My Highland Spy Read online

  Ravenna’s eyes widened and her voice went up a notch. “A governess?” She cleared her throat. “Uncle Walter, surely my…talents would be much more valuable closer to home. I have spied on men who’ve conspired against the realm, uncovered a wealthy lord’s machinations in selling secrets to the French, discovered a traitor before he made his escape to the colonies, and now you ask me to masquerade as a governess for some Highland laird’s child?”

  He chuckled. “Not me. His Majesty.”

  “Surely there is a more appropriate assignment for me. A governess—I have no idea what or even how you expect me to teach a boy anything, especially one who doesn’t speak English. And travel to the Highlands? The place is completely uncivilized. More to the point, you know I can’t be gone for that long. What about the girls?”

  “I understand this assignment will take a few months. I will, of course, see to their welfare while you’re away. As a woman, you have the perfect disguise. You’ll be safe, Ravenna, and you’ve certainly been placed in more dangerous circumstances than in the Scottish Highlands as a governess. I’ll have George and Mary escort you.”

  She groaned. “I don’t like this.”

  He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I know. At times, your father didn’t, either.”

  “I’ve been managing to live in two worlds quite well. You know how strongly I desire to follow in Father’s footsteps, but I can’t be traveling to Scotland or God knows where. There are more than enough troubles in England. As always, I will fulfill my duty to the Crown, but please recognize how imperative it is for me to be here for my sisters, my family. I want the girls to have an ordinary life. How can they do that if I keep disappearing for long periods of time?”

  “I tried to speak on your behalf. You don’t have a choice.”

  She let out a heavy sigh.

  Her uncle rose and walked around the desk to embrace her. “Passage is being made two days from now.”

  She stepped away from him, her mouth pulled into a sour grin. “The girls are not going to be happy.”

  He patted her on the shoulder and then walked to the door. “They never are. Safe travels, Ravenna.” The door closed and reality struck.

  Damn. Damn. Damn.

  The fact that she clearly had no voice in the matter grated on her very last nerve. Why would anyone want to travel to Scotland? That wild country had nothing to offer but a bunch of unkempt men in kilts waving broadswords and screaming battle cries. She didn’t mind when her assignments were closer to home, but the Highlands? With no mother or father to guide her sisters, Ravenna had become their anchor—and now that rock was uplifted once again.

  She gave herself a moment alone in her father’s study to decide exactly what to say to her sisters. How could she make them understand? What could she possibly tell them that would be believable? There was no sense delaying the conversation. She knew she’d think of something. She always did.

  Ravenna walked out into the fresh air to find the girls in the garden. The sun was shining, roses were in full bloom, and a rabbit scrambled out of her way on the garden path. She tried to show an ease that she didn’t necessarily feel. She was bothered by the fact that instead of enjoying a lovely day with her sisters, she found herself once again spinning tales to them. Sitting on a bench, she gathered her sisters around. Grace looked suspicious, Elizabeth bit her lip, and Kat couldn’t stand still.

  “I want to tell you how proud I am of all of you. We have really pulled together as a family since Father passed and I know he would be pleased.”

  Elizabeth smiled sadly. “I know Mother would be happy, too. Family was important to her.”

  “Of course she would be. I wanted to tell you that I will be traveling soon.”

  Grace had a disgusted look on her face. “When?”

  “Two days.”

  “When will you be back?” Grace folded her arms over her chest.

  “I will be gone for a few months.”

  Grace’s jaw dropped. “Months? You’re leaving us for…months?”

  “Uncle Walter will see to your welfare.”

  Kat sat down beside Ravenna. “Where will you go?”

  “Uncle Walter asked me to do him a favor. The wife of his friend is gravely ill, and they need a governess to care for their son for a few months. I’m doing this as a kindness for all the wonderful things that Uncle Walter has done for us.”

  Elizabeth smiled easier. “Where will you go?”

  “The Highlands.”

  Grace gasped and her face was bleak. “Scotland? The country is full of nothing but barbarians. I didn’t think any of them were educated, let alone that someone would actually need a governess for their son.”

  Kat embraced Ravenna, followed shortly by Elizabeth. “We will miss you, Ravenna.”

  Ravenna looked up and tapped the girls with her hand as Grace glared at her. “Why don’t you play in the garden so I can talk with Grace?”

  She’d had enough experience with her sister to know the conversation that followed was not going to be an easy one. Perhaps Uncle Walter was right and they should arrange a marriage for Grace. On second thought, her sister’s loose tongue would more than likely drive her poor husband mad.

  The girls ran off and Grace’s expression did not lighten.

  “I know what you’re doing,” said Grace. She sat down beside Ravenna and actually growled. “You do not fool me for a moment—coming in at all hours of the night, having your secret meetings with Uncle Walter. There is only one reason why you would travel that far away from us for months.”

  Ravenna closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Grace…”

  “You’re with child.”

  Two

  Sutherland, Scottish Highlands

  “She’s here.”

  “Damn.”

  “Aye, well ’tis too late to turn her away now, Ruairi. What did ye expect? How long did ye think ye’d be able to hold King James at bay? Ye havenae shown your face in Edinburgh and didnae send Torquil—”

  Laird Ruairi Sutherland thundered his way to the great hall and didn’t even wait for the captain of his guard to finish his comment. Why would he? Fagan knew how Ruairi felt about the Crown. As if he would send his only son to the Lowlands to learn the King’s English. King James had no respect for Scotland or its people. And Ruairi would be damned if he’d give in without a fight.

  He entered the great hall and walked toward the English lass. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight, unflattering bun. Her face was austere, her manner haughty. The woman acted as if she graced him with her presence. He didn’t like her at all.

  “A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” Do you speak Gaelic?

  The woman merely stood there mute.

  He looked at Fagan and smirked. Turning back toward the woman, Ruairi’s eyes darkened. “Thalla dachaigh.” Go home.

  “Just place the trunk right there. Thank you.”

  Ruairi’s eyes widened in surprise as another woman entered the great hall. Her smooth ivory skin glowed. She had a wealth of red hair in loose tendrils that softened her face, and her lips were full and rounded over even teeth. She was elegant and graceful. He wasn’t sure what an English governess was supposed to look like, but she wasn’t what he’d expected.

  She wore a blue traveling dress with tight sleeves and a low-pointed waist that clung to her slender body. And for the first time since he could remember, he had no words to express the sight before him. The woman was simply beautiful. She lifted her skirts and walked over to him, greeting him with a warm smile.

  “I see you’ve met my driver’s wife, Mary. You must be Laird Sutherland. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Mistress Denny.”

  Carried away by his own response, Ruairi failed to notice that the woman waited for him to answer. He also had one hell of a time trying to suppress his admiration. When her cheeks reddened under the heat of his gaze, he cleared his throat and nodded at Fagan.

  “’Tis a pleasure to meet ye.
I am Fagan, the captain of Laird Sutherland’s guard.” The lass looked puzzled, and then Fagan added, “My laird doesnae speak English.”

  Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “I see. And what of Lady Sutherland?”

  Fagan paused. “Lady Sutherland has passed away.”

  Ruairi eventually came to his senses when the pounding of his heart finally quieted. Although the woman was pleasing to the eye, she could keep her English ways to herself, as far as he was concerned. He was determined not to make this easy for her—as if he would roll over like a good dog because his liege demanded obedience. As soon as King James gave the Highland lairds the respect they deserved, perhaps he would feel differently. But for now, Ruairi certainly wasn’t going to tell the lass that he understood every word she spoke.

  ***

  With all her might, Ravenna held back a groan. The laird didn’t speak a word of English. How would she be able to figure out if the man conspired against the Crown if she didn’t understand a word of Gaelic? Praise the saints. This was nothing short of a disaster. She was stuck in the Highlands with a widowed laird and his son. She didn’t like this at all.

  As she stood in the great hall trying to suppress the urge to flee, Ravenna noticed tapestries hung on the walls that depicted swords, shields, and men in the throes of battle. Laird Sutherland certainly had an odd way of making his guests feel at home. Perhaps that was his intention. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, and there were long tables and benches on the floor in front of a raised dais.

  Trying to compose herself, Ravenna gave Laird Sutherland a sympathetic smile for the loss of his wife. She stretched her neck to look up at him because the top of her head only reached the middle of the massive man’s chest. These Highland men were definitely different from their English counterparts. The English lords didn’t look that formidable in their waistcoats, whereas the Scottish men looked big, brawny, and battle-ready.

  Laird Sutherland and Fagan sported the traditional kilt of green, black, blue, white, and orange, which Ravenna presumed was the Sutherland tartan. They also had large swords sheathed at their waists. She’d never met a Highlander before and realized she’d made a grave error in judgment by believing the words of her countrymen. She had foolishly assumed these Highland men were nothing but a bunch of chest-pounding barbarians.

  She was never so happy to be wrong.

  The laird’s green eyes continued to study her intently. His straight, long chestnut hair hung just past his shoulders and had traces of red. He had an air of authority and the appearance of one who demanded instant obedience. The set of his chin suggested a stubborn streak, but his boldly handsome face held a certain degree of sensuality. Somehow she knew she would never forget a single detail.

  When their eyes locked, her heart turned over in response. Her gaze roamed to his powerful set of his shoulders, and he stood there like he didn’t give a damn about her or what she thought of him.

  Ravenna cleared her throat. “You have my sincere condolences on the loss of your wife.”

  When he raised his brow, Fagan spoke, and she presumed the man translated her words. The laird must have understood because he nodded in response and then left without as much as a backward glance.

  “Your trunk will be carried up to your chambers,” said Fagan. “Ye must be weary from your journey. I will escort ye to your room and leave ye to rest.” He was about to walk away when Ravenna spoke.

  “Might I at least meet Torquil?”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Ye arenae weary?”

  “Captain, I’ve come all of this way. Perhaps you could introduce me to the boy?”

  The man was just as big and imposing as Laird Sutherland. He had a strong, chiseled jaw and his dark hair hung well below his shoulders. He had a kind, almost tender smile that was difficult not to notice.

  “Fagan, if ye will.”

  Ravenna nodded in response.

  “I donna know where the lad is at the moment, but I will be sure to introduce ye when he returns.”

  “Very well. I suppose I will unpack my trunk.”

  Ravenna was placed in a modest chamber of her own, while Mary and George were given rooms with the other servants. The two of them would depart in the morning and tell Uncle Walter that she was safely delivered into the lion’s den. For a brief moment, Ravenna silently wished this would all be over and she could return to her family, but she quickly reminded herself of the greater good. After all, that’s why she did what she did.

  She gazed around the room, which had a bed, a table, and two chairs that weren’t nearly as lavish as in her bedchamber at home. No matter, she was determined to get this assignment over with as quickly as possible, even if the dastardly man didn’t speak a word of English. She needed to find a way to communicate with him and obtain the information she was sent to retrieve. And she couldn’t very well go home until she got what she came for.

  Ravenna lifted the lid on her trunk. She pushed the clothes aside and her fingers tapped around the bottom until she uncovered what she searched for. She pulled out her five daggers and placed them on the bed. She would keep one strapped to her thigh at all times. Who knew what dangers lurked in the Highlands?

  She placed the second dagger under her pillow and the third one under the mattress. Her eyes searched around the room. A small stone fireplace took up the center wall, and other than the table, the chairs, and the bed, there wasn’t another useful place to conceal a weapon. She wrapped up the remaining daggers and secured them back in her trunk.

  With the most important task complete, she shut the lid and took a deep breath. If she was to be successful, she needed to first familiarize herself with her surroundings. Ravenna opened the door to find a young boy standing in the hall with his back pressed against the wall. With his reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin, the boy was no doubt Torquil. He was the picture of his father, especially since he wore a much smaller version of the Sutherland kilt.

  “Hello there,” she said with a warm smile.

  The boy stood to his full height, the top of his head reaching about Ravenna’s midriff. He returned a smile and said, “Ciamar a tha sibh? Is mise Torquil. Dè an t-ainm a tha ort?”

  Her eyes widened at the many foreign words that escaped his mouth. The only thing she could discern was the boy’s name. “Torquil?”

  “Aye. Dè an t-ainm a tha ort?”

  Ravenna wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “A bheil Gàidhlig agad?” When she shook her head again, the boy smiled and pointed to himself. He spoke slowly, speaking each word articulately. “Is mise Torquil.” He placed his small hand on Ravenna’s arm and said, “Is mise…”

  She tried to repeat his words the best she could, something her tongue clearly wasn’t meant to do. She pointed to herself and said, “My name is Mistress Denny.”

  When Torquil tried to say her name, he couldn’t get through “Mistress.” He continued to struggle and she said, “Ravenna.” She smiled when he repeated her name fluently.

  She ruffled the boy’s hair and he grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hall. Many portraits of men hung on both sides of the stone walls, and she presumed they were of past Sutherland lairds. She realized that her manor house was akin to Laird Sutherland’s home in that way. Perhaps family was important to him, too. She walked down the stairs with Torquil, and when they entered the great hall, Fagan approached them.

  “I see ye’ve met Torquil.”

  “Yes. He’s a delightful boy.”

  “Mmm… Mayhap some days. Please join us.” Fagan gestured to the raised dais. When she reached for a chair, he pulled it out for her.

  “Thank you.” She sat down and smiled at him.

  “’Tis my pleasure, lass. My laird will be along shortly. I know ’tisnae proper for a governess to sit with the clan at the meal, but my laird requests that ye eat your meals with us here at the table so that Torquil continues to learn from your guidance. And I will be joining ye on most
eves to sup. Ye may find the conversation a wee bit easier to understand that way.”

  “I appreciate your kindness. Thank you.”

  While they waited for Laird Sutherland, Ravenna glanced around the great hall. Trying to not pay any heed to the tapestries of blood and battle, she counted roughly two score of men and women who sat at the tables below. When she looked at the fireplace, something caught her attention. Imbedded in the mantel was a clan crest that looked like a giant cat sitting upright. There was something inscribed below the animal which she had difficulty making out.

  She noticed Fagan watching her and asked him, “What do the words mean?”

  “Sans Peur,” he said proudly. “The meaning translates as ‘fearless.’”

  ***

  Ruairi took his seat at the table and felt the lass’s eyes upon him, judging him. The woman undoubtedly thought he was some kind of barbarian, as all those pampered English bastards did about his kind. He wasn’t thrilled to have her here, but the sooner Torquil took to his lessons, the faster the lass would be back in her own country and not underfoot. Maybe he wasn’t thinking about this the right way. Perhaps instead of working against her, he should assist her with Torquil so that she could be on her way. In spite of everything, she was only a woman and doing as she was told. Ruairi liked the lasses—not necessarily English lasses—but lasses nonetheless. And this particular woman was not so sore on the eyes.

  He gave her a brief nod. “Ciamar a tha sibh?”

  “He asks how ye are,” Fagan translated.

  She sat forward and took a sip from her tankard. “Tell me. How do I answer him that I am well?”

  While Fagan instructed Mistress Denny, Ruairi sat and listened, surprised the lass wanted to answer him in his native tongue. After several botched attempts, she turned and gazed at Ruairi with an intense look on her face.

  “Tha gu math.” I am well.

  Torquil clapped, and his eyes lit up at his governess’s efforts to speak Gaelic. Ruairi hadn’t seen that look on his son’s face in quite some time.