Page 20 of Highland Crown
“You say we’re almost there?” Isabella asked, obviously trying to curtail the interrogation. A young woman with secrets. Cinaed had plenty of them himself.
The old woman fell silent for moment, and her tone was pained when she spoke again.
“If that’s the way ye want it, all well and good. But know this: I was fine living my life afore ye arrived at Duff Head. And even after, I could’ve managed if I’d just left yer sea captain in the surf. But I listened to ye. Trusted yer judgment. And now, I’ve lost everything I could call my own. I’ve let ye drag me from the place I’ve lived all my days. But ye still don’t trust me a lick. But go on and hold yer tongue, if that’s the way ye want it.”
Isabella shifted uneasily. For a moment, Cinaed thought she’d jump off the cart rather than give in to Jean’s questioning. He was relieved when she didn’t. Finally, she fixed her gaze on the older woman.
“Everyoneis after me.”
“Everyone?”
Isabella nodded sharply, clutching the edge of the cart with a white-knuckled grip. “But those I fear most are the British soldiers. Right now, your nephew is trying to secure passage for me, so I can escape this country.”
Cinaed lifted himself on one elbow. He was as surprised as Jean looked.
Before she mentioned the soldiers, Cinaed was beginning to wonder if Isabella was being sought for the murder of her husband. Shehadbeen trying to give away her wedding ring. Not that he believed she was capable of it, but he’d already been thinking of reasons that wouldjustify her actions. If that were the case, however, she’d be fearful of magistrates, and not specifically British soldiers.
“What have ye done, mistress?” Jean asked gravely.
“I told you before. The less you know, the better.” Isabella looked away.
“I grant ye, ye’ve made me believe the matter is serious. But how serious is it? Are we talking a hanging offense?”
Another long pause hung in the air, and Cinaed watched the woman’s profile. The tense flicking of her jaw muscles, the bite of her bottom lip, the tremor that she quickly tried to mask, all told him she was fighting a battle inside. The same protectiveness he’d felt when they’d been holed up in that wall, rushed through him again. She hadn’t asked for it, but he wanted to help her.
“Talk to me,” Jean persisted gently, putting her wrinkled hand on top of her companion’s. “Tell me, lass.”
“I’m quite certain I’ll face torture at their hands until they get the answers they want. And after they’re finished, I’ll hang until they cut me down and behead me.”
Cinaed sat up in the cart, feeling his insides clamp tight. If her face and words weren’t so grim and serious, he’d think the whole thing preposterous. How could this woman be facing such dire consequences? It had to be a mistake. He glanced ahead of them, his hand feeling involuntarily for the knife in his boot. If they were out looking for her now, he’d need more than sgian dubh if they came upon any soldiers. He wished he had a pistol. Or at least a sword.
But hanging and beheading? Treason was the only crime he knew of that the British punished in such away, and the authorities had been throwing the word around quite a bit lately.
People had been angry since the end of the war, and it was getting worse. In every port and city, he saw evidence of social unrest. In London and Liverpool and Glasgow and Edinburgh. And he’d heard it was true in the rest of the country as well. Whether it was the weavers of Manchester or the farmers of Ayrshire, people were on the edge of revolt.
“You’re connected to the radicals in Edinburgh?” he asked.
Isabella twisted around so fast that Jean had to take hold of her arm so she wouldn’t fall out. The alarm in her eyes quickly gave way to a guarded wariness.
“I am connected to no one,” she said too quickly. “I carry the banner for no political movement. I take no side.”
“And still, you’re wanted for treason.”
“I said nothing of treason.”
“You mentioned the punishment for it.”
Her hand moved involuntarily to her throat. Cinaed wondered if it was a reaction to the thought of the punishment for her crimes, or if she was recalling the bruise he’d caused.
He wasn’t willing to let go of his questions. She was clearly in trouble. And he knew better than anyone that being this far north didn’t put her outside the reach of British law. Every ocean crossing, he’d been taking men and women that the government called rebels to Canada or America. He knew firsthand about their fight and the tenuous nature of their existence here.
“Thistlewood, Davidson, Tidd, Ings, Brunt.” He watched the blood drain from her face.
“I don’t know them.”
The Cato Street conspirators. Last month in London, all these men had been hanged and beheaded.
“Lord Kinloch.”
