“Sir Clive is with my father,” Harry said, pulling the corners of his mouth down and thrusting out his chest in a passable impression of their neighbour. “I’m sure he only came to see Rosie, but she hid in her bedchamber and told Mrs. Glover to say she couldn’t find her. He is boring my father with talk of the Jacobites.” Having struck up a close friendship with Fraser, Harry had promptly changed allegiance and become a devoted follower of Bonnie Prince Charlie. “He said the prince’s retreat has been marked by a series of skirmishes. Although he won the victory at Falkirk, King George has sent the Duke of Cumberland deep into Scotland in pursuit, and his tactics of haranguing the Jacobites seems to be paying off. Sir Clive said that both the prince and the duke were converging on a point close to Inverness. Is that not close to your home, Fraser?”

“It is indeed, lad. And if this nirlie wee feller who calls himself Lord St. Anton will just get a move on with these exercises, ’tis where I’ll be headed as soon as I’m able.”

“Damn it, man, stop your whining.” Jack laughed, showing even, white teeth. “I’m as weak as a kitten.”

“Give over. It is only a few short weeks since I took the king’s bullet out of you. These things take time,” Tom said.

“Och, get it lifted, Lord Jack or, so help me, I’ll gi’ ye such a skelp,” Fraser said, with considerably less sympathy.

Beau looked up and gave a single warning bark. Fraser followed the dog’s gaze. Sir Clive was standing to one side of the stable block, watching them and listening to their conversation. Unsure of how much he had heard, Fraser cursed under his breath, warning the others into silence. Jack bowed slightly in the visitor’s direction before slipping his shirt back over his head, and Harry rose to busy himself with the currycomb. Fraser grabbed up a bucket of feed.

“Will I see to Hercules now, Mister Drury?” he asked Tom, using the Derbyshire accent in which Martha had coached him.

He had a feeling it was already too late, however. From the look on his face, Fraser suspected that Sir Clive now knew exactly who “my cousin Jack” was. He was also sure that Sir Clive also now knew exactly what he must do to ensure that no dangerous Jacobite fugitive from justice would be able to upset his carefully laid plans for Miss Rosie Delacourt’s future. With a sinking feeling, he watched the pompous figure ride away.

“To the house with you, my fine lord,” he said, turning to Jack. “I’m thinking ’tis a few plans we’ll need to be making.”

When they entered the doors of Delacourt Grange, however, Rosie came hurtling down the stairs in a manner that would have earned her one of Martha’s sternest rebukes.

“Is it true? Harry told me Sir Clive saw you…that he knows who you are!”

Seeing the brief expression of anguish on Jack’s face, Fraser answered for him. “Aye, lass, it looks that way. We’ve lingered overlong and must soon be on our way.”

“You will go and leave me here all alone?” She turned to Jack, her expression forlorn.

“I suspect that will not be so for any great length of time, Rosie. I would be very surprised if you were not quickly married.”

She shook her head. “No, I will not marry.”

“Ah, Rosie. Don’t say that. I could not bear it if you should feel that way because of me.”

“I love you, Jack.” A little smile trembled on her lips, and not wanting to intrude, Fraser moved away. “You know that. And—loving you—how could I agree to marry another?”

“Would that I could ask you.”

“You can. ’Tis very easy. You have only to say the words.” She smiled up at him. “Ask me, Jack.”

He took her face between his hands with infinite gentleness. “Rosie, I promise that whatever comes our way, I will return and make you my wife. Will you pledge to wait for me?”

A single tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued to smile mistily up at him. “If it takes forever, Jack, I will wait for you,” she vowed.

“You have my word, Rosie. And I have yours.” Jack’s voice cracked on the words. “Now all I have to do is convince your father that I am not the worst villain in Christendom for my part in this. Then, Fraser, we will do as you wish and make our plans.”

The whole family sat down to dinner together to celebrate Rosie and Jack’s betrothal. Mr. Delacourt, while he could not profess to be happy at the circumstances, liked and admired the man his daughter had chosen. He and Jack had already discussed ways that it might be possible to secure the king’s pardon. The one area on which they could not agree was the final, climactic battle which was approaching. If Jack fought in that, it was hard to believe that King George II could ever forgive him. Despite Mr. Delacourt’s gloomy pronouncements on the subject, the meal was an occasion for laughter and conversation. Although a touch of sadness did invade the proceedings, for the time of parting was now upon them.

Martha wondered if anyone else present might suspect that her body had recently undergone a remarkable transformation. Could anyone looking at her see that she now existed in a state in which every minute was spent in tightly wound tension and apprehension, because her nerve endings had been awakened to passion beyond belief? Fraser knew it, of course. How could he not? He had been there when she cried out in ecstasy for him. He had felt her internal muscles grip and hold him as if she would never let him go. She forced her eyes across the table to him now and saw that he was watching her face. He grinned at her, enjoying her torment. He was letting her know he was aware that, even with these people around them, all she could think about was him. About how she wanted him to rip her clothes off and force her thighs apart, then bury himself hard and deep inside her. Deep inside her. She wanted to slip underneath him, to climb on top of him, to let him take her from behind as he bent her over the back of the nearest chair. She wanted him slow and gentle, then hard and fast. She just wanted him. Over and over.

“Is that not so, Martha, my dear?” She realised, in shock, that Cousin Henry was addressing her directly, and she had no idea what he had said. Luckily, Rosie interrupted before she was forced to betray her inattention.

“But, Papa, I really do not see why it would be unseemly for me to go to Scotland with Jack now. Not when we are to be married anyway.”

Mr. Delacourt rolled his eyes at Martha, and she endeavoured to explain the situation on his behalf. “Rosie, you know that you cannot be married before Jack leaves for the border, because to do so would obviously alert the clergyman who was asked to conduct the ceremony to his true identity. And you cannot travel unmarried with him into Scotland because of the harm that would do to your reputation.”

“I don’t care about my reputation.” A stubborn expression descended over her pretty features.

“No, but I do.” Jack reached for her hand. “You will remain here under your father’s roof until I am able to return and lead you to the altar in the conventional way as a free man, my sweet.”

“But that could take years,” she exclaimed. “In the meantime, you will run off with some bonnie Scots lassie and leave me here to pine away of unrequited love. I just know it.” It took all of Jack’s considerable powers of persuasion to placate her.

“Word is that the prince is encamped close to Inverness,” Mr. Delacourt said, effectively changing the subject. “There was a failed attempt at Moy to capture him and deliver him up to the Duke of Cumberland as a prisoner. It seems inevitable now that the decisive battle will take place near where he is currently established at Culloden House.”

“And I must go there before the battle commences.” Fraser’s deep tones cut across any other conversation, silencing them all. “My home is near Culloden. I’ll not have my people fighting for a cause that is mine while I hide away here in England. I must go as soon as Jack is able to leave.”