‘I would not wish to go against my parents’ wishes,’ she said finally. ‘It would break both their hearts.’ She sighed and took a sip of her wine. ‘We are far from that point anyway. At the moment, I think Brendon is determined to stay away from me for my own good.’ She said the last wryly, and Peter grinned.
‘I wish him luck with it. Clearly he does not know you well enough as yet to realise such resistance is futile.’ His face turned serious. ‘But, once this unsavoury business is over, I am duty bound to write to Father and tell him the situation. Do not expect me to keep your secret, dearest. You are under my protection, and it would not be honourable for me to do so.’
‘Though you do not balk at informing me I am able to marry in Scotland without my father’s consent?’ she retorted.
‘I would not see you unhappy, Jenny,’ he answered softly.
‘I know.’ Jennifer laid her hand over his. ‘I will do nothing without speaking to Mama and Papa. And I do believe that even in Scotland one needs the groom’s consent to marry.’
∞∞∞
The inside of the MacFarlane keep was akin to stepping back a hundred years. It had none of the luxuries of Caerlaverock and even though it was the middle of June, the hall was drafty and cold.
‘Oot wi’ it then.’ Alistair MacFarlane wasted no time in demanding a further explanation. Though he’d allowed them inside, they were offered no refreshments, and both stood in front of the chieftain as though guilty of some heinous crime.
Dougal gave a quick glance at the Reverend before saying carefully, ‘Ma guid friend here hae come intae possession o’ a letter…’
‘Wha’ letter?’ MacFarlane interrupted.
‘I am a descendant of a man named Edward Colman,’ Reverend Shackleford intervened before Dougal could say anything more. At this rate they’d be here til deuced Christmas. ‘He died atraitor’s death in 1678, but before he died, he sent a letter to his kin in Suffolk, England…’
‘Yer a Sassenach,’ MacFarlane declared flatly, ‘An’ a God walloper at that. Ye’ve some nerve tae come intae ma home wi’ yer English bloody lies an’ tricks.’
‘Nae, he be tellin’ the truth, ma lord,’ Dougal interjected desperately, raising a conciliatory hand. Both men were sweating now.
There was silence for a second as the clan chief stared at them coldly. ‘Ale!’ was all he said at length. From the corner of his eye, the Reverend could see a woman scurry to do his bidding. Once the tankard was in his hand, MacFarlane took a long swallow, then wiped his mouth on his arm. Then he nodded, once, at the Reverend.
‘By all accounts Edward Colman was a wealthy man and had all his coin changed into jewellery and trinkets when he moved up to Edinburgh. Before his arrest, he came to Loch Lomond, and we know he brought the whole of his treasure with him…’
‘Hoo dae ye ken?’
‘The letter.’ Reverend Shackleford rummaged around in his cassock for the letter they’d so painstakingly constructed. For one dreadful second he thought he’d lost it and knew his face echoed Dougal’s terrified expression. Thankfully, after a full minute, his fingers brushed against the paper’s edge. With a flourish, he pulled the missive out of his pocket and held out his hand.
MacFarlane looked at the letter for a second, then waved it away, indicating the clergyman should read it out loud. Clearly the clan chief couldn’t read.
With trembling hands, Reverend Shackleford opened the letter and read its contents aloud. His stomach churned, and hefought to keep his voice from wavering. What had seemed so convincing when they wrote it, now sounded a pile of bunkum.
In the letter Colman purportedly wrote that a local man had rowed him over to a small island by the name of Inveruglas. He’d taken with him a large leather satchel containing all of his wealth. Once on the island, he’d asked the oarsman to return and collect him before the sun went down. During the time he spent alone, Edward Colman claimed he buried his entire wealth on the island, using only his bare hands, returning to the Lochside with nothing but an empty satchel.
‘Daed he say where on the island he buried it?’ MacFarlane asked, sitting forward in his chair.
‘He did, but there’s a splodge of… something… making the words illegible,’ Reverend Shackleford answered, holding out the letter for the Chieftain to see.
‘Wha’s tae stop me frae takin’ the letter and runnin’ a sword through yer belly?’
The Reverend swallowed. ‘I have studied Edward Colman extensively,’ he answered. ‘I have come to know the way he thought. I don’t believe you will find the treasure without my help.’
‘Then why come tae me? Why not gae tae th’island and dig yerelf?’
‘We haed nae wish tae offend ye, ma lord. Inveruglas be MacFarlane land. We cannae dig wi’oot yer permission.’
‘We’ll share the treasure with you, naturally,’ Augustus Shackleford added, pleased to note that his voice had lost its wobble.
‘Aye, ye will.’ There was no suggestion of how the non-existent jewellery would be split and the Reverend realised that Dougal was right. Alistair MacFarlane had no intention of allowing them to leave Inveruglas alive.
Chapter Sixteen
Though Brendon did his best to put what happened with Jennifer Sinclair out of his mind, every last detail remained indelibly printed on his brain. Her softness, her curves, the way she’d responded to his touch, hismouth. He gritted his teeth. Just thinking about it had him hard and aching. It had taken every ounce of strength he possessed to stop when he had. He’d been so close to simply lifting her skirts and making her his completely.
