Carre: Outlaw Part 7

"Or Hamilton's letter eased his stay," Johnnie quietly added. The Duke of Hamilton, suspected by many of closer relations with the English than he admitted, had been persuaded to write to G.o.dfrey on Robbie's behalf.

"Like you eased Hamilton's debts."

"We were fortunate he always has need of money."

Then Robbie waved, an ebullient, unrestrained gesture, the lady's favor tied round his arm fluttering in the breeze, and a wide smile instantly altered the gravity of Johnnie's expression.

There was no resemblance at all, Elizabeth swiftly observed, as Robbie Carre came more closely into view, between the brothers. No younger version of the huge, dark man at her side rode at her father's flank. Instead, Robbie Carre had brilliant rust-red hair favoring curls, the whipcord-lean body of youth, a restless, unrestrained energy even visible from a distance, and the face of a troubadour. Refined rather than starkly modeled like his older brother, with enormous dark eyes, his features reminded her of a Renaissance prince. All subtlety and elegance.

Then he smiled.

And Johnnie's smile shone on his face ... exactly.

"Are you ready?" Johnnie said, not to her but to his lieutenants.

"The muskets are behind the tree line. We're at your back." Kinmont's voice was no more than a murmur.

And with a minute nod of acknowledgment Johnnie urged his black forward, drawing Elizabeth's mount along with a sudden jerk of her reins, their legs suddenly brus.h.i.+ng as he pulled her closely to his side.

He seemed not to notice; Elizabeth felt the hard strength of his booted leg and thought instantly of the muscled feel of his body. He was warm, her errant mind reminisced, so hot-blooded and heated, her hands felt cool on his skin. And he moved with infinite grace, she recalled, his muscles rippling and coiling beneath her palms with tensile strength. The night she'd spent in his arms would stay forever in her memory-his pa.s.sion, his power, his teasing smile and eyes, the pleasure he gave so generously. She glanced at him as if to preserve a final image in her mind.

And was struck by his splendid, stark beauty: the gleam of his long black hair, his perfect profile etched against the ashen sky, his potent power evident in the width of his broad shoulders, the bulging muscles of his thigh, his strapping arm beneath the fine burgundy wool of his s.h.i.+rt, the sheer brawn of his wrist visible between his cuff and the rolled edge of his glove-an overwhelming display of brute force.

But she was struck as well by his utter remoteness. He had displaced her already from his life.

As previously arranged in the weeklong negotiations, G.o.dfrey and Johnnie rode forward alone with the hostages.

The English Warden of Harbottle Castle, a large, fair-complexioned, handsome man, now past fifty, was remarkably fit for his age. Thanks in part to London's best armorer, the corpulence of thirty years' dissipation was partially concealed beneath the well-cut leather and elegant bossing of his silver-studded jack. Although a man of commanding presence, he had a mean and selfish soul, completely without honesty or resolution. False and cruel, covetous and imperious, altogether dest.i.tute of the sacred ties of honor, loyalty, justice, and grat.i.tude, for three decades he had functioned perfectly as an agent of the Court.

Unarmed, as they all were, without jack or helmet, Robbie sat his mount with a casual indolence, easily keeping pace with G.o.dfrey's Yorks.h.i.+re-bred chestnut, his youthful good spirits in marked contrast to the Earl of Brusisson's lowering scowl.

Rarely bested in a long life of ruthless acquisition and cunning maneuvering for advantage, Harold G.o.dfrey had been forced to acknowledge the rash success of the Carre chieftain at thwarting him. Not only had he lost the opportunity for an enormous ransom, but his daughter had been s.n.a.t.c.hed from under the very shadow of Harbottle Castle, a galling embarra.s.sment for which he intended future redress.

"Don't think you'll get away with this, Ravensby," he curtly said as they pulled their horses to a halt on the windswept field, his hand reaching for his missing sword in an automatic gesture of animosity.

"But I already have, G.o.dfrey," Johnnie said, his voice bland. "Consider your current position."

"A temporary necessity, no more," Elizabeth's father bluntly retorted. "Short-lived as your Parliament's naive rush of patriotism."

"At least we still have the capacity for naivete, my Lord," Johnnie said with an impudent civility. "England is bereft of all but deceit. And now, sir," he went on, not interested in trading insults with an old enemy, "your daughter is returned to you." He wished only to have Robbie back and be done with Harold G.o.dfrey.

Taking note finally of his daughter, G.o.dfrey scrutinized Elizabeth's pale face and, goaded by Johnnie's insolence, demanded sharp as a whiplash, "Did he mistreat you?"

His tone struck Elizabeth harshly like a blow. And for the briefest moment she was vulnerable to her past. But she had vowed at Hotchane's death to sustain her independence, and in a fleeting moment more, her composure returned. "No," she quietly answered, thinking the words so wrong for what Johnnie had given her. "I was dealt with honorably."

Something in her voice caught her father's attention, for he paused a moment, his gaze insolently traveling down her caped form. "Will you be bringing a Carre b.a.s.t.a.r.d into the world sometime soon, then?"

"Mind your manners," Johnnie brusquely challenged.

"I'll speak to my daughter as I please," the Earl of Brusisson snapped. "Did you f.u.c.k her, Ravensby, like you f.u.c.k all the women?"

"You insult her," Johnnie said, his voice utterly without expression, the possible consequences of a Carre b.a.s.t.a.r.d entirely his responsibility, not hers. Elizabeth's innocence had been no match for him. "Retract your words, G.o.dfrey," he went on with a forced politesse, "and apologize or pay for your rudeness."

"And you'll make me pay, you arrogant pup?" Harold G.o.dfrey's reputation as a swordsman hadn't diminished with age.

"I will," Johnnie quietly said, "and I'll kill you this time." He'd trained on the Continent and at his father's side, and his skill was celebrated.

"Ah ..." the English Warden drawled, unintimidated, confident experience would always prevail over youth. "A gallant knight to defend your honor, my virtuous daughter. Remind me to keep you locked up for a few months, and we'll see if there are more personal reasons for his chivalrous defense."

Johnnie had had no intention of challenging the Earl of Brusisson; he had in fact intended to politely exchange Elizabeth Graham for his brother with a minimum of conversation, no display of emotion, and expeditious speed. But G.o.dfrey was more of a Sa.s.senach pig today than he'd expected. "I'm surprised you recognize gallantry, G.o.dfrey," he said in a lazy drawl. "But since you apparently do"-and his voice changed suddenly to an icy chill-"kindly name your weapons."

"That's absolutely enough!" Elizabeth furiously exploded. "If you two would kindly," she sarcastically emphasized, "forget your utterly useless, masculine sense of outrage for a moment, we could expedite this exchange. And, Father," she went on, glaring at the man who had sold her unwillingself into eight years of conjugal servitude, "if you so much as put a finger on me, I'll see that you never come within a mile of my money. In addition," she said, her voice as unyielding as her rigid spine, "I'll have you skinned alive-literally. My bodyguard, Redmond, has long-standing orders from Hotchane to do just that should you harm me."

"I'd definitely listen to the lady, Johnnie," Robbie cheerfully interposed, amiable and good-humored, detached from the dramatic emotion. "She appears to have the situation under control without your accomplished sword arm."

"This Redmond is competent?" Johnnie inquired, his voice silky.

"Don't toy with me, Ravensby."

He'd not heard that uncompromising tone of voice before in the week of her detention, and he knew at that moment how she'd survived eight years of marriage to Hotchane Graham-a man not known for his benevolence.

"As you wish, Lady Graham," he replied, all fine breeding and deference. "Your servant, ma'am." He bowed gracefully from his saddle. "And with your a.s.sent," he mockingly said to G.o.dfrey, whose violent disposition had been summarily tempered by the graphic threat of Hotchane's posthumous orders, "my brother and I will take our leave."

With cheeky boldness Robbie unwound his reins from G.o.dfrey's saddle pommel, looked at his brother for sanction, and at an infinitesimal nod from Johnnie swung his mount away from his Harbottle warder.

A fraction of a second later, waiting only long enough to see his brother free, without a word to G.o.dfrey or Elizabeth, Johnnie nudged his black into a turn, kicked his horse into a canter, and the brothers Carre began their journey home.

The exchange was over.

The brief acquaintance of Elizabeth Graham and the Laird of Ravensby was over.

In that moment the sun broke through the threatening clouds in shafts of glorious golden light, like glittering fingers from heaven, bestowing blessing on the consummated trade.

CHAPTER 9.

The celebration of Robbie's return lasted three festive, sleepless, roisterous days, and would have continued longer had it not been interrupted by a messenger from Berwick with news of their long-overdue s.h.i.+p from Macao. The Raven was currently anch.o.r.ed off Berwick, waiting to be offloaded with luxuries from the East.

"Your homecoming brought us luck," Johnnie cheerfully declared, raising himself into a more upright position from his indolent sprawl in a heavily carved armchair at the head of the long dining table, the polished cherry wood littered with gla.s.ses and half-emptied bottles. He lifted his tumbler in theatrical salute to his brother and, waving a footman forward with a fresh bottle, said to their messenger of good cheer, "Sit down, Jervis, have a drink and fill us in. Robbie is back in the fold, which is why we're all celebrating," he went on in a lazy drawl, sweeping his arms expansively around the table to include all the Carre clansmen. "That a.s.s G.o.dfrey is licking his tarnished reputation in Harbottle Castle. England is currently being royally f.u.c.ked over the funds for the army, and now that the Raven has returned after we thought you lost these three months past, all is infinitely right with the world."

"I'll drink to that," a rather drunken voice from the far end of the table remarked.

"Hear, hear, and to the Carre sword arm," another celebrant vigorously added.

A dozen men stood, a dozen voices thundered as one, gla.s.ses were emptied, chairs reclaimed, and Johnnie's smile of contentment re-echoed on each man's face.

"But then I've always brought you luck," Robbie facetiously noted, his grin evidence not only to the good news from Berwick but to three days of imbibing the best wines from Goldiehouses's cellars.

"For once I'm a believer," Johnnie replied, pouring Jervis another drink. "Some of your other escapades haven't been as profitable. This last one could have been a financial disaster."

"G.o.dfrey's men were over the border, Johnnie, by five miles or more. It's G.o.d's truth. I'd not ride alone into Sa.s.senach land."

"Even for Emily Lancaster?"

"Not since last Parliament session-my word on it."

They'd gone over the minutiae of Robbie's capture a dozen times since his return. The English troopers had been illegally in Roxburgh, it appeared; for what purpose was still unclear.

"Send some spies to Harbottle to ken their intent," Kinmont suggested.

"And find out what happened to the fair Elizabeth," a young lieutenant in a mellow frame of mind declared. "I wouldn't mind abducting her again, Johnnie. What say we ride south tonight?"

"She's returned to Redesdale," Johnnie said.

And even inebriated, every man understood what that simple sentence implied.

"So tell us, Johnnie, my fine stud," Munro dramatically murmured, his brows rising into his hairline, "how exactly you have possession of that information?"

And a dozen pair of eyes, in various degrees of drunken languor, all consumed with curiosity, trained themselves on their young chieftain.

"A paid informer brought me the information."

"You paid someone to follow Elizabeth Graham." Munro seemed flabbergasted.

"I felt some responsibility for her."

"But not for any other woman." Munro was pressing slightly, his gla.s.s set aside, his tone interrogative.

"Her father's dangerous."

"Did you hear, then, if Redmond met her in Harbottle?" Robbie roguishly inquired. "The one with the skinning knife," he said as reminder to the table at large, the story of Elizabeth's threat a source of fascinated conversation after the exchange at Roundtree.

"As a matter of fact, he did." Johnnie appeared more sober suddenly, or perhaps simply less jovial. And those not completely in their cups noted a new edge to his voice. "And regardless of everyone's avid interest," he lazily drawled, his steady glance sweeping around the table, "I have nothing more to say about Lady Graham."

Despite his indolent tone, despite his quiet delivery, the coolness in his eyes prompted each man to understand the subject was closed.

"So tell us, Jervis," Adam Carre diplomatically inquired into the sudden silence, "do the ladies of Macao still favor those interesting positions?"

The return of the Raven set into motion a busy spring of trading, for two more of the Carre s.h.i.+ps cleared the roads at Leith in the following weeks. Both brothers made individual trips to their warehouses in Rotterdam and Veere, to Bordeaux and Ostend, with portions of their Eastern goods. Tea from Canton, spices from the East Indies, j.a.panese silk out of Macao, Chinese porcelains-the sale of luxury goods was always exceedingly profitable, while the war on the Continent made all items more dear. Their return cargoes were primarily French wines; London merchants came to Edinburgh to buy the finest vintages.

One day at their warehouse in Leith, after having gone over their accounts with their factor, Johnnie said to his brother, "If this war runs on another two or three years, we'll be indecently wealthy. You can set yourself up as a b.l.o.o.d.y nabob at your property in East Lothian."

"Well, don't tell anyone. There're enough simpering misses with panting mamas chasing me already. I prefer being simply the Master of Graden with a modest living."

"It's easy enough to avoid those pursuing mamas," Johnnie said with a grin.

"Easy for you because you take pleasure in saying shocking things to prudish matrons. But admit, it only deters a minimum of determined mamas. The rest are still measuring you for the marriage bed despite your disreputable ways. The Carre fortune overrides even your propensity for scandal."

Johnnie cast his brother a speculative look. "Atholl's wife withdrew her daughter from the running."

"Only because that daughter was about to jump into bed with you without a marriage ring. They trundled her off to one of their remoter estates until she finds you less alluring."

"Really."

"You didn't notice, of course."

"Was she the tall brunette with the improved version of the Murray nose?"

"No, that's Talbot's daughter. Fortunately for the pretty chit, Atholl's daughter doesn't resemble anyone in her family. So with the exception of your unattainable hand, they'll be able to find her a husband easy enough, although with her heated desires, she might find one herself up in the Highlands."

Johnnie had lost his air of concentration several sentences ago, and at the smallest pause in Robbie's discussion of local courting rituals, he unceremoniously said, "I dislike this subject intensely. Enough of eligible young women; they're all a dull lot. Have you heard Hatton's plans? Is he coming up to Parliament early?"

"He, Dunston, and Fenshaw will all be in a fortnight beforehand. Are you expecting Munro to come for the excitement?"

"He tells me yes, although with the expected fight on seating, I don't know if he'll be allowed in. Tweedale has orders from London to seat no one save the members." Johnnie stretched comfortably in his chair. "I'm pleased for Hatton; his fiery brand of English baiting appeals to my irrepressible dislike of London's iron fist. And I'm antic.i.p.ating Munro will probably come back with me. With the walls up on the new addition, I've orders to appear at Goldiehouse to give my approval. I don't suppose you're interested in joining me."

"Maybe next time."

"Maybe after Mrs. Barrett returns to her husband in Inverness?" Johnnie smoothly inquired.

Robbie grinned, his tanned skin touched with a pink flush. "Yes, after that would be much better for me," he said, consideration of his newest paramour prompting a smile of satisfaction.

"I don't suppose I need lecture you on discretion," Johnnie remarked. "Barrett may be old, but not senile."

"A lecture on discretion from you would be fascinating. What would you suggest?" Robbie inquired. "Not bedding the Chancellor's wife on High Street at noon?"

"I was thinking more seriously," Johnnie said in a temperate tone, "of keeping your sword close at hand, or at least your boot dirk. It's small enough to slip under a pillow. Barrett doesn't fight his own battles anymore, and the men he hires to settle his accounts aren't known for their honor."

"I'll be careful," Robbie replied with the nonchalance of youth.

"Why not take a few men with you to your nightly rendezvous with Mrs. Barrett?"

Robbie's amus.e.m.e.nt altered to a mild scrutiny. "You're serious."

"You weren't here last year when your inamorata was entertaining herself with one of the Glendale Armstrongs. He was savagely attacked leaving her house."

"Wat Armstrong?"

"Yes, and he'll never use his right arm again. He hovered near death for weeks." Johnnie closed the account book in front of him, leaned back in his chair, and gazed at his brother sitting across from him with a rare earnestness. "I'm not saying Mrs. Barrett's dangerous, but don't discount her husband's sense of insult."

The window behind Johnnie overlooked the busy harbor of Leith, their trading house conveniently located on the sh.o.r.e of the Firth of Forth. Gazing past his older brother at some distant point, Robbie said very softly, "Do you think that's part of the excitement?" For a moment Robbie's dark eyes seemed unfocused on the maritime scene, and then suddenly his gaze returned to Johnnie. "The possibility of violence ..." he speculatively murmured. "Do you ever experience that intense arousal when a forbidden lady's sighing and trembling under you, and your exposed back is to the door?"