Neil dismounted and walked over to Jessalyn. He stuck his hand inside his shirt and pulled out a piece of wool and two eagle feathers. “You lost your bonnet, milady,” he said as he handed it to her.
Jessalyn’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I see you found your key.” She touched the key hanging on the silver chain around his neck.
Neil bent his head and brushed her lips with his.
“How touching!” Oliver sneered. “How utterly maudlin! I see you’ve come for your rebel whore.”
The highlanders assembled on the parade ground gasped at the insult and every man one of them drew their dirks and prepared to avenge the slur on the reputation of the MacInnes laird.
A muscle ticked in Neil’s jaw as Major General Sir Charles Spotty Oliver crossed the threshold of his quarters and stepped outside. He was dressed in a clean, crisp red uniform with shiny brass buttons and lots of gold braid. His sword hung in a scabbard by his side and he wore a pistol in his belt. His boots were polished to a high sheen and his waistcoat and gloves were sparkling white.
“I have come for my wife,” Neil corrected. “Lady Jessalyn Helen Rose MacInnes, Laird of Clan MacInnes and countess of Derrowford, ally and loyal subject of His Majesty the King.”
“Your wife?” Oliver sneered. “Is that what they call whores in Scotland?”
Neil lunged for the general but Jessalyn grabbed hold of his plaid and held fast. “No, milord, don’t!”
Neil turned to look at her. Her blue-gold eyes were huge and shining with love for him. “Please,” she said. “He hasn’t hurt me.”
“I beg to differ.” Neil reached out and touched the cut on the corner of her mouth and traced the dark bruise and the swelling along the line of her jaw. “He hit you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she urged. “What matters is that he abducted me to get you here. He knew you would ride to my aid. He wanted you to. He wanted you to lead a raid on Fort Augustus so he’d have reason to arrest you.”
Spotty Oliver could have the confrontation he wanted once Neil got the MacInnes safely out of Fort Augustus. Neil intended to give the commanding officer ample reason to arrest him—if he survived. Because once Neil was sure the MacInnes was out of danger, he intended to kill Major General Sir Charles Oliver for harming her. “Stick out your foot, milady.”
She did.
Neil hefted the axe and chopped through the chain.
“Nice shoes,” he said softly, staring down at the badly battered blue shoes.
“I lost one of the buckles,” she said with a teary chuckle.
“No matter,” he told her. “You’ve three hundred and sixty-two more pairs at home.”
“But I like these,” she said.
“Then we’ll search the heather until we find the missing buckle. Sorry about the manacle,” he said. “But we’ll get it off you as soon as we get you home. Can you walk?”
She tried, but her ankle couldn’t support her weight. Neil started to lift her into his arms, but Jessalyn protested. “I’m the MacInnes. I willna ha’ him see me carried.”
Neil’s heart seemed to swell in his chest at her courage and her strength. He was terrified at how close he had come to losing her. He placed an arm around her waist, then looked at Oliver. “It’s over, General. I have what I came for.”
“You’re out of uniform, major.”
Neil glanced down at his clothes. “I’m no longer in possession of my uniform. I wore what I had.”
“By adopting the uniform of the area hostiles and by amassing this army and marching on the property of His Majesty King George accompanied by armed hostiles, I declare that Major Neil Claremont, seventh earl of Derrowford, has committed an act of war and is guilty of treason against king and country!” Oliver announced. “Arrest him!”
A half a dozen English soldiers and an equal number of highlanders drew their arms and stepped forward. Neil stood his ground and addressed the English soldiers. “You’ve no need of your weapons.” He looked at the soldiers and then at the highlanders. “Either of you. I’ve committed no treason against the king or against England. I intend to offer myself into General Wade’s custody. I’ll submit a full report concerning the events here at Fort Augustus and will face whatever charges General Wade or the king chooses to bring against me for riding to my wife’s defense against an officer of the Crown. But I did not raise an army. The men you see before you are friends, neighbors, and allies of Clan MacInnes and of the king of England. I came for my wife who was taken from her home by force. I have the right to protect my home and my family. As do these men and all of you.” Neil stared at the soldiers. “Look at my wife, gentlemen. Observe her treatment at the hands of the commander of this fort. Any one of you knowing this would have done the same. In the words of Grant of Glen Craig, ‘If rescuing Jessalyn MacInnes from a cur who makes war on women is treason, I’ll gladly swing from the gallows.’ ”
“Claremont! You will not report to General Wade! You will not destroy my reputation or my career! Fort Augustus is mine to command. I decide what General Wade sees!”
“You already have.” The group of highlanders parted to allow the Field Marshal and Commander in Chief of all of His Majesty’s Forces, Castles, Forts and Barracks in North Britain to ride into view. “And from what I have witnessed here today, I conclude that Major Claremont has the right to settle these serious grievances by choosing his seconds and meeting you upon a field of honor if he so chooses.”
Neil shook his head. “As much as I would like to seek personal satisfaction for my wife and for myself, sir, by killing him on a field of honor, I think that having General Oliver stand trial for his offenses in Edinburgh and in London would better serve our country and the people of Scotland. They should know that the Union Act was enacted to benefit both countries. They should be allowed to see that English justice belongs to Englishmen and Scotsmen alike.”
General Wade nodded in agreement. “So be it.” He turned to the guards and pointed to Oliver. “Arrest General Oliver.”
Neil leaned toward Jessalyn and whispered in her ear. “Let’s go home, my love.”
“No!” Oliver pulled his pistol from his belt and fired.
The impact of the shot spun Neil around. A dozen highlanders and soldiers attempted to draw their weapons, but Jessalyn was faster and closer. She pulled the pistol from Neil’s belt as he sank to the ground, pointed it at Spotty Oliver and fired.
Major General Sir Charles Oliver dropped like a stone.
The recoil from the weapon knocked her backward, but Jessalyn kept her grip on it as she got to her knees and crawled to her husband’s side. Bright red blood poured from a wound high in his right shoulder. “Neil! Neil! Has he killed ye? Don’t ye die on me! Not now that I know ye care! I’m the MacInnes of Clan MacInnes and I order ye to open yer eyes and look at me.”
He did. He stared into the startling blue-gold of her eyes. Memorizing her every feature. “I love you.”
She leaned over and kissed his lips, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his eyes. “Oh, my darling husband, I thought I’d lost ye and I love ye so.”
He tried to sit up, but Jessalyn pushed him back down. “Mac, my wife, my dearest heart, the love of my life, you must let me up.”
She tried to cradle his head in her lap but found she couldn’t lift it. She tried again and failed. “Why?” she asked.
“Because you’re hurt, my love. You’re bleeding.”
She met his gaze, then followed it down to where her left arm was covered in blood. Neil’s face seemed to fade before her eyes and she struggled to focus.
“Here, lass, let me help you.” Strong arms reached out to cradle her. Jessalyn looked up, recognized the Sutherland colors and promptly fainted.
* * *
“I shot him through the heart, dinna I?” She closed her eyes against the pain, then opened them and turned to Neil. The surgeon had finished dressing her wound and was attending to Neil. General Wade and the clan chiefs had crowded into the su
rgeon’s quarters to watch.
Jessalyn lay back on the cot while Auld Tam and the English blacksmith worked to remove the manacle from around her ankle. “I saw him fall,” she insisted, the shock making her more talkative than usual. “I know I hit him.”
Relieved to find her wound was slight, that the shot from the pistol had passed through the fleshy part of his shoulder as he leaned toward her and glanced off her arm, Neil shook his head. “You hit him, my love, but not in the heart.”
“But that’s where I aimed,” she insisted as if it were impossible for her to miss, “I aimed for his black heart.”
She looked so disappointed, Neil had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “You struck him a little lower.”
“I killed him, didn’t I?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” This time Neil couldn’t keep a chuckle from escaping. “But he’ll wish you had.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Where did I hit him?”
Neil leaned over and whispered the answer in her ear.
“Oh!”
General Wade gave her a sympathetic smile. “So, you see, my dear Lady Derrowford, you’ve been avenged.”
“Please,” she looked up at the men in the room. “Please, ye mustn’t tell anyone that my shot did that. Promise me ye won’t.”
“Why not, my dear?” the Sutherland asked.
“Because I’m the MacInnes and my clan willna have any confidence in my ability to lead them if they know my aim is so poor.”
“Quite so, my dear.” General Wade murmured in agreement. “Quite so.”
The men in the room swore they would keep their silences, but the women in the fort made no such promises. By nightfall, it was rumored that if Major General Sir Charles Oliver survived his wound, his voice would be much higher and he would no longer need to seek the nightly companionship of women.
Chapter Thirty
Three months later
Jessalyn twisted the lace handkerchief into a tight little knot, then unfolded it and twisted it again.
“Relax, my love.” Neil placed his hand over hers and wrestled the mangled scrap of lace out of her grasp. “I’ve never known you to be so nervous. Remember that you’re the laird of Clan MacInnes, the woman who brought an English lord to his knees again last night. He’s merely a king and a German one at that.”
“I’m not nervous about meeting King George,” she protested. “I’m worried about meeting your grandparents.”
Neil smiled, then lifted her chin with his index finger and turned her to face him. “You’ve nothing to worry about. They love you already.”
“But he’s the king-maker and I’ve heard that in society, your grandmother is equally powerful … What other woman could manage to have three hundred and sixty-five pairs of shoes made in only one month?”
“Can this be my fearless MacInnes talking?” He laughed.
“Neil, this is serious! What if I do something wrong? What if my manners aren’t good enough for London society? What if I trip on this train and fall on my face or use the wrong fork? What if the king can’t understand me? I canna bear the thought of embarrassing yer family.”
“Don’t worry,” he reassured. “Everything will be fine.”
Major General Sir Charles Oliver recovered sufficiently from his wounds to be present at his own court-martial. He was currently locked in the dungeon at Holyrood House in Edinburgh, awaiting trial for the murder of Gordon Sutherland and the attempted murders of Lieutenant Joseph Burton, Sorcha MacInnes and the earl and countess of Derrowford.
The king had requested an audience with the earl and countess of Derrowford regarding the incident at Fort Augustus immediately following the court-martial in Edinburgh and after waiting two months for their wounds to heal, Neil and Jessalyn had made the journey to London. They had arrived in the wee hours of the morning and although Neil’s townhouse was a bachelor establishment, they had gone straight there instead of the marquess and marchioness of Chisenden’s home to prepare for the afternoon reception.
His grandparents’ household was in chaos. The marquess and marchioness were hosting a ball in their honor after the reception and Neil had declined their invitation to stay there. A household preparing for the event of the season was no place to rest. And the MacInnes needed rest. He was worried about her. The truth was that Jessalyn was terrified of meeting his grandparents and of being presented at court. So terrified, he had caught her sobbing in the bath.
Neil gently squeezed her hand. “It’s time.”
Jessalyn looked up as the Lord Chamberlain announced her. “Lady Jessalyn Helen Rose MacInnes, Laird of Clan MacInnes and seventh countess of Derrowford.” She left Neil’s side and stepped forward. After carefully making her curtsey to the king, Jessalyn repeated the words she’d been rehearsing for weeks. “Your Majesty, I stand before you as the Scottish laird of Clan MacInnes and ask to pledge my fealty and to swear allegiance to you, my sovereign, in this year of Our Lord, seventeen hundred sixteen.”
King George offered her his hand and Jessalyn kissed it.
“Arise, Laird MacInnes, our most loyal and beloved ally,” the king announced.
Jessalyn arose, then offered the king another curtsey and carefully backed away. It was over. She had survived.
Jessalyn heaved a sigh of relief as her husband beamed with pride.
The marchioness of Chisenden crossed the marble floor of the ballroom, dodging dancers as she hurried to where her husband and the First Lord of the Treasury stood talking. The ball celebrating Neil’s marriage to Jessalyn was in full swing and Chisenden Place was near to bursting at the seams with the cream of London society. The marchioness had issued five hundred invitations and nearly everyone who had received an invite to the event of the Season was in attendance. Charlotte knew everyone there. She had prepared the guest list herself and she was quite sure that the name of the blond young doxy who had entered the house on the arm of Viscount Hamilton had not been on it.
She walked up to her husband, placed her hand on his sleeve to get his attention, then stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
“What?” He turned to look at his wife. “You’re certain it’s her?”
“Of course, I’m certain,” the marchioness replied. “I’ve seen her before and I was close enough to recognize her. Kingsley said Viscount Hamilton brought her.”
“What impudence!” the marquess declared loud enough to be overheard. “How dare that young pup bring her here!”
Lord Chisenden patted his wife’s arm. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’ll take care of this.”
“Too late,” Charlotte announced with a sense of dread. “Look.”
The marquess turned to the dance floor in time to see the couples forming the squares. “My god, she’ll be paired with Neil before we can stop her!”
The marchioness sighed. “I knew she wouldn’t give him up so easily.”
“Buck up, my dear. It’s too late for us to intervene. We’ll just have to trust the boy to handle it as quickly and discreetly as possible.” He reached down and clasped his wife’s hand.
“That bodice is cut too damned low.”
“I thought you liked it, milord.” Jessalyn curtseyed low in front of her husband as the musicians strummed the first notes of the dance.
“I do.” Neil bowed to her, taking advantage of the exquisite view her bodice afforded him. “And so does every other man in this room. That’s the problem.”
“No one else has paid me the slightest attention,” Jessalyn replied. “You’re the only one hovering over my bosom.”
“And I intend to keep it that way.” Neil looked down at his wife and even the brilliance of his smile wasn’t enough to disguise the concern in his eyes as he noted the bright spots of color on Jessalyn’s cheeks. “Are you quite sure you’re feeling all right? You look feverish.” He reached out to place his palm against her forehead, and Jessalyn gently nudged it aside.
“Of course, I’m feverish
.” Jessalyn laughed. “I’ve been dancing all night.”
“And you’ve been ill,” Neil reminded her.
“I was not ill,” she protested. “I was recuperating from a bullet wound.”
“Just the same …” he began.
“And so were you,” she cut him off.
“I’m a man,” Neil replied.
“And I’m the Mac—”
“Innes of Clan MacInnes,” he finished for her. “I know. And if I remember correctly, Laird MacInnes, you promised to rest.”
She smiled up at him. “One more dance.”
He shook his head.
“Please, Neil …”
He stared down at her and the love he saw shining in the depths of her dark blue eyes nearly took his breath away. When Jessalyn looked at him like that he could deny her nothing and both of them knew it. “All right,” he agreed, “one last dance and then we retire to our bedchamber.”
“Where I’m sure to get plenty of rest,” Jessalyn rolled her eyes at him to let him know she knew exactly why he thought she looked feverish.
“Saucy wench!” Neil laughed. “You keep that up and I guarantee you get nothing but rest.”
“Hah!” She moved in close as she followed the steps of the dance, then turned to her next partner and whirled away before her husband could form a suitable retort.
Neil reached for the hand of the next woman in line, automatically bowing to her as required by the dance.
“Hello, my love.”
He recognized the sultry voice and dropped her hand as if she’d burned him. “Deborah,” he answered curtly. “I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list. What are you doing here?”
“I had to come,” she whispered. “Oh, Neil, I’ve missed you so much and I’m so angry with you for not coming to see me.” She moved in as close to him as she dared, then pouted prettily and squeezed a few tears from her eyes.
Neil stepped back and nearly collided with another dancer. “Our association is at an end, Deborah. I’m sure the marchioness made it quite clear that I’ve no desire to see you again.” The marquess had relayed the story of the marchioness’s extraordinary visit to Neil’s former mistress over drinks at the club earlier in the day.