William’s commanding officer, Colonel Bennett, reined in his skittish white horse. Bennett whipped him hard across the rear flank. “The Butcher is true flesh and blood, Major Jones, and these filthy Highlanders know it. They’re Jacobites. Burn them out.” His horse reared up and screeched alarmingly.
“But there are children inside, Colonel.”
Bennett glared at him fiercely. “Are you questioning my orders, Major?”
“No, sir.”
Williamfeared he might vomit.
“Then do as I say and burn them out. There must be a window they can crawl out of, if they wish to live.”
Colonel Bennettgallopedaway toward the stable and shouted, “Burn everything! Shoot the livestock andkillthat mangy animal!” He pointed at the black and white sheepdog in the stable door, barking incessantly.
Williamfought to smother his agony. He looked up at the Highland mountaintops shrouded in mist, then at the clear water rushing bril iantly along the riverbed. His shoulders rose andfellwith a deep, cleansing breath, which was necessary to dischargeallindependent thought, as he rode around the thatched cottage to ascertain that there was indeed a rear window. When he found it, he said a brief prayer for forgiveness, and for the safety of those inside, and then he lit the torch and tossed the flame up onto the roof.
Chapter Sixteen
Duncan entered his private study. It was dusty and cluttered with papers, paintings, and rare books, which were stacked intall, tilting piles against thewalls. A telescope on a tripod stood in front of the largest window, aimed at the sky to view the stars at night. Acollectionof busts lined the mantel, and thewalls were hung with rich and vibrant Flemish tapestries.
In the center of the room, a set ofrolledarchitectural plans stood vertical y inside an open trunk. He had dragged the trunk there a month ago, searching for some piece of information he could no longerrecall.
He sat down at the desk facing thesmallstained-glass window in the corner andpulledout a blank sheet of paper embossed with the Moncrieffe coat of arms. The light pouring in through the glassilluminated the page with a dappled rainbow of color. He reached for his quill, dipped it in the inkwell, and began a cordial and gracious correspondence, conveyed in the most exquisitepenmanship possible while writing in such haste.
Lady Amelia Templeton, Richard Bennett’s betrothed, had agreed to become his wife. He had claimed her as his own, and very soon he would bed her and draw soft cries of rapture from her lips.
In turn, he had agreed to spare Richard Bennett’s life.
Disturbed suddenly, Duncan lifted thequilloff the page, sat back, and looked around the room. Herecalleda day he had once sat at this desk writing a letter to Muira, pouring out his heart and quoting love poetry. He had adored her, and his future had beenfilledwith hope—not unlike what he was feeling at this moment. A strange condition indeed.
He supposed it was because, for once, shockingly, he was distracted from that grief. By making Amelia his wife he knew he would immerse himself in sexual pleasures, and he was anticipating those pleasures with great vigor and zeal.
But could he truly keep his word to her, lay down his weapons, andallowBennett to live?
He idly tapped the soft tip of the featherquillon the page and gazed out the window. What if Bennett came here and demanded satisfaction?
Well. Duncan would simply have to exercise self-control and force himself not to run Bennett through. He could do it.
He was a highly disciplined warrior. He would keep his hands off his weapons and focus instead on the effects of this less violent, altered form of revenge.
He was stealing Bennett’s beloved, as Bennett had once stolen his own. It was an eye for an eye, as Angus had once said. And there was nothing to stop Duncan from presenting evidence to the Crown, which would instigate a court-martial and with luck, death by hanging. He had not promised Amelia anything about vengeance in that form. In fact, it was what she had tried to convince him to do.
So there it was—vengeance achieved fromallangles. As an added benefit, Duncan would be satisfying his lust for Amelia. Her body, her innocence, and her virginity—it wouldallbe his.
Sitting forward and dipping thequill, he continued the letter. A moment later, he sprinkled it with sand and shook it clean, folded it, sealed it with wax, then rose from the desk and left the room. A liveried footman was standing in the corridor, waiting dutiful y, as instructed.
“Take this to FortWilliamtoday,” Duncan said. “It must be delivered to the Duke of Winslowe. No other man’s hand. Do you understand this?”
“Aye, milord.”
“Lady Ameliawillalso have a letter to be dispatched today, which Iwillneed to see. Go and wait outside her chamber, bring it to me, then youwilltake the Moncrieffe coach to the fort and provide His Grace with a return escort.”
The footman bowed to Duncan, then hurried down the corridor toward the stairs, passing Iain along the way.
Iain watched him go, then strode toward Duncan anxiously. “I hope you have a plan,” Iain said, stopping outside the study door. He began to speak in an almost frantic whisper. “Because I’m growing tired of putting out your fires, Duncan. I’ve been waking every morning to find myself staring into the impossible consequences of your fury. A few days ago, it was Richard Bennett seeking Moncrieffe men to join his troops and hunt you down. Our own men! Today was worse. I was forced to receive the daughter of a great English duke, who wantedyouofallpeople to protect her from the Butcher. What the devil was I supposed totellher?
Obviously, she must know the truth by now. It’llmean the gal ows for us both.”
Duncan glanced up and down the corridor to ensure there was no one about. “Come inside.”
