Alec Mackenzie's Art of Seduction (Mackenzies & McBrides #9)(39)
Meanwhile, she glanced out the chamber’s tiny window over the gray city and wondered where the devil Jenny’s father had got to, and whether he was safe.
Chapter 12
Rain streaked the carriage windows, the cold making the glass steam with its passengers’ breath. Mrs. Reynolds, prim in dark cloak and hood, sat opposite Alec, her gloved hands in quiet repose.
Alec was anything but composed. He craned to look out the window as the carriage bumped over the rutted and rain-soaked road, the outline of a house near the estate of Sir Amos Westwood in the distance.
Mrs. Reynolds and Lady Flora had concluded this house was a possibility for where Scottish soldiers might be held. They knew every estate within a hundred-mile swath outside London, and they’d pared down the possibilities to three. This was one of them. Mrs. Reynolds offered to look it over herself—very few noticed what a widowed lady’s companion did—but Alec insisted on accompanying her.
Was Will inside the crumbling brick walls of the Cambridgeshire estate, held in chains? Alec pictured Will’s long, lanky body, his red hair coated with dirt and blood, lying on an earthen floor, beaten and starving. Bloody hell.
His worry had escalated earlier this morning when Lady Flora had wordlessly handed him a letter from his brother Malcolm.
Mal had written in French, being fluent in the language, and smuggled the letter to Alec via friends of Lady Flora. Very few excise men were willing to search the baggage of an aristocratic English lady landing after a sojourn on the Continent, especially ladies who were close to the daunting Lady Flora.
I don’t know whether to give credit to this tale, Mal wrote, but I heard it from a Borderland lad newly arrived in Paris who was acquainted with Will. He says Will was arrested in the west of Scotland while helping Teàrlach mhic Seamas escape.
I didn’t believe it, but the lad insisted Will jumped in front of a horde of English soldiers, declaring he was Prince Teàrlach himself, and they should bow before the rightful heir to the Scottish throne. The soldiers promptly clapped him in irons. When it was pointed out later by their commander that he wasn’t Teàrlach but an unknown Highlander, they took Will off, and the Border lad doesn’t know where.
I don’t know why Will would do such a daft thing, and the lad might be mistaken, but he swore by all that’s holy it was Will.
Dad’s out of his mind with worry, and Mary fears he truly is going off his head. Now Dad is convinced King Geordie’s men have you as well. Write and tell me it isn’t so, so we don’t have to lock him in the basement and feed him gruel and weak whisky until your return.
Mary sends her love to you and Jenny.
Your distracted brother, Malcolm
Alec had committed the letter to memory and burned it.
He could imagine Will popping up in front of British soldiers to mockingly claim he was Charles Edward Stuart, son of the rightful King of all Britain, because that was the sort of thing Will would do. Why was beyond Alec’s understanding, but Will did things for his own reasons. If he’d let himself be arrested in the prince’s place, it meant he was following some mad plan he’d concocted.
Will would not sacrifice himself out of compassion and loyalty to the prince, Alec knew good and well. Damn and blast him. Will couldn’t be bothered to get a message to the rest of them, let them know what he was doing, could he?
“How the bloody hell are we to know if he’s here?” he growled at Mrs. Reynolds.
“We don’t.” She spoke coolly, as calm as Alec was agitated. “We are taking in the lay of the land, reconnoitering, if you will. We should do the same at the other houses and then decide which is best to approach.”
“Meanwhile, they drag Will off to a sham trial and hang him,” Alec said, scowling at the rainy window. “Or transport him, if they haven’t already. Will might not be in any of these places.”
“If you rush in and demand to know whether the owner of the house is holding prisoners of war, you’ll only be captured yourself,” Mrs. Reynolds pointed out. “Wise heads must prevail, my lord.”
Alec’s father would laugh that a woman was more collected and competent at the spy game than his sons—or maybe he would not. Their mother had been the calm one. It was said that Allison Mackenzie had great intelligence and could debate most men under the table in matters of science, mathematics, astronomy, and studies of the humors. Mal had inherited her logic and intellect, while Alec had been graced with the volatility and restlessness of their father.
No, they all had that restlessness, Alec reflected. Which was what had gotten Duncan and Angus killed, Mal looked upon as a terrifying demon, and now Will taken God knew where.
What would Mal do in this circumstance? Alec missed his favorite brother, but at the same time was glad Mal was in France with Mary, waiting for his first child to be born, all of them well out of danger.
Alec knew exactly what Mal would do, because Will had taught both brothers all his tricks. Mal would sneak through the countryside in the dead of night to lay traps or play pranks to scare the life out of the guards, and slip in to rescue Will.
So Alec would. He’d return, with the help of those he or Lady Flora had already contacted, and reconnoiter, as Mrs. Reynolds termed it. Or Alec would come alone, trusting to his own instincts.
Working with others had already proved perilous. The Glaswegian friend of Will’s had been killed, and the two ruffians who’d waylaid the Marquess of Harrenton and beaten him thoroughly last night had nearly been caught. The fools had rushed to Lady Flora’s house for sanctuary—and payment—and Alec had sent them off with their money.