Helen Dickson - A Traitor's Touch

She looked at him sharply. ‘You have a title?’

Her surprised amused him. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘What is it? How should I address you?’

‘I am Lord Simon James Talbot Tremain—but I give you leave to continue calling me Simon.’

‘So, you are a lord and you have inherited a fortune, yet you are unattached—uncommonly selfish of you.’

‘How is that?’

‘Having witnessed the way women fall at your feet when you enter a room—’

‘That will be tavern wenches,’ he interrupted with an amused tilt to his mouth.

Henrietta shrugged. ‘What’s the difference? Women are the same the world over and, though it pains me to say so for I have no wish to feed your ego, you are a handsome man. I imagine not a woman in the kingdom will spare the other gentlemen a glance until you have been claimed.’

He cocked an amused brow. ‘Why, Henry, what’s this? Flattery?’

‘No. I was merely stating a fact. But going back to what we were talking about, if the conversation I overheard between you and your fellow Jacobites on the heath is true and Charles Stuart is indeed in Scotland, it can mean only one thing—that some disorder is brewing—that some extraordinary event is anticipated. Is there to be a rising?’

Simon didn’t answer straight away—when he did, he spoke thoughtfully, picking his words. ‘Nothing is that simple, nothing is obvious. I am assailed with a multitude of questions but I will find no firm answers until I reach Scotland and Charles Stuart.’

‘Do you think it will be concentrated in Scotland, if there is a rising?’

‘I cannot answer that, but it has to be on a great scale for it to be of effect.’

‘Will the Catholics win, do you think?’

Simon’s mood had darkened and his expression was grim. Although he looked calm and in control, his mind was in a continual turmoil of conflicts. ‘That depends on the support Charles Stuart can raise on both sides of the border.’

‘What’s he like? Have you met him?’

He nodded. ‘He’s young, with considerable charm and dignity.’

‘And is that enough to bring him to Scotland to lead an army of restoration?’

‘As to that, we shall have to wait and see. I was in Paris myself recently and, by and large, the prospect for a Stuart restoration did not seem to be preoccupying the aristocracy of France. One thing is certain. Whatever the outcome, it will bring about change for the Catholics. If it fails, the damage will do the cause no good and will be so great that both here and abroad they will be condemned. Anyone connected with the rising will be arrested. It would be a hard thing indeed to escape the full consequences if we were to be charged with rebellion and treason. Men have lost their heads for less. The Protestants did not scruple to send men to the gallows merely for saying that James Stuart had claim to the throne.’

Henrietta was scarcely able to grasp the reality of it all as Simon’s words fell like hammer blows against her heart. Remembering the tragedy that had deprived her of her father, as she stared at Simon’s hard profile a chill seemed to penetrate to her very soul. ‘Then may the Lord save you all,’ she whispered.

The prayer was heartfelt and Simon looked at her closely, seeing pain and panic in the eyes of this unusually assured youth.

‘Are you in favour of rebellion, Simon?’

‘In a word, no. But I am of the faith and must support it. Catholic fanatics have been conspiring for years to claim the throne for the Stuarts. They have a long tradition of subversive activity.’

Henrietta’s lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘That I do know,’ she uttered quietly, thinking of her father’s lifelong dedication to the cause.

Puzzled by her words, Simon glanced across at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’

She smiled awkwardly. ‘Nothing. I was merely thinking aloud.’ She looked ahead. ‘See, the clouds are gathering. I’m sure there’ll be rain before nightfall.’

‘I believe you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘If my words have frightened you, I apologise. It was not my intention to upset you.’

Simon’s voice was surprisingly gentle and the unfamiliar sound caused an embarrassed flush to sweep Henrietta’s cheeks in a crimson flood. His head was turned towards her and for a moment she fancied there was a strange expression in his face she had not seen before. ‘You have not upset me, and do not forget that my sole purpose for going to Scotland is to visit my uncle. But now you have spoken of what might be afoot, I can perceive the danger and act upon it should the time arise.’

‘The picture may not be so bleak. I may be wrong.’

‘And I am afraid that you may be right,’ Henrietta whispered, nudging her horse to a gallop as the first drops of rain began to fall and a gust of wind swept the land.

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