As was the pair of cream silk stockings draped across the top of the dresser and the silk petticoat lying across the reclining chair along with a matching corset. Both of which were daintily embroidered with seed pearls even smaller than those on the shoes. Jessalyn scanned the room, following the trail of underclothing to the painted screen where a golden yellow brocade overskirt and bodice hung from gold clothing hooks. She picked up the shoes and stockings and hugged them to her breast. The dress and the underclothing were exquisite, but the shoes … Unable to resist the urge any longer, Jessalyn slipped the shoes onto her feet. They fit perfectly. She wrapped herself in a sheet and scrambled out of bed to admire her beautiful shoes in the mirror and discovered wisps of steam rising from the brass tub in front of the painted screen. Not only had her husband given her a gift of beautiful clothing, but during the time she had slept, he had drained the leftover bathwater from the tub and refilled it.
Jessalyn blinked back tears. He hadn’t told her he loved her or made any promises beyond the promise never to betray her trust, but he had given her a pair of shoes. She was a highland laird. She knew there was no shame in going without fine clothes and shoes. But deep in her heart, she had always been ashamed of being seen with dirty feet. Somehow the English earl of Derrowford had understood.
After admiring them one last time in the mirror, Jessalyn removed her new shoes and set them in the place of honor on the center of the dressing table then dropped the sheet and climbed into the hot bath.
The inner bailey was a cacophony of noise and activity. Jessalyn arrived to find it packed with wagons and carts piled high with household goods and furnishings and teeming with livestock. The air was filled with the sounds of lowing cattle, of baaing sheep, the grunts and squeals of pigs, the barking of the drovers’ dogs and the squawking of chickens, ducks, and geese. Adding to the din was the excited babble of the members of Clan MacInnes and the laborers unloading the multitude of wagons and carts and the men and women charged with the task of overseeing them. Standing on a large crate in the center of all the confusion, directing traffic and issuing instructions was her husband—Neil Claremont, seventh earl of Derrowford. Jessalyn stared in amazement as Davina supervised the unloading of three carts parked near the kitchens and Neil assigned workmen to carry load after load of furniture and tapestries and carpets into the castle. A miracle had occurred while she slept. Clan MacInnes had become wealthy overnight.
“You there!” Neil shouted at one of the drovers. “Get those cattle out of here! Take them to the enclosure on the west side of the outer bailey. And you! Ask the women where they want the spinning wheels and the looms set up.”
Taking great care to avoid anything that might damage her new dress or her shoes, Jessalyn worked her way to Neil’s side and reached up and touched his leg.
“What’s all this? Where did it come from?” she asked.
Neil turned at her touch. He saw his wife in the golden yellow gown and nearly tumbled off the edge of the crate in his haste to help her up beside him and get her out of harm’s way. “All of this,” he said, waving an arm to indicate the chaos in the bailey, “is the bulk of the supplies your man purchased in Edinburgh.”
“I sent Ranald to Edinburgh to buy food and goods with the coins you gave me as a wedding gift.”
“And I would say that he is a very skilled bargainer.”
“Yes, he is,” Jessalyn agreed. “But he’d have to be the most skilled bargainer in Scotland to buy all of this.” She stared at him. “You were very generous, milord, but you dinna give me that much gold. And I never gave Ranald leave to purchase clothes for me.” She glanced down at her new clothes.
“No,” Neil agreed. “That’s the prerogative of a husband.”
She met his gaze once again. “Thank you for the bath and the heather and this …” She ran her hand down the front of the yellow dress. “ ’Tis beautiful.”
“You’re quite welcome, milady,” he said. “The dress is quite fetching.”
“Thank you again, milord.” She did a small pirouette on the crate and lifted the hem of her skirt and the embroidered petticoat so he could get a better look at the shoes.
“And you look quite fetching in it.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice to a husky whisper. “I like the dress, but I prefer you the way you were this morning—naked and wrapped in my arms. Make no mistake about, milady, you don’t need clothes to be beautiful.”
There was no mistaking the look of admiration in his eyes either, but Jessalyn wanted answers and she could not allow her handsome husband to dissuade her. “Then perhaps ye might explain yer extraordinary generosity.”
“A doting husband need not explain his generosity.”
She didn’t say anything. She simply stood before him and met his unwavering gaze. Until it wavered …
“Your Ancient Gentlemen sent word of my successful abduction and our marriage to the marquess of Chisenden. He knew your father, Mac, and he knew of your clan’s desperate straits.”
Jessalyn straightened her back and raised herself to her full height. “Clan MacInnes isna’ a charity case of the marquess of Chisenden. I am not a charity case.”
“Of course not,” Neil soothed. “You’re my wife and Clan MacInnes is family.”
“You’re grandfather is most generous to members of his family.” She couldn’t keep her hurt pride out of her voice.
“Yes, he is,” Neil agreed. “But I made use of a husband’s prerogative. I asked my grandparents to order a dowry for you. My grandfather sent the other gifts to celebrate our marriage and to welcome you into the family.”
“Dinna shame me in front of my clan. Ye know I canna accept all of this,” Jessalyn protested. “It’s too much!”
“How can you not?” Neil asked. “It’s a dowry from my family.”
“My dowry shouldna come from yer family,” she whispered. “It should ha’ come from mine.” She bowed her head and focused her attention on the toes of her shoes.
Neil lifted her chin with the tip of his index finger, forcing her to meet his gaze. “How do you know it didn’t?”
“What?”
“My grandfather is a generous man with the members of his family, but he’s never been known for generosity toward his enemies. And a Jacobite Scottish laird, involved in a rebellion against his king and country should have been his enemy. Why would he ally his family to a Jacobite clan? Especially a minor one? Unless he owed the laird of that clan a debt of some kind? And if my grandfather did owe your father or your clan a debt and chose this method of repaying it, then there’s no reason for you not to accept these gifts, for in a manner of speaking, your clan has provided your dowry.”
Jessalyn looked around her at the members of her clan who had gathered in the bailey. Magda had taken charge of a half a dozen spinning wheels and was busy assigning them to the kinswomen who knew how to spin. Flora and Ellen were directing a man to the cottage that had once belonged to the cobbler. Even Sorcha was helping. She had joined a group of women and some of the smaller children herding the geese and ducks into the enclosure Neil and Henry Marsden had rebuilt several days before. Everywhere she looked her people were laboring—with smiles on their faces. Neil was right. She couldn’t disappoint her clan. Charity or not, she couldn’t refuse to accept the marquess of Chisenden’s largesse. “In that case, I’m honored and pleased to accept the marquess of Chisenden’s extravagant wedding gifts.”
“That’s my MacInnes.” Neil draped his arm across her shoulder and pulled her closer to his body. “Come on, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
He jumped down from the packing crate and was reaching up to help her down when Jessalyn heard someone calling her name.
“Jessie! Jessie!”
Neil lowered her from the crate to the ground, but kept a protective arm at her back as Hannah MacCurran ran up to them with a black and white collie pup in her arms.
“Jessie! Jessie, ye’ve got to come see! Davina told me they
were all for ye and there’s three—”
“Steady, there!” Neil intercepted Hannah, slowing her when she threatened to run headlong into the MacInnes.
Hannah halted, her eyes widening at the sight of Jessalyn in the yellow gown. “Jessie, ye look like a princess!”
Jessalyn smiled at the praise. “Thank you, Hannah. Now, what is it you wanted me to see?”
“Ye’ve got to come see the three—”
“Puppies,” Neil interrupted. “One of the dogs had puppies during the journey. I believe there are three of them and I promised Hannah pick of the litter if it was all right with you and her mother.”
“No.” Hannah shook her head. “There’s four. But that’s not …”
Neil bent down to Hannah’s level and whispered something in her ear.
“Oh,” the child replied. “Sorry, Neil.”
“That’s all right, Elfin.” He ruffled Hannah’s reddish gold curls. “Run along now.”
Jessalyn raised an eyebrow at Neil.
“I told Hannah I’d bring you over to see the puppies after we tended to business with the stonemasons.”
“Stonemasons?”
“Yes, milady,” he grinned. “You forget that before I accepted a commission in His Majesty’s army, I was an architect. My wedding gift to you, my dear MacInnes, is to repair your crumbling stronghold.”
Tears sparkled in Jessalyn’s eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything except that you’ll let me have my way in this. Vincenzio and his workmen are among the best stonemasons in Europe. We were lucky to get them. This isn’t charity, Mac, it’s a necessity if the clan is going to survive another harsh Scottish winter.”
She nodded.
“There’s something else,” he hesitated, a moment before plunging ahead. “Vincenzio is accustomed to taking his orders from kings and popes not …”
“Minor Scottish lairds?”
Neil shook his head. “Women.”
Jessalyn frowned. “I’m the MacInnes, but you’re the architect and my ceann feachd. He’ll answer to you and,” she whispered, “you’ll answer to me.”
“Tonight?”
“Every night from now on,” she promised.
“With pleasure, milady.” He took her by the hand. “We have a rendezvous with Hannah and a litter of collie puppies before the end of the day, so let’s go introduce Vincenzio to his first female Scottish laird and give him a tour of the castle.”
“Not all of it, I hope.”
Neil smiled. “Not all of it,” he promised. “The Laird’s Trysting Room is our secret.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Laird’s Trysting Room wasn’t the only well-kept secret at Castle MacAonghais. In the two mornings since the arrival of the marquess of Chisenden’s caravan of wedding gifts, Jessalyn had awakened in the huge bed in the master chamber to find a bouquet of heather and a new pair of shoes on the pillow beside her. And the surprises didn’t stop there for each new pair of shoes was accompanied by dresses and undergarments made to match. When she questioned her husband, he smiled a mysterious smile, kissed her good morning and hurried out to supervise the work on castle.
Jessalyn had never been happier and life for Clan MacInnes was better than it had been since before the Uprising. Jessalyn hoped her euphoria would continue forever, but by mid-afternoon when Ian MacCurran ushered a young man into the kitchen and over to where she sat helping several of the women churn butter, she knew it was impossible.
“I’ve come from Glen Craig with a message for the MacInnes,” the runner announced.
“I’m the MacInnes,” Jessalyn stood up and removed her apron, then held out her hand for the message.
“ ’Tis na’ a written message,” he said. “But ’tis one I’d rather tell ye in private.” He cast a meaningful glance toward the women seated at the butter churns.
“Come with me.” Jessalyn motioned for Ian to follow, then led the messenger from the kitchen to the room that had been her father’s study, sidestepping the sawyers and laborers repairing the interior of the castle along the way. Ian waited beside the door as Jessalyn led the young man into the study. She closed the door behind them, shutting out the sound of workmen and the chance that anyone other than Ian might overhear what was said.
The young man glanced around at the fine furniture and the tapestries and paintings hanging on the walls and at the brass candlesticks and the sweet-smelling beeswax candles. Those candles had come from a chandler in London, but soon the clan would be able to make their own from beeswax gathered from the castle skeps and herbs grown in the castle garden. Jessalyn was filled with a sense of pride and a wealth of thankfulness toward Neil and his grandfather because the runner from Glen Craig was seeing her father’s study as it was meant to be seen, not bare as it had been two days ago.
“What is it you have to tell me?” she asked.
“English soldiers are comin’ your way,” he said without preamble.
Jessalyn paled and she fought to keep her voice from coming out in a most unlairdlike squeak. “The English are coming here?”
He nodded. “Aye. They followed your caravan from Edinburgh. They should be here by morning.” He shrugged. “They could have been here already, but they’re searchin’ every village and glen along the way.”
“For what?” she asked, praying she didn’t already know. Praying the English soldiers hadn’t discovered the identify of her Ancient Gentlemen and Magda and Flora.
“Englishmen,” the young man answered. “They’re looking for three Englishmen who disappeared from the fort they’re building near Kilchumin.”
“Why are they searching the highlands for Englishmen?” Jessalyn pretended a calm she didn’t feel. “The English soldiers have been here before. Surely they know we would never harbor enemy soldiers. Clan MacAonghais fought and died for the king over the water.”
“They dinna think we’re harboring ’em,” he told her. “The word among the villages is that the English think one of our highland clans abducted their soldiers and are holdin’ ’em for ransom. And there was a richly laden caravan headin’ into the highlands …”
“Right to our front door.”
“Aye.”
Jessalyn sighed.
“My laird wants to know if it’s true.”
“Is he offerin’ his services should the English attack?” she demanded.
“He dinna say.” He shrugged his shoulders, then asked again, “are ye holdin’ Sassenach soldiers for ransom?” he asked.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “We are not. You may tell your laird that I am recently wed and that the caravan has brought us wedding gifts and badly needed supplies.”
“ ’Tis good that yer improvin’ yer castle.” The young man cast another, more avaricious, glance around the room. “Now, that yer wealthy again, ye’ll want to be holdin’ on to yer belongin’s.”
“Aye,” Jessalyn told him, recognizing his look for what it was. “You may tell your laird of the wealth you’ve seen. And you may also tell him that the MacInnes is no poor defenseless woman to be preyed upon by her neighbors. My husband is a powerful man and as ceann feachd of the clan, he is well able to defend it. ’Twould be much better to be his ally than his enemy.”
“Aye, milady.”
“Our cook will provide you with food and drink to see you on your way. And please thank your laird for his warning.”
“Many thanks, milady,” He bowed. “And ye need not worry about my laird’s intent. For while he will be most unhappy to learn that ye’ve already wed, he’ll be quite happy to know yer not unprotected, for in truth, my laird has always fancied ye. He offered fer ye himself some five months past when the auld laird still breathed.”
Jessalyn opened the door and instructed Ian to escort the messenger back to the kitchen.
“Oh, milady?” The messenger turned.
“Yes?”
“My laird asks that ye send a runner to
Clan Munro.”
She nodded. “Consider it done.” Jessalyn waited until they were out of sight before closing the door and collapsing onto the nearest chair. Her knees were quaking beneath her petticoat and skirts—not just at the news that Sassenach soldiers were headed for Glenaonghais but also at the news that she’d narrowly escaped a marriage to Laird Grant of Glen Craig for he was fifty if he was a day, balding and pock-marked and had breath that could kill a pair of oxen at a hundred paces. She stared at the back of the door. Her father’s second-best bonnet, adorned with two eagle feathers, hung on a peg, apparently overlooked by the women who had tended to his body and packed away his personal belongings. Jessalyn reached up and removed the hat from the peg. She held it to her nose breathing in the scent of her father. Five months ago, a highland chief, Grant of Glen Craig, had offered for her and five months ago, her father had turned him down in favor of a Sassenach soldier she’d never met. Jessalyn pressed her father’s bonnet to her heart. “Thank ye, Da,” she murmured. “Thank ye for Neil.”
“You can imagine my surprise when after twiddling our thumbs in Edinburgh for weeks waiting for word from London that the Masons’ Guild had quarried the stone needed to complete the wall at Fort Augustus, we were told to join the caravan headed not for the fort, but to the village of Glenaonghais half a day’s journey north,” Vincenzio remarked to Neil as they inspected the repairs to the eastern wall of the chapel.