for his blackness of course!” “Are you familiar with horse breeding as well?” The girl did not cease to amaze him. “Yes, well, my father bred horses. I know the Hungarian ones are quite sturdy, but small. Your Bo is actually huge!” “We bred horses for a long time. It’s all in the family,” he explained. “I guess we crossed with Hungarians a long time ago. Bo would be a destrier in former times, a real warhorse. His strength and stamina saved my life at the battle at Toulouse. My other horses are to be shipped back soon with the rest of the baggage train.” He hoped that would turn out fine with his newly acquired batman, who was to report to the family’s townhouse in London. He hardly knew the man, as someone had referred him in Bordeaux before Lionel was to step on board of his ship. “Were you in such a hurry to go back home then?” He sat back against the chair.

“I am sorry to say so, Robin! I am still in a hurry to go back. Right after the battle, when I was hospitalized, I received a letter that my father had a stroke, regrettably already his third, and the doctors feared he would not survive it this time. Actually, now that I am up and about again, I must insist that I leave you as soon as possible. How many days have I been here, six, seven? I am afraid I may not find Father alive!” She jumped up from her chair. “Of course you should go home! But I don’t think you should ride Bo. You might injure yourself again! Let me talk to Hoffman, the butler. He might know a solution. I’ll ask Lippy to bring back your clothes, right now.” His clothes! He would not have to sit around in this damnable nightshift any longer! He had been longing for his breeches since he had been conscious of the beautiful Purple-Eyes rushing in and out of the lodge. One hour later he leaned back on the bed, this time wearing his white cavalry breeches with the red cumber band and a blinding white lawn cotton shirt. The shirt was not his own. One of the gentle souls of the household had probably found it in a lost closet as it smelled faintly of lavender. He knew by now that the household, in which he was an unexpected guest, only consisted of women of the Quality. Although they mentioned a baroness once in a while, there was no reference to a baron at all.

His now neatly repaired boots were next to the bed. Somebody had sewn the slash and waxed them until you could see the reflection of your face in them. So he was to go home soon, he reflected. How could he have been so ill? The baroness’s parasol could hardly have hit him that hard! He strained to hear if Purple-Eyes was on her way to the cabin. He wondered how he could thank her. Maybe a fat gold purse would do, but something inside him told him that she would not appreciate such a gift; she was that kind of woman. He thought it was a pity that she was only a girl working in a big mansion. She was lovely enough to marry and he had felt enough lust towards her to want to bed her, but it was not a done thing under any circumstances to wed a servant. Not when he was to become an earl when his father died. “Lionel?” She suddenly stood before him; a vision in the grey, demure, homely house-keeper’s dress. Her keys jangled softly on the ring that was attached to her close-fitting belt. He rose from the bed and stood before her. She was only a small chit of a girl, barely reaching as high as his chin. Without realizing at first what he was doing, he drew her into his arms and then into a sudden embrace. Her breath was warm and smelled of mint. Her lips were as soft and yielding as he had imagined them, when he was lying in the bed, unable to move a muscle

due to his pounding head. His beard and mustache felt very strange when he kissed her; he had never worn any before. “Robin! Robin!” he whispered. “Thank you, beautiful Purple-Eyes!” Her arms had gone around his neck; her hands had stroked his long dark blond hair that was almost streaming to his shoulders now. “Hoffman has hailed you a livery from Auldly. You will be taken to Went. He assured us it will be a bit more than two hours in this weather.” “So it’s goodbye then?” She looked at him sadly. “More like a farewell, I fear. Goodbye Major Lionel Arm-strong. Beatty will come and fetch you, as Holmen is gone with the Baroness. I hope life treats you well from now on.” He walked to the door and saw her sweet hourglass figure disappear through the brush that led to the mansion. He rubbed his eyes. He was not crying, was he? The war had surely turned him into a ninny! * * *

Chapter 24: NO PLACE LIKE HOME * Castle of Went, August 1814 “You don’t say, brother!” Harry was sitting on a stool beside his bed, listening to Lionel’s adventures of the last month. “A mansion it was, near Auldly? I am not very familiar with that part of the county. I don’t think it belongs to Wentworth.” “Pour me some brandy, Harry, and then I think I’ll sleep a bit. I don’t think I am entirely up to scratch. I feel as if Fate is tugging at me.” Harry grinned. “You can tell me later about this brown haired woodnymph with the extraordinary eyes. My word, Leo, if I did not know better I would think you are in love; the sort of love that sets your juices on fire. You did not bed her, did you?” Lionel did not answer. He did not want to confess to Harry that he wished he’d had the courage to tumble Purple-Eyes. He would for sure have been free of this itch that was torturing his body now. Damnation, as soon as he was altogether well he would ride to Went, and find himself a willing wench. There were some in the castle, but he suspected he would be taking young Harry’s leavings, which would not do at all, of course. “How’s father?” he asked instead. Harry shrugged.

“More or less the same, I would think. He still cannot move the left part of his body a lot. Bit of a sight, I’d say.” “I’m glad it was not as lethal as they thought it would be when I was still in France.” “Yes, well, of course your homecoming perked the old chap up. He’s afraid to leave this Earth with me at the rudder of everything. I am darned glad that you came home to relieve me of these boring responsibilities. Listen, I must be off. I am in a bit of a twist because I was to see Mary Miller but I understand Clare is also expecting me. You know the new gardener’s daughter.” Lionel just smiled. His brother always got himself into twists because of girls. Harry’s pensive eyes started to gleam suddenly as he got to his feet. He might have the perfect solution for his latest dilemma! He was certain he had been dreaming, but now that his eyes were wide open the fantastic sensual feeling continued. Somebody was sucking his cock! His eyes flew down to his belly. Good Christ! It was true! She did not have the black hair and the eyes of the girl out of his dreams, however. On the contrary, she was blond, utterly big breasted and stark naked! The awareness of his recent position was so highly erotic, that he convulsed and came in her mouth. She just took a part of the sheet and calmly wiped herself.

She smiled a toothy smile, with a few of her teeth missing. “‘Arry was right, lovey!” she crooned, “Ye needed one badly!” “It’s my guess you would be Clare?” he asked slowly. “‘E told yah?” She moved up. “Ye’re ready fer the real thing soon now, hon?” His nose wrinkled when he smelled her pungent body odor, mixed with a heavy cheap scent. He looked at her big body. She had tits the shape of huge pears and her waist was hidden in fat slabs. He did not mind a heavy built girl once in a while, but he was not sure he would be able to stand the smell of her. She was brightly unaware of his musings and started to massage his groin. His unruly beast got slowly up again, though. He was definitely not carved out of stone and if he closed his eyes and kept a bit away from her, those ministrations were rather pleasing and that proved to be decisive. He suddenly remembered the brothel near St. Jeande-Luz where he had celebrated the proxy marriage of his friend Kit Andover, Viscount Brondemeire. He had not indulged in those sinful doings a lot, but at the time they had been wildly optimistic about the ending of the war and that had made his mood light. The French whore that had shared his bed had been busty and fleshy, albeit not smelly at all. When he felt that another happy ending was coming close he pushed her against the sheets.

“On your belly, woman!” he growled. When he started to pump into her fat cleft he tried only to remember his lust. Thinking of Purple-Eyes and an hourglass figure would not do, not at all. In the end it was only the rhythmic rubbing of his shaft that made him surrender and ejaculate again. He turned away from the fat girl at once and lay back on his pillows. “I am afraid I am still ill,” he grated, knowing he was acting like a cad, “I truly need to sleep right now, I’m very sorry.” She bent next to the bed to gather her clothes and put them on with short, angry tugs. “You’re better endowed than 'Arry, if I’m 'onest,” she muttered, “but not 'alf as much fun!” “I’m sorry to hear that,” he mumbled, almost half asleep, “you’re the first to complain. Ask Harry for a love token, I’ll reimburse him.” Good God, was that him treating the woman like a penny-whore? He did not hear the angry slam of the door when she left as he was again fast asleep. The next day their father had summoned them to the library. The Earl was seated in a chair behind his desk. Lionel noted that he looked a lot less formidable than about three years ago, when he had been back on a short leave after a hip injury. He worried about that last stroke in June that had visibly ravaged his old man. The Earl

looked very pale and thin, his hair was white-grey now and his hands trembled. Damn, his father could not be that old, could he? He should be over sixty, but he had seen men a score or so his father’s senior who had looked younger. Lionel and Harry took a seat in front of their father’s grand desk. The butler served coffee. His father coughed, hoping he would not embarrass himself. His speech had not entirely come back to him the way it had been before this last stroke. His voice had lost strength and once in a while he noticed that he had the tendency to slur, which forced him to speak slowly, so that he could be understood. “You will understand that I am very happy to have you back with me, Lionel. Although the doctors have reassured me that your wounds were not lethal, they were cause for much concern. I still cannot understand how you could have left us without siring an heir! I do think that it was a very irresponsible move, son! Especially since Harry has not been able to focus his attention on just one suitable, eligible girl.” Harry glared in his father’s direction. For God’s sake, he was only twenty-five! No doubt there would be eons left for him to do his duty to the family! Or was his father aware of the fact that none of his paramours, since he was fifteen, had ever produced a bastard? He could hardly explain to him that he never forgot about his French letters since their uncle in London had succumbed to the terrible French disease.

Lionel looked down at his hands. His nails were clipped and clean. He smiled inwardly remembering that Purple-Eyes had clipped them, while sitting on the bed, hauling his arm along her ribs, his big hand in her soft one. “I am sorry that I have left it all to Harry, father! I am afraid I needed some more experience outside Wentworth, but now I’ve come back to be your dutiful son.” He smiled wryly at those last words. Only God knew how he had longed to be back in this study for a long fatherly sermon after the first months of elation about being back in the Peninsula had worn off. “I will do your bidding and try to find me a suitable wife. It’s just that I don’t fancy going off to London for the Small Season. I need to recover a bit from the nasty experiences of the war, and London is one place that is more apt to make you ill. It’s not a very healthy place.” The Earl shook his head. “Lord Coventry just wrote me a letter asking where you are. Everybody of some substance will go to London to celebrate Wellington’s successes. There will be huge receptions at Carlton House and St. James. Royalty from all over Europe will be there and no doubt there will be a lot of young eligible girls coming out for the occasion.” “Yes, Father,” Lionel replied with a sigh, “if you insist, I will go to London sometime in September. I have to look into my affairs at Loveall first. I have the

impression things didn’t go as smoothly as they did three years ago when I rejoined the cavalry.” “And you, young man,” the Earl continued, pointing at Harry, “will go to London as well, under your brother’s mentorship. You are going to behave and find yourself a wife from the best circles in Polite Society.” “But Father,” Harry protested, “surely I would be able to find a future bride in the vicinity? There are enough marriageable girls in this part of the country!” His father sniffed. “You will need an heiress Harry, and not some landowner’s daughter. I surely don’t have to remind you of the fact that as my second son you would have been better suited for a paying position in the church? You decided not to take that road, which I can only say is a blessing for the clergy.” Both Lionel and Harry grinned. The idea of Harry ending up as a vicar was laughable. “Are our financial affairs that bad, Father?” Lionel asked. The Earl shook his head. “No, not that bad, son. We are still comfortable enough, although we are not wealthy anymore. It’s just that I cannot divide our financial resources further between you two. We might ask His Majesty, or the Prince-Regent for that matter, to create a new barony for Harry, but that would still imply a rather sober life for him.” “He can have Loveall later, for all I care, Father.”

Lionel chose not to say anything further. ‘Later’ would be when his father’s bodily remains were resting in the castle graveyard. “It does not help Harry now,” his father insisted, “I want him to marry within a year and I want him to choose a rich aristocratic wife. There’s a challenge for you, boy!” Harry swallowed, and then nodded. He truly was not keen on having to nurture the restrictions of a marriage with a spoilt or bossy wife who had brought in the money. It was a pity his father was right. One had to take care of the future, even when one was a rakehell and a dandy. Especially when one was a rakehell and a dandy. “In the meantime,” their father continued, “there will be some social functions I want you to attend. For one: Lady Rowan Denton will be throwing a party especially for the sake of her daughters within the next two weeks. I understand it will be a masked ball, probably to protect her guests from noticing how ugly her daughters are anytime too soon. It will be the last event before everybody either returns to the city or goes hunting in the North. There will be more things of the sort, which I will leave for your perusal.” “You cannot be serious, Father! The Dentons are the most boring family this side of the Equator!” Harry protested. The Earl sighed warily.

“Life is not for fun alone, Harry! Now be a good boy and do for once what I ask of you! That will be all, gentlemen.” Harry looked sourly at Lionel, who just shrugged. * * *

Chapter 25: ALL MATTERS GREAT AND SMALL * Robin sighed heavily and dropped her pen on the desk. She had written so much that it had not even left a drop of ink where it touched the writing surface. She stared at the ledgers and accounting books in front of her. August would be a very strenuous month with all the harvesting. She hoped the crops would turn out better than last year’s as the purse for the household seemed emptier than usual. Roper had told her that the apples and pears were doing well, and until now, the weather had been good enough to warrant a good potato crop later in the season. The door of the study swung open and crashed against the wall. At least her stepmother had the most obvious way of announcing her entrance, Robin thought darkly. She knew what the Baroness’s complaint would be. It had been the same old song for over a month now. “Hiding behind the ledgers again?” Lady Dunstead demanded. Even at this hour she was in the full regalia of evening dress. It was of the same jade green colour as her eyes, with many ruffles around her arms and her wrists. She wore a diamond neckband that cruelly accentuated the wrinkles in her neck. Robin knew the Baroness liked to tell people that she was thirty-eight years old, although Robin silently snickered about the fact that in reality she was nearing fifty.

She had despised the woman from the day her widowed father had brought her home to Hillview to take her mother’s place in the house. Poor father, now three years in his grave! Six years after her mother’s death he had given up on life. There had not been a ‘coming-out’ for her. She had been eighteen in the year when father died, but the new Lady Dunstead had not been capable of sponsoring her and her stepsister, Bertha, for lack of money and the right acquaintances. When her father died they did not know of the whereabouts of the family member who was supposed to inherit the Barony of Dunstead, so her father’s inheritance had remained under the scrutiny of the Crown and her father’s lawyers. Her father’s will seemed to have disappeared, but that would only mean that no provisions were made for the second baroness Lady Dunstead and her daughter, Robin supposed. She had recently written her parents’ lawyers in London about it. There seemed to be a chance that the Barony of Dunstead could be given to a future son of hers, through some complicated claim if the new heir was not to be found. Robin shook her head. Father had once mentioned he still had some uncle through his grandfather, but he had never left any name or address about the man. The mansion had been Robin’s since the day her mother, Lady Cecily Dunstead. passed away six years ago, although it would have remained in her father’s supposed guardianship until Robin reached the age of

twenty-one or upon her marriage. There had not been a marriage and now she was the keeper of the mansion at twenty-two. Her father’s barony might pass on to her, if the Crown agreed. That was not so certain. Baronies were all the rage now that the Prince Regent handed them full force to the officers in his army who had distinguished themselves in the last battles against Napoleon. Her lawyers followed it all very closely and regretted dearly that she had never been received into Polite Society so that she could have lobbied for some powerful names to sponsor her. She was now stuck with a lot of uncertainty regarding her father’s inheritance, and with her ever-wailing, money-devouring stepmother who sucked down money like a parasite sucking blood in a cow’s hide. It was lucky that neither Evelyn nor Bertha were gifted with enough intelligence to put the situation to their own advantage. They were now, however, aware of the fact that Hillview Mansion had been Robin’s possession and not her father’s. Robin smiled. Eve Dunstead, less than a lady, had been in for a surprise there. Now that the situation seemed so uncertain Robin liked to stay as close to her mansion as possible, refraining from telling anyone that her mother had bequeathed her a goodly sum of money that was now in the hands of the lawyers and a dear friend of her father who was wealthy enough not to feel inclined to embezzle the girl’s fortune.

Her stepmother had been so enraged about the fact that she was dependent on a mere slip of a girl for a roof over her head that she had spread the rumor that the girl was so impoverished that she had to become the housekeeper in the house. Robin was so greatly amused by this role pressed upon her that she did nothing to reveal the truth. As long as the barony and the heritage were yet to be sorted out she preferred to keep herself low-keyed, especially now that Evelyn liked to do the great lady act. The only ones that knew the truth were the servants, who did everything in their power to protect her, but at her urging did not breathe so much as a word to the outside world about the true situation. Robin really feared that fortune hunters would present themselves at her doorstep in droves as soon as word came out that she had money and a house to spare. “Well?” Lady Dunstead cried, “When will the darn money come in? It’s August now, remember?” “September would be my safest bet, ma’am, after we have divided the flour for the tenants and the market.” Lady Dunstead threw her hands in the air in a dramatic gesture. “The Denton’s ball is within a week and we have no way of paying for new costumes!” “What about the costumes in the attic, ma’am?” Robin asked mulishly, “There have been years of Lady Denton’s masques and there are enough costumes upstairs to fill a whole theater.” “Such insolence!”

Lady Dunstead's hand was raised to slap an unflinching Robin. She calmed down in time, realizing that the girl was her only passage into an easy life. “You’ll have to ask the modiste in Went to give us credit until September. Better still, we’ll say nothing. But I warn you, miss, not to play evil games with me!” Lady Dunstead strode to the door for a dramatic exit, but she turned again to Robin at the last second. “Mr. Pettigrew will arrive tomorrow evening. Don’t forget to give him the big room on the front, girl!” A Mr. Pettigrew? Was she supposed to know him? And why was he to sleep in her father’s bedroom? There were rooms enough in the mansion! Robin just watched when her stepmother slammed the door shut. “I wonder how you would find out, dear stepmother, if I played games. As far as I know you can hardly read and you don’t know a thing about ciphering,” she whispered. She looked around her as if checking if Bertha could have heard her whispered remark. Bertha was Evelyn Dunstead’s daughter and thus her step-sister. Something in her wanted to see Bertha in a different light; the girl was actually rather nice and educated. She was unassuming and great with an embroidery needle, entirely the opposite of her horrible mother. Robin blew out a candle and took a taper to light her way through the garden. In summer she liked to sleep in the Ropers’ lodge. Her stepmother had banished her to a small bedroom on

the straight south of the house, where the heat was unbearable during the relentlessly hot summer days. Nettie and Tess were already waiting for her to help her into a warm hipbath. There was not much for them to undress; Robin refused to wear corsets, and on a summer’s day like this one she even left her silk stockings untouched in her armoire. She tended to wear grey silk or cotton dresses around the house since there had been an outburst from Evelyn that Robin had been more richly clothed than she. It suited her well in her deception towards the outer world. The beautiful dresses that her parents had her made were all in a closet in the attic. They would be utterly old fashioned now, she was sure, but as Lady Dunstead had refused to take her to any gatherings, because her beauty outshone Lady Dunstead’s like the sun does the moon, she hardly cared. Nice dresses meant nothing to Robin. She sighed and lay back in the tepid water of the bathtub behind the screen. It had been a long day. Late summer was always such a busy time. The girls folded the sheets of the bed for her and bade her goodnight. Andy Roper was already at the door to guide the girls back to the servant’s wing. The bed was an old fashioned cot, with high sides and an instep. The Ropers had insisted they’d bring in a big feather mattress from the house. The sheets were her own; luxurious and soft. Her hand touched the wood of the headboard where that handsome Lionel Armstrong had rested his back. With a soft smile around her lips she fell asleep.

Lionel peered at the moon. He was sitting on the roof of the old castle’s wing tower. The night was warm and he had not yet felt like sleeping. He had been back home now for days. A servant had been sent to Auldly to pay Dr. Brooks for his services tended to him at Purple-Eyes’ lodge. Lionel was still at a loss as to how he should reward the girl. Money would be the obvious choice; all servants liked money, didn’t they? Clare had gladly taken a guinea from a grinning Harry for services rendered to his brother, but for some reason Purple-Eyes had not struck Lionel as a mercenary girl. Lionel still blushed when he remembered the fling with Harry’s Clare. What had gotten into him? Why had he bedded her after she already sucked him dry? He had been in the claws of lust for sure, but with a smelly girl? It was all so unlike him! At least it had cured him of his ‘itch’. He just hoped he had not changed one itch for another nastier one. His thoughts still tended to wander to beautiful Purple-Eyes, but that happened less now that the time passed by. He actually did not want to think of her. It was crazy to think of her, she was a mere servant and he should have other things on his mind. He told himself that it had only been lust for the girl, or possibly even admiration. All men that were wounded tended to nurse a soft spot for the women that took care of them, he had seen examples of that. In Spain it had

been Mistress Catherine Walton, one of the officer’s wives who had followed the drum and helped in the field hospital. The whole hospital had adored the woman, but then she had been so very beautiful that even Wellington had sworn he’d happily fake an illness just to be nursed by her. Mrs. Williams had been another lady who had followed her husband and made herself useful by helping out with the nursing of the wounded. He had liked her immensely as well, although she had not been as beautiful as Mrs. Walton or Purple-Eyes. He was staring into the dusk when he heard the soft clopping of horses’ hooves. That was Harry for sure. He had supposedly gone to Went. Lionel knew he loved to go to one of the two big inns there, where all sorts of pleasures could be found for a young noble man on the prowl. Damn, why was he the serious one of the two? Harry’s life was one big party! Why could he not be like him? Why was he sitting on the parapet of this tower longing for somebody with big purple eyes? Why was he not interested in pursuing Harry’s sort of pleasures? God have mercy on the serious people that inherited this Earth! **

Chapter 26: LESS WELCOME ‘GENTLEMEN’ * Robin moved restlessly in the seat of the travel coach. She had not wanted to go to Went now that there was so much to do at the house, but her stepmother had insisted someone should go and pick up the costumes for the Denton masque. Evelyn had claimed to be too indisposed to go there herself. Mrs. Roper had been adamant that she needed specific items for the kitchen, which meant that someone had to go and do the shopping. Robin still felt very uncomfortable about the discussion she'd had yesterday night with Mrs. Roper. The staff of the house urged her, according to Mrs. Roper, to go to the Denton’s ball. They said it would be good for her to show herself to the local gentry again. Robin had been too amazed to react, especially as Norah, the ladies’ maid, had led her to a big closet where they had hung a hundred year old cream dress, beautifully stitched with pearls and crystals. They were going to steam it, clean it and iron it. With the dress went a headdress and mask in the same colour. There were high-heeled soft leather shoes also in the same cream colour. Norah had told her the dress had probably been worn by a baroness at the court of James I and Robin, eying the dress adoringly, had agreed. Robin thrummed her fingers on the leather seat; they meant so well! Alas, she was certain the Baroness would never allow her to go to the Denton ball, even when it

was a masque and she would not be able to outshine Lady Dunstead in attractiveness, because her face would be hidden. Holmen had been quick to suggest a solution; they would get her mother’s old open carriage and see to it that the hull would be able to close entirely in case of rain. They told her that her mother’s crest of the Wharton house could easily be covered by black boot wax, so that nobody would recognize the cabriolet. Her mother was now more than six years deceased, and memories were short when it came to such things. Her mother’s carriage could be drawn by one horse; they would choose Brun for the task whilst the smaller horses would be teamed in front of the Dunstead carriage. The servants doubted that the Lovelies would notice the difference. “You’ve got it all sorted out for me, don’t you?” she had asked. Mrs. Roper had started to cry, saying that life was so short and if Robin’s poor parents had not gone to heaven, she would have been happily married by now, instead of taking the brunt of the nastiness of her stepmother. Robin smiled. It had all sounded a bit like a French fairytale her mam used to tell her when she was only a little girl. She shushed Mrs. Roper back into her smiles, saying that it looked worse than it actually was. Mrs. Roper had sniffed and shrugged her shoulders, asking her what was wrong with bringing a little bit of romance and fun into her life. She hoped that nice Major

Armstrong would come to the ball and wouldn’t it be lovely to make his acquaintance again? As far as they knew he lived somewhere near Went, at least the livery driver had said so. Robin had surrendered, smiling at her staff that seemed to love her so much. They had cheered her decision loudly, which had brought Bertha to the hall to see if there was an upcoming revolution in the house. They quickly invented a story that it was Jerry Roper’s birthday and Bertha stormed away with her nose in the air, sensing very well that they were making a fool of her. Robin stroked her blue silk dress. The dress was the only one she had that was not grey-coloured. Her father had the dress made for her eighteenth birthday and it still fit. She disliked the fact that she needed to wear a short corset underneath the dress, but without it the neckline would miss its full effect. She wore a small silver and pearl reticule with it. The reticule had been suavely stowed in one of the locked chests in the attic, away from the greedy looks and claws of the Baroness. Robin’s hair was done up in ringlets, and topped with a nice straw hat and a long silk shawl. Robin admitted that she actually enjoyed being outfitted like the lady she was by birthright. She narrowed her eyes when she thought of that terrible evening when that Mr. Pettigrew had arrived at the front door of the house. She could immediately see that this man was not a gentleman; it showed from the

top of his bald head with the long, stray hairs around his ears, to the rough ugly shoes he was wearing. The man had a huge belly and his coat, stock and shirt had been evidence of his hearty appetite for all things worthy and unworthy, especially food and liquor. Lady Dunstead had not noticed thus far that the staff refused to clean his clothes without any urging from Robin, which she negligently and uncharacteristically had withheld. Robin was livid that he had taken her father’s room without any comment as if it was his due. She had not figured out the relationship between Lady Dunstead and Mr. Pettigrew until last night and for sure, that had been a memorable experience if one loved comical situations. She was in her bedroom in the house when she heard a terrible moaning coming from the library. She wondered if one of the servants had slipped and broken his leg or some such calamity, so she was not really prepared when she saw Lady Dunstead on her back on the couch in the library, her dress thrown back to her neckline, her fat legs wound around Mr. Pettigrew’s bare bottom while he was pumping her forcibly. It was only luck that the couple had been at it so fiercely that they had not seen her open the door. When she retreated with all speed, she met the amused looks of the Ropers in the hallway; obviously they had known what the moaning was all about. Robin was very confused about the whole thing. She knew her father had married the new Lady Dunstead for more reasons than only conversation. Lady Dunstead

had always been a flirtatious person, but Robin had never guessed she would go so far in giving men her favors, especially not to such a dis-gusting person as Mr. Pettigrew. Holmen stopped the carriage in Went’s long shopping street. He insisted that he would do the shopping for the kitchen and the Lovelies’ dresses, so that she would have time to walk around a bit and enjoy herself. She stepped happily from the carriage, moving quickly into the shadow of a jeweler’s shop, as the day was unusually hot. “Do you see anything of your preference, my fair lady?” a voice asked her. She looked up to peer into the deep blue eyes of a smiling young man. His hair was long and blond and reached to his shoulders. He was dressed in a short coat, buck breeches and a cream coloured shirt. There was some titillating naughtiness about him and she presumed he could not be much older than she was. “Please let me introduce myself,” he suddenly said formally, performing a short bow, “I am Henry Armstrong-Jones.” He had obviously found his manners now that he had observed that he was probably talking to a real lady. “Thank you, Mr. Armstrong-Jones,” she replied, “I am not accustomed to being addressed in the street. It is quite an unusual way to get acquainted with new people.” She showed a frown.

“Forgive me miss…?” She shook her head at his presumptions. “You are very forward, Mr. Armstrong-Jones! If you will excuse me now, sir?” He gaped at her and then bowed shortly. What had he been thinking? You could just not accost a real lady in the street and ask her name! He stared after her. He imagined he had just seen the most beautiful purple eyes in the world. He started to walk in the direction she had chosen, but then he looked back at her coach. A heavy coach driver was stowing some purchases in the back of the carriage. “Tell me, my good man,” he said, showing some gleaming coins, “where does your mistress come from?” “That would be Hillview Manor, milord,” the man said, grabbing the coins with a broad smile. “I am not sure I am acquainted with the place?” “It’s in the Dunstead area, sir, an hour’s ride from Auldly.” Wait until he told Mrs. Roper that a nice young gentleman was interested in their girl! “What’s that crest on your coach, good man?” Harry pointed at the intricate red and yellow design: two fighting stags. “It’s the Wharton’s, sir,” He winked before he said: “Miss Roberta is here to pick up the costumes for the Denton ball.” “Is she now? How interesting. I remember I have an invitation for the same occasion…”

“I thought you would, sir, indeed I thought you would.” When Harry slowly walked on, Holmen turned to the shopkeeper that had helped him choose his wares. “You happen to know the gent?” The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. “Why, it’s Lord Harry Armstrong, the Earl of Wentworth's second son. Better watch out for him! Mothers keep their daughters inside when he is walking the streets. He is one kind of a ladies’ man, that one.” Holmen clapped the unsuspecting shopkeeper on the shoulders. “A man is entitled to a bit of fun until he marries, good sir!” “Don’t hold your breath, Holmen, don’t hold your breath! He is as slippery as an eel when it comes to catching him, I swear he is!” Holmen laughed and climbed onto his seat. She would know what to do with a lord like that, he thought proudly, no doubt about it! Yes sir! Mrs. Roper had been right, it was time the girl met other people, like an earl’s son. Lionel was reading a book when Harry entered the library. “Is anything wrong, Harry? You’re home quite early.” Harry sat down and poured some wine in a glass. “I think I am in love!” he said dramatically, “Imagine love at first sight!”

“You’re not supposed to fall in love, if I remember clearly,” Lionel said dryly. “You’re supposed to find a good, decent and rich wife in London.” “That’s more than you have to do. You only have to look for a wife, period, Leo!” He hung his legs over one of the arms of a chair. “I say, Lionel, would you know any family here by the name Wharton?” Lionel pursed his lips. “Not around here, I’m sure. There is a very rich Wharton dynasty in London. Why?” “The beautiful young lady I saw today was riding in a carriage with the Wharton crest on it. Her name was Roberta. “ Lionel shrugged. “I don’t think I can help you there, Harry. Why don’t you ask father? He knows about every family from here to the end of the county and back.” Harry grumbled: “I just might.” “Ask me what?” a voice inquired behind them. The young men jumped up out of their chairs. “Sir! You must be feeling a lot better to be able to walk around the house like that!” Lionel exclaimed. Their father sat down slowly in a high-backed chair. There was still some immobility in the left part of his face. His left arm hung down; he had not been able to use it since his stroke. A footman hurried to pour the Earl some coffee, which he placed on a table close to the Earl’s right hand.

“I am not of importance, here, Lionel, what about you?” “Ah, yes,” Lionel answered, “I hate to say that I am not top notch yet, father, but the doctor assured me I will be my old self again within a few weeks.” “Are you ready then to go to the Denton’s ball?” “I am afraid I have to put that one in reserve, sir. I have not decided yet.” Lionel sat languidly back in his chair. He actually did feel quite well today. “So what was it you wanted to ask me, Harry?” the earl asked. “Oh well, father, I saw a carriage with a very strange crest today. It was carrying a lovely lady that was most definitely from those parts, as she was shopping in Went. The coach driver told me it was the Wharton’s crest.” The Earl’s old eyes started to shine. “It must have been Cecily Wharton’s family in that coach. God, poor Cecily! She was such a beautiful girl. God bless her soul. She got the Whartons in a tiff when she married Dunstead. They did not think he was good enough for their only child. A mere baron, you know.” “Would you think there would be money involved?” Harry asked brightly, “The girl in the carriage was very fetching, although her dress seemed a bit dated to me.” Lionel looked at his brother with a smile on his lips. Harry even knew about fashions, but that was no doubt because he was so inordinately interested in girls and getting them out of their clothes as soon as possible.

“I am not certain there is any money left in that direction, Henry.” The Earl thought deeply for a while. “As far as my memory serves me, Dunstead had let ‘Dun-stead House’ to the Mallereys. They preferred to live in Cecily’s place. I don’t remember the name, as I have only been there once or twice. They did not entertain much. After Cecily died, Dunstead remarried, but he followed his first wife into an early grave only a few years later. That new lady did not hold a candle to Cecily, as far as I know. There’s nothing wrong with marrying out of loneliness, though.” He shook his head pensively. “But what about money, father?” Harry asked eagerly. “Ah, there is a mystery!” The Earl clasped his cup in his hand and brought it to his lips. His sons waited for him to sip. “Cecily was rich when she married Dunstead, but the money has supposedly been invested by her uncles in London. The story goes that Dunstead did use her dowry to do some business with it himself. He was a nice and handsome chap, very dashing. But unlike most dashing men in the Ton,” the Earl glared at Harry, “he did not squander what he had. He never gambled. He was a good baron, getting the best out of his property. It’s just that nobody knows what happened to it all, as Dunstead never had sons. I understand there was a daughter, but she must have been very young when Cecily died,

fourteen, fifteen? She never came out in society, as Dunstead died before she could be introduced.” “What about the barony?” Lionel inquired brightly. The Earl pursed his lips. “It’s all under the Crown’s scrutiny. There was no son, but there should be an heir somewhere in the realm. The London Whartons might well be putting their influence behind it; nothing as fascinating as a drifting barony which might contain an equally drifting fortune, of course.” A drifting fortune! Harry felt exulted. His Miss Roberta might be an heiress! And so close to home! “Don’t even think of it!” the Earl said sharply as if he had been reading Harry’s mind. “The whole thing is founded on sand, nobody knows exactly who owns money or will own it, and a barony hardly ever goes to a girl so there are chances she will get evicted from the entailed property. Marry rock-hard money or marry not at all, Harry. The poor landowner’s life will not suit you.” Lionel flashed a smile towards Harry. As far as he knew land life suited Harry perfectly, if it came to gardener’s daughters and milkmaids. Harry just rolled his eyes. Lionel stood before the jeweler’s shop in Went, hoping he had done the right thing. In his pocket was a small box containing a white gold chain with a white gold medallion. The medallion was hardly bigger than a

thumbnail and adorned with very small red rubies, that formed a rose. At first sight people might think it a silver trinket: only ‘connoisseurs’ would understand its real value. It would be a perfect gift for Robin Purple-Eyes. The memory of her haunted his mind and had started to eat at him. After his fling with Clare it had changed dimension a bit, not many sensual thoughts about Robin roamed his mind now. It was her pureness, loveliness and softness he longed to experience again. She had been so caring and so sweet. It had been a far shot from his usual experiences with women and he racked his brain about this new perception of a woman. As far as he knew his mother the Countess had been all that, but he hardly remembered her. Tomorrow he would ride to that house again, although he would go around it and take a back way to the lodge where she had nursed him. He was sure he could ask one of the Ropers to ask her away from her duties to come to the lodge for a moment. He just wanted to see her again, that was all. He would check into the Inn at Auldly, as the Denton’s ball would take place that same evening. Regarding his costume he had made it very easy for himself: he had borrowed their head-footman’s livery, as Boyden was about his size, maybe a bit sturdier. A purple mask would match the colors of his costume. He turned to look for Harry who was no doubt indulging himself at ‘The Stag and Hunter’ inn.

When he opened the door to the taproom he was surprised at the coolness of the inn. August had been dry and hot this year. He had been worried about his crops at Loveall. If it did not rain soon, there would be nothing of his grain left. It would all dry out and burn. Harry was in the company of a buxom girl. She was standing beside his chair, her arms folded. In this way he would have a marvelous view of her enticing bosom, no doubt. The girl straightened up when she saw Lionel entering the taproom and she curtsied quickly. “'Ow do ya do, me lord?” “Quit the crap and sit right next to me, Moll,” Harry said with an irritated voice, “it’s only my brother.” Molly giggled a bit fearfully. “E's to be the new earl, 'Ar!” Lionel nodded politely at Moll, who stared fixedly at him. Harry was a nice, good-looking kid, but his brother was something entirely different. He was tall and imposing, clean shaven, and very, very handsome. His dark-blond hair was done in a curly Brutus, his features were chiseled and stern, his eyes an attractive dark brown. Moll’s eyes raked the broad shoulders, the tapering waist and the tall strong legs, the muscles bulging through the buckskin of his breeches. She clacked her tongue unwillingly, causing Harry to frown. Lionel’s clothes were practical; a brown summer coat, a white shirt, open at the neck and tucked in his beige coloured breeches. He wore brown Hessians. She liked

gentlemen dressed at their ease; although of course it was not the ‘done’ thing at all. But this one could easily get away with it, he being the earl’s oldest son and all. Her stare at Lionel became dreamy and Harry punched his elbow into her side. “A nice cold ale, please, Molly,” Lionel requested. She hurried away to do his bidding. He had said ‘please'! No one of the gentry ever said ‘please’ to her, not even Harry. She was already on her way to falling in love! Lionel clapped the shoulder of his brother who wore a slightly sour expression on his face and sat down on a bench. “Will you be staying here, later on, Harry?” Lionel’s eyes went speculatively to Moll, who was busily pouring his ale. “She’s spoken for tonight!” Harry mumbled. “Don’t worry, brother,” Lionel said under his breath when Moll was approaching with his beer, “I’ve got other fish to fry tonight. So I will see you tomorrow night at the Denton’s then?” Harry shook his head. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not going. Father left for London today and he will never know I skipped out of this one. That girl I fancied is not rich enough, according to the old man. It’s bad enough that he expects me to follow him within two days to find me a loaded chit in London.” **

Chapter 27: MILLIE’S EVIL INTENTIONS * Hofmann entered the library where Robin sat huddled over a huge ledger. It had been the land-steward’s work to calculate the amount of grain that had been reaped, count the bales of hay and the miller’s worth of work. She had recalculated it all because her father had always urged her that a miscalculation can easily be made, and when you don’t notice the mistakes, many more would follow. That was the way of things. Tonight was the Denton’s ball and the Lovelies had been in an everlasting fit about it, shaking the whole household into a frenzy. Norah had been scolded because the size of Bertha’s medieval ball gown had not fitted at her waist. Norah had refrained from telling Bertha she was eating too many sweets and gaining weight by the week. Bertha had become quite pudgy, but because it was a lot more fashionable than slimness, her own buxom mother did not think to tell the girl to keep her hands off the sweetmeats. Norah had shrugged, and went looking for scissors and a needle to repair the pressing situation. Bertha had pouted a bit at the maid’s remark, but she obviously saw the girl’s good reasoning because she did not comment at all. The Baroness, however, could not refrain from saying that the modiste in Went was a worthless chit who could not even be trusted to make the right measurements.

Norah had only shaken her head at that snub and Bertha had looked at her nails, saying that they needed filing and polishing. Robin looked distraught at her faithful butler. She was in the process of adding up the final row of numbers and she could do without any interruptions. The butler gleamed at her and said softly: “There is someone to see you Miss Robin. The person is waiting for you in the lodge.” She frowned. “The lodge? Is something wrong there?” “No, no, don’t worry!” he urged in a whisper, “Please go to the lodge, Miss Robin.” She hurried to the back of the house, took the narrow garden path leading along the bushes to the part of the garden that was shaded by big trees. Without knocking she entered the lodge. There was somebody standing in the middle of the room. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to get used to the relative darkness of the inside of the lodge. He was very tall and well built, his dark eyes searching hers. She recognized him at once, even without his beard and mustache. “Major Armstrong?” He stepped forward and took her hand. His mouth twitched as if he wanted to kiss it. “I had to come back, Miss Robin, to thank you for your good care. As you can see, I am a lot improved.” “Would you like to sit down?”

She pointed to the chairs at the table where they had sat before. She had left the door of the lodge wide open and Hofmann came in with a tray carrying tea and cakes. Hofmann poured the tea in the cups. The china of the service was thin and beautifully outlandish. The cake was served from a silver platter. Lionel frowned when he looked at it. Housekeepers served by a butler on the finest china and silver? His eyes shot up at the butler when he asked: “That will be all, Miss Robin?” She stared after the butler when he carefully closed the door of the lodge behind him when he left. She sighed inwardly. Hofmann should have left the door open; it was unthinkable that an unmarried lady could be alone with a gentleman behind closed doors. Lionel looked slightly amused. He understood her dilemma and wondered if she would play the farce out and open the door herself. She obviously decided against it. “The lodge is being used again?” he asked curiously. There was a small table with toiletries in the corner and the bed was made. There were vases with flowers on the table and on the small bedside set of drawers. She only nodded and he wondered if there would have been another victim of the Lovelies. He looked at her for an eternity and then took her hand that had just left the teacup’s tiny ear. “I am very grateful to you, Robin.”

She blushed profusely and started to object. He got up pulling a little box out of his coat. “I bought you a nice little something to show my appreciation, my dear,” he said looking into her beautiful oval face with the lovely purple eyes. In the meantime he wondered why he was acting as if she was a lady. She was only the hired help, wasn’t she? Robin was at a loss for words. A present? It had been such a long time since anyone had given her presents. Her hands slowly opened the tiny black velvet box Lionel had presented to her. “Oh!” Lionel’s heart jumped at her wonderment. She looked down at the little locker, tears filling her eyes. It was beautiful! Her fingers slowly touched the deep red rubies that formed a rose. She knew it was not a silver trinket she was holding. The locket was heavy in her hands. White gold, how unusual! “It is too much, Major, you should not…” He moved behind her, adept fingers reaching for the chain, fastening it at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a silver grey skirt with a white lownecked blouse this time. She shivered when his hands touched the silken skin on her neck. Lionel felt his defenses tumbling down and could not help bowing low to kiss the bare part of her shoulders. “My word!” she whispered, feeling his mouth on her shoulder.

His hand reached out to pull her straight up. He turned her against him aiming for that beautiful budding mouth… and then he kissed her lovingly on her lips. Robin closed her eyes, trying to enjoy every moment of his kiss. She was only a very lonely girl, trying every day to cope with life that had not been very kind to her in the last three years. His arms enfolded her with force. She responded by putting her arms around his neck. Robin opened her eyes in wonderment, inhaling deeply the smell of him; of fresh soap, horses and leather. Lionel’s mind was whirling when his sensitive brain recognized the minty, warm smell of her breath and the warm-ness of her lips. His hands roamed down from her shoulders to her pretty tiny waist. He did not want to, but he realized he was on fire for her. He suddenly let go of her, gazing into the purple-blue eyes that had haunted him for more than a month now. “I… I… am sorry, Robin, you just stole my mind and my heart!” He retreated a step, looking confused. “I did not want to take advantage of you. I am so sorry!” Her eyes smiled into his. “Please don’t be, Major,” she said softly, “I am afraid I acquired more than a liking for you as well.” His smile was broad and delighted, although he knew in his heart he should not be flirting with her at all. She was a servant, a bloody servant!

“Ah, Robin, your words are a balm for my soul!” he grated, pushing the reality of the situation to the back of his head. They sat down slowly, his hands clenching hers and then he kissed them with enthusiasm. God, she was amazing, even in her toned down clothes. His eyes raked the chain now disappearing inside her blouse, no doubt with the medallion to rest on the swelling of her creamy breasts. “Major,” she said suddenly, “I have to prepare for a ball tonight. The Lovelies will be attending as well and I am afraid that I will be called in shortly.” “A ball...” he repeated slowly. “They have invitations for a local masque ball.” “Do you mean to say the masked ball at the Denton’s place?” She nodded in surprise. “Oh!” he exclaimed, elation coursing through him, “I am invited as well! So we will have a chance to see each other there, I would hope?” She blushed profusely. “If I can get there,” she said hesitantly. She did not want him to know of her Cinderella-like status, it would be too lowering. Lady Denton would not refuse her entrance. She remembered Robin well from the time her mother had still been alive. Mother and Lady Denton had been friends of sorts, but the scheme the servants had devised seemed a little complicated, suddenly. “Please, try! I would love to see you there, even…”

He got stuck midway through his sentence. What was he doing? She was only a housekeeper invited to a country-dance! Lady Denton probably did not have enough people to invite, so she started inviting staff from the gentry! Still, he wanted to see her there, badly. “I can wait for you outside and bring you in. It’s a masque, so nobody will know us. As long as you disappear before the unmasking?” She did not reply but moved away from the table. His eyes were drawn again to her hourglass figure. He stepped forward, circling her waist with his hands. “I am sorry to hear that you are kept so busy. Can I beg you for one last kiss?” He sighed happily when she complied. He kissed her deeply, his whole being focused on the beautiful creature in his arms. A shadow moved alongside one of the small windowpanes of the lodge. Lionel’s soldiery reflexes noticed it but he was too intent on Robin’s lips to be able to react. “I swear I saw her kissing a bloke in that lodge behind the house!” Mr. Pettigrew was leaning back on the couch, his fat body lugged against the stiffly embroidered cushions. His left ham-like fist searched for Lady Dunstead’s right thigh that was hidden under her opulent dress. Evelyn whacked at his hand.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Pettigrew,” she said forcibly, “I need to think.” Pettigrew stroked his abused hand. “Now, don’t go harsh on me, Millie,” he cooed. “It took me years to find you, and I can say I missed you sorely. Give us a kiss, dearie, after all those years I’m still so hot for you.” He bent his huge chest to her to put a soppy kiss at her neckline. Her hand flew up to slap him on a ruddy cheek. “I have to think, I tell ye...” She held up a finger to withhold his protests. “She has to marry a commoner,” she suddenly declared. Then she laughed out loud. “I pinched a letter from her lawyers a few days ago. It was kinda hard to read, but I am sure it said she canna inherit the barony for her male children if she marries a commoner after the heir is dead, whoever he is. They still dinna find him. She does na know that, you see. I got the letter in my room.” “So?” Pettigrew asked peevishly, irritated that his amorous intentions had been shelved. “If she’s kissing a bloke in the lodge, he is apt not to be a gentleman now, is he?” Pettigrew nodded faintly. “He must be from somewhere around here then.” She rose unexpectedly.

“She’s going with us to the ball, Pettigrew. I have a feeling the man will be there. If that bloke as much as touches her we haul them away to marry.” She clapped her hands. “I do so love a nice wedding!” She giggled elatedly. “Whoever he is, he will find himself with a bride in a day from now.” Pettigrew’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “How do you think we can do that?” She knelt at his legs, shoving them apart. He gasped delightedly when she put her hand on the bulging part of his trousers. “It’s called Gretna Green...” she declared, opening some very tight buttons. * * *

Chapter 28: TILL DEATH DO US PART? * When the carriage hit a deep rut she bumped her head against the carriage wall and woke up from her deep state of unconsciousness. Something slammed against her shoulder and she tried to turn her head to see what it was. She gasped when she became aware of a man’s head. He was wearing the white wig of a footman... She frowned trying to remember who he was and why he was hunched against her shoulder. He was darn heavy as well! She poked her elbow into his shoulder but he did not react. She gasped. He was not dead, was he? She then focused at her hands. What made her wrists feel so strange? She gasped again. They were tied together with a piece of itchy rope. She was bound? She put her head against the wall of the fast moving coach trying to gather her thoughts. Then something moved opposite her. Evelyn Dunstead came awake with a snort. She had propped herself on the back seat of the big traveling coach, facing the horses and Robin with her awkward burden. She looked like a huge green silk dragonfly as she was still dressed in her Elizabethan ball gown. She blinked her eyes a few times, stretched, and then farted.

Robin made a gesture of disgust and Evelyn’s eyes suddenly focused on Robin’s. She smiled a crooked smile that distorted her handsome face. “Awake then, are ye?” When Robin started to strain her wrists against her bonds Evelyn cackled a hoarse laugh. “Don’t strain against the rope, dear. Pettigrew’s quite good at binding people, you know. You’ll only hurt your dainty wrists.” She shifted and put her feet on the floor of the carriage to look Robin straight in the eyes. “They’ll only get tighter the more you struggle. Pettigrew knows how to bind a person, he does.” Robin moved her buttocks uneasily on the bench. Her bladder was full, and if this call of nature could not be answered too soon, she would not be able to stand the consequences. She grimaced and clamped her legs together. “Why am I here? And what’s this poor man doing here? He’s not dead, is he, mother?” Robin knew that the moment she had given the woman the name she would only use for her own sweet mama she had insulted the woman in front of her. Evelyn quite unconsciously made a face at her. Robin noticed that she clamped her legs together as well and she hoped it was for the same reason. Evelyn did not answer her back at all. She struggled to open a window. The morning air was chilly and Robin felt goose bumps coming up on the uncovered parts of her arms.

“Stop, Pettigrew!” Evelyn called up to the roof of the coach, “I have to pee.” Robin stared at her stepmother in mild shock. Pettigrew was on the roof? And why did her stepmother use that atrocious sort of language with him? She had always known in her heart that her stepmother was not a real lady, but she wondered why Evelyn would let go of her pretenses to be one, right now. Was it for Pettigrew’s sake? She wondered if he was driving the coach because she had a flash of memory that Evelyn and Pettigrew had sent Holmen and Roper home early, with her stepsister in the cabriolet. She shrunk back into the seat with persistent memories flooding back into her mind. Evelyn and Pettigrew had told her quite unexpectedly to come with them to the ball. She felt pleased at first. She would not have to go in secret as the staff had been urging her to do. She had been happy to enter the house with the trio, instead of asking the Major to bring her in. It had not involved a lot of extra work to remove the beautiful old cream dress the servants had chosen, for just the purpose, from the attic. Evelyn had sourly looked at her when she came down the stairs in the beautiful dress, but she had refrained from making any remarks. Bertha, quite lovely in her own dress, although it had been slightly tight at the waist, had distracted her mother by noisily descending at the same time and Robin had quickly gone outside.

They had left in two carriages. Young Roper had been the coach driver of the Wharton carriage and Holmen of the family’s big coach. The Denton’s party was in full swing when they arrived. She did not recognize a lot of people because everybody was wearing masks and she had not been socializing for a long time. She began looking around for Lionel. She was not aware of the elaborately dressed footman who had followed her everywhere at first, until he took off his mask, drew her into the conservatory and kissed her. When they returned to the ballroom Robin noticed that Pettigrew looked at them in a strange way. Lionel, remaining in his role of head-footman had bowed to her and stepped backwards. Pettigrew then searched for Bertha and told her harshly to go home, accompanied by Holmen and Young Roper. Bertha did not comply gracefully. There was a young man who was making advances to Robin’s stepsister. The young man was making bold eyes at her flattering Anne Boleyn costume, with the very low neckline, that showed altogether a nice set of creamy breasts. Robin had not been out in Polite Society for years, and Bertha hardly ever had a chance to show herself in fancy circles. People had altogether refrained from inviting Evelyn as soon as Father had joined Robin’s mother in the family graveyard.

Robin mused again that Bertha was actually a very nice looking girl who reminded her of somebody. The thought startled her; she had always focused on her stepmother’s intimidating ways and not paid much attention to her stepsister. She was seeing her in a different light at the ball. Bertha was truly not a bad girl. She lacked her mother’s shrillness and mean ways. She was even a little lethargic and always tried to avoid stressful situations that were caused by her theatrical mother. That evening when Bertha had distracted her mother from making critical remarks as Robin descended the stairs, Robin had wondered if Bertha was doing it on purpose. Robin knew that Bertha was able to read and cipher. Her father had seen to that, explaining that he could not endure young ladies in the house that were unable to read. Everybody knew by now that Bertha had a passion for embroidery and that she was extremely good at it. Evelyn’s attitude would alternate from pride to disdainful remarks about Bertha’s aptness with thread and needle, which had often baffled Robin. She had wondered if Evelyn was jealous of Bertha in that respect; to be such a skilled needle-woman was an achievement to be proud of, not to sneer at. After a set of dances with some men of the local gentry who seemed to recognize her, she received a note from Lionel asking her if they could talk in the conservatory again. Although slightly scandalized, she

had gone there and was pleasantly surprised to find him sitting on a bench in the rosary. She had no memory of what had happened there, afterward, but for Lionel’s long and heated kisses. Something had struck her head during a kiss and after that the world had gone black. The carriage jolted to a sudden halt. “Piss time, my lady!” Pettigrew shouted, sliding off the high seat with difficulty. Evelyn got out of the carriage after Pettigrew had mockingly pulled down the step. Robin dived after her, almost falling out head first, unbalanced by her bound wrists and a rope that hung between her ankles which allowed her to only take one tiny step at the time. She looked down at her matching reticule that dangled from her left wrist. She felt a sudden surge of relief. Thank God it was still there! Obviously they had been in too much of a hurry to remove it from her wrist when they bound her. Evelyn had sunk down onto the grass at the roadside, not bothering to find a shrub to hide her modesty. Pettigrew signaled to Robin to do the same. Robin fidgeted and moved until she hoped her dress would be safe from urine stains. She pulled a face when she realized she had wet the rope between her ankles. She heard a noise behind her and saw that the man who had been resting against her shoulder had tried to jump from the inside of the carriage and had fallen flat on his face. He wore the uniform of an ostentatious

head-footman; all glittering gold braid and scarlet with white. “Awake, are you, my man?” Pettigrew rasped cordially, picking him up by the scruff of his coat. They both stumbled as Pettigrew had misjudged the man’s seize and weight, but in the end the footman stood straight and tall. He blinked against the watery morning sun. “You?” Robin asked when she recognized his face at last. “Unbutton his fly, girl!” Pettigrew’s impatient voice rented the air, “That is, if you don’t want him to piss in his pants!” Robin’s eyes widened. “His fl...?” “Oh, get on with it!” Evelyn sneered. “We saw you snogging that man; you must be used to undoing his pants for him by now.” Robin opened her mouth but could only produce a gasping sound. Lionel looked at her reassuringly. “It’s alright, Miss Robin,” he whispered, “I’ll manage on my own.” He turned around and took a few small paces towards a tree. Robin averted her face discreetly, trying to escape the sounds of a man urinating against an oak tree. He had been bound at wrists and ankles as well and she pulled a face.

“Right, then, back you all go inside!” Pettigrew exclaimed bossily after a while. He looked at the horses. They had put their heads down wearily. “They'll have to be alright for a few more hours,” he muttered to no-one in particular. He looked up to where Lionel had been standing quite still next to the step of the carriage. “Best go inside, me lad!” he grumbled with a threat in his voice, “You would not want to meet your end next to the road with a bullet in your handsome head, would you? Or in your lady friend’s head, for that matter.” He opened up his coat to show Lionel the pistol that was stuck in his belt. Lionel nodded resignedly and attempted to climb back into the carriage. “What are your intentions?” he asked Evelyn quietly when they sat down again. Evelyn cackled. Robin shrank back from the sound. She hardly recognized her stepmother with the way she was talking to Pettigrew. “What are your intentions?” she mimicked Lionel. “Playing the gentleman, are ye? Let me tell you what your intentions will be quite soon. It’s a very happy day for the two of you today. You are to be united in holy matrimony.” She burst out into another cackle when Lionel’s eyes widened in baffled comprehension. “You cannot marry us against our wish!” Lionel stated hotly.

Robin sat in a daze. She could not believe her ears. Her stepmother actually wanted her to marry Lionel Armstrong? Why? Did she know he was a major in the King’s army? “Oh,” Evelyn purred with a light voice, “by the time we are in Gretna it won’t be against your wishes at all. You may not be a gentleman but you don’t want any harm to come to her, surely? Imagine, her father was a baron, Lord Dunstead. You could do a lot less well, I’d bet.” “Baron Dunstead was your father?” he asked Robin. She could see he was shocked. “Aw, don’t act as if you didn’t know!” Evelyn scolded him, “You lackeys are all the same... out for gain all the time. Aren’t you pleased you pulled the first prize?” Robin suddenly understood. Her stepmother wanted her married off to a lowly footman... There was that letter from her lawyers that she had found back in her stepmother’s room only last night before she had left for the ball. She had been promised to get her Dunstead inheritance and the title for her future son, if she would marry a peer of the realm. It was still a mystery who had become the next Baron Dunstead, but the lawyers had suggested it could not have been a young man with offspring. They were actually looking for her father’s old cousin or some such. What if she did not marry a peer of the realm? She sucked her lip. Had the letter said what would happen to her father’s barony if she would marry a commoner? She worried her lips. Why would Evelyn do

all this? She could never expect to inherit the barony herself, nor could Bertha. They were not Dunsteads of the blood. On the other hand, if Robin lost the right to the inheritance might it go to Lord Dunstead’s widow for the duration of her life? She shook her head, doubting Evelyn and probably Pettigrew had thought this through thoroughly. Lionel had grasped her hand and looked urgently into her eyes. “Please don’t worry,” he motioned soundlessly with his lips. She just smiled at him, strangely enough feeling butterflies in her belly instead of fear for her very near future. The minister was a real blacksmith. He was even dressed like one and no doubt still executed his profession as the muscles in his arms strained the white linen shirt he had put on to perform the ceremony. “Name?” he asked Lionel. Lionel thought deeply. “Let me write it down for you,” he said, eying Pettigrew warily. Pettigrew was standing in the middle of the smithy, his coat slightly open to show the bulge of the pistol in his belt. “It’s a complicated name. It’s easier when I write it down myself.”

He threw a worried look at his bride. She was standing unmoving but pale in front of the anvil, where the ceremony was soon to take place. He took up the pen the smith had placed in the inkwell for him. “Of all the arrogances of the world!” Evelyn exclaimed, taking her place next to Pettigrew, “A footman who can write?” “Only his name, for sure, love!” Pettigrew said soothingly. He was dizzy with tiredness and wanted the whole thing to be over with so that he could get himself a room in one of the many inns and sleep. Lionel murmured something to the smith, who frowned. “Why would you need other witnesses when you already have brought two?” the big man asked. Lionel answered him softly and the smith went to the door of his smithy calling for his wife and his apprentice. “Can you write your name, my dear?” the smith asked Robin. She blushed and nodded, taking the pen from him. “We can start now.” the smith decided when the new witnesses had entered the room. “Dearly beloved...” **

Chapter 29: ON THE RUN * “Run, Robin, run!” Lionel urged. He had grasped Robin’s hand and headed for the backdoor of the smithy. “She’s out cold, darling Evil-line.” The smith, the witnesses and Pettigrew were all kneeling around Lady Dunstead who had fainted on the floor. Lionel softly closed the door behind them. They had entered the smith’s house and he guided a dazed Robin through the back into a garden. “We must find a place to hide,” he muttered, folding the marriage license he had kept clutched in his hand. He stuck it in the pocket of his breeches. No doubt the footman’s jacket he was still wearing would have some hidden pockets, but he wanted to get rid of the coat as soon as possible. It was too noticeable with all the gold and red and the last thing he needed was people remembering him because of it. He stopped to take it off and folded it into a small bundle. Then he took his bride’s hand again, pressing a kiss on it. “If she had not asked for the license to check it, she would never have known,” he murmured, “but I daresay it was not her intention for you to become Lady Loveall.” Her beautiful eyes smiled into his. “I would have settled for a major’s wife easily. It was a nice bonus that you are a baron as well.”

“Ah, yes,” he replied, “my unassuming lovely wife. Apart from the fact that you are a prize in your own right, my father will be elated that I hooked such a lovely baron’s daughter.” “Your fath...?” But he did not allow her to finish her question. “I’ve had time to think this through during our ride here,” he said, almost dragging her through the garden of the smith’s house, “we’d best disappear now and I think we’d best go East.” She followed his long strides with some difficulty, lifting her dress from the mud. Her slippers were already badly soiled. It was a good thing the dress was rather short for recent fashion. At least the hem had stayed reasonably clean. “East?” she asked. He nodded. “We must get a coach or something. Maybe I can rent horses... Here, let’s go into that barn, I have to count my money. I’m afraid I did not bring much, as I thought I would only be gone for a night at the Denton’s ball.” He reached into a pocket, pulling out a wallet. “Damn,” he spluttered, “twenty pounds. The Denton’s were not known to allow deep card games, so that’s all I brought.” He sucked his lips in frustration. “Will a hundred pounds be enough?” she asked. He looked at her in amazement. “Is that what you hide in that lovely reticule of yours? God, you’re incredible!”

She bowed her head. “I was suspicious of their invitation and gathered that they might just leave me somewhere to my own fate, so I brought what I had in cash.” “You may just have saved our sorry arses, if you’ll pardon my expression!” He pressed her against the wall of the barn and held her in a quick passionate embrace. He pulled out of it when he heard footsteps coming, but to his relief found out that it was only a pot-boy on his way to a manure heap. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “No doubt there is a livery at the other side of the village. “Greenhead...” He smiled at her. “From Gretna Green to Greenhead. It’s halfway to Tynemouth and Newcastle.” He looked at a sky that was already darkening. “We’ll rent a new carriage here tomorrow. We must leave this one at the Black and White Inn. If necessary we can also take a stagecoach.” Robin nodded sleepily. She was glad they had arrived at the inn. The long day’s drive to Gretna in her father’s coach had not been altogether very restful and their flight from Gretna Green was now almost six hours ago. Lionel jumped off the carriage. It was a small phaeton with only one horse to draw it but it had served the purpose well. He took Robin by the waist to help her jump down from the high seat. His arms trembled when

he became aware of the warmth radiating from her body. They had not washed for a long time, but he still could discern the lovely smell that was entirely hers. A stable boy who had already come out of the back of the inn pulled his lock at them and started to guide the horse, with the carriage still attached to it, into the direction of the stables. Lionel was grateful for the huge coaching inn. It was a very busy place with lots of people dining at the long tables. He asked the inn keeper’s wife if there was a private dining-room available. She looked at him with a friendly face and then she peered at Robin who was waiting patiently behind Lionel’s shoulder. “From Gretna, aren’t you?” she asked. When Lionel raised his eyebrows she said apologetically: “Johnny recognized the carriage and horse from Gretna’s livery when you arrived and then your lady wife is still in her wedding dress.” Robin looked down her hundred-year old cream dress. It could indeed well serve as a virginal wedding dress. The goodwife consulted a big book in the reception area and shook her head. “It’s a very busy night. What I can do is give you my last big room. You can dine there if you wish. I’ll bring up two plates.” Robin moved her eyebrows in resignation and Lionel nodded accordingly.

“We serve shepherd’s pie and vegetables tonight and apple tart with plums.” “Would it be possible to bring up a bathtub?” Robin asked shyly. She felt sticky with grime from her unexpected long travels. “Why, yes!” the woman agreed, “That would be two shillings extra, of course.” Robin suddenly blushed. If she was to take a bath in the room, where would Lionel go? She gazed at the man who was now her husband and suppressed a shiver. Not that she was afraid of what was to come, surely; it was just the suddenness of it. In the end it had not been such a complicated problem as the bathtub had been hidden behind a screen and they took turns for a wash. Robin reflected that it was quite a nuisance not to have a clean set of clothes, but nothing could be done about it. They just had to put on the same clothes after they had washed. Lionel had not worn the footman’s jacket on their way to Greenhead. It had been a warm day and he had only covered Robin with the coat when they entered a fairly dark stretch of the road that was overshadowed by huge trees. He had taken it off her shoulders when they neared the inn and folded it into a small bundle again. People would wonder about a footman taking a room with a girl dressed like a lady, so he deemed it best to avoid any questions by hiding the jacket.

He felt quite miserable about the shoes he was wearing. He had not borrowed his footman’s sturdy shoes but had been contented to put on his own dancing shoes leaving his favorite pair of Hessians at the inn in Auldly. The fitted white breeches and stockings he was wearing were fortunately his own, as was the full sleeved shirt. He was hankering for his gentleman’s coat and boots, but resignedly put all thoughts about them away. No use wanting things that could not be helped. He thought himself lucky when the innkeeper produced a bottle of wine at his request. Many of England’s inns were not able to put more than homemade ale and cider on the table, only the better inns boasted the sale of wines. He looked at the beautiful girl in front of him, at their small table, and grasped her hand. “We are married, but I don’t think we were ever properly introduced,” he said softly. “My name is Lionel George Armstrong-Jones, Baron Loveall, and heir to the sixth Earl of Went.” Her eyes widened at the last part of his introduction. It had been his title as Baron Loveall that had made Evelyn swoon to the floor in a very genuine faint. After all her trouble she had married Robin to a peer of the realm and not to an ordinary footman. Robin pondered with an amused smile that she would probably have fallen into a permanent coma if she had realized that she had made Robin a future countess as well. “Delighted to meet you, my lord,” she whispered. “I already knew since this morning that you were a baron,

but I never would have guessed you were an Earl’s heir as well.” He squeezed her hand, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss. “Today you and your stepmother made me the happiest of men.” Robin laughed, shivering again when he kissed her hand lingeringly. “You were surprised when my stepmother told you that I was Lord Dunstead’s real daughter?” He smiled and nodded at the same time. “When I was with you at the lodge the last time, it began to dawn on me that you must have a very special place in the household, but I was not smart enough to conclude that you were the daughter of the house. I did not look further than the notorious Lovelies, the first of which, your step-mum, slew me at your front door when I arrived there.” “Hm, yes,” Robin agreed, “I must confess that I did my utmost to act as if I were a mere servant when there were strangers around and Evelyn was too self-absorbed to see that I made good use of her ruse to ‘lower me’ in front of the whole world. It amused me when men came to the door to look for the presumed heiress, they would think poor Bertha was she. It did confuse her to no end, poor lamb.” “You always sound as if you like your stepsister, that horrid shrew of a mother notwithstanding!” Lionel remarked. Robin shrugged.

“Bertha cannot be held responsible for her mother’s vile character. She is truly a very nice person. She often stood like a buffer between me and her mother. Evelyn never really knew, as she saw Bertha’s world through her own eyes and not from Bertha’s perspective. Bertha hides it, but she really is quite intelligent and a wizard with a needle. I know my father loved Bertha and strangely enough she loved him in return. I must confess I fear for her now that she is alone with that deranged Pettigrew and that stupid Evelyn.” Robin suddenly looked sad. “I am worried about Hillview as well, now that I won’t be there to take care of it. There was still so much to do this autumn…” “I can instruct our steward from Went to take care of the situation, as soon as I am able to arrange it from London.” Lionel suggested, kissing Robin’s hand again. “Talking about incognito,” he added, pulling the marriage license from his pocket, “why did you sign with Roberta Dunstead-Wharton?” “Oh,” she replied, “because that’s my name from before my father died. He thought it prudent to add my mother’s maiden name to mine because she deeded all her money and possessions to me. My mam came from quite a rich family, you know, and Dad did not want me to have to fight for her portion.” “Ah,” he muttered, “don’t tell me you are the heiress to the floating Wharton fortune? I remember my father talking of its existence.” She looked at him from under her lashes.

“I don’t think my mother’s money was ever floating. It’s my father’s inheritance which is a bit up in the air.” She blushed. “Was,” she corrected herself. “If we have a son he’ll be the next Baron of Dunstead. The lawyers think the only heir to my father’s barony is a very old unmarried man. It’s just that they have not been able to locate him yet.” “Not if, when!” Lionel said with conviction. He grabbed her hand again and looked deep into her eyes. “That is, if you want to go through with this marriage?” “Do you?” she asked him with trembling lips. “After all, you were forced into it in the most deplorable way...” “Well,” he nodded, smiling broadly, “they could not have done me a better service. I would never have had the heart to ask you myself.” He mused, that remark was less honest than it sounded. He would never have had the heart to come home with a common girl as his wife, but under the circumstances he could never admit to it. His heart soared with the knowledge that she was not common at all, in the end. She looked down at the table. “I liked you from the first moment I laid my eyes on you. Unconscious and dirty, but still...” He rose from the table and folded her into his arms.

“I fell in love with you the moment I looked into your beautiful purple eyes, my love. I suffered the most terrible love-sick weeks of my life when I returned to the castle in Went. I went crazy trying to figure out how I could see you again, hence the locket I bought for you.” He pushed a finger against her lips when she started to speak. “I don’t mind if you only like me. Maybe your liking will change into love for me... But please give me a chance to be your husband and prove my love to you...” Her eyes moistened. “Yes,” she agreed, “please prove your love to me, Lionel!” Later he thought he had died and gone to heaven, although to be honest, he knew it was not at all like that for her. She had tried to be loving and compliant, but the act had been crude in the light of their young acquaintance. They both had been nervous, which had not been a great help in their situation either, and the breaching had hurt her like the very devil. Once inside her he had felt her distress and so on their very first time together he had tried to be patient not to hurt her too much. It had all proved to be in vain: he could not stop his elation of being one with her at last and his gratification was swift and very fierce. Robin just reached out for him when he tried to apologize and pushed him against the soft skin of her

bosom. He later realized he had acted like a real boor because he fell asleep in her arms at once. When he woke up, she lay crumpled at the edge of the bed, leaving him all the space his large body needed. Although he had decided that they should be on their way as early as possible he could not help making love to her again. This time, without the pain of the breaching of her maidenhead, the love-act proved to be a greater success, although the satisfaction was only one-sided; his. Lionel promised himself that he would teach her all that was necessary so that she would learn to enjoy the lovemaking the way he did. * * *

Chapter 30: SHIPWRECKED * The ship that was riding on the rushing water of the incoming tide seemed quite small. Robin peered at it, her eyes in slits against the early morning sunshine which made the water in the sea look like pure molten gold. It was a day with a chilly edge. She pulled her new cloak tighter around her body. It was a warm, fur-lined cloak, hiding her new pale blue wool dress. She turned and watched her husband pay the coachman who had brought them to the farthest berth at Tynemouth Port, from where Lionel had booked a passage for them to London. They had stayed in Tynemouth for more than a week, occasionally traveling to Newcastle where they had ordered clothes and shoes. They had not lodged at the local inn, but had been able to obtain rooms in a farm close to Tynemouth as Lionel wanted to be as discreet as possible about their whereabouts. Apart from their different trips into Newcastle it had been a very quiet week in which Lionel had taken all the time and effort to get to know his new bride and to help her to get used to him. Robin bit her lip when she thought about her week as a newly married woman. It was absolute heaven to be married to Lionel! Having him in her bed making love to her in his unhurried, patient way was an incredible experience; she

was certain she loved him to distraction and hoped he felt the same. Lionel was not a man of many words, but the few times he had whispered “I love you” in her ears, she had believed him with all her heart. She knew now that her whole world had receded to the small place in which only this man existed. She hardly remembered her old life at Hillview as she only wanted to be reminded of this new life next to this miracle of a man, whom her evil stepmother had thrown into her lap. When he came and stood next to her after his business with the coach driver was concluded, she grasped his elbow, just for the feel of him. He looked down at her, drinking in her dark hair, now caught up in a small lace cap, the sensuous mouth, the small but straight nose and the radiant purple eyes. He watched impatiently when a dinghy left their ship to pick them up from the quay. He wanted her in his arms, now. It had been only a few hours since they had left their warm bedroom at the farm, but now that he was outside standing at the port, he longed for the intimacy of their bed again. God, he was in love and he knew it well! The wind had taken hold of some strands of her hair and he admired her, while she was fleetingly brushing them back behind her ears. He was so deep in thought that he had not noticed the voices behind him. He was shocked out of his reverie when a voice asked him if they were waiting to be brought to the ‘Matilda-Rose.’

When he turned, there were two men standing in front of him. One was a huge Scotsman, who wore a blue, green and black squared kilt. His hair was tied back in a ponytail. Lionel watched the man with interest. The Scot wore a kerchief around both eyes. He was blind. Lionel’s eyes suddenly widened. “Major Lochiel Cameron of the Black Watch!” Lionel exclaimed, “Is it truly you?” The Scot lifted his head in surprise. “Who asks?” he rumbled with an impressive bass. “Do you remember Captain Lionel Armstrong of the King’s Cavalry?” The Scot nodded with vigor, holding out his hands in Lionel’s direction. “Aye, I remember you, lad. Must have been three years, I’d think.” Lionel clasped the Scots’ ham-like fist. “I’m a major now. Please, meet my wife, Lady Robin Loveall.” Lochiel bowed into Robin’s direction, rumbling acknowledging sounds. Robin greeted him with her musical voice and the Major’s mouth smiled. The big Scot turned to his right to the man standing next to him. He was quite young, maybe twenty-three and of average height and build. “My nephew Roy MacDuff,” he said, “he’s originally from Bannockburn. Roy never fancied farming. He

became a scholar in a way and now he’s in my service as my valet, secretary and also as my eyes.” Lionel nodded at the young man. He had a pleasant and intelligent face. At least Lochiel had somebody to guide him on through life. That should be a blessing. “On your way to London, are you, Major? Let’s hope the sea will stay quiet. I’m not much of a seafarer myself, but with the wind coming from the North-East we will probably have a fast passage, faster than any coach-ride for sure.” “Yes,” Lionel agreed, “with a favorable wind we could be in London within three days, a hell of a lot faster than by coach, indeed.” Robin watched her husband quietly. London, and then what? she wondered. The food on board the Matilda-Rose was tastier than Robin could ever have imagined. She moved her napkin over her mouth, in the meantime smiling at her husband. Captain Barnes was a jovial fellow who easily rumbled with laughter. He told his guests with pride that he owned the Matilda-Rose. He had been able to obtain it from the recent Earl of Loghaire, who was now the owner of the Alexander Stephenson Line through his marriage with Marguerite Alexander. Captain Barnes had married the countess of Loghaire's companion Meghan a few years ago and had done the family a few specific favors, so the ship had not come expensive at all. His wife used to sail with him, but now their two children were getting bigger she

stayed in London. His children shared the Earl’s nursery with Loghaire’s children, no less. “She’s a nice brig, Captain,” Lionel said, “but she cannot be very modern now, can she?” Barnes grinned. “No, she isn’t,” he agreed, “she’s one of Cecil Fairfax’s former ships from his commercial fleet. He sold her to old Fat Alexander when he was fed up with his merchant fleet in 1805, just before he went on his marine missions as a privateer again.” Lionel nodded. “I had the pleasure of sailing with him to Denmark on one of his final trips for the Crown.” “Did you now, Loveall?” Major Cameron was sitting in his chair in a relaxed pose. His nephew had cut his food so that he did not have to embarrass himself while eating his meal. “I never got the chance to go to Denmark as my regiment was still posted in Edinburgh at the time.” He held a glass of port in his fist and sipped carefully from it. Lionel shrugged. “I found the situation in Denmark very embarrassing,” he confessed to the company. “It was a thoroughly trained army against farmers in clogs. The Danish prince was so stupid to refuse to sell us his fleet, which we wanted because we knew Napoleon had set his eyes on it after he lost his own fleet at Trafalgar. Of course, it was a bit presumptuous of us to order it away from the Prince, but Napoleon was winning all the wars

on the Continent at the time. We did not need him to rule over the seas as well. It was a necessary mission but the one I was least proud of.” “Are there missions you were proud of then?” Lochiel Cameron asked. Lionel shrugged again. “It was a long war, Major, as you know. I was badly wounded twice, but I served my country. At least we conquered the Beast and he has been put safely away on an island in the Mediterranean.” He thought for a moment. “Correct that, I truly don’t understand why they put him on an island so close to Italy and France. I have a bad feeling about it. I can imagine why they would not put him to the bullet, France had enough of their crowned heads executed, but to keep him so close to the country he led to a few unbelievable victories is asking for trouble, if I may say so.” Lochiel coughed and his nephew thumped him on his back. “My thoughts exactly, Loveall,” he boomed after having recovered from his bout of coughing, “they should have taken him to the North Pole with nothing but a month’s provisions and a knife to stab curious bears.” Robin laughed; the vision of a lonely Napoleon on the North Pole trying to defend himself from hungry polar bears was very funny. “Why are you going all the way to London, if I may ask?” Lionel inquired politely.

“You may, Loveall, you may!” The Highlander leaned heavily backwards against his chair. “My wife died recently...” He stopped to take in the murmured exclamations of condolences. “My wife was actually one of the last MacGregors from Stirling, ye see. I was born a Cameron of Bannockburn myself, but when her brother died the last MacGregor of Stirling went with him and at the time they offered me the post of Laird of the land.” “How’s that possible?” Robin asked in wonder, “Surely there must have been some relatives of your wife left to inherit?” The big Scot grinned and Robin reflected that he was quite a handsome man. She guessed he must be in the midst of his thirties as his long, blond hair looked untainted by grey. “Nothing is impossible in Scottish law, ma’am,” he answered. “It’s not easy to keep the clans afloat and for that reason the descent of the woman may prove as important as that of the man.” He paused to think then added: “The clans were nearly destroyed at the battle of Culloden after Bonnie Prince Charles’ rising. So they need whatever men they can get. Rothford, who’s our Duke and clan leader, will no doubt grant me the Chieftainship of the MacGregors of Stirling, until my son, young Ian Cameron of the MacGregors, can take his rightful place, if the clans care to elect him.”

Robin glanced at the Scot's blindfold. She would dearly like to know what had happened to him. Lionel had whispered to her that he had known the man in the Peninsula, four years ago. “Do you already know where you will be staying in London?” Lionel asked politely. The Highlander shrugged. “Probably at one of the big coaching inns,” he replied. “My friend Hengist Agnew, Earl of Loghaire, is not yet due to be back in London, so I don’t think I can impose on him by asking to stay at his house. I hope to be on my way back within a few weeks, anyway.” “You can stay at Wentworth Residence in Upper Brook Street if you like, Major,” Lionel suggested, “I’d hate to see a fellow Major and a Laird to boot remain in a bustling coaching inn in London for more than a day. My father and brother will be at Wentworth Residence as well, and I’m certain they would welcome the chance of a visitor and former warrior of the Peninsula at their table.” The Scottish Major was silent for some time. “That, sir,” he croaked eventually, “is very kind of you! May the Good Lord bless ye!” Captain Barnes rose from his chair at the head of the table. “I am taking my leave from this charming company,” he said with a bow into Robin’s direction, “the wind is taking on in strength and we are probably in for some difficult weather.” He nodded at Robin who looked at him in alarm.

“Autumn is approaching, ma’am, nothing to be afraid of. I’ll just have to insist that you stay in your cabin and not venture on deck with this wind. The waves are swelling and I would prefer you to land safely in London.” “Oh, damnation,” Lochiel muttered. “I’d better go to my bunk then, I cannot stand a swinging ship since I lost my eyesight.” He rose and signaled to his nephew to help him find his cabin and his bed. Robin stood and curtsied, but he was already out the door. Captain Barnes hid under the oiled cap that was fastened to a heavily oiled cloak. He looked with worried eyes at the English coast on the starboard side of the ship. “I don’t like the creaks!” he yelled at his first officer. Donald Mahoney looked up at the main mast and pulled a face. “She’s noisier than usual,” he agreed in a loud voice, “we’ll just have to pray the wind does not grow any stronger, sir!” They both turned to look out at sea where the waves seemed to be growing higher and higher. “Nasty,” Captain Barnes muttered, “have not seen it like this for a long time.” “Mr. Tilbury, please give me the exact position we’re at!” he shouted at the young midshipman huddling against the door of the gallery.

The boy almost ran into the gallery to the charts-room that was used as an entrance to the Captain’s workroom. “I’d be a bean if that one will be able to take any positions, sir,” Mahoney scowled. “We’re close to Rotherham Mouth near the forests, Donald,” Barnes said patiently, “how often have we sailed this part of England? I just want the boy out of the way. He’s shitting himself with fear.” There was another harsh creak and both men stared at the main mast again. “I don’t trust it,” Captain Barnes mumbled, “we’re going into Rotherham Mouth just to be sure. Have the boys reef more sail, Donald; as many reefs off the main, if you please. We must get her out of this wind. Heave ho, I’m changing course to the West, if she can take it.” Mahoney looked worriedly at the mast again when the ship changed course. “Get the boys away from the main,” Captain Barnes shouted, “I don’t trust her one bit!” “The waves are huge, Nick! What if…” The mast suddenly broke with a crashing sound, falling forward, taking lines and sails with it. “Damnation!” the Captain cried out, “Get the passengers on deck, Donald! I can’t take any chances now! Get them into the dinghy! On the bloody double!” “We might get ourselves stranded on yon starboard beach, sir,” the worried first officer suggested. “It’s not that deep here, she cannot capsize hereabouts.”

“Get the passengers into the dinghy, I say!” Captain Barnes hollered. “They’ll only be in the way, otherwise.” He turned to a worried Lionel, who had come to stand beside him after the first officer’s summons to get them above deck. “Get your wife into the dinghy, sir, no need to bring your luggage. We’ll beach the ship over there…” he pointed at a sandy inlet. “Are you sure…” Lionel started to say. “Madam, we’ll help you into the dinghy.” The Captain had turned to a frightened Robin who clutched her reticule. If she wasn’t to bring any luggage, she was sure to bring what was left of her money! They all turned to look at an unsteady Major Cameron who struggled away from the passenger’s cabins. Roy tried to support his uncle whenever he could, but it was very difficult on the heaving ship. “I’ll go first Robin, and I’ll catch you!” Lionel assured his wife with more confidence than he felt. It seemed as if the ship started to roll to her starboard side. Captain Barnes swore. “Go now,” he yelled at his passengers, “you don’t want to be caught on her in this state…” Lionel jumped from the lowest rung of the ropeladder into the sloop. A slash of pain shot through his formerly injured leg, but he realized it was only the impact of his jump. Two sailors that were already sitting in the sloop looked worriedly at the ship that seemed to heave far over their heads.

“When we heave up again, Robin, you jump into my arms!” Lionel shouted at his wife, who was gazing fearfully at him from the last rung of the rope-ladder. She jumped exactly at the right time. Lionel caught her in his arms, fell back with her on a bench and kissed her on her lips with apparent relief, bruising her unexpectedly when the dinghy moved with a big wave. “You must jump together with the Major,” Mahoney urged Roy. Roy looked at the dinghy. His face was deadly pale. “I cannot swim, sir!” he stuttered. “But I can!” Lochiel Cameron grabbed his nephew’s coat. “Where, Roy?” “Here,” Mahoney cried, grabbing the Major’s coat. “Take it easy, Major, we’ll wait till the ship is in line with the dinghy.” He pulled the Major towards the ladder that was swinging wildly. “Step when I say so! Now!” Lochiel did not hesitate a second. He stepped from the ladder and missed the dinghy entirely. Roy, still on board, groaned with fear. “Help me, Loveall!” Lochiel shouted after a dunking, knowing he could not depend on his nephew. Lionel did not hesitate and dove between the ship and the dinghy, not heeding the big swell that threw the dinghy up, to dunk her again. Robin cried out in fear. “Lionel, watch out!”

It was too late. The moment Lionel reached for the frenzied swimming Major the dinghy crashed into Lionel’s head. * * *

Chapter 31: WHAT CAN HAPPEN IN A CASTLE? * Rotherham Castle, October 1814 “Lady Loveall, I think you would fit into those clothes. I apologize that they are not in the latest stare of fashion, but they should be a lot warmer than the sodden ones you are wearing now!” The Countess of Rotherham hesitated. The girl she was addressing had been sitting next to the bed of the almost drowned husband since they'd brought him in, nearly an hour ago. Robin looked up at the Countess, suddenly noticing that her simple wool dress was still soaked at the hems and at her backside. The wildly moving sloop had taken water and wetted the benches. She shivered and felt cold to the bone. She was at a loss as what to say. Lionel was lying on the bed in a borrowed nightshift. His hair was hidden beneath a bandage, wound around his head. Some blood had already seeped through the fresh bandage; colouring it red. “Your luggage is too wet right now,” the Countess continued, “but you really should change your clothes, Lady Loveall. We don’t want you to catch pneumonia…” Robin got up from her chair. “I’m sorry, Lady Rotherham, I don’t want to seem impolite, I just…” She wondered if she was going to cry. The Countess put the clothes on a dresser. “I’ll call my maid, Rhea. She will help you out of those clothes in no time. We will sup in half an hour, but

if you prefer to stay in this room, I can have a tray taken up for you.” Robin nodded, swallowing the tears that seemed to come up every time she tried to utter a word. “Very kind of you,” she managed to whisper. The Countess of Rotherham was not very old, maybe somewhere in her early thirties, Robin assumed. She looked a bit homely, not like a Countess at all. She was of Robin’s size and it was not hard to guess to whom the clothes that were deemed rather unfashionable belonged. The Countess coloured under Robin’s scrutiny, as if she guessed Robin’s meandering thoughts. “I’ll leave you to your dressing then,” she said with a nod, leaving the guest room with her head held high. Bernadette Blackwood-Warleigh hastened along the cold and damp corridor to the dining room. She was in a sad mood. She had understood the look in the little Lady Loveall's eyes better than the girl could guess. It was true, she had only been a squire’s sixth child and third daughter, uninteresting because her hair was of a mousy hue, and there was nothing in her figure and posture that gave her assets anything remarkable to make her stand out in a crowd. Well, unless one fancied breasts as big as a cow’s udders. She had always been overtly ‘blessed’ in that area of her body, but she had always found herself ugly, especially there. That she had been unexpectedly ravished by a girlfriend’s father years ago, because of her ‘udders’, only had made matters worse in her mind.

Her parents had been of the same opinion. That was why her father had married her off, without a qualm or any regrets, to the equally unremarkable Gilles Blackwood, heir to a gentleman’s great farm. It was not considered demeaning, where Bernadette came from, that a third daughter would marry a so-called gentleman-farmer. It was not high gentry, but those did not abound the villages where Bernadette came from, anyway. Gilles Blackwood had reckoned at the time that Bernadette was country-gentry enough to deem her suitable for his wedding ring around her finger. His mother was the sister of an Earl, who had ‘lowered’ herself by marrying for love into a merchant family, only to be widowed within two years’ time. Facing those circumstances and the fact that his father’s family had been happy to ‘stow’ them away at a farm of their own, Bernadette had been Gilles’ closest bet from the gentry at the time, now five years ago. Gilles was already forty-six against her twenty-six years when she was to be Gilles second wife. Bernadette still rued the day that she had said ‘yes’ in the little chapel close to the Glasgow area, where she came from. Gilles Blackwood was the antidote to any girl’s romantic dreams. In her thoughts she referred to him as ‘the little man’ and that reference was not only due to his height. He had been one big disappointment for her due to his spitefulness, his meanness and his childish behaviour.

Life had been a bleak affair since the day they'd exchanged vows. Her only hope for some contentment had been that she would bear children one day and even the thought that they would be Gilles’ did not lessen her anticipation. It was just that she never conceived. Every month’s bleeding had been another grueling disappointment to her, but she had continued doggedly to allow Gilles in her bed for his unimaginative couplings, one of the few things Gilles Blackwood seemed to do with some enthusiasm, in the hope that his seed ‘would take’ one day. Now, after the accident with the ship, things were going to change. She was certain of it, because she would take her fate into her own hands. She stroked her hands along her old brownish wool dress. She now regretted that she had not bothered to put on her pink silk one, the one she wore when they were at a ‘musicale’ in York or at one of those insipid country weddings they were occasionally invited to. She felt at the bun that was pinned to her head. A homely woman was what she had been all her life! She straightened and flattened her hands alongside the skirts of her dress again. No, she would not change into her only suitable evening gown for dinner. Gilles would notice her interest in their guests at once, if she wore her pink silk or did up her hair in a more flattering fashion.

Furthermore, the object of her interest would not see her anyway, as she had heard that he was as blind as a bat nowadays. Lochiel sighed when the men left the table. Roy and the Earl went to the ramshackle conservatory to have a smoke and a port. Lochiel was given a glass of port to be left to his own devices. Obviously the Earl assumed that Lochiel did not smoke. Although he had been given fresh, dry clothes that came from his luggage, Lochiel was still tired and cold after having taken a dunking in the sea. He was longing to get back to the bedroom that the Countess had appointed to him. A good sleep would hopefully keep him from his upcoming depression. Life had been one big dip to him since he'd received a French sabre slash across his face and been blinded for good, now almost three years ago. He knew that if it had not been for the care of his good friend Hengist Agnew, the recent Earl of Loghaire, once a major in the army just like himself, he would probably have eaten his pistol to end his miserable life for good. He sighed again, fumbling around to find his glass of port; always a hazardous thing with the long stem that could easily be toppled. Roy was still very distressed about the mishaps of the day and had wanted them to take a tray in their bedroom, but Lochiel had decided otherwise. He had to

be aided at the table so Roy had wearily come down to the dining room. Roy was a bit less sorry to have joined the company when it turned out that the Earl of Rotherham, who was a smoker, invited him for a good cigar on the terrace. Lochiel was still confused about what had happened that day. He had taken a dive into the sea instead of descending into the dinghy and Lionel had jumped after him. The dinghy had heaved on the waves and had hit Lionel on the head, just as he reached Lochiel, who had been struggling in the waves he could not see. In the end, it had been Lochiel who had held up an unconscious Lionel to keep him from drowning when many strong arms had pulled them into the dinghy. Lochiel felt at once that Lionel had been unmoving and had worried about the stillness of the man. One of the sailors had told him Lionel was unconscious and Lochiel had undergone a flood of gratefulness that he had not held a dead man in his arms. When they were stranded at Rotherham Mouth, half the village of Rotherham had helped them get to the small local inn. Regrettably, it was unable to accommodate them all, guests and ships’ crew included. As soon as the mayor of Rotherham understood that there were aristocratic persons in the shipwrecked group, he sent a message to the Countess of Rotherham, asking if she could accommodate the half-drowned nobles in her castle. True to her reputation as a kind lady, a big creaking coach arrived to take Robin, Lionel, Roy and Lochiel to

Rotherham's most important seat; the castle of Rotherham. Lochiel had noticed that the castle was old-fashioned and probably not in the best of repairs, as the stairs had seemed slippery and uneven under his unsure feet and the smell of the place had been musty. A servant told him later that the castle was the Earl of Rotherham’s true county-seat, although the former deceased Earl of Rotherham Cyril Fairfax had lived in a new built mansion a few miles away. It turned out that Fairfax’ nephew and heir Gilles Blackwood had only inherited the title of Earl of Rotherham and the old castle. Cyril Fairfax’s enormous fortune had been transferred to his three daughters, along with the mansion where he had lived. Lochiel was certain it was much better to stay at the castle than at the overcrowded inn, and he was happy that he was to have a big sturdy bed after the enjoyable but simple supper at the Earl of Rotherham’s table. Life had changed immensely for him after he had been dragged away from the battlefield at Salamanca by an attentive lieutenant of the attacking British cavalry, with everything intact but his eyes. After his initial and long-lasting rage over his stupidity of getting caught by a French hussar wielding an immense sabre, who had not lived to see a blinded Lochiel carried away, he had at last morosely settled into a life in which he would never ever see the sun rise, or the faces of the ones he loved.

From a cheerful warrior he had rapidly changed into a brooding invalid, who seemed scarcely grateful that his nephew Roy MacDuff did not mind doing his seeing for him. He had come back to Edinburgh to live in a house that had been given to him by his best friend Hengist Agnew, who had become the new Earl of Loghaire after his older brother Philip died an ignoble death in a London prison under shady circumstances. Hengist owned a sprawling residence in Edinburgh that was courtesy of his deceased wealthy mother; Lady Audrey Loghaire. Behind that residence stood a big servant’s wing, which was entirely separated from the main house when a sector of the wing had crumbled and fallen down, due to age and neglect. Hengist's Edinburgh servants lived inside the main Loghaire residence, so Hengist had offered the separate servant’s wing to his friend Lochiel. Lochiel had been very happy to accept it. The house at Baker Street in which Mattie Burns took care of all their children – seven boys, including Mattie’s son, – had been getting way too small. Hengist refused to accept any rent for the wing and now Lochiel was able to maintain a good household on his major’s half-pay, his tithes he received as the Laird of the MacGregor and the money he generated from his hired farm and his strong-house in Bannockburn. His entire household now consisted of: his nephew from Catriona’s side, Roy MacDuff; his children Benny

and Billy, who were born in Ireland; his four children from his marriage to Catriona MacGregor and Mattie and her son Angus. Since his wife Catriona died, a wife he had not spoken to for more than five years on the day she succumbed to a lingering painful illness, he had been able to bring his four boys, originally raised by Catriona, to Edinburgh. His oldest son had recently started a study at the Edinburgh University to become a doctor in medicine, while his second son was an ensign with the 42nd Highlander Regiment in Edinburgh. Obviously the hazards of war, of which his father was the grueling evidence, had not been able to deter him from following in Lochiel’s footsteps. His two younger sons with Catriona were still at grammar school. Bentham and William were only ten years old, just like Angus, Mattie’s son. The three of them were as inseparable as if they were triplets. Lochiel knew now that Angus had not been Regimental Sergeant Burns’ child, to whom Mattie was married at the time. Angus was actually fathered by the recent Duke of Rothford, Randolph Montgomery. Mattie had confessed to Lochiel that the Duke, at the time Jonathan Rothford’s heir, had raped her when she was trying to protect her little mistress Lady John Montgomery against the lecherous brother-in-law. Lord Randolph had preyed upon the little Lady John after his

brother had left her, a few hours after the wedding, for the fleshpots of London. Lochiel had been in a longstanding adulterous relationship with Lady John until Randolph had summoned her to London in 1810 to do her duty to Lord John and the Montgomery line. At the same time Lochiel had been promoted to the rank of major and was shipped to the war in the Peninsula. Lochiel understood very well now that the Duke had wanted him ‘out of the way’ for Lizzie’s sake and had taken care that Lochiel was added to the fighting Highland Regiment in the Peninsula, just for that reason. Lochiel was told that Lady John’s so-called reconciliation with her husband Lord John Montgomery, Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, had not been a success. He sparingly received letters from her through a seedy lawyer and Mattie, to which he never cared to respond. The last thing he wanted was for Lizzie to run back to him in Edinburgh and give away in some way or another the secret of their children’s true parentage. As Lizzie was married to Lord John when she birthed Bentham and William, the children would be officially Lord John’s in a court of law. Lochiel shuddered to think what Lord John would do if he found out about the twins. He had known Lord John as a four year old toddler, when the little lord visited his mother’s house in Bannockburn with his father, the Duke. Lochiel had only been five years old at the time. He had not realized that his mother was having a love affair with the Duke

until she died in childbed less than a year later. Lochiel’s own father had died within a year after marrying his mother. Lochiel had liked Lord John. He knew by now that the adult Lord John was merely a tortured person due to his childhood in a stiff ducal household, where all the attention went to Lord John’s domineering mother. John was left adrift in a huge household with people too busy to care about him. He went the road of a rake and a gambler for years out of sheer anger. The marriage with Lizzie Campbell had been doomed from the start under the circumstances, as Lord John’s self-centered mother had arranged it on her deathbed when John was only twelve years old. Lizzie Campbell had been furious with her groom. He showed nothing but reluctance and hatred for her, the wife his mother had forced upon him. Lochiel had soon realized that Lizzie had started their sexual relationship out of spite. He was still uncertain of Lizzie’s motives after they had been sharing a bed for more than five years in Edinburgh. His Irish-born children were officially Melanie Torrance’s, his so-called Irish mistress’ children, but in truth they were his and Lady John’s. It might seem dramatic that the twins had not seen their real mother in almost four years, but their hearts were given to the ever caring Mattie, anyway. It was Lizzie’s, Lady John’s, sadness that she could not see her children grow up, but the secret was too deep for her to even contemplate trying to come back to Edinburgh

under her husband and the Duke of Rothford’s eagle’s eyes. Lochiel knew a lot more about Lady John, nowadays, than he cared to show. He heard to his dismay that she was terribly unhappy in London. After her failed reconciliation with Lord John, three years ago, she drifted from one wealthy friend’s household to another. The last thing he had heard was that she had been summoned back to Rothford House, as the Duke had wanted her to try to get back into Lord John’s stormy affections, as his own wife, the Duchess, was not able to conceive any children anymore. Rothford now desperately wanted an heir sprouting from Lord John’s loins. Lochiel knew however that Lady John still stayed at one of her friends’ houses, blatantly ignoring the Duke’s ‘request’ to get back together with his brother. Mattie Burns who now ran Lochiel’s household like clockwork had been Lady John’s personal maid, until she had married and birthed Angus in Ireland. When Lizzie birthed Lochiel’s children, it had been practical to ask Mattie, who was widowed within one year of her marriage, to become their nurse and later his housekeeper. Lochiel had adopted the twins, as he had adopted Angus, Mattie’s son, as well. Everybody supposed after Angus’ adoption that Mattie had been his mistress, before she had been shortly married to Colin Burns, Lochiel’s Regimental Sergeant. Lochiel could not care less about it. The only thing he and Lady John wanted to

achieve was that Mattie and Angus would be safe from penury after Colin Burns’ death and offering them his protection in this way was the best he could do. No one was the wiser about the twin’s true descent. With the help of Lizzie’s mother, the Baroness of Ayre, they had staged a drama in Dublin that involved a very ill ‘pregnant’ captain’s widow in Ireland with Lochiel as her so-called lover. Due to all this Lochiel now had seven children bearing his name: four with his deceased wife and three ‘adopted’ ones. He heard a rustle and frowned. He wondered if it would be the Countess, as he had not yet heard the Earl and Roy return. “Lady Rotherham?” he ventured. “Don’t you remember me?” the Countess’ soft voice asked, bemused. Oh, God, a dreaded question for someone who became blind in the hay-days of his life! “My father was Squire Matthew Warleigh from Prestwick and Wattles, close to Ayre.” “Detty Warleigh?” His face lit up in a broad smile. Detty Warleigh had been one of the few friends Lizzie Campbell had ever had. Detty had been Lizzie’s bridesmaid more than nine years ago, when Lizzie was forced to marry the unwilling Lord John Montgomery. “How…?”

“My father married me to Gilles Blackwood, who was at the time a gentleman-farmer without any prospects, until Cyril Fairfax died without male issue.” “He sounds a lot older than you, Detty!” “He is twenty years my senior!” Bernadette remarked curtly. Lochiel nodded pensively. The Earl had indeed given him the impression of being in his middle years, although one could never really tell when one was handicapped with blindness. “Do you like being a Countess?” Bernadette thought for a while. “It’s better than being the wife of a measly farmer, albeit a gentleman-farmer,” she stated with bitterness in her voice, “although I would have been happier if Cyril Fairfax had added some money to the title.” Ah, yes, money. Lochiel had never been a big spender and he had never needed a lot of money for himself. With seven children it was a bit of a different matter, but then he had inherited a house in Bannockburn from his mother and owned a farm in its vicinity that had seen better yields than most of the Scottish farms in that area. He suddenly smelled her scent of rosewater. Was she leaning closer to him? “I am pleased that you at least remember me,” she murmured. He sat very still against the high seat of his chair. Detty Warleigh? There had not been much to remember, he recalled. She had been a bit plump and her

hair had been the colour of ground pepper. On the other hand, he clearly saw her big enticing bosom in his mind’s eye. Ah, but that bosom had most definitely been part of every soldier in his half-platoon’s dreams when he came to Ayre to escort Lizzie and her parents to the wedding in Edinburgh. At that time he had been so in lust with Lizzie Campbell that he was surprised he even remembered Detty at all, never mind the particulars about her bosom... “I cannot stand this marriage to Gilles!” Detty said scathingly. “It is isolation and loneliness for me. There is nothing, nothing, between Gilles and me.” Lochiel felt embarrassed that Detty was confiding those things to him at her husband’s dinner table. He swiped his hand through his hair, unwittingly giving Detty’s admiring eyes a view of male muscle packed in a thin cotton shirt and brown woolen coat. “Your nephew told me that you have seven children.” That remark startled him. Why would Detty Warleigh be interested in his children? He only nodded stiffly. She sniffed. “I have none,” she said evenly. He wondered if he heard frustration or defiance in her voice. “We’ve been married for five years now.” “You might have to try harder. I mean, you have to do certain things in order to get in the family way, you know!”

He felt uneasy with the topic. Warriors only mentioned children when they had them. This was a conversation for females, preferably behind their fans with their eyes cast down and an occasional giggle escaping their pursed mouths. “He was married to his first wife for fifteen years and I know she never conceived, either.” Lochiel shut his mouth in confusion and felt relief when someone knocked at the dining room door. Bernadette rose from her chair next to Lochiel. “I am sorry, Milady, but the Earl is asking you to join him… ah… upstairs.” A blushing footman looked around the door. “I’ll come!” Bernadette said business-like. She had noticed that Gilles had taken up the brandy bottle with much fervour. That and the port would no doubt have made him sleepy and more than slightly drunk. “I will see you later,” she whispered, wafting her rosewater scent towards Lochiel, smiling at the surprise on his face. “I’ll want my bed as well, my lady,” Lochiel blustered, misunderstanding her parting statement. “Your nephew will no doubt be on his way from the terrace. Good night, Laird Cameron.” Lochiel searched painstakingly for his coffee cup. Someone put his hand on it. It was an unknown hand, so he supposed it was the footman who had delivered the Earl’s message.

He sighed with impatience, wondering when Roy would come to get him to his room. Robin threw an extra blanket over her husband’s body. She wondered if he was cold or shivering with a fever. She felt slightly better after having changed her sodden dress for the clothes that Lady Rotherham had left for her to try on. A maid had already taken away the tray with her supper. She bent to put a hand on Lionel’s forehead. It was warm but not hot with a fever. His lips were dry, so she wetted them with a sodden rag, hoping that he would be able to swallow the few drops that entered through his lips. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “let him wake up, please! You cannot be so cruel as to take him away from me, now that we just found happiness together!” She looked down at her husband again. Last night he had made love to her, joking about the big cradle they were cozily huddled in, when the ship had rocked in the waters of a slowly rolling sea. There had not been a trace of a storm then. He had kissed her hard when she found her fulfilment; to smother her cry with his mouth, so that the ship’s crew would not hear the intimate sounds of their lovemaking. There was a truckle bed made up for her at the foot of Lionel’s bed. The doctor had obviously assumed that

they slept separately, being aristocrats, but he had advised against leaving the Baron alone at night. He had suggested sending a nurse but of course, Robin did not wish anyone but herself to take care of Lionel’s needs. She took off her borrowed clothes until she was dressed only in her shift. She would sleep near Lionel all right: in his very bed! The woman was soft and naked in his arms. Lochiel smiled and inhaled her smell. Ah, but it had been a long, long time since he'd had a woman in his bed! He could hardly remember who had been his last lover. It had to have been more than two years ago, before he got blinded by that sabre in Salamanca in 1812. After his mutilation the few camp-whores who stayed close to the hospital had avoided him and when he came back to live in Edinburgh he had not dared to ask Roy to find him a woman for his sexual needs. Not with Mattie in the house, who knew his every move and who might frown upon such dalliance with a woman of the profession. It was already bad enough to be so dependent on all the people around him for his normal daily needs and routines without Mattie scolding him for having a bad influence on Roy. His fingers tingled when he searched for the warm flesh of the woman’s inner thigh.

He felt her move and stretch in a languorous way. He was convinced that she'd enjoyed the lovemaking as much as he had. “Don’t tell me you want another go…” She kept her voice very low as if she did not want him to recognize her. “You’re my first in a very long time,” he admitted with his direct honesty, “I’ll explode if you don’t give me another go…” She laughed softly and he felt her turn on her back. “This time it will be you on top then,” she mumbled, spreading her legs wide. Lochiel place a hand next to her fleshy shoulder and knelt between her knees. She was experienced enough to lead his swollen and throbbing cock towards the apex of her thighs. He slid inside her slowly. “Oh, my God,” she cried out, “you are so hard and so big!” He searched for her mouth and closed his lips around hers. He would swive her well, all night if need be, but it would be best for all of them if her husband, the Earl, did not hear her shrieks of rapture. She moaned and bucked underneath him and he felt her inner muscles cling to his manhood and then relax again. He came again with such force that he wondered if his seed would plunge all the way to her stomach. “God, you’re sweet, Detty!” he murmured.

The woman beneath him went suddenly stock-still. “You… you knew?” His lips turned into a wide smile against her hair. “It’s the rose-water, love! None of your servants wear it, I’m sure.” She giggled. “True. But would you lie in adultery with a married wo-man?” He shook his head, carefully moving to her side again. She did not know he had been making love to the Marques of Lorna’s wife for at least five years, her own childhood friend Lizzie Campbell? Ah, but then how was she to know? The affair between him and Lizzie had always been a well-kept secret. “I’m opportunistic enough to take what is presented to me, my beauty. You have a great body.” “I do?” she asked with incredulity in her voice. He found an armpit, sweaty, true, but soft and female. He pressed a kiss at it. “Your husband is an idiot,” he mumbled. “He still sleeps with me, once in a while,” she assured him. “Not too long ago, I hope?” he whispered. “What if there are consequences?” She laughed softly. “I hope there will be consequences. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Strange, the reminder that she would go back to her husband’s bed any time soon gave him a pang of jealousy. He drifted asleep with his nose on her soft shoulder, wondering why, for some reason, married women always tended to favour him for their trysts. When Bernadette heard him breathing evenly in a deep sleep, she climbed gingerly out of his bed. That had been the most wonderful night of her life, she mused, pulling on her night rail. No wonder Lizzie had been so in love with him! Detty had seen her fall, swift and deeply, for the dashing lieutenant who had come to escort her to Edinburgh for her marriage with Lord John Montgomery. Bernadette had never doubted that Lizzie would succumb to Lochiel's bed again, even after she had given her vows to Lord John. Her so-called husband had never cared to visit her bed after the wedding. The stories about that unhappy marriage had been rife. Detty had been a guest and Lizzie’s only bridesmaid at the wedding. It had been a pompous affair, with a very handsome and devastatingly indifferent groom in insulting attendance and a pale-faced Lizzie, who looked forward to her wedding night with less than anticipation, as she had already given her virginity to Lochiel Cameron. Everybody had known that Lord John had ‘consummated’ the marriage in a few minutes time,

taking Lizzie against the wall of her bedroom, spilling his seed on her dress and her shoes, instead of inside her. Why he had bothered to consummate the marriage at all had been anybody’s guess. If he had been so against marrying Lizzie, he could have had the marriage annulled within no time if he had not touched her. At the time the old Duke, his father Jonathan Rothford, had still been alive. John Montgomery had become the Marques of Lorna soon after his marriage, ‘robbing’ his brother of that title when the old duke died, less than two years later. Some people would do anything to obtain a title. The old duke… Bernadette remembered him vividly. At the wedding he had still been the most handsome man of all men present, save for Lord John. To Detty’s surprised elation he had flatteringly taken a lot of interest in her; the ugly duckling of the gathering. His wife had died twelve years before him. She had been the toast of the court for years, marrying first one Scottish duke and within a year of his painful death, due to a failing liver, wedding and bedding the other. Bernadette knew that some women had that sort of power over men. She tried to keep her quaint feelings of jealousy for a long dead duchess in check. She should be happy. She'd had her night with one of the handsomest men in the world and he had told her she had a great body!

She tiptoed to her apartments, only a few yards from Lochiel’s room. The Earl’s apartments were at the end of the hallway. They were connected to her own by the two dressing rooms in between. She entered her own dressing room and put her ear against the door leading into her husband’s. She was not able to suppress a grin; she could hear his drunken snores two doors away! It had been a good idea to put his best brandy on the table. She had known he would not be able to resist a full taste of the bottle, unimaginative and predictive Gilles! She crept into her bed, hugging her belly with her hands and hoping, hoping… Robin ran to the bed when she noticed a slight movement. “Lionel?” she called out breathlessly. Lionel had changed his position. He had been lying in the bed like a wax statue for almost a day, but now he had moved his arms and his legs. “Lionel?” she asked again, bending over the bed. He opened his eyes and she felt a rush of relief. “You’re awake!” Lionel blinked his eyes. “What?” “Oh, God, you are finally awake!” She came closer to hug him, but he almost bounced his head against hers in his attempt to sit up.

He fell back on the pillow and brought his hands to his temples. “…Pain,” he mumbled. “Hold on, hold on…” she urged him hastily, remembering the doctor’s instructions. She would have to warn the Earl’s valet – what was his name again? – because Lionel would most certainly need the chamber pot now that he was awake. She raced to the bell that was hidden in the bedcurtains. And water, the doctor said he would need water from the well. “Hold on, darling,” she repeated feverishly, “everything’s going to be fine!” Robin sat morosely in the Countess’ drawing room. “Do take some more tea,” the Countess offered, signaling the parlour maid to pour the Baroness a fresh cup of tea. Robin looked away when the maid put the tea on the tiny table next to her chair. She did not want the servant to see the tears that were glistening in her eyes. “You must take heart,” the Countess urged, “Doctor Bouchier has had more than one patient with that sort of a head injury and according to him they all recovered, one way or another.” Robin searched her skirt for the little pocket with the small handkerchief, pulled it out and brought it to her face.

Oh, but her sniffles had caused her nose to water and that lacy thing was not nearly enough to absorb her tears that had started to flow in abundance, let alone the liquid seeping from her nose! A hand appeared to offer her a large man’s kerchief. She took it without looking at the owner of the kind hand, until she had wiped her tears and her nose. “Now I have used your handkerchief, Doctor Bouchier,” she said with trembling lips, wondering how she could give it back to him, cleaned and ironed. The doctor smiled benignly and took a seat, nodding at the maid to pour him a cup of tea. He was a thin man, with dark hair and brown eyes. Robin wondered if he was close to forty years. It was hard to tell. He looked amazingly handsome, though. “You must not take it so hard, Lady Loveall,” he said soothingly, stirring his teacup. “It is not unusual for a person to lose his memory after such a hard blow on the head, especially when it is not the first time he’s had an injury of such magnitude.” Robin nodded, hardly able to withhold new tears. “So, you think the Baron will be recovering soon enough?” the Countess asked the doctor, more conversationally than curiously. The doctor wiggled his shoulders as if he had not yet decided to say yes or no. “Yes, yes,” he confirmed eventually, “these things always need a bit of time. The brain obviously had one heck of a shake. Sleep will be best for the Baron, but he

needs to be woken up about every hour for the next eight hours, just to be certain…” He looked up at the Countess as if he had not yet seen her. “You look in very good health today, Milady,” he complimented her. Bernadette coloured from her high collar up to her hair roots. Anyone who had spent a night with that very willing and ardent Lochiel Cameron would look splendid! Today she had put on her very best morning dress. It was of a grey- blue that matched her fine eyes. Not because Lochiel Cameron would admire her, but because she felt so well, so elated… She felt truly sorry for that poor girl that had married the very nice-looking Baron Loveall. She understood they were only very recently married, in Gretna Green, of all things! She wondered what kind of story was hidden behind that event. “How is your wife these days, Doctor Bouchier?” she asked politely. The Doctor looked down at his now empty teacup. “She could do better,” he mumbled, “autumn is never the best time for her.” “I’m devastated to hear that,” the Countess remarked, looking not at all sad. “Will her mother be visiting soon to cheer her up?” Robin looked from the Doctor to the Countess. She had the impression they knew each other more than in just a professional way.

Just like in Auldly, probably, where no one kept secrets from another either and everybody knew the inhabitants and their circumstances. “She’s back in York,” the Doctor said, accepting a fresh cup of tea from the hands of the Countess. “I am happy that the war is over. At least she has the company of my sweet sister again, who moved back to France a few years ago. She arrived in Dover only a few weeks ago. She was quite elated to have travelled with that war hero who just came back from France, the one who has married the old Earl’s oldest daughter, Lady Anthea Fairfax.” Bernadette tried to keep her face in check when the doctor mentioned Anthea Fairfax’s name. She had tried not to dislike the Fairfax girls, but they were so beautiful and full of life, it was just not fair! Their father had been astronomically rich, but when the earldom fell to Gilles, he had not received one penny from that part of the family fortune. The Fairfax family had not lived in Rotherham Castle when the former earl was alive. Cyril Fairfax had built a beautiful mansion a few miles from the castle, entirely to his wife Annette’s specifications. Everyone who had set eyes upon it admitted that it was gorgeous. Detty was very curious about Anthea Fairfax’s new husband Viscount Brondemeire. Gilles had been the heir to Cyril Fairfax’s earldom, as Cyril had only sired three daughters with his Countess Annette, but if Gilles would in his turn not sire a male

heir, the Earldom would probably revert to Anthea Fairfax’s son, if she had any. Rumours abounded that Cyril had bastard sons galore in the county of Rotherham and France. The story went that Bruno Bouchier, the Rotherham physician, was one of his boys born on the wrong side of the bed. It would have been the only explanation as to why Bruno Bouchier’s mother had been married to one of Cyril’s sea captains, but had been living in grand style in Rotherham until her death. Bernadette looked down at her belly for a moment. Maybe her chance had come and she had been able to conceive a son. She looked impatiently out of the big round parlour window. As far as she knew Lochiel had not come down for his breakfast. She had felt invigorated after their night of delicious sex, but she assumed shamefacedly that Lochiel would have been tired after his ordeal at sea and a long night without much sleep. Gilles’ valet had told her that the Major had asked for a shave and a bath. He had taken his own good time to have both. As far as the valet knew the Major had been in a boisterous good mood, which was marvelous according to his nephew. Roy had confided to the valet that the Major suffered from depressions since he had been blinded at Salamanca. His good mood was a very welcome change. As far as Detty knew Lochiel had wanted to get some fresh air, requesting Roy MacDuff to take him for a long

walk in the nice cool weather that had followed the day of the storm. She almost groaned aloud with impatience. It would still be hours and hours before she could climb into Lochiel’s bed again! * * *

Chapter 32: AWAY FROM A HAVEN * Captain Barnes visited his former voyagers at the castle of Rotherham one evening. “The good thing,” he explained to the Earl and his visitors, “is that the mast broke off at a man’s height on the main deck. That means repairs can be done in Rotherham. The bad thing is that I had to order a mast from the Sutherland’s shipyard in Hull, as it was not possible to find anything of the like here in the neighbourhood. I had to go there myself. I know Hull quite well and the Sutherlands used to be part of the Stephenson Line. Before I bought the Matilda-Rose I used to work for the Alexander-Stephenson Line.” “When do you expect to sail again?” Lochiel asked with some trepidation. His dunking into the high waves did not really incite him to go back onto the Matilda-Rose. Captain Barnes started to shake his head until he realized that Lochiel was not able to see him. “Dirk Sutherland has ordered the mast to be made, but before they have it brought from Hull… will be at least three weeks, is my guess.” “Ah, well,” the Countess interrupted cheerfully, “our visitors cannot leave before the Baron has completely recovered, anyway. It will be at least another two weeks before he is able to travel again.” The Earl frowned at his wife. It was not that they were as poor as church mice, but having a group of five extra adults at his table for

another two weeks would be some strain on the household budget. He pondered that situation would quickly change. He was to receive five thousand pounds for his share in marrying Anthea Fairfax off to Viscount Brondemeire. It was just that he did not fancy telling his wife about that windfall and how it came about. They lived like cat and mouse these days and she did tend to quarrel with him about everything and nothing. He also feared that she would start spending the money on women’s fripperies and the like. A silent Robin caught sight of his frown. She was very sensitive to his sort of body language. She'd had to cope with the difficult Evelyn for three years and could only tell what she truly wanted if she was reading her body language correctly. Now she guessed that what the Earl was thinking about was many more mouths he'd have to feed. She decided to have a word with the Earl’s steward and to hand him over enough money for their stay. She had not been blind to the state of affairs in the castle, nor to the new situation between the Countess and the Major, for that matter. It had been a coincidence that she had just crept back to Lionel’s room after having used the commode in the hallway, late at night, when she had noticed the Countess entering the Major’s bedroom. Robin mused that ‘entering’ might not be the right word; it had been more like creeping.

She was ashamed to confess that she had waited at the inner door of Lionel’s room, deeply hidden in the darkness, to eavesdrop. When a few moments later specific sounds had emerged from the Major’s bedroom, she quickly surmised that the Countess had been on a mission. She had no trouble guessing exactly on which one. Bernadette had covertly complained to her about her childlessness and the fact that the first Mrs Blackwood had never conceived either. Robin now grasped perfectly well why Bernadette had insisted that her husband should be given extra wine and brandy at the supper table. It had been quite an embarrassing sight to see the Earl leave the table with the help of a footman because he was too drunk to keep his balance, but Robin did not doubt that was exactly what the Countess had wanted to achieve. She had almost giggled aloud, until she remembered who was lying behind the bedroom door where she was hiding; her own dear husband, who did not have a clue as to who she was. Lionel did not recognize her at all. She had caught him staring curiously at her, once in a while, though. He had even ordered her out of his room, thinking she was a nurse or a servant, when he wanted the use of the commode. She had regretfully shaken her head about Lionel’s high-handedness. They were now back at square one: he had assumed she was a servant at Hillview Manor and

now he thought the same again due to his illness at Rotherham Castle. She had been obliged to ask the Earl’s valet to put her truckle bed into Lionel’s dressing room and now she slept there, hoping that Lionel would get his memories back soon. The only thing she could do now was to take care of his room and to bring him his meals. He only accepted the Earl’s valet in helping him with his personal needs. Doctor Bouchier came to check on him every day, changing the bandage and checking Lionel’s head, his eyes and tongue. Until now he did not notice any progress regarding Lionel’s memory. Lionel appeared not even to know his own name. When Robin realized that, she burst out in tears again, which resulted in a bland, puzzled look from her husband. “But if my husband can travel and you are still waiting for your mast, what are we to do?” she asked Captain Barnes. Bernadette opened her mouth to offer the company at least three more weeks of hospitality, but the Earl, not yet too far advanced in his state of inebriation, said brusquely: “It will be too late in the year to voyage by ship by then. I can have a coach arranged, so that you will be able to continue your travels to London by road.” Lochiel had nodded slowly at that suggestion. He really did not fancy going back on board of the MatildaRose.

Robin watched him closely, but his features did not show any sign that he regretted having to leave Rotherham. The Countess coughed in her hand in an attempt not to betray her eagerness for the guests, and especially her lover, to stay on instead of taking a coach to London any time soon. “I'll hate seeing you go tomorrow. I wish you could stay forever!” Bernadette sighed, playing a finger game with Lochiel’s belly button. Lochiel grabbed her hand and managed to bring it to his mouth to plant a playful kiss on it. “We’ve been here for almost a month,” he whispered. “I’m not even sure if Rothford will still be in London. I’m afraid we can no longer stay here, my dearest.” He heard her choke and fervently hoped that she was not on the verge of bursting into tears. He was completely helpless when women cried. “At least your wish is likely to come true,” he murmured in her hair. She sat up with a start. “What do you mean by that, Lochiel?” He pushed her back against one side of his chest. “We’ve been here for a month and I have not yet noticed you staying away from me… for the specific womanly reasons which occur every four weeks!” She sat up again, joy glowing on her face. “Oh, Lochiel, I did not even think of it! I must be six days overdue!”

He hauled her to his chest again. “I hate to say it,” he mumbled, “but promise me that you will sleep with your husband tomorrow when I’m gone. Just to be on the safe side. You’d not want him realizing, that he has been cuckolded. That could be dangerous for that babe you are carrying. Your husband, I noticed, is a very unstable man.” Bernadette crept close to him, searching with a hand for that part of him that had gifted her with this welcome and still slightly unexpected present. It could always have been her and the first Mrs Blackwood’s fault that they had not been able to conceive. Her new situation proved her theory right, though. It had been Gilles’ lack of good seed all the time! She was not surprised to find Lochiel hard and willing, as if he had been anticipating her longing for him. “Oh, Lochiel, my amazing lover, do it to me one more time, please!” Lochiel smiled. She should not plead with him. He would miss her nightly ministrations more than she would ever know. She was sweet and sensual and only a bit demanding when it came to matters in bed. He had come to like her more and more each day. He sought her mouth and kissed her as if the world would stop turning any minute. Yes, surprisingly, he would miss her, his Detty. **

Chapter 33: FINDING FRIENDS IN LONDON * London, November 1814. Kit Andover, Viscount Brondemeire, took out his watch. It was only eleven o’clock. He gazed at his coffee cup that was still halfway full. What had he been doing, sleeping? Unimaginable! He was not like the old geezers at the White’s Club; he did not nod off in his chair like old Lord Pomfrey over there! He was a young Peer of the Realm, married to the most adorable woman in the world, his own incomparable, long-legged Anthea, born Fairfax. He suddenly started to wonder if he should have a round at the newspapers, when the butler came in to deliver a note to him. He frowned. “An emergency at Lady Grange’s house? Ask the front door man to have my horse brought around, Weatherspoon. I’m obviously wanted at my aunt’s place.” Kit looked with surprise at the three women who were seated on the big ornamental couch in his aunt’s family parlour.

Leticia hastened to introduce him to the dark haired beauty in grey who was sitting between his aunt and his wife. He bowed at her. “Congratulations, Lady Loveall! I did not know Lionel had married! He told me he would do so, the moment he stepped on English soil, so I should not be surprised.” “Oh Kit!” Anthea exclaimed, pressing a hand to her stomach, “The most dreadful things have happened to both Lionel and Robin!” Kit looked warily at his wife. He had never known her to be so upset about anything so much to become so pale. “I’m here now,” he said reassuringly, “so let’s start from the beginning.” “They were abducted and forced to marry,” Leticia said impatiently, “but the most important thing now is that Lionel had a dreadful accident at sea.” Kit’s brows rose. “Aunt Letty, you confuse me. At sea, you say?” “We fled from our abductors and took to sea near Newcastle at Tynemouth,” Robin explained hastily. Kit sat down in a chair and spread his hands. This was certain to take some time. “Alright, I have reason to think that the accident at sea is foremost on your mind, Lady Loveall...” “Well, the thing is that I would be able to cope very well with the abduction and our forced marriage...”

Robin hesitated. She was not much used to expostulate on intimate things to ‘mere strangers’. Kit nodded at her. “Please, do go on, Lady Loveall.” She sighed, forcing herself to be calm. “We were forced to marry on the eleventh of September. My stepmother surmised that Lionel was a lowly footman, as he was dressed in a footman’s uniform at a masked ball. I think she expected she could put her hands on my father’s inheritance if she married me off to a commoner. So they – her lover, Mr Pettigrew and herself – abducted us both from that ball and forcefully brought us to Gretna Green. We managed to escape them after the wedding ceremony. My stepmother fainted as soon as she checked the wedding certificate and found out that Lionel was actually a baron.” Kit smiled knowingly. Even in the army, Lionel had preferred not to use his Baron’s title, nor did he advertise the fact that he was the Earl of Went’s heir. The girl’s stepmother had not been the only one to labour under a misapprehension about Lionel’s noble descent. “We went to Tynemouth to await a ship heading for London. Lionel presumed it best to take care of things from his London house, as we both have our lawyers in the city.” She bowed her head. “The second day on board of the ship a storm broke out and the main mast broke in the gale. Captain Barnes

decided to try to reach port and we were heading for the inlet of Rotherham when the ship turned out to be so damaged that it started to take water. The Captain insisted that we should set out the dinghy and try to reach the shore. But poor blind Major Cameron...” “You don’t mean Major Lochiel Cameron from Bannock-burn and Stirling?” Kit interrupted. Robin shrugged. “He told us he was a Cameron and was asked by his wife’s clan to become the Laird of the MacGregor’s in Stirling a few years ago. His wife died during his stay in the Peninsula and he was on his way to see the Duke of Rothford, now residing in London, to ask him if he could become the Laird of her clan until his second son comes of age. That son is an ensign in a Highlander Regiment and most suitable for the election of Laird in the future.” “It is definitely the same Cameron I knew a few years ago!” Kit muttered, “Forgive me, Lady Loveall. Please continue...” “Robin, please, Lord Brondemeire,” Robin said in an undertone. She put out a hand to pick up her cup of tea, but when she noticed it was trembling, she folded it in her lap again. “When the Major tried to get into the dinghy he fell into the sea. He missed the rope-ladder completely. My husband immediately jumped after him, but the dinghy was taken up by a wave and thrown back against his head.”

“Not Lionel’s head, again?” Kit asked appalled. Robin could only nod. A tear appeared on her cheek and she hastened to wipe it away with her serviette. “He already had a head wound when he was in France, this spring,” she sniffed, “and my stepmother bashed him on his head when he came by my house, on his way home.” She looked up at Leticia. “That’s how we met. It would have been a comedy if it had not turned out to be so dramatic.” “I took it on myself to nurse him, not telling him that I was the original owner of the house. Hillview is mine through my mother’s inheritance. My mother was a Wharton just like Lady Grange. She was a niece to Lady Grange. My mother disliked living at Dunstead Manor so it is mostly let. And thus Lionel thought me a servant.” She gazed apologetically at Leticia. “He fainted at my doorstep and my stepmother and stepsister were leaving for their family in Scarborough. I had him brought to a lodge outside the house and nursed him back to some of his health. My stepmother never knew anything about the affairs of the estate. After my father died I took full possession of Hillview. He had taught me the ropes of estate management and my stepmother never cared about anything as long as money came in. She did object to me being known as the owner of the house and did everything to demean me in the eyes of the world. I was soon fed up with her ravings and dramatics, so I made myself into an almost invisible

person. I did not wish to socialize under the circumstances. Evelyn had managed to chase away all the friends my parents used to have. Under those circumstances and with the help of my faithful staff I could easily manage to hide and nurse Lionel.” “He was wounded on the head once again?” Kit asked incredulously, “Why, but this must be the third time!” Now Robin’s tears began to flow in earnest and some time passed before she was able to continue her story. “The Captain and the sailors managed to get both the Major and Lionel out of the water to the shore, but they were in a bad way. At first we were brought to an inn close to the sea. Afterwards we were invited to stay at Rotherham Castle by the Countess of Rotherham, when she heard about our mishap. It took almost five weeks before Lionel recovered well enough to travel to London. We decided to go overland, as the weather had turned too bad to go by sea.” Kit leant his chin on his hand. “And now you are staying at Wentworth Residence on Upper Brook Street?” Robin, who had been able to stop the flow of her tears, started to cry again, shaking her head. “No, we are at the Monkey’s Head and Barrel, a coaching inn,” she managed to say between sobs. “You see, we heard that the Earl of Wentworth, Lionel’s father, had just suffered another stroke and that he was in a very bad way. Under the circumstances I dared not come to his door... His father never knew of our marriage and I did not know how to break it to him...”

“But don’t you think it would be good for the old Earl to have his son in his house, married and all?” Anthea asked in wonderment. Robin fumbled with her dainty handkerchief. “He would, if only Lionel would remember him. You see, he lost his memory entirely since that last unfortunate accident.” It had been a turbulent day. After Robin had told her sad tale to Kit, Leticia had insisted that the unfortunates would stay at her house until everything was set right. Lochiel had been offered an invitation to stay as well and had gladly accepted it. Kit had gone to the coaching inn to find Lionel and the Major, and was upset about the fact that his erstwhile friend and comrade in battle had looked at him blankly, unable to remember him. He shook his head. That poor couple! They'd already started their marriage in such an unusual way, with abduction and the nuptials in a smithy in Gretna Green of all things! Then to have been almost shipwrecked at sea in an autumn storm! It was like a bloody gothic tale! Lionel had looked around him with curiosity, not recognizing Kit or Lochiel Cameron at all. He had reacted with blandness when Robin had taken his arm to guide him inside Grange House. Kit shook his head again. Lionel Armstrong had always been certain of what he did. That bland look did nothing to remind Kit of his friend’s dashing personality.

Kit wondered if it would help matters if he would send their old army doctor around to examine Lionel. He at last decided that he would send a message to the old sawbones as soon as he went home to Berkeley Street. “Will this be my bedroom?” Lionel asked. Robin watched him making a turn around the room. “This will be our bedroom, Lionel,” she answered him softly. “Don’t you think it is a very grand room? We are in my aunt’s house.” He nodded distractedly. Robin watched him from under her lashes. He looked very handsome in his civilian clothes. She had wondered if he was still supposed to wear his major’s outfit, but as his entire wardrobe was assuredly still in Went, it had been simpler to dress him in the tight fitting fashionable clothes that they ordered at Bond Street, when she was still staying at the inn. The tailors there even still had his measurements on file from the times he had resided in London. “I keep forgetting you are my wife,” he said softly, “I am so sorry. How long have we been married, again?” Tears rose to her eyes and he hastened to take her into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, “I wish I was able to remember...” He shook his head.

He gingerly sought her mouth with his. The woman struck a chord in him, for certain, but the feelings behind that realization remained a blur. She was such a sad and beautiful girl! He observed a tightening in his breeches and decided to welcome it. She opened her eyes and looked deeply into his. He gasped as if a little hatch was opened, very slightly. “Purple eyes,” he murmured, “you have the loveliest purple eyes.” He felt his groin hardening and squeezed his own eyes shut, trying to remember a connection, anything. Robin swallowed away her tears. It would really not do to cry all the time. They had not touched for weeks. She waited in resignation for him to let go of her and turn away from her. Lord, she could cry for another week just remembering the happiness that had been taken away from them, after the accident in the water had occurred. Lionel tightened his arms around her. This girl that was supposed to be his wife... He suddenly felt a deep longing for her and his growing erection was not an incentive to let go of her. Did he have to let go of her, he wondered. If they were married, then... He unexpectedly turned her towards the bed, pulling her down on it tenderly. Her eyes widened and he wondered if he was going too far, taking liberties he should not take. He shifted to a side of the bed.

“You wouldn’t...” he asked the beautiful girl. He saw her swallow. Was he being distasteful to her? “Why don’t you kiss me again, Lionel?” He looked sharply at her. She liked it, when he kissed her? Then kiss her he would! He pushed her head onto the silk cushion at the head of the bed and rolled his body on top of her. He kissed her deeply and a feeling of peace and homecoming flooded through him. “You have a wonderful mouth,” he whispered, in between embraces, “so soft and... “ He kissed her again, without finishing his sentence. He heard her moan and felt her hands at his waistband. He gasped when he understood she was taking the initiative. When he sunk into her body a few very enticing moments later, he heard her sob. “Please don’t cry, Purple Eyes,” he begged her, “everything is going to be alright…” Lionel looked down at the girl to whom everybody around them referred as his wife, Robin: Robin Armstrong, Lady Loveall. Well, if everybody was right he had chosen well, hadn’t he? His hand went to her naked breast that peeped just over the sheets. God, he truly liked this whole thing about being married to her.

He’d had no memory of how nice it was to bed her, to fill her with his hard shaft and pound inside her, until she cried out in ecstasy. He licked his lips. He wanted her again, now! He shook his head, pushing his hands hard on his eyeballs. Had he always been like that: so promiscuous? Promiscuous? What a fancy word to think or to use! But he knew promiscuous, didn’t he? Wasn’t it a word his father used? He suddenly sat up in the bed. His father? Yes, there must be a father. White hair, big moustache... Surely... Did his father have white hair and a big grey moustache? He’d ask Purple Eyes as soon as she was awake. He looked down his naked body. Better sooner than later, he mused, turning to his wife again. * * *

Chapter 34: THANKS TO HARRY * “The Ton thrives on blatant stories, Anthea!” Lady Grange said to her new niece. “Anyway, it’s in everybody’s interest to know that Loveall is bedding his wife. What, after the whole history of them, and especially Robin, living nose to nose with that handsome Laird for weeks! He may be blind but he does not seem to be disabled in that other quarter. I understand he propositioned one of my maids. Oh well, that might have been wishful thinking from her part. Dolly always imagined herself in love with soldiers. Anyway, I’m glad Robin has had her courses so there won’t be any doubt about who is the father when she will be in the family way. We must watch out for our own, Anthea!” Anthea opened her mouth to add an ironic remark to Leticia’s lecture but decided against it. Her aunt had not developed the Ton’s rules; she was only abiding to them. Come to think of it, she was glad that Robin had at least that sort of attention from her husband, that he bedded her. That he did not remember her would be hard enough for the girl. It was clear for everybody to see that Lionel had made a love match, although right now the love came mostly from the beautiful baroness. Lionel used to stare at his wife, but there was often utter blandness in his face. Anthea sat back stirring her cup of tea.

She gazed at the chocolate truffles her aunt had presented to her and repressed a shudder, which was kind of a strange sensation. She always loved chocolate truffles! He looked up in expectation. There was some tension in the air. He could not put his finger on it, but he felt it clearly. His hand strained around a crystal glass filled with fine claret. The elderly lady that called herself his wife’s aunt looked at him imploringly. The man was standing in the doorway, where the lights of the great candelabra in the parlour hardly reached. Lionel frowned in concentration. It seemed as if something started to buzz inside his head. Robin looked questioningly up at him, reaching for his hand, which had dropped the cards on the table. The man stepped into the light, an expectant smile on his face. Lionel’s eyes widened in pleasure. “Harry!” he exclaimed, “Harry, my God, it’s you!” Robin had closed three of the four curtains around the bed, creating a small haven of soft candlelight and intimacy. She turned to her husband who lay staring at the ceiling inside the bed. Lionel had always slept naked in the times that he was his conscious self and tonight he had discarded his nightshift with an appalled face.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, looking at him with a worried frown. He started to pluck at the bows of her nightdress. “I will be, as soon as I get you out of this horrible thing,” he stated. She pouted playfully at him. “It’s one of my aunt’s finest Brussels’ lace shifts!” “I don’t care if it was the Queen’s,” he growled. He was impatient because he realized he had to make up for a lot of lost time. They had not slept together during all the weeks that they had been in Rotherham! She slid the nightdress from her shoulders until it pooled around her hips. “Come here,” he grunted softly, “I’ve missed you!” He pulled her over to him until she straddled his hips. She gave him a watery smile. “Welcome back, Lionel,” she murmured softly, “I’ve missed you too!” They were now at the Wentworth Residence in Upper Brook Street. Leticia had hated to see them go, but of course, she agreed that they should go and live in Lionel's father’s house now that his memory had come thundering back to him like a waterfall, after he recognized his brother Harry. It had not been a very festive return to the Wentworth Residence. Lionel’s father was terribly ill after his last stroke and hardly cognizant of his surroundings. The doctor had warned them that they should fear the worst.

Still, the eyes of the old Earl had lit up when Lionel had presented himself next to the bed. He even had tried to say something when Lionel introduced his wonderful bride to him. It was clear that the old aristocrat was very happy that his oldest son had finally married a most suitable girl, albeit without his knowledge and consent. Robin had almost burst out in tears when she had seen the Earl lying immobile in his bed. She later explained to Lionel that it had seemed like her own father’s illness all over again. “Come closer, my love,” Lionel whispered, tugging at her shoulders. She lay down on top of him and he smiled at her, letting his hands roam over the smooth skin of her back, kneading her firm round buttocks. “My Purple Eyes,” he said softly, “how on Earth could I not remember you?” She giggled in his neck. “You do now, don’t you?” He pushed his erected flesh against her soft mons. “Is it true we did not make love for weeks? I mean, apart from my unforgettable ways at your aunt’s house?” “Five weeks,” she whispered in his ear, “five incredibly long weeks.” He turned her around, driving a strong muscled thigh between her legs to open them. “In that case I better start making it up to you at once,” he grinned with heat in his voice. She made a choked sound. He looked at her, startled and uncomprehending.

“Why are you crying?” She sniffed, trying to wipe her tears away with a trembling hand. “Because I love you, Lionel Armstrong,” she assured him with vehemence, “that’s why. Now get yourself inside of me, because we need to hurry!” Lionel had started to nuzzle her breasts and stopped, looking questioningly at her. “Why hurry?” “Oh,” she smiled softly, “your father is in such a bad way. If we don’t hurry he’ll never see his grandson.” Now it was Lionel’s turn to smile. “I’ll hurry,” he murmured, entering her, “I’ll hurry all night.” * * *

Chapter 35: DISCOVERIES AT A LAWYER’S OFFICE * London, December 1814 The lawyer peered at the papers with some concern. Robin gazed at him, grabbing Lionel’s sleeve for support. “The situation with regard to Lady Evelyn Dunstead is not entirely clear,” Mr. Clifton of Clifton and Clifton said. He turned a page in his thick file, frowning as his fingers followed a line in the document. “It’s a bit of a complicated matter so we’ll start at the beginning. You understand, Lady Loveall, that now you and Lord Loveall are married,” he stopped to bow shortly in Lionel’s direction, “your father’s entailments might be reserved and entailed to your male heir, to be born out of your union. Under normal circumstances your father’s heir, in case he did not have sons, should be found amongst his nephews or someone else male along the Dunstead line. The problem is that Baron Dunstead mentioned an old uncle or a grandfather’s cousin or some such, whom we have been searching for but whom we until now have not been able to locate. We suppose under the circumstances that the recent heir to the Barony, now Baron Dunstead, has probably no issue.” Master Clifton sent another nod into Lionel’s direction.

“I gather that Lord Loveall understands that the Dunstead entailment will never be his, as it should go eventually to your son in first instance as the formal heir, when the recent Baron Dunstead indeed turns out not to have an issue.” Lionel nodded solemnly. “As for the Wharton inheritance from the side of your mother, Lady Loveall...” The rotund man stopped for a short time to take a breath. “My understanding is that you did not marry under any prenuptial agreements or conditions, so according to the law Lady Loveall’s entire inheritance went, at the moment of your mutual consent to the marriage, into the hands of Lord Loveall.” Lionel tapped a hand on the gilded desk. “That is also why we are here,” he said gravely, “I want to revert my wife’s Wharton inheritance to her. She’ll then be able to bestow it to anyone she wants later, when...” He swallowed. The death of Robin one day bore no thinking of. Clifton nodded, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose with a fat finger that was stained with ink. “Yes, well, we will draw up the necessary papers, my lord. It will be just a matter of creating a contract in which you state your wishes concerning the Wharton money.” Robin hesitated. She had argued with Lionel that whatever was hers would be his from now on, but he

was stubborn about it. Her personal fortune was hers to bestow on whomever she pleased, just like her mother before her had done. He had pointed out to her that if there would be girls born out of their union, she could provide them with their own dowry. “What about my stepmother and Bertha?” she asked, “I still don’t know if my father provided for them!” “Ah, yes,” the lawyer nodded. “As I said, the entailed property might go to your eventual son. As for your father’s small fortune…” Robin’s eyes widened. “My father had a fortune? I was not aware of that.” The lawyer tapped a sheet he was holding with his other hand. “Your father expected that there would be a bit of a... let’s say, a hassle about the inheritance due to his remarrying Evelyn Goddard and of course the existence of his daughter Bertha.” Robin opened her eyes wide. “Do I understand you correctly? You said: 'his daughter'? Did father actually adopt Bertha?” Master Clifton lifted a hand to scratch under his short wig. “The situation is a bit more complicated than that, Lady Loveall. Your father foresaw that you would have questions about Miss Bertha’s background so he gave me her birth-certificate. Here…” Robin held her breath. She felt Lionel’s fingers reassuringly on her arm.

“Ah, yes, here it is; birth certificate of Roberta Dunstead…” “No!” Robin cried out, “You must have mine there, I am Roberta Dunstead!” Master Clifton looked up from the paper in his hand. “Roberta Dunstead,” he continued without blinking, “born in Edinburgh, Scotland on the 7th of April 1790. Mother: Mildred Evelyn Goddard, father: Eric, Baron Dunstead…” “What?” Robin almost shrieked, “Bertha is my real sister? But how?” Master Clifton looked unsuitably amused. “The obvious way, I’m afraid, Lady Loveall. Miss Goddard must have been your father’s mistress…” “No,” Robin shook her head, “he loved my mother! He would never… Wait, Bertha was born in 1790 you say? My parents married in 1791 and I was born later that year.” She sank back into her chair. So Bertha was her real half-sister and more than a year her senior. Why had Evelyn never told her that? Another thought suddenly overwhelmed her. “Was that why he married Evelyn? To bring Bertha back into the fold and Dunstead?” “That stands almost to reason,” Master Clifton allowed, “and now that you know the truth, you must be able to understand why your father divided his fortune into three parts. The full amount of money is 13,300 pounds, and all three are to be given about 4,400 pounds each.”

He looked at Robin’s dazed face. “To answer your former question, I have here the papers regarding your sister’s formal adoption in 1808, at the same time the Baron married Evelyn Goddard. Robin fell silent. She had to think. She had always been certain that she had been her father’s one and only beloved girl. She had never expected that she had been sharing his affections with Bertha. Bertha had always been unassuming and quiet, mostly trying to cater to the needs of her domineering mother, just like Robin had to do after her father died. Bertha had been shy when Robin had showed hostility towards her when she first came to Hillview. Robin sighed. She had never truly paid attention to Bertha, as Evelyn had always been on top of the girl. She understood now that Evelyn had always tried to protect Bertha’s interests, which were most definitely contrary to Robin’s. Her father had wanted the three of them to have an equal share of his money, while Robin had first rights to Dunstead. Evelyn must have figured out that if Robin married a cit or below her station, Bertha, officially his daughter as well, would be first in line for the Dunstead barony for her own future son, a boon Evelyn would not refuse to take. She only had to find Bertha a titled husband. “But then… If you give Evelyn that money,” she stuttered, “she will never pay for her crime of our abduction! You will reward her for it, in a way!”

“Abduction?” Master Clifton frowned, “I think you better explain to me what you mean by that accusation, Lady Loveall!” Master Clifton had ordered some tea, after Robin had told him about the circumstances of the forced marriage. “This Mr. Pettigrew,” the lawyer asked, “what can you tell me about him?” “Nothing,” Robin shrugged, “I only know that Evelyn brought him into the house after having been to Scarborough for more than a week. I assume he came from Scarborough. On the other hand, my coachman told me that Evelyn and Bertha had done quite a lot of shopping in York and stayed there at an inn.” She reddened. “I know they had… that their relationship was more than casual. He must have known her for some time, because he used to call her Millie, Evelyn’s other name on Bertha’s birth certificate.” Master Clifton stared at Robin. Her blush was very telling. “Do you… Did you have the impression that Mr. Pettigrew and your stepmother had more than a friendly understanding?” Robin went almost beet red. Lionel looked at her with tenderness; his sweet and lovely wife! After all the passionate nights they had shared, she was still a bit of an innocent. Of course, Robin had told him about the evening that she had discovered the couple ‘at it’ on the library couch.

“They had a love relationship, Master Clifton. I once had the nasty experience of walking into them when they were …” Master Clifton nodded curtly. “The thing to do,” he moved to stand in front of Lionel, “is to ask Bow Street for assistance in this matter. It is imperative that we know about their whereabouts and the real relationship between this Pettigrew and Mrs Goddard, ah, Lady Dunstead. There is no doubt that their action against you was a criminal offence. Now then…” He moved to his desk to ring a bell. When one of his assistants came in, he conferred urgently with him. “My assistant will be on his way to Bow Street. I will take care of that matter for you, if you don’t mind. Is there anything else I can help you with?” Lionel nodded. “I want you to investigate whether my brother Harry can get the entailment of my Barony of Loveall. As you well understand, my father the Earl is in a very bad way and not expected to recover from his last apoplexy. When I ...” He stopped. It was as difficult for him to think of his father’s demise as Robin’s. The lawyer nodded again, his spectacles shifting back to the point of his bulbous nose. “There might be possibilities, my lord, although it is unusual. There have been precedencies, though. The point is that your brother can only get the entailment

when there are no, well, let me make it clear: the entailment goes either to the heir, or the brother.” He reddened when he glanced at Robin and coughed before he resumed: “It is my understanding that there are no heirs now? Your brother is still supposed to be your sole heir?” Robin reached out to touch Lionel’s arm. She smiled reassuringly at him. This same morning she had shared her suspicion with him that she might be with child. Her terms had been a week overdue. She agreed, however, with Lionel that Harry needed some entailment of his own. As a boy out of their union would already inherit Dunstead and become an Earl of Wentworth one day in his own right, it would not be a great sacrifice to hand Loveall over to Harry. Mr. Clifton nodded and bent down to scribble a note on a paper. “I’ll see to it within a week from now, my lord. The moment you become the new Earl of Wentworth, your brother will become the new Baron Loveall.” * * *

Chapter 36: SACRIFICES * Lochiel turned his head when he heard the door open behind him. Lizzie rushed towards him. "Lochiel, oh Lochiel, my love!" she whispered. Her smile disappeared when her eyes found his scarred face with the closed lids, instead of the blue sapphires of the irises that used to mesmerize her. "Oh God!" Lizzie gasped, "So it is true? Oh, my God, Lochiel what happened to your beautiful, beautiful eyes?" She could not help but withdraw away from him in shock. "A blast in Salamanca, as you must know, Lizzie. I had Roy MacDuff write you about it," he lied, not able to confess to her the true horrible nature of his blindness. Lizzie bent her willowy body to kiss him on the lips. She hoped Lochiel would not notice that the kiss was quite without a trace of any of the passion they once had shared. God, what was wrong with her? "Can I sit next to you?" she asked, trying to hide the bewilderment in her voice. More than three years of separation had done that to them? "How are you doing, Lizzie?" he asked her, filling the awkward silence after she had sat down. She looked at him in dismay. Yes, those years must have changed everything between them, she thought as

she sat here next to him, looking abashed at his scarred face. "I mostly live at Arlington House, in Randolph’s house," she said unwillingly. "With John?" he asked, as if he and the Duke’s brother were familiar. There was a long silence. "He lives there once in a while." She shrugged. "You never got together?" She was again silent for a long time. "About three years ago. As was planned, when you left for the war and I went to London." He obviously waited for further information. "I conceived, but I miscarried after I fell from the stairs. We had an argument and I ran away from him." Lizzie preferred not to expound that Lochiel had been the cause of John's outbreak of fury, which had led to her accident. "Were you badly hurt?" Her eyes widened. Lochiel had always taken care of her when they had been lovers. It was clear to her that part of him had not changed. Had John ever asked her if she had been badly hurt? She did not think so, or at least she did not remember. "I broke my leg at the hip and it took months to heal, which was just as well. Since then we have become strangers again. I wanted to go back to Edinburgh, but he would not allow me to. I wanted to divorce him, but

he refused to let me. I know he still wants an heir, his brother Rothford ordered him to bed me as a matter of fact, but he obviously did not dare to be violent towards me anymore, so when he is at the house we avoid each other." "He was violent when you conceived?" She hesitated. John had always shown some sort of fury towards her when he made love to her. Love... She bit her lip. She had never figured out what was behind John's behavior towards her. For some reason she seemed to drag his aggression and fury to the fore. She shivered, even though it was hot in the conservatory. Yes, what was wrong with John Montgomery? "No, he actually did not know he was swiving his own wife at the time. It was at a masked ball and he fancied me. So I let it happen." Lizzie did not wish to discuss the fact that John had moved heaven and earth to find her after that masque at Morrison's Den. Snow had claimed that if John was not falling in love with her, then at least it was an inordinate sort of attraction. There had been a lot of heated beddings after the masque that nobody knew of. It was just as well that she had spread the story of the one-time swive. "He fancied you?" Lizzie was not certain if she heard jealousy in Lochiel’s voice. "He never fancied you before…"

"He hardly knew me, Lochiel," she said tartly. "We had not seen each other for about six years, remember?" She heard the bitterness dripping in her own voice. Just as well, she thought angrily, that she was bitter. She had been discarded by the two most important men in her life. She felt tears suddenly streaming on her cheeks and tried to hide a hiccup rising in her throat. She looked at Lochiel with a desperate plea for... for mercy? Sympathy? "I have not been able to see the twins for more than three years. Three years, Lochiel! I sent Mattie letters and she had hers sent to some wheezing lawyer, who needs my money as I need his silence!" Lochiel did not seem to hear the pleading in her voice. "Don’t you know that if you give your husband his heart’s desire you can go where you please?" he inquired with a flat voice. "I… I don’t want him to have any power over me, Lochiel," she said with despair lacing her voice. Lochiel shook his head. "Lizzie, he's had all the power in the world over you since the day you married him. Is it ten years ago now? It was our luck that he decided to leave you in Edinburgh, so that we had our guilty years together. But that situation has changed since Rothford decided to have me replaced to the Peninsula and he wanted you back in London. Everything on Rothford's orders, I know, but you cannot continue this battle against John

Lorna out of silly pride. Give him the heir he wants and you’ll be free again. Be sensible for once, Lizzie!" Lizzie gasped. She did not like that last part of his truths, but it was true nonetheless. She had married John Montgomery when she was sixteen, but at that time she had already been a spoiled and stubborn girl. Her parents had always doted on her and, in that small place where she came from, the knowledge that she was destined to marry a duke’s son had only helped her to become more arrogant and demanding. "So you don’t want me anymore, Lochiel?" She saw him grind his jaws together. He had always done that when there was something difficult to tell her. "The answer to that should be the least of your worries, Lizzie," he retorted. "Would you want me back, blind as a bat and a scarred soldier? What future would there be for us? You, haunted by a husband who might like to divorce you but can’t because he does not have any proof of our adultery and does not want to bring down shame on his house, and me, a scarred for life major, almost penniless because I cannot add any more money to my meager pension? You need to look ahead, Lizzie, and not try to relive a time that will never come again! Are you certain you even like me the way I am now?" Lizzie sniffed, understanding at last what he was telling her; if she ever wanted to see her children again she had to go and do what John Montgomery had been obliged to marry her for, all those years ago. Like it or not, Lochiel Cameron had no place in that situation.

Like or love... He wanted her to cut the ties with him because they were not in her best interests. "But how?" she wailed. "How can I get him to share my bed again, Lochiel? I have a limp since I fell from those stairs." She stared crossly at him when she saw a smile play around his lips. "You always knew how to get to me, Lizzie, even when I really did not want to be seduced. Use the same wiles on him. You’re damn good at it. Do you think he'll care about your leg when he…" Her clean, perfumed hand touched his lips. "Don’t say it, Lochiel," she begged him, "I get the drift and I’m afraid you are right. I’d do anything to see the children again!" He held his head bent into her direction, trying to catch the undertones of her remark. "Listen,” he said softly, “I live on the Earl of Loghaire’s premises in Edinburgh right now, so it would help you to become friends with his wife, Marguerite. She is a soft-hearted creature who would invite you to Edinburgh anytime. And it would be good if you started seeing the little Lady Loveall, because that would give you a good reason to come to this house. We can talk about the children next time, here in the conservatory. Get yourself together, Lizzie, I know you are not socializing, but you must, in order to help yourself and the children." "I see Iphigenia Hamilton whenever I can," she objected.

He nodded. "That’s a great starting point. But do yourself a favor and stop fighting John Lorna. Just play your cards right, Lizzie. It’s time to grow up." She stared angrily at him, not knowing whether it was for his unreceptive behavior, or the fact that he pressed her nose onto the truth about the flaws in her character. She straightened her back and rose from the bench. "Thank you so much, Lochiel," she whispered, not certain if she thanked him for what had been between them in the past, or his practical advice, so that one day she could travel back to Edinburgh again and see her twins. She knew she sounded confused, as if he had let her down. She hesitated, then turned and hurried to the exit of the conservatory, not daring to look back at the man who had meant everything to her for six long years. * * *

Chapter 37: LIZZIE’S QUEST * "Lady Loghaire!" Lizzie exclaimed, "I'm so surprised you have come to visit me!" She watched the Countess of Loghaire closely as the lady sat gingerly on a couch in the ducal drawing room. "I... I had not heard you were in a delicate condition again!" Lizzie reddened. Gads, but it would not do to mention the Countess' condition at her first visit at Arlington House. "Don't be bashful about it, Lady Lorna," Marguerite Agnew smiled. "Truth be told, this is going to be my fifth babe in almost five years." Lizzie hastily gestured at the butler to have the tea tray brought in. "My husband was furious when he discovered I was expecting another child. He was wounded in Toulouse when I had our daughter and he swore little AudreyPhilippa would be the last one. I don't know why he should worry so much. It is true that I did not have a good and proper pregnancy with Audrey, but it was mainly due to us wandering the Peninsula and later on France." "Well," Lizzie smiled, grateful for Lady Loghaire's easy chatter, "it always takes two to do that dance, Lady Loghaire." "Call me Marguerite," the Countess proposed, "it seems to me we are of an age. I must confess I had to ruin all Hengist's sheaths in order to conceive; he would

not have me any other way anymore than with those things around, well..." Her eyes danced when Lizzie blushed. "Don't mind me. I think I lost all my good manners after following the drum to be with Hengist." She suddenly looked pensively at a silent Lizzie, who stirred her tea. "My husband wants you to know that the Dukes have decided to give a barony to Lochiel Cameron. It is actually my own father's barony; Halkhead." Lizzie looked up in utter astonishment. She signaled at the butler to leave them and take all the footmen with him. After they left in single file she turned to the beautiful woman. She had known about Hengist Agnew's infatuation with Marguerite Ross since he was about sixteen years old. Everybody had known about it when Lizzie lived under his mother's roof in Edinburgh a few months after her marriage with John. Marguerite Agnew, Countess Loghaire, was supposed to be one of the most beautiful women in Scotland. Her parents had married her off at eighteen to a rich old geezer, who had the good graces to die within four years of their nuptials, leaving Marguerite all of his incredible fortune. There had been a short marriage to Hengist's older brother Philip Agnew, Viscount Morvern, but that marriage had been shorter than the one with old fat Alexander, due to his sudden ominous death in Newgate Prison. As far as Lizzie knew Hengist had brought Marguerite to Portugal, where he had been a Colonel in

Wellington's army. After she had birthed her and Philip’s son, Hengist had married her. Under normal circumstances the boy should be the new Earl of Loghaire, but Hengist had claimed the title when his brother died, when no one knew of Marguerite's pregnancy, and they had left it all with that situation. Young little Philip would be the Earl of Loghaire one day anyway, it was not as if the title would be frittered away on some stranger. “What do you know about... about Lochiel Cameron, my lady?" she asked sharply. Marguerite stirred her tea before sipping it. "As you may remember Lochiel and Hengist were friends, the best of friends." Lizzie nodded wryly. If Lochiel and Hengist had not been friends she would never have had the chance to seduce Lochiel in the Countess of Loghaire’s house in Edinburgh. There had been that one fatal time when he had made love to her without thinking of putting on the sheath to avoid conception. The result had been William and Bentham, her beloved twins. She shuddered when she remembered all those days of insecurities and fright. God, but that had taken some awful planning and shenanigans to bring her children into the world without a lot of people knowing that she had carried Lochiel's illegitimate children. According to the law of the Realm, Lord John, her husband, would have automatically become the twin's father. Lochiel had objected to that idea, especially since John had not bothered to really consummate their

marriage; he had spilled his seed outside her body. Furthermore everybody would have been scandalized at twins being born more than twelve months after the wedding, with Lord John in London and Lizzie in Edinburgh. Pain speared her heart. It was only recently that Lochiel had told her to forget about their pasts and look to some sort of a future with John if she wanted to see her twins again. Lochiel had hinted it was not of him she should think. John! She grimaced at the thought of her errant husband. It had been three years since he had last bedded her. Unfortunately she still had trouble facing every new day in the knowledge that he would do his utmost to avoid her. He was too bitter about the fact that she had left his house to go and live with Susan and Iffy, or wherever the fancy took her, after their horrendous quarrel about Lochiel. Damn her pride! He'd had a jealous outbreak because of Lochiel, because she had put the horns on him when he was far away from her in London and not interested in her at all. She should have known that he would not wear his horns lightly, however indifferent he had seemed towards her when they married. John had followed her around London as if he had been possessed by the devil after that masque at Morrison's Den. Snow had warned her about him; John never pursued anybody in his life, except for her, which

had been evidence enough about his passionate nature... for her! It had been stupid and naive of her to think she would get away with her secret love-affair with Lochiel. John was just too smart never to find out. Snow had been the first to visit her when she was lying in her bed, buried in a huge cast to keep her from moving her leg and hip. She had fled John and the house as soon as the cast had been taken off. She felt too humiliated by the whole affair to stay in his house, where the failure of their marriage had been visible for all of their staff. She knew now that she had also been afraid of John's aggression. The worst of it was that she was still afraid of him. Whenever they had been together he always seemed to want to hurt her in a physical way, as if he was lashing out at her like a lion punishing his unwilling female. She covered her shoulders with her hands as if she was suddenly cold. She'd had time enough those last three years to think about John and it truly baffled her that he had taken Lochiel's place so easily in her thoughts. Iffy had once accused her of still being in love with John. She had denied that smartly. Of course not! She had Lochiel in her life for almost six years. She had even birthed his children and shared his bed whenever it was possible to find one far from prying eyes. She had mocked Iffy. John had been nothing to her, nothing!

Until she noticed that she was always searching for him in the crowds of ballrooms and at the theatre. Until the days she had started to read the papers to see if there was anything written about him and his accomplishments in the House of Lords. It had come crashing down on her; somewhere between the day that Lochiel left her for the battles at the Peninsula and the moment she fell down the stairs in the house at Half Moon Street, that she had fallen in love again with her straying husband! How horrible to realize it, now that she had left him supposedly forever. Stories about his adventures with the light skirts and the married or widowed ladies of the Ton had started to harass her; she'd wanted to stuff her ears and close her eyes whenever they came up. However, the die had been cast; her own die. She had left their house, their so-called marital home, where they had started a life of uneasy truce, but of clear mutual attraction. She wondered if it was too late, from now on. She heard Lochiel's words again and agreed; what was so hard about giving John what all the Montgomerys alive desired: an heir for the dukedom? She turned to the lovely Countess and pasted a smile on her lips. "I am very happy for Mr. Cameron, if you are. Lord Halkhead, no less!" If only her heart did not hurt so much for things that should have been, but were now impossible; a quiet life

with Lochiel as a baron and to see her children grow into strapping, happy boys. No! She told herself to forget it. If there was any near future, it would be at John's side, however difficult that would prove to be. She'd give it another try. Just for the sake of the dukedom? She laughed inwardly. No, it would be for the sake of herself, for the sake of some peace and quiet in her own mind, no matter how difficult her husband would prove to be or however abusive. She'd see to it, tonight, after the great yearly dinner with the Hamiltons to which they had both been invited. Lizzie looked down on the man who was softly snoring in his bed. John Montgomery had declined to go to the official dinner that would take place at the Hamilton residence, tonight. The consequence was that she had to stay home as well, as it had been a formal dinner invitation for both of them and it would not do for her to go there alone without the escort of her husband, however well she was acquainted with their Graces of Hamilton. Iphigenia, Lizzie’s friend and the young wife of the old Duke of Hamilton, since Iffy married old Hamilton almost three years ago, had laughed when Lizzie complained that her errant husband had deemed it unnecessary to go, because Randolph and his homily wife had already accepted their invitations.

"I don’t know what got into your husband, Lizzie," she had commented merrily, "but having the whole house to yourselves could be your chance at last to get yourself into John’s good graces again. You will both be at home without any other distractions." Iffy knew that the Duke of Rothford, her brother-inlaw, had finally stooped so low as to threaten Lizzie with a reduction of her allowance to less than a few shillings if she did not move back to the ducal residence to do her duty and provide the House of Montgomery with a male child. Lizzie would proudly have disregarded the Duke’s threat if it had not been that she sent a big part of her allowance to her mother, the Baroness of Ayre. Her father, the Baron, had died years ago, but had managed to falsify the papers at the birth of his illegitimate son Robbie, claiming that Robbie was his and the Baroness’ son and heir. The changeling Robbie had secured the barony of Ayre for the Campbell line. At least his father had really been the Baron, although his mother was the Baron’s lover Samantha Ferrer, a healer and a midwife. When the Baroness and Lizzie had retreated to Ireland ‘to visit her family’ Lizzie had secretly birthed Lochiel’s twin sons William and Bentham. The retreat to Ireland had involved one intrigue after another; Lochiel had ‘started an affair’ with a very ill Captain’s widow, who had supposedly birthed the twins and shortly after they were born, was ‘murdered by Irish revolutionaries’.

After his 'tour' of a year in Ireland was finished Lochiel went back to Edinburgh with the twins and Lizzie’s former maid Mattie. They had taken residence in Mattie’s deceased husband’s house in Baker Street. Lizzie’s money, sent to the Baroness, was mainly used to support the three children in Edinburgh as a big part of Lochiel’s pay went to the keep of his other children. That was why Lizzie could not afford to lose her allowance by disobeying the Duke of Rothford. Iphigenia Hamilton knew almost all of Lizzie’s secrets and Lizzie had immediately consulted her after her disappointing meeting with Lochiel at the Earl of Wentworth's house. Iffy also knew about everything that had taken place between Lord John and Lizzie and had first been appalled to hear that Lizzie had been ordered back into the ducal apartments and bed for the sake of meeting her husband there again. After the disaster with Lizzie, Lord John had sold his house at Half Moon Street and taken up residence in some bachelor’s quarters. The Duke had decided that he was not going to award John’s objections that his wife could hardly live at his quarters, so in the end Lord John’s old apartments at the Rothford residence were opened for the benefit of unstrained marital relations. Lizzie's bedroom was only a few paces away from John's, again. To Lizzie’s indignation Iphigenia had agreed with Lochiel’s advice; John must have an heir as Randolph’s chances to beget a child with Caro were nil. Lizzie

should stop being a wanderer and take on her responsibilities as John’s wife. Lizzie had never had a problem in admitting that her husband was handsome. It was just that she had never been able to forgive his crude behavior towards her only a few hours after their marriage. He had left her in shock and devastation in her bedroom shortly after the nuptials and had never come back for her. She bit her lip. It had been so long since she had made love to a man; more than three years to be exact. It had been John, not Lochiel, who had filled her need at that time. She had never been able to take a lover, those past three years, even when she realized a tryst with Snow or the Marques of Andover had been within the possibilities. She just couldn't; the situation with Lochiel and John had almost broken her heart. She had wondered very often how it was possible to be so torn between two men. Normal people only found love once in a lifetime, so why on earth did she have two? After a long hesitation, she took off her night rail. The die must be cast again, and now was the time. She crept under the sheets, feeling her husband’s long body warming the mattress and the bedding. Oh, God, but it did bring back lively memories of their strange time of lovemaking, three years ago. John had always been forceful and aggressive with her, but truth be told, she had never objected to the way he had used her body. She had actually often wondered if she

had undergone it as a punishment for cheating on him with Lochiel. She had been amazed about the fact that John had insisted she’d have her completion when he bedded her. She secretly hoped he would still feel the same way now. She closed her eyes and let her trembling hand roam to his muscled belly. Ah, God, after all these years he had never become flabby or fat! Suddenly his hand clasped her fingers when they were trying to reach the apex of his powerful thighs. John unexpectedly shifted on top of her, crushing her hand between their bodies. "Ah, my lovely wife," he slurred, "just as Iffy suggested might happen… So, you’ve come to your senses, my dear?" Iphigenia had told him she might try some sort of reconciliation? Was it all a trick? His mouth found her long neck and he sucked hard, leaving an angry red mark. "Please don’t hurt me, John…" Her sudden fear of him was almost palpable. He bit her shoulder with relish. "I hurt you when I want to, wife," he whispered, gloating when she cried out and tried to push him away. His hand went down to her buttocks and his hard squeeze made her whimper. He lifted his night shift over his belly and pushed against her entrance with his swollen shaft.

"Lizzie, my love…" he sang, “let’s get you breeding…" He forced himself into her female flesh and suddenly stopped. She was slick. Wet for him? He groaned and pushed into her as hard and fast as he could. Lizzie cried out. After years of celibacy, her sheath was tight. She comprehended suddenly that John’s treatment of her was to take away every feeling of lust she might possibly feel for him. Ah, God, so he was still vengeful about her leaving him! He groaned, strained on top of her and came, leaving her feeling neglected and lonely. She lay there confused and wondering what to do next until, to her abhorrence, he pushed her out of his bed in one fast movement. "Fuck off," he growled, "I want to sleep." She had landed in all her nakedness on the rug and started shamefacedly to search for her night rail. Her trembling hands located it in a heap next to the bed. When she crawled away, almost on her hands and feet, she felt his seed starting to seep onto her inner thigh. She silently removed herself from the room, feeling that tears were streaming along her cheeks. Why had she hoped that it would be easy? John Montgomery hated her!

She lay down on her bed, unable to stop her tears from flowing. She realized more than ever that from now on Lochiel Cameron’s tender love would be lost to her, as she would have to cope with John’s ugly and contemptuous ways. It filled her with despair. All those years she had only wanted somebody to love her! Now she was left with a husband who felt nothing but hatred for her. She nurtured her belly, softly stroking it with her hands. That last time she had conceived in a few weeks’ time, if not the first time John had bedded her. She hoped she would be blessed with such a feat again. She doubted she could stand John’s hatred and abusive bedside manners anymore. Appalled, she felt that her pillow was wet with tears. * * *

Chapter 38: MATTERS OF MARRIAGE * "I hear rumors that Lindley wants to get shackled to your pretty little sister-in-law." John Lorna took a great puff of his cigar, squeezing an eye shut against the smoke. Kit grinned at John. They went a long way back. They had visited the same brothels years ago, at the time he had been unhappily married to Julia Fortescue and when he had come back to London in between his duties as an army officer. John had often been part of the group of rakes that had been headed and instigated by Kit’s brother Anthony. The club had dissolved after Kit had left for the Peninsula, taking another rake, Devon Broadhurst, with him. Anthony, who had always been working for the Crown as a 'High Internal Affairs Intelligence Officer,’ had subsequently fallen in love with a royal princess and a duke’s sister, but had never been able to get close to either of them. After the 'royal disaster' Tony had married Devon Broadhursts enticing little sister Pamela, daughter of the destitute Earl of Allington. Since then Tony had been working hard to pay back his father's towering debts, which he inherited after the Marques ate a gun, while Kit fought in the army for the King’s shilling. John had searched for Kit in the relative snugness of White's reading room.

He had always liked Kit. They were almost of the same age and he had admired Kit's legendary success as an officer who worked close to Wellington. "And gossip reached me that you have been tied to your wife's apron strings since you came back from Bordeaux. Jesus, Kit, am I to lose all my friends to the wiles of their boring wives?" Kit's eyes squeezed in a momentary disapproval of his friend's remark, but they then turned to amusement. It was hardly Anthea's apron strings that'd got him into his state of admiration for her. "I’d never have thought to admit this to you, John, but it’s not such a bad thing to have a lusty available woman at your side, in your household and in your bed every night." John’s smile was slow and unbelieving. "Don’t tell me the gossip is true: you’ve been reformed and now you truly are attached at your wife’s apron strings!" It was Kit’s turn to shrug. "There’s a time for everything, John. I’m done with the whores and the easy lays. I’m happy the war is over and that I’m back, relatively in one piece. I like the peace of a well-run household and my own woman in my bed. Call me an old bag of bones and old-fashioned, I don’t care! I happen to enjoy it." "You do look mightily smug!" John remarked, rather sourly. "You could look as smug as a cat as well, John," Kit mused. "Make peace with that lovely wife of yours. I’ve

seen her a few times and she seems definitely worth it! She’s a dish, pardon me the expression!" John frowned. The last time he had seen his wife in private was when she crept crying from his bedroom after he had deposited his seed in her and had pushed her out of his bed. She had, wisely, not tried to climb into his bed again since then. He wondered if she had conceived that one time he’d had her; she might know by now. He felt a frisson of regret, if she had. She would probably never come to his bed again. He gnawed his lower lip. It was inconceivable that he should feel regrets about her at all; she was the adulterer, she had left him! A small voice inside him warned him that he and his irresponsible ways had been the cause of all her actions. She found herself a lover in Lochiel Cameron, his bloody half-brother of all people, after he had left her to rot in Edinburgh. What could he have expected of a passionate girl like her? He had also been the man to frighten her out of her wits after he had tried to strangle her in his jealous rage. Oh, damn the fact that he had been jealous! He had not realized at the time that his feelings ran so deep for her. Lizzie. Damn, but he had been back at square one when she had come to him that last time.

Iffy Hamilton suggested Lizzie might try to become ‘friends’ with him again and, truth be told, he had panicked. That terrible devastating row with her had been three years ago and the situation still pained him. He had almost choked her to death, out of sheer bloody jealousy. God, that word again! John Montgomery had never been jealous in his life! Then, when she had tried to flee his atrocious behavior, she had fallen from the stairs and lost their child. She even had a bloody limp now because she had broken the bone where her hip joined her leg and according to her doctors it had never healed well. He closed his eyes, leaning against the wide-eared chair, not caring that Brondemeire was staring at him. "I’ll confess something, Kit," his voice grated, "I don’t know how to go about it. Everything went wrong from the day that they forced me to visit her in Ayre. And when fate gave us another chance, three years ago, I buggered it. God help me, but I wronged her! Don’t ask me why I change into some sort of a monster whenever I’m with her, but I do!" He reddened when he remembered again how he had abused her a few weeks ago and then had thrown her out of his bed. God, he was despicable! He had never treated any woman the way he had treated her. She had asked him once what she had done to wrong him and he had no known answer to that.

She had done nothing wrong. It had been him. He had hated her for the fact that his mother had blackmailed his father into marrying him to Lizzie Campbell. He knew his mother's reasons now; Barry Campbell, Lizzie’s father, had been his mother’s half-brother. The long dead Duchess had wanted to elevate Barry’s daughter back into the High Ton. Family had been everything for his mother, her own family that was; not the one she created with Jonathan Montgomery, or the children she had out of her marriage to old alcoholic Lindley. For some reason his mother had always boasted that they could all fend for themselves. That was possibly true; the Lindley and Rothford children had everything going for them. They were highborn, beautiful, widely educated and part of the highest Ton. John had always liked his half-brother Richard Grey, Duke of Lindley, with whom, it was whispered, he shared not only the same mother, but also the same father. Richard Lindley most certainly had not been like his own father, the old duke, at all. Old Lindley had been a wastrel and a sod. Richard hardly ever touched a deck of cards, was serious, cunning and never drank himself into a stupor. He was an acclaimed diplomat and a keen businessman, although he hardly wanted that last thing to be trumped around. He had paid off almost all his father’s towering and crushing debts due to the incredibly good investment of building a new area of

houses for the rich in Marylebone. His only vice was women. Richard devoured women just like the Prince devoured food. Nothing wrong with that, John mused. He had been a womanizer as well, until recently… Kit signaled a footman that he wanted a drink and that John’s glass needed a refill. "You know, John, I was so full of mistrust when I bedded Anthea for the first time that I managed to estrange her from me on day one. It took me a hell of a lot of effort and Devon Broadhursts sensible advice to get me back into her good graces." "Broadhurst?" John asked astonished, "What does he know?" "Broadhurst has sisters and he explained to me how a woman’s mind works. He…" Kit swore softly. He truly did not like to be reminded of his gaffes with his wife. John cocked a brow. "He told me if we got off on the wrong foot, we’d better start again... from the beginning. He told me to court her and sweet-talk her. I bought flowers for her, and chocolates and all of that shit. But I tell you; it worked!" John remained silent. He had harassed Lizzie and hurt her. Hurt her physically, because he had felt so much anger inside of him. And, God help him, he had marked her every time he had bedded her, because he wanted her far away from him, but in the meantime he had

wanted everybody to know that she was his: his lover, his wife. He sent Kit a faint smile. "Isn’t that all a bit obvious?" Kit accepted a glass of brandy from the footman and toasted his friend silently. "It's so obvious that we don’t seem to think it will help. Think of her as a very shy and skittering horse." John laughed and toasted his friend: "To women and horses then, Kit!" Kit grinned. "To women and horses," he repeated. They drank in silence. "Is it true about your sister-in-law and Lindley?" "What is it to you?" Kit asked. "Apart from the fact that Richard is my half-brother and more probably my real brother?" John shrugged. He was not going to tell Kit that he had always been curious and envious of the men of his class who could make their own choices of brides, rich brides. Kit lit his own cigar. "As far as I know she was destined for Richard from the start." The start being the time they came 'on the market,' in February 1814. John nodded. "Richard said as much to me when we were in Brighton, two weeks ago."

"What did you do in Brighton, John? I did not know you were part of Prinny's set." "Prinny was still in a rage about Charlotte breaking off the betrothal to Slender Billy. He wanted the House of Lords to mend the situation. Imagine! He invited half of the influential Lords of the House to discuss it under the pretext of an early Christmas party. Damn, but he really wanted those coasts from Calais to Hamburg, you know, and that Orange family is probably the wealthiest family in the world since William got his butt on that throne! Prinny needs the blunt Billy would bring badly, as you know. That Saxe-Coburgh may have a handsome face, but I doubt he will get Prinny off the hook with his debtors." "Can't eat from a handsome face alone!" Kit drawled. "Did you know him?" John asked, "The Prince of Orange, I mean. You were reasonably close to Wellington, weren't you? Richard said the Peer requested your presence in Paris, last September." Kit puffed his cigar, hoping it would hide the sudden colour rising in his face. That time in Paris had been a fortnight of debaucheries, whores, courtesans and orgies. It wasn't as if John would not appreciate that, but Kit hardly wanted to be reminded of his rakish behavior during his proxy marriage, now that he was back in his wife's good graces. "He was Wellington's aide as of 1811. Young, only nineteen, but as his mother was the King of Prussia's sister, he received a strenuous military education when they fled the Netherlands. The Peer actually liked him a

lot, imagine! He was unassuming, but brave, and his English was immaculate as he went to school in England as well. He left our army in St. Jean de Luz when the Dutch revolted in the Low Countries. He was made a General then, mind you. As far as I know his countercoup against the revolution was hugely successful. Princess Charlotte could have done a lot worse than marry that lad." John nodded slowly. "Am I right in thinking that he did have an overfondness for his male brethren of the sword?" Kit stroked his chin pensively. "I did hear stories of the sort," he answered hesitantly, "but he had a few very juicy mistresses as well and they tended to brag about his prowess in bed. Maybe he liked them both. He once offered me one of his girls as well, but I had just taken a new mistress, so I cannot tell you if the bragging was of an imaginary sort. I have cause to doubt that, though." John was quiet for a while until he said: "Do you know that Tsar Alexander threw young Saxe-Coburgh into Charlotte's path? Saxe-Coburgh wanted to marry Anna Pavlona Romanov, Alexander's sister, the GreatDuchess, and Alexander obviously thought him of too little consequence. Anna Pavlona likes her suitors to be martial and poor Leopold's experience with the battlefield does not seem to extend to playing with tin soldiers, as far as I know. I don't think Anna Pavlona needed her brother's persuasion to throw Leopold over, after she had seen him in St. Petersburg. Imagine

Prinny's rage about his daughter wanting to marry Anna Pavlona's leavings! We think Alexander also has his eyes on that long Dutch coast. When he snatches up Billy for his sister, he will have, in one stroke, the coast, the Prussian connection and the riches of the Oranges at his disposal. No wonder Prinny is upset with Charlotte! She fell easily into Alexander's trap because of SaxeCoburgh's angelic face." Kit shook his head. Politics had never enticed him, but to hear these tidbits threw a different light on the subject. "It's best that they are our allies, those Russians. Talking about Russians, were you not infatuated with Countess Katrina once? I understand she's still in London." "God, Kit, that was a decade ago! The woman is nearing her fifties. She runs with the Wharton set. I would not touch her with a ten foot pole, now. I cannot imagine she was cautious enough not to get afflicted with the pox one day. That one was rash!" He now grinned widely. Katrina had been able to teach him a thing or two when he was twenty-four years old and as horny as they came. Gads, how he had changed in ten years’ time! John took a last swallow of his whiskey and rose. "I'm afraid I have to take care of a few things." Like getting back into his wife's good graces, starting with Kit's suggestions. Kit only sent him a knowing grin and John cursed softly.

"Thanks for the information on Slender Billy," he growled, suddenly feeling bashful under Kit's knowing look * * *.

Chapter 39: AN UNEXPECTED ELEVATION * Randolph looked pensively at the man who sat in front of him. He was led into his large study by a youth who was supposedly his secretary and a nephew from his mother’s side of the family. Randolph had waved the youth away, as he preferred to have this talk with the tall major in private, even if the outcome eventually would be very public. He hesitated when he studied Lochiel Cameron’s blindfold, wondering what it must be like to lose your eyesight for the sake of a country in a war against a French usurper. The man was still very handsome, he had to confess. Oh, yes, a handsomeness he had been familiar with all his life: Lochiel Cameron wore his father’s face. "Major Cameron, I presume? I am Rothford. Please stay seated, sir!" Randolph rustled through a few papers. He watched Cameron’s features closely. The man obviously realized that he had not called him by his Scottish title of ‘Laird MacGregor’ and saw him swallow. Ah, Cameron was blind, but perceptive, and no doubt very intelligent as well. Randolph was known to be precise to a fault when it came to titles, so Cameron must have understood that the Duke refused to see him as a laird of whatever clan, as he had once requested and was requesting again.

He studied the man’s kilt, which had the dark colors of his regiment, nicknamed ‘the Black Watch’; dark blue and green with black, instead of the bright colors of the Camerons or the MacGregor clan. Sensible, that! He may be blind, but he was still a major on half-pay. He had the right to wear the colors of the Black Watch, maybe more so than the colors of the clans he was representing. Randolph coughed. If it came to clan colors, the Rothfords were part of the Steward's Clan. Lochiel Cameron could have worn the Steward colors instead, if he knew who his real father was. His gaze went to Cameron’s lap, where his sporran rested. Randolph was still not averse to a tryst with a handsome man once in a while and curiously wondered what Cameron was like as a lover. He supposed that his lovely rejected sister-in-law knew all about Lochiel Cameron’s intimate details and he felt a surge of envy. So, this man had unwittingly stood between Lizzie and John, while they were trying to have a reconciliation… He shuddered to think of what had happened in the Lorna's household three years ago, after he had told John about Lizzie’s presumed unfaithfulness with Cameron. John had tried to strangle her in a fit of jealousy, and when she had managed to flee him she had fallen down the stairs, broken her leg close to her hip and had lost the child no one was aware she was carrying.

John had been certain the child was his and was, uncharacteristically, undone with remorse, until Lizzie had fled the house for the residences of her friends, after having told him she would never, ever come back to him. John’s ultimate reaction was to go back to his rakish life. He had sold the house at Half Moon Street when a friend offered him an outrageous price for it. He now rented a bachelors’ apartment close to Grosvenor Square and had done whatever pleased him afterward, obviously never wanting to look back on that period of ‘reconciliation’ with Lizzie. Randolph had shaken his head about the unlucky affair. It was evident to him that John had acted entirely out of character: he had not been able to look at himself and admit that he had fallen madly in love with the wife he had rejected for almost six years. Randolph wondered if he still had those feelings for her after three years. The fact that his brother still could not face meeting Lizzie at social affairs spoke volumes to him. He had once spoken to John about trying to file a divorce in a Scottish court, but John had been rather nasty about it. He would have to prove that Lizzie had been unfaithful to him and had deemed that too harsh a hit at his own pride. Montgomery’s never wore the horns well. His mother had been furious about his father's unfaithfulness, all those years ago. In the end Lochiel still suffered the consequences of her anger as

he was still not to know who sired him, now thirty-five years ago. "Nobody puts the horns on John Montgomery’s head!" John had declared angrily. Randolph had merely shrugged. John's horns were probably larger than an elephant’s trunk. John had just not wanted to face the stark reality; that he had given room to his half-brother to enter into an adulterous affair with Lizzie by leaving a few hours after his nuptials and so giving Lochiel all the leeway to seduce John's legal spouse. Randolph had shrugged, but not dared to insist, although the problem of an issue to the Montgomery line was always foremost on his mind. They needed an heir, or otherwise both the Dukes of Hamilton and Lindley would do everything to scrape up the heirloom of the Duchy of Rothford, after John and Randolph found their eternal resting place in the family's vault in Stirling. When Randolph discovered that Lizzie’s preferences went to a hulking, married lieutenant, he had put his spies on the blond man. They had been able to dig up a few interesting stories about the Bannockburn-born warrior. Such as the possession of a legendary horse he had 'inherited' from a Captain Rutherford. Note the likeness to that name with Rothford! He possessed a farm and a strong-house in Bannockburn, while nobody knew where all the money for such possessions came from. As far as the stories went his legal father had been

old and decrepit, dying within a year of marrying Maighread Cameron, and probably without a penny to his own name. After Randolph found his father's letter he had seen the hand of his father in everything that surrounded Lochiel Cameron from the day he was born. Now, the man was sitting in front of him; a blinded war-hero who could count on the support of the Campbells, the MacGregors, and the Camerons. Randolph admitted sourly that Cameron was probably a lot more loved in Scotland than the Anglicized Montgomerys, which might pose quite a problem if he was not careful. Imagine what it would do to the Scots if it became known that Lochiel had the right to don the ducal Steward colors as well! They had been looking for a new leader for their revolts since the battle of Culloden. He studied the man’s face freely and had to admit again that the man was the spitting image of the father they both shared. Randolph found it still unbelievable that his father had been unfaithful to their mother during their long marriage. As far as everybody concerned knew Jonathan Montgomery had doted on his beautiful wife Elisabeth Belding until her dying day and nobody had known that there had been a mistress, who had catered to their father’s promiscuous needs when the Duke of Rothford had to be in the North on his ducal duties. Randolph had heard with amazement that Lochiel had fathered at least 6 children and that Angus, the son of

Lizzie’s former maid, had been adopted by him, which made him wonder if Lochiel had fathered that child as well. Here he sat without any issue whilst his half-brother owned as many children as the days of the week! "My secretary told me that you have put in a request with the clan of MacGregor to be their chosen Laird, even after your wife died." Lochiel stared into the direction of Rothford’s voice as if he was sniffing the air. "Major, there is another issue at hand, which is not in the interest of the gaining of a chieftainship of that clan." Randolph smiled inwardly. Of course he could never give so much power, the power of three separate clans, into the hands of one person; especially not if it concerned a half-brother of the Duke of Rothford and the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre. Just imagine what the rowdy Scots would do with that knowledge! They’d probably have to wage a war against one Scottish King Lochiel soon enough! "The Duke of Lindley has claimed that the clan of the MacGregors falls under his jurisdiction… so I am afraid the MacGregors have to choose another chieftain. As compensation to the fact that you will not receive any income from that particular clan …" Randolph smiled. He knew how much that clan generated in income those days and it was less than a pittance.

"…both the Duke of Lindley and I have agreed to award you with the Barony of Halkhead, along with the monetary advantages that the Barony entails." Lochiel raised his head. "What?" "The Barony of Halkhead was always a disputed issue between the Houses of Rothford and Lindley. Its last Baron was the Lady Marguerite Agnew, Countess of Loghaire's father, Lord Ross, who died..." The Duke shifted some papers to look for the date, "...in 1787." Rothford tried to gauge Lochiel’s reaction; it was not every day that baronies fell out of the sky onto unsuspecting majors. Lochiel sat in his chair without moving a muscle. He was probably too flabbergasted to say anything. "The Earl of Loghaire, Lord Henry Agnew, has together with us found a suitable solution regarding this floating Barony and we agreed that it would be best if Halkhead would fall under the Earl of Loghaire’s jurisdiction. You may know that Loghaire forms a sort of buffer between the duchies of Lindley and Rothford." That, Rothford mused with some amusement, would move Lochiel Cameron out of the duchy of Rothford as well. Neither he nor John relished the threat of a halfbrother jumping into the inheritance of Rothford. The rest was bollocks of course. Neither Lindley nor Rothford were remotely interested in the small frontierland barony.

Randolph looked with amusement at the big man, who was entirely at a loss for words. Halkhead might be an unimportant piece of land for two powerful dukes, but for the likes of Lochiel Cameron it meant an estate, albeit smallish, a title, albeit low, and an income, albeit not impressive. Lochiel Cameron would become a Peer of the Realm, just like his real father had wished. "I have all the necessary papers here, Cameron, which I will hand over to your secretary. Your investiture is scheduled for the 15th of January at Carlton House, where the Prince Regent will make the official motions. We have requested that you be made a peer of the realm and allowed to become a Baron, and thus a Lord." Randolph practically saw the elation slowly filling Cameron’s mind. A footman came in to take the Duke’s order for refreshment. "I’d like to offer you champagne," the Duke said offhandedly, "but you strike me as somebody who fancies whiskey instead?" Randolph grinned when Cameron could only nod. "One more thing," he said, when the footman had filled two snifters of excellent Tobermarley, "what happened to that magical sword of yours, the one I heard you used to carry?" "My sabre?" Lochiel asked, "I still always carry it, when I’m not visiting dukes, that is. The man who saved me from a certain death in Salamanca also got me my sabre back. Why?"

"I was wondering about it," Randolph replied, trying to sound indifferent. "For the invest you may wear it, although it is probably a real fighting weapon and nothing ceremonial. It has to be fixed into the sheath though, so as not to frighten the Prince Regent." A good reason to see his father’s Klingenthal again. * * *

Chapter 40: THE SOLVING OF SOME PROBLEMS * Lizzie shivered when she entered the church. The cathedral seemed colder inside than outside. She swallowed as she walked all the way down the aisle to take her place at the first row on the left. Iffy walked in front of her, arm in arm with the Duke of Hamilton. Behind her moved Viscount Brondemeire with his wife, while Tony Andover had taken her own arm after helping her out of a Montgomery carriage. She noticed he walked quite close to her and was grateful for it. She spied on the right side of the rows from under the rim of her hat and ducked back against Tony’s side. Tony guided her into the second bench where she found a smiling Iffy next to her. Again, she peered under the brim of her hat at the benches on the right side of the altar. Only some of Lindley's friends from the Ministry of War and his sister Sophia with her eternal companion were occupying the benches reserved for the groom’s family and friends. Musicians in the church started to play Handel’s Joy. Lindley, who had been softly talking to his sister, hastened to his place in front of the church, with Randolph Rothford in his role as his best man next to him. Attelante entered the church dressed in a pearlcoloured gown, almost hidden under her huge white sable fur coat. Her sister Anthea was also proudly wearing one. Attelante looked breath-taking; a winter

Queen, indeed! When the pastor started to speak, he breathed little clouds of white; St George's was impossible to heat in winter. The Duke of Lindley wore a morning coat with all the trappings that came with being a duke. Lizzie noticed that he glanced a few times at his bride during the wedding ceremony and that he kissed her on the mouth when the nuptials were over. She wondered at Lindley’s seeming tenderness for his new bride. Everybody knew his reputation; he usually had more than one mistress at the same time, while he thought nothing of finding his pleasures in a brothel or two. She wondered if Attelante Fairfax would be able to tame him. Lindley was not like John; he was a gentleman through and through. John tended to throw all his social education to the four winds in favor of notorious bad behavior, even now he was an esteemed member of the House of Lords. She ducked her head in her mink collar. No beautiful Russian coats for her from an admiring husband. Well, that would be the day, when John would start handing out fur coats to her! She felt somebody take a place on the bench on her right and was startled when she looked up into John's hooded brown eyes. She tried to shift away from him, but his arm quickly reached out around her shoulders. She started to shiver and knew it was only partly from the cold. John stared at the arm that was draped around his wife's shoulders.

He felt her shiver and wondered if it was due to the cold or fear of him. He swallowed. Good God, was he such a monster that she had to fear him? Remorse took possession of him. Damn, but he had treated her badly! His eyes roamed to her profile. He had to admit she had a beautiful face, even now when her cheekbones were high and stark. He suspected she had lost weight. He had not noticed that fact during their last shameful bedding, but then he had been too full of his own miserable notions. The scent of lilac and something that was unmistakably her wafted towards him and he felt himself hardening. Christ, he still seemed able to function in that way! He had not felt like bedding a woman since that last disaster with his own wife. He had just not been up to it, excuse the pun. He clenched his jaws shut. Sitting there in a church with his arm draped around his wife was a definite first! To avoid this sort of situation he had wondered if he could stay away from his half-brother's wedding but decided it would have been too rude just for the sake of avoiding any contact with his wife. Richard had more than once frowned upon his disappearing acts whenever he noticed that his wife was in the vicinity. When the short service came to an end he almost regretfully let go off Lizzie’s shoulder. He waited for her to come to his side of the bench so that they could leave together. It took her some time to decide what to do. Iffy next to her stayed stubbornly seated to hinder her passage, so

at last she moved to follow John out of the church. He hooked her arm into his and looked straight forward when they left the cathedral under the curious stares of family and friends. Lizzie had a deja-vue experience when they were all sitting down for the wedding breakfast. Just like at the marriage between Iffy and the Duke of Hamilton three years ago, John was placed almost opposite her. Iffy sat on his left and Susan HamiltonDownes filled a place on his right side. Lizzie wondered if Lindley's manipulative sister Lady Sophia had known beforehand that John would attend and had arranged the seating in this way. She threw a secretive look at Sophia who sat at the short side of the table. Richard and Attelante were seated in the middle for the occasion. She had to admit that everything was strict to form. She could not see any manipulation in it even if she tried. At least Lizzie felt reinforced by the close proximity of her friends, although she had a problem defining why she should be reinforced. She and John had not exchanged a mere syllable in the carriage and for her that was reason for gratitude. It was certain now that his so-called efforts 'to get her breeding' had been in vain. She'd had her rather painful monthlies only a few days ago. She had felt elation and devastation at the same time; elation because at least no child would be born out of her demeaning coupling with the Marques, devastation because she expected everybody and his dog to try to get her back into John

Lorna's bed. She did not think she would be up to that sort of humiliation again. She looked down at the quail on her plate and shuddered; the chef had left its head on as well as the small claws so she decided to wait for the next course and hoped desperately it would be edible. She had been nervous and unable to eat breakfast because she had known that John would join the festivities somewhere and sometime; bridegroom Richard Lindley was his half-brother and she had been told that they had come to a far better understanding since John had taken his seat at the House of Lords. She had wanted to decline the champagne, but that had been impossible with all the toasts and she felt slightly sick in her stomach. "I think you should eat, my lady," Tony Andover's voice rumbled at her left. She nodded without speaking and studied the quail again with distaste. "Next course, maybe?" Tony asked, understanding her dilemma, "The bread is fine, though. It's soft and tasty. Why don't you take some?" She smiled at his worried look. The man was so perceptive, unlike some... She caught John's glare when he sent Tony a murderous look and cringed. Oh, not that again! Not the scenes of the jealous, possessive husband, when he really could not care less! Her two friends opposite her intercepted the equally furious look John threw at her and started to talk to him

at the same time. John regarded them both with puzzlement, but his natural charm and his politeness won out. Lizzie sighed with relief. She had wanted to bolt the moment the wedding breakfast was over, but she had felt John's hand on her elbow when she was about to take her leave. Without a word he brought her to the Lorna towncoach, handed her inside and bowed before he closed the door. Lizzie took a deep breath and gazed at her husband, who returned inside the Lindley residence. At least he had not repeated the abusive handling of her after Iffy’s wedding, three years ago. She was certain she could never have borne that sort of attention again. Could she? * * *

Chapter 41: GETTING BACK INTO LIZZIE'S GOOD GRACES * "Flowers?" Lizzie asked. Oh no, she could not accept anyone’s flowers when she was living in the Rothford residence. There had been flowers enough from admirers when she had stayed at Iffy’s and Susan’s house. They would peal with laughter at the sumptuous bouquets of hopeful admirers, whom they expected would love to put their hands under their skirts or into cleavages, with poetic words about their eyes. "No!" she shook her head vehemently, "I cannot accept any flowers from admirers while I live here, Wicks! That won’t do at all!" She looked longingly at the flowers, though; peach coloured hothouse roses as big as teacups! Whoever had sent them had spent a fortune! "But milady," Wicks objected, "they are from the Marques!" "The Marques?" Lizzie inquired, "Why would Andover send me flowers? It’s at least a month from my birthday and I have not seen him since Lindley's wedding." Wicks smiled indulgently. "They are from your husband, my lady, the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre!" "What?" Lizzie gasped, "Why would he send me flowers? Is this a bad joke, Wicks?"

Wicks straightened and gave her a card with John's name on it. "I’ll put them in your own drawing room, my lady, if you care to agree..." Lizzie gaped at him as he slowly walked to the elaborate stairs. She sat down on a chair in the hallway, taking a deep breath, wondering what John was up to. Flowers? From her husband? Had the world gone mad? "Thank you for joining me, my lady." John bowed to his wife in the Hamilton residence. Lizzie looked at him with a startled expression. John was actually being polite to her? One more second and he would kiss her hand! She fidgeted with her fan and when he politely offered her his arm, she was ready to swoon. "Ah," Iffy exclaimed, "we’re having drinks in the yellow drawing room. Do come in!" Lizzie followed Iffy stiffly, holding John’s arm with the barest touch. "We’ve got a very exciting visitor, Lizzie!" Iffy said exuberantly, "Someone who has become part of the Quality as he will be invested as Baron Halkhead in a week. Such a handsome Scot, although it’s a pity he was blinded on the battle-field!" Lizzie stopped suddenly, tentatively taking her hand off John’s arm.

What? It could not be true. The only one she knew that could fit such a description was the man who had told her a few weeks ago to forget about him; because he was a poor man and had no part in her world! Iffy for once did not wish to notice Lizzie’s body language; she damn well knew almost everything about Lizzie and Lochiel's former relationship. Lizzie wanted to hate her for acting so ignorant of her feelings. John watched Lizzie closely with distrusting eyes. "Come, Lizzie, I’ll introduce you to our war hero," Iffy urged Lizzie blithely, playing her game to perfection, almost pushing Lizzie into the drawing room. It seemed as if the drawing room was filled to the rafters with noisy people. "Iffy, I need to go to the lady’s powder room!" Lizzie pleaded with her friend. Iffy looked startled at her. "Now, please!" Lizzie whispered, trying to circumvent John who was still hovering close to her. "Oh, well," Iffy complied, "do come back fast!" "I’ll accompany my lady there, Iphegenia," John said quietly, taking Lizzie’s elbow again and steering her to the stairs. Lizzie looked hostilely at John. "Did you know he would be here?" John shrugged. "I heard." She bit her lip.

"How did they… Why does he get Halkhead? It used to be Marguerite Agnew’s father’s property!" "There was no male issue." Lizzie looked down at her fan. "I want to go home," she announced petulantly. John folded his arms in front of his chest. "Why? Not able to face the music ma’am?" She shook her head, close to tears. "Please, John!" John needed to think fast. This was not at all going the way he'd planned their first outing in public. If he allowed Lizzie to go home, his careful planning for this night would be all for naught. "Alright," he agreed to his own surprise, "I’ll escort you home." Lizzie looked at him with startled wide eyes. One out of two times he had escorted her home he had practically raped her in the carriage. That had been more than three years ago, after Iffy’s wedding to Hamilton, but it always remained foremost on her mind. "You don’t have to, my lord," she muttered. Her ride to the Hamilton’s residence had been nerve wrecking enough for her. She had known John would be there. "In that case, let me escort you to the carriage," John said pleasantly. Lizzie felt a frisson of shock when he smiled at her. The closest he had ever been to smiling at her was when he grinned before he bit her.

John looked at his town carriage as it took Lizzie on the short trip back home. At least she had not been at all eager to see Cameron again today! To his amazement the thought filled him with hope. While Roy oversaw the cutting of the meat Lochiel leaned backwards in his chair. "How's the Countess?" Harry, recently the new Baron of Loveall, looked non-plussed at him. "The Countess?" "Well, yes," Lochiel insisted, "I understand that she is in a delicate condition?" Harry suddenly understood that the Major was inquiring after Robin, his sister-in-law, not his long dead mother. "I imagine she'll cope," he said faintly, toying with a spoon. What did he know about breeding women? Harry shook his head imperceptibly, not realizing that the Major could not see the gesture. "What about you, sir, are things proceeding to your satisfaction?" he inquired politely. "Oh, aye," the man agreed, "I have good hopes to be done here shortly. Rothford insists on a formal initiation, while a letter from his Highness could do the trick just as well." Harry grinned. He knew for a fact that the Duke of Rothford was a stickler for the rules.

"You’ll be a Peer of the Realm. That should be worth the few extra days of your stay here." Lochiel shrugged without comment. The situation with Halkhead baffled him, especially after he had told Lizzie there would be no future with him as he was nothing but a major at half-pay. He would not budge from his decision though. Whatever happened, Lizzie was not for him anymore. Like everybody else, she had a duty to perform. * * *

Chapter 42: COMFORTS FOR LOCHIEL * Roy MacDuff was quietly writing a letter to his father in Falkirk, when the girl came into his room after a gentle knock. "I brought you a posset. It's chilly, even in here," she said, almost apologetically. He smiled gratefully at her. He had become friendly with her when he’d noticed she was Scottish like him. She was an attractive girl, with blond curly hair that was obviously hard to tame under the neat servant's cap. She hesitated when he accepted the hot drink. "Could I ask you something?" She had bright blue eyes, which looked pleadingly into his. "Would you… Could I travel back to Scotland with you, when you leave?" Oh. He had not expected this. "Why would you like to go back to Scotland when you have managed to come all the way to London?" he asked, frowning. Roy loved London and could not imagine anyone would be willing to trade this center of the world for some backwater in Scotland. He already hated the fact that he would have to travel all the way back to Edinburgh or worse, to Halkhead, within days. She looked down at her hands, which were calloused with hard work. When the light of his candle touched her face, Roy remarked that she was probably older than she had seemed. There were tiny wrinkles next to her

eyes and in the column of her neck that disappeared into the neat frill collar of her servant’s dress. She at once realized there would be no help coming from this young man’s direction. "I miss my family," she whispered shakily, "I'd dearly like to see them again. My husband died on me and I long to be back with my mum." Roy’s look swept her neat figure in the grey and white servant's dress. He fancied he’d love to have her on her back, but then he could hardly touch a servant in his host's house. He knew that Harry Armstrong, the Earl’s brother, did not have any scruples about that at all, but Lionel, the new Earl of Wentworth, was strict and probably a stickler for all the rules. It would not do to insult him. He sighed. He would leave the house tonight and get a hackney to Covent Gardens, where he could spend a shilling or so on a young whore. Nobody knew about those little trips as nobody cared about what he did in this household in his spare time. He wondered if his uncle would care if he knew. Probably not; his uncle had served in the army for a long time and whores were part of the job description of any soldier. "You'd have to ask my uncle, the Major. He’s going to be inaugurated on the 15th as the new Lord of Halkhead and he is in a very good mood about it. Maybe, if you bring him a hot posset as well, who knows?" She gasped at his undertone of suggestion.

She had not dared to ask the Highlander because the big man frightened her; a major and a soon-to-be-baron to boot! On the other hand, this nephew of his was probably right. She bobbed a curtsey at Roy and hastened out of his small bedroom. He twisted his neck trying to identify where the sound had come from. He could have sworn it was the soft click of the door that had awakened him. He lay still, awaiting, scarcely breathing. This whole thing about the Barony of Halkhead had been a political item and he wondered if someone had come to solve it easily in another way by cutting his throat. No doubt there must be more than one ambitious fellow who would have wanted the Barony for himself. If he had understood the Duke of Rothford right, it had been Lochiel’s good friend Hengist Agnew, Earl of Loghaire, who had proposed Lochiel for the drifting Barony. Hengist had been a power to reckon with since he became the new Earl, after his ignoble brother Philip’s death at New Gate Prison more than four years ago; the man had been arrested after having been found naked with a footman in a room in a gentleman’s club. Hengist had married his brother’s widow after she had birthed Philip’s son in Portugal, where she had followed him during the Peninsular Wars. Rothford had pondered and delayed regarding the chieftainship of Lochiel’s wife’s clan three years ago and Lochiel had formed his own ideas about the Duke's

motives. It had all been a bloody mistake to pursue it in the first place, then, but his wife had been adamant about it. She had written to him about the request when he had been in Portugal and it had been awkward to make a request to the Duke about it from such a distance. It was also too dangerous as well. Rothford’s spies had done their job well and Lochiel supposed he’d known about his affair with Lizzie Campbell and had definitely not approved. To be honest, who would? It was bad enough to seduce a married woman, but the Duke's sister-in-law was taking things a bit too far! If rumors were true, John Montgomery would remain heir to Rothford and his adulterous Lizzie would have to produce an heir for their line. Lizzie had birthed his two children Billy and Benny. Lochiel Cameron, a nonentity who had risen to the rank of Major after years of training regiments for the wars on the Continent, had suddenly more or less been forced to join the British army in Portugal, to join the first 42nd Highlander Regiment in the war against Napoleon. It had been terrible bad luck which had driven him towards the French Cavalry officer at the battle of Salamanca. The hussar had been able to blind him after he had killed Lochiel’s very favorite horse Akbar. Lochiel still shuddered to think of the sabre haw the man had been able to get at him. It normally preluded a quick death on the battlefield, but someone had been able to shoot the man before he could finish his gruesome task.

Lochiel had never been able to tell anybody about it. When asked he would answer that it had been French shrapnel that had done the damage to his face. It had been Jeffrey Burroughs, a lieutenant of the King’s Cavalry, who had saved his skin by dragging him away from the place of the disaster. He even managed to retrieve Lochiel’s famous Klingenthal sabre as well, after he got him to safety. Lochiel regretted that he had never been able to thank the young lieutenant, who had gone back into the fray of the battle after saving him from a certain death. He knew by now that Burroughs had come out virtually unscathed from the war and that he probably had gone back to his parental home in Caversham. Lochiel had not realized that Caversham was close to his refuge in Rotherham Castle when he was shipwrecked with Robin and Lionel Armstrong, a few months ago. The army had sent Lochiel home, back to Edinburgh, on a major’s half-pay. A worried Hengist had offered him the use of the former servant’s wing of his townhouse in Edinburgh, because by that time Lochiel had seven children to take care of; his four children from his marriage with Catriona, his twin sons out of his illegitimate and adulterous affair with Lizzie, and Mattie’s child. His head suddenly shot up when he heard a distinct rustling next to him. "Sh!" a soft voice urged him, “not a sound, sir!"

Somebody lifted his blankets and lay down beside him. She was soft and warm, smelling faintly of soap and lye. He turned his head in her direction, catching soft curls in his mouth. A hand untangled them from his lips and a warm mouth started to kiss him. Lochiel groaned in delight. God, how was it possible that women searched him out in his bed? It had only been a few months since he had slept and done a lot more with Bernadette Blackwood, the Countess of Rotherham. She had come to his bed because she had heard that he had fathered all those children. She had wanted one of her own and had despaired that the Earl of Rotherham would ever be able to provide her with a child of his loins. She had decided to sneak into a known fertile man’s bed, who had been so conveniently deposited on her doorstep after a devastating shipwreck. He had not minded that at all; since his inflicted wounds in 1812, there had been no women for him to swive. He had known Bernadette since he'd had to escort her girlfriend Lizzie and her family to the wedding of Lord John Montgomery in Edinburgh. He had considered her a bit homely then, although he remembered that she had the most devastating cleavage this side of the Atlantic. He felt the woman lift his nightshift and then her hand disappeared underneath it, touching his powerful thighs. She mumbled in surprise and possibly dismay when her hand found his hugely engorged shaft.

He eagerly grabbed her by her waist and turned her onto her back. He smiled while he searched for her mouth with his own. He may be blind, but in the darkness of his bedroom, he was a man like everybody else. * * *

Chapter 43: SOLUTIONS FOR EMILY * He had gone to bed early, dismissing Roy who normally read to him in the evenings. The house lay in deep silence. It was only proper of course. There had not been a formal supper tonight, with the Countess suddenly ill due to her pregnancy and exhaustion. He wondered how the little Countess would be feeling now, after his investment as the new Lord of Halkhead. It had been a long and tiring day. Roy had told him she had fainted during the last ‘rituals.’ He could easily believe that. They had been on their feet for hours at St James Palace and it had been stiflingly hot in the place, as the Regent believed fresh air was bad for his constitution. He perked up, listening to the sound of the opening door. "Is it you?" he asked, breathless with anxiety. She said nothing but calmly clambered into his bed. His mouth widened in a handsome smile. "I'm glad you came," he whispered, thinking of his already painful arousal. It had been so good to have her in his bed the night before! A man could get used to such wanton ‘service.’ After his return to Edinburgh, he had lain ill for months, not able to throw off the fevers that ravaged his body. Mattie had quietly nursed him back to almost his old self. She always remained quite impersonal. He had sometimes wondered if it had been indifference from her part, or prudence, that they had never shared any

physical intimacies. Mattie had been Lizzie’s personal maid and later her companion. It was true that he had never tried to feel remotely attracted to her; she was his best friend’s widow and his lover’s companion who had taken care of his and Lizzie’s children. To seduce her into his bed would have been a damnably improper thing to do, under the circumstances. There had been no way to find the pleasures of a paid woman in Edinburgh. Mattie had guarded his every step and when Roy had become his valet and secretary he had been too bashful to ask his nephew to find him a woman to release him from his raging needs. As an uncle one had to set a good example, even if it almost killed him with need. When the woman kissed him, his hand roamed down her pliant body. She was stark naked. She had lush breasts and broad hips. He passed his fingers along the features of her face but he had too few experience to be able to determine what she might look like. Hell, did he care? "You did not tell me your name, yesterday," he murmured, while his hands groped at the heavy undersides of her breasts. She hesitated for a moment. "Emily," she whispered at last. She suddenly crawled away from him and he felt panic rise, thinking that he had scared her off.

When he felt her mouth clamp around his cock he let out a groan, which one could quite possibly hear in the hallway of the big residence. Her hand shot out to his mouth to silence him. "Don't!" he mumbled from under her hand, "If you suck me like that I'll come, and I want to be inside you." She laughed and answered him by treating his arousal with a few more ferocious sucks with her mouth. He was certain his brain exploded when he came. He realized he was a bit relieved that this new woman in his bed obviously did not want him for his seed. It had rankled him a bit that Bernadette Blackwood, Countess Rotherham, had visited his bed for his qualities as a stud. She snuggled against his naked length, and he wrapped his big, muscled arms around her. As soon as Roy had helped him into his bed and had left him, he had gotten rid of his long linen nightshift in anticipation of this woman sneaking into his bed again. "How could you be so sure that I would come?” she asked, moving a hand through the hard curly hair on his broad chest. "I wasn't," he replied, nuzzling his nose in her lovely hair. Her hand went down to his cock that was now in a half-mast position. He felt her smile against his mouth. "That would have left you in a troublesome position." He nodded. "Aye, it would have, all night I'm afraid."

He kissed her ardently and she felt him rise to the occasion again. "Did you have your last woman in Spain?" He became suddenly very silent. "How would you know?" he asked with a menace in his voice. Was she one of Rothford’s spies? She stroked his cheek, disregarding his sudden alarm. "My husband Pete Banning was in your regiment." He frowned in concentration. "One of the sergeants was a Pete Banning. Were you married to that one?" She reddened at the implication in his last words. Pete had been a sergeant, but he had lost his stripes when he had attacked one of his own men in the regiment in a drunken bout and had nearly killed him. She swallowed and nodded against his chin. His hands started to stroke her shoulders. “What happened?” he asked. She could hear at once the return of the feared major that he had once been in his voice. "He was ... He was hanged in Burgos, for looting." One of his hands grabbed her shoulder. "Everybody looted at Burgos," he said forcefully, “the Crown got all the gold from Burgos, even Wellington was said to take the goods...” He suddenly let go of her, as if realizing he was hurting her. She rolled against his chest.

"Pete was not well liked. And he was greedy. I told him we had enough and that he should not go back, but he did and then he got caught by the marshals." There was a short silence. "Let's not talk about it," she urged, her lips touching his shoulders. She wriggled on top of him and moved her body over his readily hardening cock. "God love you, woman!" he sighed, giving himself entirely up to her expert ministrations. When he lay back against his pillows, he heard her move. His hand shot out and he caught a naked thigh. "Don't leave yet!” he whispered. "I must," she answered softly, "I already heard the kitchen maids go downstairs." His head was buzzing with the tiredness of a night of unmitigated sex. He wondered now how she would cope, when she had a whole day of hard work ahead of her. "Will you come back tonight?" She bent to kiss him. "Only if you promise me I can catch up on my sleep, my lord." She stepped silently to the door, peering out in the hallway to see if the coast was clear. Some households did not frown upon servants hopping from their own beds into that of a guest to earn some money on the side, but the Earl of Wentworth’s stately servants were definitely not allowed to perform such services.

She rushed down the servant's stairs, pinning her cap to her reluctant hair. She felt strangely elated. She had known Major Cameron from afar, fearing his discipline and his forceful mind, but on the other hand, she had always wondered what such a specimen of a man would be like in bed. She smiled; she knew now and she had not been disappointed. She hurried to the morning-parlor to light the grate. There had been rumors about the Major at the time, before he incurred his dreadful wounds in Salamanca. He was whispered to have been the lover of a very highplaced woman, who was left by her husband at the altar. Even the flirting ladies of the high born officers had speculated about it and it had been a known fact that the Major had nicely profited from his reputation as a lover by taking favors and pleasures wherever they were offered. She had only been a disgraced sergeant's wife at the time and although she was quite pretty, she had definitely not been a match for the unfaithful officers’ ladies who followed the drum. Even if she'd stood a chance, she knew that Pete would have killed her if she so much as turned a sideways glance at another man. She knelt to peer at the kindling the footman had laid in the grate that night, before he went to bed, and decided it would be easiest if she got some coals from the kitchen fires.

After Pete was executed, she had one hell of a time keeping his fellow soldiers off her back and out of her bed. She had only wanted to go home, but had to follow the army for months until they reached France, living off everybody else's charity. It had been the recent Earl of Wentworth who had unknowingly given her the chance to find passage to England. He had been ill for months in Bordeaux after Toulouse and when he needed to await shipment of his horses and possessions, she had seen her chance to get into the favors of his new temporary batman, begging a place on the ship. She had secretly paid the captain of the ship out of the small hoard of gold looted by her husband. It was sewn in the hem of her dress all the time but she had never dared to touch it, afraid that upon discovery she would share her husband's gruesome fate on the gallows. The batman's passion for her had been short lived, which was just as well. A bit guiltily, he had sent her to the Wentworth residence in London to apply for a job in the household. Since then she had served in the Wentworth’s London household for more than six months, awaiting her change of luck, which had now hopefully come in the person of the Major whom she had admired for all those years in Portugal and Spain. In the kitchen she looked up into the questioning eyes of Kitty, with whom she shared a bed in a servant’s room in the attic. She only nodded imperceptibly at her and the girl flashed a bright smile.

Yes, hopefully, her luck had changed again. * * *

Chapter 44: LIZZIE’S RESOLVE * John’s face was definitely mulish when he sat down on the low chair in front of Randolph’s desk. It was evident that Randolph was sitting on his own high horse with his perverted reasons to look down on his ‘little’ brother and he did not like the situation one bit. “What do you want, Randolph?” he growled, passing his hand over his unshaven chin. He'd had a long night, going from one bloody party to another, following his wife to spy on all her movements. Until now she had not shown any reaction to his socalled branches of peace in the form of flowers, chocolates and presents big and small. He started to begin to feel like an idiot and asked himself if it was all worth it. The worst was that he knew the answer to that last question: of course she was worth it! His life had been hell after he had almost strangled her and she fell from the stairs, losing his child. He had been abhorred and appalled about his own hidden ferocity that only seemed to come to the fore when he was with her and the devil of jealousy showed itself. Hell and damnation! He knew he had not been able to cope with those feelings! John Montgomery had never been like that. John Montgomery had his women for one reason only and prided himself that he was always indifferent to them. Until Lizzie had crouched from some hole, had seduced him into feeling things John

Montgomery never felt in his life! He had fought it with all the power that was in him, but now he knew there was nothing to do about it but to accept the fact that he was in love with her… Accept or flee to the far ends of the world, never to return. That would be irresponsible, of course: he was Randolph’s heir. “I want you to hand me over the Duchess’ tiara, John.” Randolph looked bleak, but calm. At 7.30 he was already fully dressed for his first appointment with the Prime Minister within the hour. John looked non-plussed at him. “You’ve got your own crown, Randolph, or did you lose it?” Randolph showed his teeth and then clamped his jaws shut. “Very funny, John! I want Caro to wear it at our ball. God knows the woman has problems enough of her own to cope with, without me refusing her the right to wear the damn thing!” John rose slowly and placed his hands firmly on Randolph’s desk. Now it was his turn to tower over his brother. “You married an old, now barren woman, Randolph, while you knew you had to provide for an heir. God knows nobody understood that stupid decision you made… You could have married every fertile chit in the Realm, but no… Now you can sit on the consequences, for all I care! That tiara is not the Duchess’ tiara anymore; father called it the Mother of the Duke’s tiara

and your precious Caro will never be the mother of a Duke. The tiara belongs to Lizzie!” “Lizzie did not yet conceive a child, John!” Randolph stuttered. “She did, and you know it. It died in her belly three years ago, because you incited me to violence towards her with your vile stories about her and Lochiel Cameron!” “My laundry women told me she had her bleedings a few weeks ago.” John swore. “Are you spying on her again?” “I want to know what happens in my house. I know you are not sleeping with her. If she remains barren Caro has the first right to wear that tiara!” “Bloody hell, Randolph! Are we really fighting over a stupid piece of jewelry? You know father destined it for Lizzie when I remained married to her!” “That was because father knew that…” John put up his hand as if he wanted to strike his brother. Randolph looked wide-eyed at John. “Whatever vile secret you are about to reveal to me, you better keep your babbling mouth shut, Randolph! The last time you presumed to reveal things I almost killed my own wife. Keep away from me and Lizzie, for your own sake and health! Forget about that bloody tiara. I already gifted Lizzie with it, because she will be the mother of our children soon enough!” Randolph could not withhold a derisive bark.

“Fuck you, John! She does not want you anymore. Can’t you see?” John left the ducal study and slammed the door. Damn his brother for being right! She cocked her head slightly and shivered. For a second she’d imagined it was Lochiel lying there in the huge bed. She touched her fingers to her forehead. No doubt she was going insane; Lochiel had been invested as the new Baron of Halkhead in a ceremony with the Prince Regent, in the presence of the Quality. He had left London weeks ago. John had been at his ceremony, just like Randolph, but Lizzie ‘d had a good reason to decline; she still had not made her curtsey before the Queen, after all those years of being married to the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre. Her eyes went back to her husband’s face. It looked younger, now that he was sleeping. There had been an endless stream of flowers and small presents since the disaster of the Hamilton rout, now weeks ago. She had not known how to react to them. John had been courtesy personified whenever she came upon him in the house but she had shied away from him, not trusting the branch of peace he was extending to her. Tonight she had found a formal invitation for the Rothford ball on her pillow, with a box next to it. The box contained the long deceased Duchess’ tiara. Lizzie had known about the existence of the tiara because Caro

had always pestered Randolph about it. For some reason he never gave it to her and now Lizzie understood that the old Duke had presented it to John to keep it for her. It felt as if Jonathan Montgomery was reaching out to her from his grave. She’d known from Lady Loghaire, his erstwhile lover, that he’d regretted the arranged marriage between John and her greatly, as it still had not worked out on the day he died, which was about ten years ago. Lizzie’s eyes filled with tears. Obviously, John had deemed her worthy of the tiara at last; it was destined for his true wife who would give him and the duchy an heir. Oh, they had come a long, long way. She frowned and looked down at him. John kept his eyes tightly shut and endeavored to breathe regularly, as if he was asleep. That was no small feat as he felt his chest constrict when he knew Lizzie was gazing at him from the doorway of her dressing room, which connected to her own bedroom. God, but they had been the longest weeks of his life since he had followed Brondemeire’s advice to win back his wife. He almost squirmed when he heard a noise that sounded as if she had retreated again from his bedroom. He peered through his half-closed eyes to see that she was still standing there in his room and had removed her elegant nightshift to put it somewhere on a chair. When

she moved in the direction of his bed, he opened his eyes, hardly daring to believe what he saw. She gazed at him for a long time, until he opened the bed covers for her in silent invitation. She hesitated and then she lay down next to him. "You’re cold!" he whispered, pulling her close to him. She just dared to nod, laying her head hesitantly against his shoulder. He turned to his side, half covering her body and kissed her softly on her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears and she felt almost dumbstruck when he kissed them away with tenderness. "Please, forgive me, Lizzie," he murmured, "I’ve wronged you terribly. Do you think we could at least be friends again?" A soft smile started to play around her lips. "Only friends?" she asked. John realized with delighted amazement that she was actually teasing him. "Lovers?" he proposed with fear in his heart. She nodded. "Friends and lovers, then." Sometime later, he felt the need to apologize again. "I’m sorry I’ve marked you again, I just can’t help it. I just love the taste of your skin there." Lizzie kissed his shoulder and grinned impishly. "Your back is bleeding, my lord. I scratched you with my nails in return. Now nobody can gaze upon it for a fortnight, except your valet. I imagine the scratches will puzzle him."

He smiled at her implication that he would not be able to visit another woman for more than a fortnight, without having to explain the scratches on his back. "You’ll have to sleep with me until it’s all healed then. And please call me John. Married people can call each other by the first name, you know." He followed that statement with a deep kiss. God, but he had really fallen in love with his wife after almost ten years of marriage! His big fear was that it was not mutual! Two months later a worried Lizzie noticed that she had skipped her monthly bleedings. John had been coming to her bed almost every night and had fulfilled the 'lover' part of his proposal. It had been heaven and hell at the same time for Lizzie: she had such a problem believing this was all for real. She liked the way he made love to her; it was passionate and adoring, although not really different from the way he had been three years ago. That was exactly why it also frightened her; he had almost killed her three years ago and she still hardly understood what had triggered that. Would he go back to his old ways one day? Would he still come to her bed as soon as he knew she had conceived? She did not understand what he meant by being 'friends' either. The part of him being her friend was still rather mystifying; he never had breakfast with her in the mornings, because he tended to disappear for his daily work at the House as early as possible. They never woke

up together, because he was mostly in a hurry to scramble out of her bed after they had made love. Since their real rapprochement he had not lingered in their bed after their lovemaking, but always hurried away to his own rooms instead. She wondered whether it had all been too much for him, in a way; he had never been close to any woman in that respect, as far as she knew. She supposed he had been faithful to her in the months that they had shared her bed, and reminded herself that that might be as much as she could get out of the relationship with him. He did accompany her in the evenings, as long as the events were not too tedious to his taste, and his behavior in the daytime was respectful and almost caring. Maybe that was what he meant with being friends. She decided that whatever they shared now should be enough for her; John had never been known to be the way he was towards her right now with any other woman. On the other hand, she would not yet tell him about the new babe that was growing in her belly; she would hate it if he stopped coming to her bed. She craved his lovemaking as she had craved Lochiel's. Lochiel... Lizzie bit her lip. No more thinking about Lochiel. John should be foremost on her mind from now on. She looked around the luxurious ducal drawing room. This was what John's parents had destined her for and her duties lay here; with the Rothfords and John

Montgomery, Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, her husband, her lover and maybe one day really her friend. * * *

Chapter 45: A MARRIAGE AT ITS WORST * Rotherham, July 1815 When Lady Bernadette Blackwood, Countess Rotherham, was brought to bed she was squirming and wriggling with the pain of her contractions. Detty had been immensely looking forward to the occasion of the birthing of her child. She surmised she looked the size of an elephant in her last weeks of breeding and her much older husband Gilles had not done a thing to hide his disgust of her, or to mock her body. Detty secretly laughed about her husband’s bad manners. As far as she remembered he was always like that: a boorish, mean man, who could only claim his nobility through his poor long-dead mother, a sister to the Earl of Rotherham, who had the bad taste to marry a commoner for love. Her Blackwood-husband from a merchant family died within a few years of the nuptials, freeing the way for a randy cousin to claim the widowed lady for his bride. By the time the poor lady birthed their daughter Ariel, her second husband was leading a fancyfree life as the lazy lover of a brothel-keeper. Detty used to think that was exactly where her unknown ‘stepfather-in-law’ lived - in a brothel - until she found out that he had supposedly been carried to an early grave after succumbing to a very nasty disease or a brawl at a racetrack that ended badly for him.

She had never known her mother-in-law either. The woman had died of small pox only a few years after Ariel’s birth, or so everybody liked to claim. Detty soon understood that the pox had not been small at all and was caused by her low-life stepfather-in-law, when he decided that he wanted a rest from his woman of the profession and came ‘home’ to reclaim his husbandly rights. Detty had been brought up in a village called Wattles, close to Glasgow in Scotland. Her father once was a very poor squire who fathered three boys and three daughters, of which she was the youngest. Yet, despite having so many offspring, Squire Warleigh had responded to the summons of Lady Audrey Agnew, later the Countess of Loghaire, to adopt a bastard son born from her favourite chambermaid and her husband, who was at that time the old Earl of Loghaire’s heir. The child had not been unwillingly conceived while Lady Agnew was carrying Andrew Agnew’s first child and heir. The chambermaid Martha Wallace died during Peter’s birth. Lady Agnew knew of Squire Warleigh’s dire circumstances and assumed he would not mind taking her money and the baby that came with it. Once adopted, Peter had been a mocked and sneeredat child within the Warleigh household, notwithstanding the professed religious attitude of the parents and the fact that Lady Agnew’s payments for Peter’s upkeep were enough to keep the whole family afloat for years.

After Lady Agnew became the Countess of Loghaire, more than eleven years after Peter’s adoption, things got slightly better for the Warleigh household and almost twenty-three years later, after Detty had come back from her best friend Lizzie Campbell’s marriage to a duke’s son in Edinburgh, her father had been suddenly elevated to the title of Baron Irving-Wallace. The name of the barony might not have been a coincidence if one looked at it closely: Detty’s older two brothers had found an early death when they were hunting stags in the Highlands and fell into a deep crag and her remaining brother was sickly and ailing. Detty often wondered if the kind Countess had foreseen that her third Warleigh brother would not live long enough to inherit the Irving-Wallace barony, although in the end Paul had lived until 1814 reaching the age of thirty-five years. Her father died a month after Paul’s early demise, regretfully leaving the title to the unloved adopted son Peter, who'd had the effrontery to call himself Peter Wallace, refusing to use his Warleigh surname, since joining the army as a Scottish ensign at fourteen years old. Detty had been married to Gilles Blackwood, a gentleman-farmer in Yorkshire, for almost three years when the title of Earl of Rotherham was awarded to her husband. His uncle Cyril Fairfax, Earl of Rotherham, had died without legitimate male issue. There were only three girls born of his marriage to Annette du Plessis, a woman of the French nobility.

Gilles inherited the title while rumours ran galore about the other children the promiscuous Earl might have fathered on the other side of the blanket. One of them was Bruno Bouchier, physician in Rotherham, and another might be Jeffrey Burroughs, the new Baron Caversham for less than a year. She gasped when she felt another contraction and looked with some alarm into Doctor Bouchier’s worried eyes. Bruno shook his head. “The baby won’t come for a long time yet,” he assured the Countess. “First-borns mostly take their time and I doubt this one will be an exception to that rule. I’ll take the chance to go on my rounds, but I’ll leave Mrs. Middleton with you. I gave her my schedule, so if there is anything urgent she can send a stable-hand after me.” “Wait!” Detty cried after him, “Are you certain? I have this strange urge…” Doctor Bouchier shook his head. “I think the baby is in a breech position. We must wait till the very last moment to get it out. You are not yet open enough, milady.” Detty looked wide-eyed at the man who was rumoured to be the former Earl of Rotherham’s bastard son. People at the castle said it was just as well he was not at all interested in becoming an earl. “A… breech position?” “The baby is feet down and head up. That, uh, might pose a problem in some way.”

Just when Detty started to feel regret about ever having conceived, a fierce contraction almost seemed to rend her in two. Doctor Bouchier nodded at the midwife who sat quietly on a chair. “Take good care of her, Janey! I’ll come back as soon as possible.” The Earl slammed the bedroom door closed. “A… bl… bloody girl!” he warbled. “All she can give me is a mere girl! Damn the woman! I should never have married her!” Mrs. Middleton looked aghast at the visibly drunken Earl. “Sh… milord!” she urged him. “Her ladyship had a very bad time of it. She nearly lost her life at the birthing.” “I don’t give a farthing arse about that! She should have given me a son! Now those snooty Brondemeires will still inherit with those twin boys Anthea threw into this world! Wake her up; I want to talk to her!” Janey Middleton looked with alarm at the man in front of her. He was swaying on his feet. “Now!” he roared. Detty moved in her bed and managed to open her eyes at last. “What is it?” she asked her husband. “I want to sleep here tonight. I want a boy next time, you hear! As soon as possible!”

“Milord!” Janey interfered, “Her ladyship won’t be up to any sorts of intercourse for the next six weeks! It won’t be any use either! She will not be able to conceive until the weeks of her recovery are past!” “And not after that either, Gilles!” her ladyship added grimly, “I’ll never sleep with you again!” “Oh yes, you will,” the Earl whined, “you are my wife and you have a duty to fulfil. Don’t you think of denying me, Detty, or I’ll send you back to the stinking place you managed to drag yourself away from!” The midwife took a few paces backwards in horror. She had witnessed nastiness at a birth once or twice, but today the Earl took the cake! Detty just smiled into her clean sheets. Oh God, if that would only be possible! She would run to the real father of her newly born daughter and never look back! * * *

Chapter 46: A NEW DUKE IN DISTRESS * London, September 1815 Richard looked up from his ledger when the unexpected visitor was announced. He rose as his halfbrother John entered his office. “Jesus Christ, John,” he exclaimed, “what on earth…” John Montgomery, Marques of Lorna and Kintyre, threw himself down on the comfortable chair in front of Richard’s desk. His handsome face was haggard, as if he had not slept all night. “It’s Randolph. He’s gone missing in the Highlands. It is said he was with his butler Whitby when he fell from a ledge.” “What?” Richard exclaimed. “Where does this news come from?” John threw his beaver hat on a small table and raked his dark hair with his fingers. Richard noticed for the first time that the Marques’ hair showed some white streaks. As far as he remembered John was only thirtysix years old. “My estate messenger from Edinburgh. I asked him to keep it quiet. Randolph was supposed to be hunting, as he is wont to do at this time of the year.” Richard nodded. His half-brother Randolph had been the Duke of Rothford for nine years now. His father Jonathan Montgomery, sixth Duke of Rothford, and most probably Richard’s own sire as well, had died in

the arms of his lover: Lady Audrey Agnew, Countess of Loghaire, in 1806. Randolph Montgomery was never remotely like his famous father. He never had his looks, nor his ways. To top it all Randolph had married an old harridan, Caroline Guernsey, who was over her childbearing years when he faced her at the altar. Richard suspected that Randolph’s marriage had been a sham to hide the fact that he mostly preferred people of his own sex for his bed, although he was known to have a few bastards here or there living with their mothers, who were hidden in arranged marriages. If Randolph had been in the Highlands together with his so-called butler Whitby, who was known to cater to Randolph’s sexual needs whenever the Duke asked for it, then it might be necessary to hide the fact that they had been together for more than fishing and hunting. “He fell from a ledge?” John nodded tiredly. “Between you and me: it has been confirmed. I cannot bring out the news yet as something came to my notice and I need your advice badly.” “Let me ring for coffee first. Did you eat anything today?” John shook his head. “I’m not sure if I could eat any…” Richard looked flabbergasted. John had always been somebody whose appetite could hardly be influenced by emotions. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, John?”

The handsome Marques took a deep breath. “You know that Lizzie is five months pregnant? Lizzie was constantly ill and it seemed that she was going to miscarry. Her mother was not very good at childbearing either, so the fears were not unfounded. At last I gave in to her pleas to get her mother and that maid Samantha Ferrer to London. They brought Lizzie’s brother Robbie as well. He is to go to school here anyway as he will be ten in November. Samantha Ferrer was once a healing woman and Lizzie thinks the world of her.” Richard put a hand under his chin. He knew all this must lead to something important. John was not one to often dawdle in his reports. “Did something go wrong? I know you always had your doubts about Robbie’s parentage.” John looked wryly at his brother. “Father already found out that Robbie was sired by Lizzie’s father, but that his mother was actually Samantha Ferrer and not the Baroness.” He shrugged. “I never cared. Ayre is nothing to me. Robbie Campbell can keep it. No, there was a crisis and Lizzie was feverish. Then I overheard my mother-in-law say that Lizzie should not worry. That everything went fine that last time…” Richard suddenly sat up straight. “That last time?” John shrank back into his chair.

“I had that remark investigated, of course. In the end I asked Samantha Ferrer out right. I had to threaten her with exposing her and Robbie to get to the truth.” Richard’s eyes widened. “That sounds ominous enough!” John heaved a deep sigh. “It was. It seems that my lovely wife birthed twin sons out of her affair with my half-brother Lochiel Cameron.” A long silence followed John’s remark. John peered at Richard. “Don’t tell me you knew.” Richard shook his head. “Not as such, although I often wondered. After Robbie’s birth Lizzie disappeared. Supposedly she went to Ireland with her mother, as the Baroness needed to recover from the child she never had herself. Lizzie had been in Lady Loghaire’s house that summer, as Randolph seemed to fancy her and she had no one to protect her from him but the Countess.” He sent John a disapproving look. If John had only taken his marital duties seriously none of the mess they faced now would have happened. John stared stubbornly ahead. Oh, how he regretted his own misdemeanour in the past! But it was all a moot point now. “Lochiel visited Lady Loghaire and Hengist there often. When he came back to Edinburgh from his duties in Ireland one year later with twin babies in tow, anyone could've put it all together, although apart from your

father and the Countess, nobody ever seemed interested enough.” Again he sent his brother a reproachful look. John leant his head on the back of his chair and closed his eyes. “Our brother Lochiel, from my father’s love relationship with a Scottish girl, sired twins with my wife. Can’t you see what that means? Lochiel is one year my senior.” “So what?” Richard asked sternly. “Lochiel was born out of wedlock when it concerns your father. He, nor his children, have a claim on the dukedom, John. In fact, if your brother really died after falling from that ledge, with or without his butler, you are the new Duke of Rothford now.” John nodded with a pained expression on his face. “I am afraid so,” he mumbled. “Forgive me Richard, I am tired. I have not slept a wink for days.” “Maybe you should rest here for a bit,” Richard suggested. “Just don’t go back to that household of yours yet.” Richard was certain that anything could trigger the new duke’s ire or fury, under the circumstances. It had happened before and had resulted in his wife’s fall from the stairs and subsequent miscarriage. He was grateful to see that John took his suggestion to heart. “John!” he warned, “Stop pestering your wife with her past! You did not want anything to do with her then. Please look ahead, before more accidents happen.”

John sent his half-brother an angry look. “Those children are legally mine, Richard. Can’t you see the dilemma? Lochiel Cameron’s children were born when Lizzie and I were fettered in wedlock.” Richard shook his head in exasperation. “Lochiel Cameron legally adopted them as the children born out of his relationship with Melanie Torrance. Just like he did with little Aggie, Lizzie’s maid’s son.” “Yes? What do you mean to say?” There was fierce hostility in John’s voice. “Before she died, Lady Loghaire explained to me that Mattie’s child was conceived when her husband-to-be was not anywhere in the vicinity of Edinburgh. Little Aggie Cameron was conceived in the week that Randolph held Mattie almost hostage for his sexual needs. Randolph is most definitely Aggie’s father.” John heaved a deep sigh when he heard this unwelcome titbit. “What I want to tell you,” Richard continued, “is that everything is different than first meets the eye. It still does not mean that anything stands between you and the dukedom of Rothford. And the child in Lizzie’s belly will be your heir when he turns out to be a son. Just concentrate on that, John. Please be sensible.” Richard left the ‘for once’ out of his speech. John Montgomery, now obviously the new Duke of Rothford, had always been a sensible person when it came to his duties for the duchy. His emotional life was often a different thing altogether. It was anybody’s guess how

deep his jealousy went for his half-brother Lochiel Cameron or his own beautiful wife Lizzie. It was very unfortunate that he had found out about the twins at last and in such a fashion, but his strange fears regarding the out of wedlock born Lochiel or the twins born through adultery were unfounded. Lochiel Cameron had taken care of that when he adopted them. “I’ll need to go to Edinburgh. I need to recover Randolph’s body. And I’ll pay our new-fangled Baron Halkhead a visit. I want to talk to him.” Lochiel Cameron had been recently invested as a new Baron Halkhead in January. Richard knew that had been Jonathan Rothford’s doing, since he'd had Lady Loghaire as his lover. He did not doubt the ‘lost’ barony had been Audrey Loghaire’s idea from the start. The Barony of Halkhead was part of the Earldom of Loghaire which was inherited by Hengist Agnew more than four years ago when his brother died in Newgate prison under the suspicion of being a ‘sodomite’. Since the death of Marguerite’s father, Hengist’s father-in-law, the Barony of Halkhead had lacked an heir, as the baron had died without male issue. Richard nodded. “Tomorrow. Sophia and I will keep an eye on Lizzie, although she is in good hands now that her mother and Miss Ferrer are here.” John threw him a quelling look that made Richard wince. The man was in a turmoil! Richard hoped again that he would keep his emotions at bay. It was bad enough that Randolph had died under rather suspicious

circumstances: what business did he have to take his butler to a hunt? John rose slowly and almost dragged himself to the door. “Lochiel still does not know who his real father was!” Richard warned him. John choked back a sardonic laugh. “The idiot. He should have understood after all the presents Father gave him.” He clicked the door shut behind him and slowly walked to the stairway where a forewarned Poussin waited to appoint him a bedroom. * * *

Chapter 47: EVENTFUL DAYS * Lionel entered Robin’s bedroom with a frown. He was holding Cordelia Wilkinson’s letter. “How is she?” he asked the woman with the red hair that had caused such a stir in his household because of her beauty and the place she had taken as a midwife. “Not well at all,” Samantha Ferrer murmured. “I would strongly advise you to allow me to help the baby to be born as soon as possible. Her body is fighting the child and they poison each other.” “She still does not want you to help her?” Lionel whispered, peering at his pale wife in the bed in the bedroom that had been prepared for the occasion of their child’s birth. “She thinks it is unnatural and being pressed on her by the wish that her baby is born before that old Baron of Dunstead dies.” “Can we wait?” Lionel asked hopeful. The problem was that Robin had never shown one stubborn wish in the time they had been together and he hesitated not to comply with what his sweet wife wanted. “I would strongly advice against it,” Samantha said urgently, “the outcome could be that neither the baby nor the Countess will survive.” “How will you do it?” Lionel sat down close to Samantha on a long padded bench. “I’d start to open up the womb, by touching the brim. It is possible that it will induce her contractions. Last

time I touched her I got the impression she was already half an inch open. I would also give her something harmless that will make her bowels move. Strong movement of the bowels will also be of influence on contractions. The problem is that she is very weak. Having a baby is nothing less than exhausting, but I personally think there is nothing for it. The child has to come out as soon as possible if you want mother and child to survive.” Lionel threw another hasty look at his wife who lay pale and unmoving in the unfamiliar bed. They had always slept together in his bedroom since he went to live with her in his father’s London residence. “Just do it,” he nodded curtly. There were times when one could not rely on one’s wife’s feelings if it concerned a matter of life and death. “I would like you and the Baroness to stay here,” Samantha said hesitantly. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of witchcraft or of being a quack. If the Earl and the Baroness stayed they could be a witness to her actions. The Baroness of Ayre nodded at her from her chair which was placed near a curtain that was only partly opened so that she could embroider without the Countess having to suffer from the daylight. Lionel just nodded. He understood Samantha’s wish very well. He put the letter he was still clutching aside on a sideboard. Samantha moved towards the bed with hesitation: she had helped to bring many children into the world since

Robbie’s own birth and the stormy events afterwards, but she knew by now that childbirth was never, ever a thing to think lightly about. Lionel looked with horror at the child that had just exited Robin’s body. “Should he not be crying?” he asked fearfully. Samantha said nothing but grabbed a broad straw from a tray. She opened the baby’s mouth and started to suck. A big blob of mucus left his tiny mouth and he suddenly started to make a mewling sound. Samantha wiped her face with a cloth. My God, but she didn't remember ever having sweat so much as she had done in the last few hours! “He lives!” she murmured with a broad smile. “Thank God, he is fine!” She’d had her doubts about this baby, especially when he was about to be born. She had checked his heartbeat with the trumpet-like thing that the Baroness had given her after she had complained that it was so hard to hear a child’s heartbeat when women were contracting. She'd sagged a bit on her low chair, which had been placed at the end of the bed upon her request, as soon as she knew Robin Armstrong’s pains were beginning in earnest. She quickly folded the new born boy in a baby’s blanket and then gave him without a word to the Baroness who had been patiently waiting on her chair. Samantha was exhausted, just like the poor countess

who was now huddling in her pillows. “I don’t know what to say…” Lionel said weakly. Samantha smiled at him. “You know now, first-hand what it is like to birth a child. Are you thoroughly educated, you think?” Lionel nodded. If it was up to him Robin would never have another baby again. It was just too frightening for words. “Please call in the maid, her ladyship needs to be washed and freshened up after we have taken care of the last things.” Samantha withdrew a sheet to help the countess with the rituals of the afterbirth. Lionel turned around, not able to witness anything more. “What will his name be?” the Baroness asked his turned back. “Oh, uh, we will call him Eric, after Robin’s father. Eric Armstrong-Jones, Baron Dunstead.” “What?” the Baroness asked wide-eyed, “The recent Baron of Dunstead died?” Lionel nodded. He would have to falsify his son’s birth-certificate by a day. According to Cordelia Wilkinson the Baron died the night of the fifteenth. It was now the seventeenth of September. It did go against the grain to do a thing like this, but it would avoid a lot of problems about the heritage of the Dunstead Barony. “Tell me when you have finished this… business with my wife. I would like to… to have a word with her, to thank her.”

Samantha nodded, busily finishing the last necessities of a long day’s work. * * *

Chapter 48: A BARON AT HIS LEISURE * His grace the Duke of Rothford stared at the mansion that was the seat of the new Baron of Halkhead. He remembered that his brother Randolph had told him Halkhead was a small barony, but that was not at all reflected in the four story high mansion with all the sprawling buildings surrounding it. He was certain the building must have undergone huge renovations in the last decade. He wondered fleetingly who would have paid for such building works. The huge front door opened and a burly man walked down the five steps in front of it. He was dressed in the Scottish way and John was certain he could discern the colours of Clan MacDonald on the kilt. “Do you have business with the Baron of Halkhead?” the man asked. “I am Rothford, and I wish to speak to your baron, sir!” John answered, slightly irritated. Uncouth burly men at a front door, indeed, he reflected. That was what came of unexpected visits without forewarning the host. Truth be told he had intentionally refrained from warning Lochiel Cameron of his visit. “What is it, MacDonald?” a melodious voice asked. When she showed herself in the opening of the door, John almost gasped in surprise. “My lady Rotherham!” he exclaimed, bowing to the buxom woman with the sort of cleavage that all the

young men at his former school in long gone days used to dream of. “You are visiting the Baron as well, I see?” Detty looked in utter amazement at the handsome gentleman in front of her, who had been for years the stuff of dreams for every young girl in the Quality until he married her girlfriend Lizzie in 1804. A slow smile slid over her face. John Montgomery had long ago been some sort of god to her, but now that she'd had another night of passionate love in Lochiel Cameron’s bed she felt comfortable enough to greet him like the equal he almost was. “Such a surprise, Marques!” she answered in a low voice, “I was just visiting and now I find you here on Halkhead’s doorstep!” A shadow passed over John’s face. “I am Rothford now,” he said stiffly, “my brother had an accident in the Highlands.” Detty was at a loss for an answer. The news of Randolph’s death obviously had not yet reached the backwaters of the Scottish lowlands. “My sincerest condolences…” she managed to express. She looked around her with some bewilderment. “Do come in, your grace. I understand the Baron is still in his, uh, apartments, as he had a rather sleepless night, but no doubt you will want to take some refreshments while awaiting his appearance.” When she turned her back on John to show him the way to the formal drawing room he saw some red spots

in her neck right under her upswept hair. Love bites? Detty Blackwood was showing love bites? Suddenly there was a great noise on the stairs and seven boys were stamping down. After glancing at them they quickly turned in the other direction, away from John and Detty. Detty clapped her hands and ordered them back into the vicinity. “Sirs!” she called out over the noise of their babbling, “Please greet his grace, the Duke of Rothford.” For an instant the boys silenced, looked at John with awe and then almost simultaneously bowed. John studied them in silence. The oldest boy was at least eighteen and dressed in the black clothes students used to favour. The second one proudly wore a second lieutenant’s uniform of the Black Watch and resembled his father to the nines with his height and his long blond hair. Two other boys were in their teens, and then John’s gaze fell on three boys who were definitely about ten years old, of which two were clearly twins. The other ten year old had reddish hair and was no one else but Randolph coming alive again at the age of ten, when John was four. “Sirs!” he managed to nod. “We’re going fishing with MacDonald, aunt Detty,” the young lieutenant informed the Countess of Rotherham. Aunt Detty? John frowned and peered after the twin boys who carried the resemblance of the man who had been the sixth Duke of Rothford; his father. They did

have the corn-blue eyes of the woman who had watched him over the dinner table in the last six months of his marriage. He suddenly felt bile coming up into his mouth. “In here, your grace!” Detty pointed quietly. She had seen John’s look at the twins and understood immediately that he knew what she'd only heard a month ago after she'd appeared unexpectedly on Lochiel’s doorstep. A parlourmaid entered the room with coffee and some tartlets. Detty guessed that Mattie had refused to show herself; she could have entered to help the Duke to his refreshments as head of the household. “Aunt Detty?” John asked pointedly, staring at the marks on Detty’s neck. “I did not know you were related to the Baron or his children?” Detty busied herself with the coffee tray. John frowned at her when she took a bite from a piece of cake. “Yes, I am still fond of everything that is sweet,” Detty remarked, following John’s stare at her plate. She had only seen John a few times in her life: when Lizzie had married him and she'd accompanied her girlfriend as her bridesmaid to Edinburgh, and in London when Aline Fairfax was preparing to marry Basil Ware. At the last occasion she had been huge with her baby and nonetheless had gobbled every piece of cake or sweets that came into her sight. “…And since I am staying a bit the boys call me aunt, indeed.”

They looked up when the door opened. Lochiel was standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual short kilt with the Black Watch colours. He was not carrying a scarf around his eyes and John noticed the horrible scar that crossed his face and that had caused his blindness. “I heard the Marques of Lorna and Kintyre is visiting?” he asked in his low voice. Detty rose. “He is the Duke now, Lochiel!” Lochiel walked towards the sound of her voice and performed a short bow in the direction where he sensed John. “Excuse me, your grace, I did not know.” Detty steered him unobtrusively to his chair. He sat down without hesitation. Silently she curtsied at John and quickly left the room. “She is here to recover from the birth of her child. It’s a girl,” Lochiel said conversationally after he heard Detty leave. “Rotherham was not very happy with that result.” I bet you he wasn’t! John thought, wondering about the bite-marks on Detty’s neck again. It was clear to him that Lochiel had gone on with his life and used the excuse of his blindness not to notice how homily Detty was. He grimaced. Detty was not a beauty but he was certain she was a nice handful under the sheets in the technical sense of the word. He felt the old admiration for Lochiel Cameron again, when he said: “I saw all

your sons. You have as many as the days in the week, as Randolph used to say.” Lochiel smiled. “If a week had six days. Aggie is not mine. I adopted him to be able to take care of him and Mattie when his father died.” John suddenly felt his anger rising. Aggie’s father had only died less than a month ago when he was buggering his butler on a rig somewhere in the Highlands! “Let’s not beat around the bush,” he growled. He made an impatient gesture, realizing at the same time that Lochiel could not see it. “Now that I am the new Duke I wish to make a few things clear.” Lochiel sat stock-still on his chair. John had been his secret competition from the moment he had clapped eyes on John’s then fiancée Lizzie Campbell. He had fallen in lust for her. Love had come only later after Lord John had ignominiously deserted her in Edinburgh for the fleshpots of London. “I know about William and Bentham.” Lochiel pondered on those words in silence. “What do you mean?” he asked at last. “They are yours and Lizzie’s.” Lochiel shook his head. “They were born from my relationship with Melanie Torrance,” he lied calmly. “You lie, Lochiel Cameron,” John argued hotly, “I have it from the horse’s mouth, so to say.” Lochiel smiled grimly.

“According to their birth certificates Melanie Torrance is their mother and I am their father. Whatever else is hearsay.” John rose from his chair and walked to a window, strangely hoping he would get another glimpse of the seven boys. “Fine,” he grated, “so I understood wrongly when my wife’s mother distinctly said that “everything went fine that last time…” when they were talking about her pregnancy.” “You base all your presumptions on that?” Lochiel asked amazed, feeling a frisson of guilt. John went back to his chair again and sat down. “I had a talk with Lindley about that. He agrees with me.” “You talk to the Duke of Lindley about my children? Why in God’s name?” “Because I know Richard Lindley is my very brother, not my half-brother as everybody supposes. My mother already had a relationship with my father when she married old Lindley. In the few years he was married to her she continued that adulterous relationship. Richard and Sophia are my true siblings. That makes them yours as well.” “What?” Lochiel rose halfway from his chair. “You still never realized, did you?” John barked. “Not after all the expensive presents and Father’s Klingenthal, with the stone ‘the colour of the eyes of your mother’? Why do you think you were awarded Halkhead?

Because he wanted you to be part of the Peers of the Realm.” “But the Prince-Regent…” “Fuck the Regent!” John shouted, losing all his calm, “Our father, Jonathan Montgomery, instructed me and Randolph in his will that you should be a Peer after the war with Napoleon was at an end if you came back safely. He did his utmost to achieve it together with Audrey Agnew of Loghaire.” Lochiel sagged against his chair. “I guess I did wonder once in a while…” he confessed after moments of silence between them had passed. “So that is why two dukes show an interest in mere Lochiel Cameron?” “You are my father’s son. Right now you have two sons, whether they are Melanie Torrance’s or not, and four with your wife… what was her name again? Lindley says it’s bollocks, but in the end there should be a straight line for the duchies if neither Richard nor I have sons.” “Dammit, John,” Lochiel retorted, “Even if all of this is true, I was still born from the wrong side of the blanket. Give it a rest will you? Detty told me Lizzie is about six months pregnant. The whole point will prove to be moot when you have a son!” John rose again. He was very agitated. “Did you ever check the Stirling clan register?” he asked with a pained voice. “Why on earth would I do a thing like that?”

Lochiel wished he could rise as well, as he sensed that John was not sitting on his chair anymore, but he feared this time he would fall over a low table or some such nuisance in his agitation. “You are registered in the Steward’s clan-register as Jonathan Montgomery and Maighread Cameron’s son! In Scotland the clan-register is worth more than the English laws. I checked it before I came here!” “For Gods sakes, John, you see troubles everywhere. If you leave it be, I will! Leave it the hell alone! What are you trying to prove? That your father loved my mother more than yours? It’s all moot! It’s all in the past! Let things lie, I tell ye!” “I need to be certain that you will never ever make a claim on the Rothford duchy!” Lochiel opened his mouth and then closed it again. “Did you come all the way here to ask me that? You could have written me a letter!” he growled at last. “You could have told me when I was in London in January, when I was formally invested by the Prince-Regent for something he did not award me at all!” John stood staring at Lochiel. He knew he would have to go away with nothing to prove Lizzie’s adultery but ‘hearsay’. He would leave with pain in his heart because those beautiful twin boys would never ever be part of his own little family. There was regret and remorse, also for the boy who so resembled his father but who would never become the Duke of Rothford. He felt sick at heart. That damn Lochiel had it all! -

“It's amazing that he came all the way here to discuss those things,” Detty murmured. They were snugly ensconced in Lochiel’s big bed. Detty had put her head on Lochiel’s naked shoulder and he caressed distractedly a plump breast. “Did you know?” he asked. “About the twins or your father?” She kissed the tip of his nose reassuringly. “There were rumours galore about Jonathan,” she shrugged, “and truth be told; you resemble him greatly, so it does not surprise me. About the children: they are much like Lizzie in some ways. She has those very blue eyes your twins sport as well. So, no. I guessed when I came here and then Mattie spilt the beans after my overly curious interrogation. But does it matter? Why don’t we just stop asking ourselves questions about the past?” “I wish I had known my father better… He was an extra-ordinary man, everybody said so. And John… There was always something binding us, even now! There was a time when I was disgusted with him, but today I felt pity for him. Pity! Billy and Benny are wonderful boys. It’s just that I would not want to go through a situation of deceit like that again.” He suddenly bent towards her to kiss her hard on the mouth. “You’re a sensible girl, Detty, but now that you've had your period, and in order to avoid future similar problems, I need to ask you to put a shield on my dick the next time we make love, which by the way will be very imminent.”

“A divorce would only take Gilles three months before a Scottish court, Lochiel, and I am certain he's already filed for a divorce on the grounds of my adultery. He is such a spiteful little man! I did not exactly leave him quietly on purpose. He knows now that little Elisabeth is not his! He’ll move heaven and earth to take care that I will be removed from his precious earldom forever.” She smiled and got out of bed, searching for the thing that would prevent another conception as long as she was still married to the despicable Gilles Blackwood. Because the next time she wanted their love child to carry the name of its true father. * * *

Chapter 49: DUCAL CONFESSIONS * The butler handed Lizzie a note with a face like stone. The new duchess stared at the note with trepidation. “Bad news?” her mother, the Baroness of Ayre, asked. Lizzie sighed and looked down at her belly that lay hidden under the folds of her expensive morning dress. “He wants to see me in my chambers,” she admitted, “alone.” Her mother and Samantha Ferrer, the baroness’ newly appointed companion since their trip to London, exchanged worried glances. She was sitting in her own drawing room which had been Randolph’s wife Caroline’s until John’s brother was known to have succumbed from his fall from the rocks somewhere in the Highlands. John entered, wearing very formal clothes that were inherent to him being the new Duke. He gazed down at her. “I went to visit the new Baron Halkhead,” he stated without any preliminaries. Lizzie straightened her back, staring at him with her corn blue eyes. “I saw all his sons. He claims to have six. Two were twins.” She took a deep breath and suddenly felt her eyes filling with tears. “You have nothing to say?” “Is there something to say?” she asked her husband with trembling lips.

“I assumed the twins were yours. They have that unusual shade of the colour of your eyes. Cameron denies it.” He saw how Lizzie almost crumbled. “I am carrying your heir in my womb,” she managed to say. “Whatever it is, will you please let things rest? The last time I saw those twins is more than five years ago.” He had sat down on a chair in front of her and he pounded a fist on a small table next to him. “I cannot forget anything that has to do with my older brother!” he suddenly shouted. Lizzie’s eyes widened. “Why do you bring Randolph into this?” she asked, “Your poor brother is dead!” He stared at her, silently, threateningly. “You mean to say you don’t know?” he asked at last unbelieving, “You never knew?” Lizzie got a handkerchief out of her sleeve. The room was warm but she shivered in her silk, low cut dress. “What do you want from me now, John?” she asked as tears were streaming down her face. He rose and brought his face close to hers. “You don’t know Lochiel Cameron is my brother, from the wrong side of the blanket? You mean to tell me you did not purposely seduce him for that reason to get even with me?” She shook her head with force, almost touching his nose.

“No, no,” she denied. “I turned to him because there was no one else to turn to when you left me in Edinburgh. What is this story about him, John? How could he be your brother? Your father adored your mother! It was the love match of the century!” “Obviously only as long as it lasted,” John growled harshly. “It wasn’t a fling with this Maighread Cameron: she died in childbirth when Lochiel was six. My father had an affair with Lochiel’s mother that lasted more than six years! That is where you come in, my dear. I cannot imagine you never wondered why you were wed to me at sixteen. You were never that big of a catch.” He hesitated here. Most men would disagree with him. Lizzie Montgomery, now the Duchess of Rothford, was probably the most beautiful woman in the realm. “My mother blackmailed my father into our marriage, as your father was my grandfather’s illicit child, my mother’s father.” She shook her head, not yet understanding. “W…w…why would she have me marry you then?” “To cover her father’s shame.” There was a menace in his voice and she quailed back from him. “My mother did not allow imperfectness in her life. That is why she traded her father’s guilt for my father’s.” Tears suddenly streamed from Lizzie’s eyes. “Your mother did all that to us? To me? Just for reasons of pride, she made us suffer?”

He sat stiffly down again, gazing at his wife, who was now crying without making a sound. “Why are you crying?” he asked unwillingly. She unfolded her already very wet handkerchief that would be of no help in the drying of her tears. He was amazed to find himself offering her his own big white handkerchief, while he crouched down beside her. “Pride!” she said bitterly with a choke. “She ruined our lives because of her blasted pride?” He took his handkerchief out of her trembling hands and started to dry her tears himself. He did not know what came over him, but he suddenly kissed her with all the passion he had known in his life. “Please don’t cry, my darling!” he said. “Everything will be alright from now on. Please don’t cry…” She opened her eyes and found to her surprise that her handsome husband was still lying next to her in her sumptuous ducal bed. He smiled at her in the fading light of the setting autumn sun. “John?” she asked. “I guess we both needed that nap,” he said quietly. She laughed prudently. “It is quite scandalous that the Duke and Duchess are abed at this time of the day,” she stated softly. He grinned at her. “We used to do a similar thing when you were only the Marquise of Lorna and Kintyre. Do you think our elevation in rank makes a difference?”

She looked down on her hand that plucked at the silk, white sheet. “I miss him.” She felt another sheen of tears in her eyes. My God, she was truly turning into a watering pot. His eyes became very serious. “I do as well. But why would you miss him, Lizzie? He was a bully and an idiot. I understand he went after you after I left Edinburgh.” “You know that as well?” she asked. “You know about poor Mattie?” When he nodded silently she continued: “He became a far better man after he inherited the Dukedom, I guess. He did bully me into going back to you, threatening that he would withhold my allowance, but he was not a bad man. I learned to like him.” “He threatened to withhold your allowance?” John asked, “How…? Damn, Lizzie, what did you get from him?” “Your father took care that I had my pin money and an allowance for being your wife. I needed that money badly for… Robbie… and…” His eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Lizzie, I never gave you a penny!” Her lips trembled. “I have always been quite poor for a wife of a Marques. But on the other hand…” “So Randolph paid for everything else? Your clothing, your household?”

He lay back on his pillow with a hand covering his eyes. “How can you ever forgive me?” he asked with difficulty. “I left you and made you live in penury, having first my father and then my brother paying for your daily needs? Oh, my God I must have inherited my mother’s egotistical character.” “It was hardly penury,” she protested, “and I cannot believe that your mother’s selfishness can be hereditary.” She felt a sudden twinge in her belly and gasped. John bent immediately over her. “What is it Lizzie, is it the child? Oh, good Christ, we should never have…” She smiled tremulously at him, amazed about his concern. “No, this baby can kick me quite hard sometimes. It’s nothing, John!” “Lizzie, I am not sure we should have…” He halted meaningfully. She stuck out her hand to caress the dark curls that were almost falling down to his shoulders. She presumed he had not seen his barber for quite some time. “Samantha says that at this stage it won’t be harmful to c…couple. As long as the man is not overtly forceful.” His grin became impish. “You are actually discussing bedding me with Samantha?”

She bit her lip. She had asked Samantha, although she had known it could not be very harmful. Lochiel had bedded her as late as the seventh month of her pregnancy with the twins. They had been born only a few weeks early. “You still wanted me to come to your bed? It wasn’t only me?” he asked, insecurity lacing his voice. “I… How can you think I would not want you in my bed any more, John? Do you think I faked my delight in our trysts together?” “I know you were forced,” he growled curtly. She closed her eyes, laying heavily back on the pillow. “I always thought you did not want me.” He sighed. “I knew you for the little beauty you were, when I had to face you at the altar. I was just too immature. I could not handle a wife. After that party, where you sought me out I fell in love with you.” “You?” John sighed heavily again. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I was in pain when you left me after that terrible quarrel. I could not stand living in that house when you were not with me, so I sold it. I tried to forget you, but it was impossible. I bedded about all the harlots in London and buried myself in my work for the House, to no avail.” Lizzie gazed at her husband from her pillow.

“You threw me out of your bed when I made that last attempt!” He bit his lip. “I told you that I was afraid. Lizzie, you must forgive me. Us. My family, my mother.” She rose from her pillow to kiss him on his lips. “I forgave you months ago. I fell in love with you on that first day you came to Ayre as an uncouth knave. I've never felt otherwise.” “But you went into the arms of my brother,” he protested, unwilling to mention Lochiel’s name. “As you went to the beds of all those harlots, my love.” That rebuke quieted him down. “Were there others?” he suddenly asked. He noticed he held his breath, awaiting her reply. She shook her head. “Never,” she said, “I knew it was no use.” He kissed her long and hard. A feeling of happiness filled his heart. She had been his, always. Even when that hulking Lochiel was bedding her, she had been his. It was time he forgave her. * * * * *

The next book in C. Hampton Jones’ Wellington’s Heroes Series is: *

“Set down in Malice” * (Hengist’s. Philip’s and Marguerite’s story.) * The third book in C. Hampton Jones Wellington’s Heroes Series is: *

“Love’s Reasons” * (Kit, Anthea, Attelante and Aline’s story) The fourth and last book in C. Hampton Jones Wellington’s Heroes Series is * “Uncertain Glory” * (Jeffrey’s, Devon’s and Peter Wallace’ story) * * *