Pretender at the Gate, Page 2

sober demeanour. We had never spoken of my role in his son’s death. I kept promising myself a time would present itself, but it never did.

  “Esmond, this is a surprise” Phil had stood up from her seat, her expression neutral, her Scottish accent mild in comparison to the Butlers. Not the welcoming smile I had anticipated on the way through the storm.

  I carefully retrieved the wooden box from under my topcoat and presented it to her on one hand. It was large enough to cover my whole palm and fingers.

  “I have brought something for you,” I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. I wanted her to open it straight away.

  Phil gave me a half smile and looked torn. It was not like her to be shy. We were friends, allies even. She had saved my life over her brother’s only a few weeks ago. She opened her mouth to speak and Magnus rested a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at her father.

  “I hae some work tae attend.” His voice sounded gruff as he searched his daughters face. “Captain Clyde-Dalton” he nodded stiffly in my direction before walking out through doors leading to the formal dining room.

  Watching her father walk out of the room, she stared at the closed door for a full minute.

  “My faither is nay well,” Phil sighed and crumpled the paper in her hand. Her distracted gaze fell on the wooden box, “what has ye out in the snow storm?”

  “You will have to try and guess,” I replied playfully and walked the rest of the way into the drawing room. The blue and silver made the room cold and yet the fire burned brightly. I sat in the chair opposite Phil, she watched me with a curious expression.

  “Would ye care fur a wee dram?” She asked and I felt as if she might be stalling.

  Nodding in assent I watched her skirts twitch as she moved around the sofa to the sideboard and pour two glasses of Scotch. She took a deep breath and turned back. I wanted to memorise exactly how she looked in this moment. The opening of the box would change our lives forever. This afternoon would link us forever.

  Phil’s hips swayed as she walked back and handed me the crystal glass. Our fingers briefly touched and I felt the same familiar spark of awareness burn through my stomach as I watched her pupils contract.

  “Can I open it?” Phil asked as she sat roughly on the chair opposite. She took a deep drink of the Scotch.

  I watched her lips touch the glass and wanted the next few moments to be over, so I could press my own mouth to them. Lifting my own glass, I drank the whole in one. Setting the glass down on the small table at my elbow without looking, I stared into Phil’s face. Her glasses magnified her green eyes and I found completeness in them I never believed possible.

  Breathing deeply, I set my pride aside and reached down into the part of my soul as a man I chose to ignore. Not now, I needed this strength, even though it made me vulnerable. I held out the wooden box and watched as she eyed it curiously. My hand shook as she relieved me of the parcel.

  Phil held the box at eye level in front of her and I watched as she considered the various methods she might employ to gain entry. I admired the way her mind ticked through each possible option and discard the unfeasible. She smiled and tapped the wooden lid. She set the box on her lap and opened her sporran. It was unusual for a woman to carry one, but there was nothing ordinary about the woman in front of me. She took out a long metal hook and set to work on the small metal nails holding the lid on.

  “Phil” I whispered and she looked up at me, smiling with anticipation as the nails gave way. “In your eyes I see the gateway to a thousand futures, all of which were closed to me before I met you.” The smile on her face froze and my heart began to beat widely in my chest. I felt like a green soldier facing his first cavalry charge. “You cannot be ignorant of my feelings and I flatter myself believing I know a little of yours.”

  The half opened lid sat forgotten and I watched as Phil studied my face. Her voice caught and I held up a hand to silence her. Reaching out I put it over her own hand resting on her lap.

  “I know I haven’t spoken to your father yet, there will be problems, after. Well after everything that has happened it has only brought us closer together.” I leaned forward on my chair and reached for the box. I used brute strength to open the lid, forcing the nails to give way. I glanced down and saw the straw lining. Holding the box out in both hands now. “All my instincts tell me this is the path I was meant to follow, with you by my side there is nothing we cannot accomplish.”

  “Esmond” Phil choked.

  “Look inside and you will know how much I adore you” I whispered and gestured with my chin towards the box.

  Licking her lips, Phil reached inside and removed the stuffing. With a small exclamation she looked up at me and grinned. Without another hesitation she reached both hands inside the box and lifted the object out.

  “It is magnificent Esmond, where in the world did you get it?” Phil breathed the words as she admired the jewelled bird perched on her palm.

  “A friend of mine knows of a clock maker in Geneva who makes them,” I raised an eyebrow and reached for the small object. “Watch this,” I used a finger to trace the breast of the bird down to the tail. Smiling when I found the small nub, I cranked it around a few times and let go.

  The small bird encrusted with emeralds, rubies and other precious stones shuddered for a moment before the beak moved. A song gently sounded in the drawing room and I watched as Phil stared with rapt attention at the mechanical songbird.

  I took one of Phil’s free hands and waited until she looked up at me, “Philomena Clunes, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife and making me the happiest of men?”

  Sure of her answer, I leaned forward on the chair and prepared to kiss her for the first time as my fiancée.

  Blinking several times, Phil’s mouth hung open. She held up a hand to hold me back. I felt a frown cross my features. Phil sat back in her chair.

  Swallowing hard Phil looked steadily into my eyes, “I cannot.”

  “Of course you can” I reassured her, “I know your father will need some time to come to terms with our union. I know I will make you happy Phil, do not deny you have feelings for me.”

  “You’re right,” Phil stood abruptly and stood behind the chair she had vacated. I watched her with growing concern, the songbird forgotten in my palm. “My faither will nae give us his permission, he is still distraught over Beathan’s death.” She looked down at the cushion, “as am I. There will nae be room in my life for the man who killed my brother.”

  “Where is this coming from?” I stood angry now at Phil’s rejection, at her lack of honesty. “If this is how you felt, you should have said something sooner.” I opened and closed my mouth several times. No words came to mind, only a blinding pain.

  “It can never be Captain Clyde-Dalton, you must reconcile yourself to this” Phil stared hard at my chest.

  I blinked at the memory of my last private audience with Phil. I had walked away and sought comfort in solitude. I did my work counting the excise and returned home only wanting to be alone. For the most part this suited the residents of the highland village. All except for a very few were happy the Sassenach was seen and not heard.

  Pouring myself another glass of Scotch I shrugged and took the whole bottle back to my favourite chair near the fire. Setting the bottle down on the table at my elbow, I looked across the room at the jewelled bird. I had placed it on the writing desk in front of the window. I wanted to crush it into dust. Its beauty and fragility stayed my hand. Instead, I had taken it apart and removed the music box, it would never sing again. It remained in blissful silence even though its mouth opened and closed.

  The heavy sound of horse hooves moving at a quick pace had me out of my chair before I realised my body had reacted. Standing at the window I looked out into the late afternoon gloom and squinted in the direction of the thundering noise. Counting down I waited for the small party of horsemen to come into view, turning right onto the road leading up to Deoch-an-Dorus from the r
oad south. There were at least six mounted soldiers, along with a prison carriage pulled by a team of four. All of them were heavily armed and I searched their garb for an indication of whose orders they carried out.

  Rumours had been drifting through the highlands since Beathan’s death in the New Year, the Pretender, James Francis Stuart was planning an invasion. He had secured support from powerful Scots Laird’s and was going to take his throne back by force. Using the Scots loyal to him in order to punish his wayward daughter.

  Could this be an attempt to turn the villagers of Markinch into Jacobite supporters? Heart in my throat I tried to remember the lesson’s Tavish had given me in identifying clan tartans. I turned and ran up the steps to the second floor of the cottage where my room was located. I grabbed my fur lined frock coat from a peg on the wall and settled it over my shoulders, pushing my arms through the sleeves. I ran to my trunk in the corner and threw open the lid. I took out my weapons of choice. Two tomahawks fashioned in the New World, specifically balanced for me in another life. Stowing them into the specially made pockets on the inside of my coat I looked at my father’s sword.

  It hung on the wall above the trunk and I reached for it. Admiring the sharpness for a second, I shoved it into place at my belt. Snatching up my two flintlocks from the table beside my bed, I shoved them into