Page 78 of Highland Sword
MORRIGAN
Two letters came from Aidan on the same day, and they couldn’t have arrived at a better time. He’d written them more than a week apart, and Morrigan felt her spirits rising before she even broke the seals.
The first letter contained, for the most part, news of his travels. Writing from Edinburgh, Aidan told her about a court case he’d won and mentioned the mutual friends the two of them shared. The city was still seething with rebellious spirit and anger against the Crown. Without changing the seriousness of his tone, he went on to tell her that he’d visited the bookshops by St. Giles’s. He’d purchased some volumes that he was having shipped to Dalmigavie. The title of one in particular was of great importance. It was “a philosophical tract on romance entitledLove And Madness. A Story Too True. In A Series Of Letters Between Parties Whose Names Would Perhaps Be Mentioned Were They Less Well Known Or Less Lamented.” He closed his letter with a postscript saying that his brother wanted to be remembered to her.
The second letter came from London. He’d been called there on business with Henry Brougham, who was the current focus of popular adulation following his victory in Parliament over the foes of the queen. Morrigan couldn’t help but smile when he told her that a bookseller in Bond Street had sold him a political pamphlet of critical importance that he would be bringing back to the Highlands personally, since the mail service was far too unreliable. The title of the book wasWho Is The Bridegroom? Or, Nuptial Discoveries. In his postscript he regretted to inform her that he’d been forced to murder his brother Sebastian after a period of intense provocation. Aidan was not at liberty to divulge the crux of the matter, however.
That same day, she had to head down to go meet with her would be blackmailer.
The moss-covered hunting lodge was ancient, but it was still an impressive building. Morrigan had stopped here once before, en route to Inverness when a cart horse had gone lame. Just a short ride from the road, the lodge was isolated enough for this meeting with Baker, but safe enough for her. This was still Mackintosh land, and she knew there were watchful eyes on her as she rode into the clearing that looked out toward the sparkling river in the distance and the glen.
By a tumbledown stable, a nervous little man in a thick woolen coat and tam stood beside his horse. Even as she approached, it was obvious he was shivering. She wondered if it was caused by the chill wind or fear.
Morrigan reined in her mare a dozen paces from him. She didn’t dismount. “Baker?”
He removed his hat and held it into his chest and nodded. “Aye, mistress. Kenneth Baker.”
“You sent me a letter.”
For the first time, Morrigan had a clear look at him, noting the blotchy skin and red nose. Rather than looking steadily at her, his eyes darted nervously toward the path leading from the road. He appeared to be expecting a wild boar to rush out from the bushes at any moment and tear him apart, or a band of Mackintosh fighters. He pulled his tam back onto his head.
“I did, mistress.”
“You asked for money.”
“Aye. A hundred pounds. It said so in the letter.”
“Do you get to keep the money, or do you have to give all of it to him?”
Baker stared at her, slow to comprehend what she was saying. “Give it all to who, mistress?”
“You know who. Sir Rupert Burney. Or do his henchmen take it from you? A bunch of rogues and thieves. Wouldn’t you agree?”
He started saying something—his first impulse being denial—but he sputtered and backtracked and stuttered. Morrigan interrupted him. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ll not be played for a fool, Baker, not by you or your master.” She didn’t wait for him to pile on more lies. “You will take a message for me. Tell him I wish to keep my past private.”
Baker scrunched up his face, staring at the ground between them, and Morrigan knew this meeting was not going as he thought it would.
“Then pay the hundred pounds, miss,” he said hopefully, though it sounded more like a question.
She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t have access to that kind of money here in the Highlands. Sir Rupert should know this. And I’m not willing to ask anyone at Dalmigavie Castle for it, since your lies are the very thing I would not care for them to hear.”
Baker straightened. He apparently felt he was moving onto more solid ground. “That sounds like a hard place you’re finding yourself in.”
“Not as hard a place you are in.”
“What do you mean, mistress?”
“I want the letter you gave Sir Rupert. My father’s letter.”
The man stared, knocked off balance again.
“I know you got it from Wemys, and I want it back.” Morrigan spat out the words. “This is not about a paltry hundred pounds. Your master needs to tell me exactly what he wants in return.”
“I don’t know, mistress. This ain’t what he said… this is too…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe you should talk to him yourself.”
“I’ll do that.” She leaned forward in her saddle. “I’d have talked to him today if he had the bollocks to come himself. And you can tell him that too.”
