I’ve heard it said that marriage turns both men and women into monsters. Perhaps if I had not married Margery, she would be an ordinary, amiable girl.
Chapter 25
Shadowy figures slipped through the gloaming on the heights above Gwyndonmere Lake. One by one, they furtively entered an old cow byre set on the edge of a highland meadow. A man clad in a dark cloak with a mask over his face sat on a lump of turf on a slightly raised mound at one end of the byre. Rude seats made of rolls of turf, mounds of hay, and planks laid across turf were set out for the rank and file.
When the men were seated, the masked man rose and addressed them all.
“You know why we are here,” he said. “It is time to drive the sheep out of the Highlands and to take back our old way of life. Too long have we suffered beneath the heel of the English. They have laid waste to one croft after another, and destroyed or deported the clans.”
The gathering shifted restlessly, waiting to hear more. “Down there in Gwyndonmere Vale sits one of the cursed English, put in charge not even one hundred years ago and given the title of ‘duke’. The current duke’s great-grandfather was a mere harper in the king’s court, a jester if you will. The king thought it a great joke to put his court jester in charge of Gwyndonmere, where our ancestors lived since the before times.”
Silence greeted the figure. It wasn’t what the masked man expected. “The great sheep drive almost succeeded,” he continued his narration. “We can begin here, take back the castle, and restore Gwyndonmere to its former glory.”
An old man stood up at the back of the byre, folded his arms, and spoke out. “Now, see here, laddie. I’m thinkin’ ye’ve got yer history just a little bit off. I remember the Sheep Drive, an’ I also remembers what become of the fellers as set it goin’. What’s more, I think ye might have the Dook’s gran’thers a might off. That there Harper fella was a might few more generations back than yer makin’ out. When other Dukes were pushin’ Clan off the hills an’ out ta tha sea, tha Duke o’ Gwyndonmere held on fast an’ kept his people. Ef tha’s wha’ happens when ya sets a court jester ta rule, I’ll take it. Come on, lads. I think we’s heared enough.”
With that, the oldster turned around and stalked out of the byre. Nearly all of the masked man’s audience stood up and walked out with him. Seven men remained.
“Well,” said one of the seven, “that didn’t quite go as expected.”
“They will come round,” said the masked man. “I’ll see to it. They just aren’t quite ripe for the picking. All it will take is a few words here and a few there to undermine Jonathan Harper and topple him from his little dukedom.”
“An’ how’s’it ye plan to do that?” another man asked, his London gutter accents harsh against the echoes of the mellow Scottish brogue that seemed to still echo from the oldster’s declaration.
“Wait and see.” The man puffed out a breath that blew against the skirt of his mask. “If I told you now, you’d not be proper surprised when the time comes. But you and Smythe make sure that you are paired up when doing your rounds. The Duke seems to think that by having guards go two-by-two he’s keepin’ the ‘bad apples’ in line.”
“Bad apples? Is that what he’s calling a woman dead and another near drowned?”
The masked man nodded at the speaker. “Oh, aye, that he is. He is that upset that such has happened in his manor house. It just goes to show what a weak-willed fool he is that is set to govern the valley. He doesn’t even know what is going on in his own house.”
Smythe spoke up. “I’ll be sure to pair up with Wilson. The pairing is supposed to be random, but I’ve got a favor or two to call in. ‘Sides, Wilson has made himself that unpopular that I won’t have no trouble tradin’ out.”
“See to it, Smythe,” the masked man directed. “The more we can keep the Duke off balance, the easier it will be for me to continue to carry out the Plan. We’ll be running Gwyndonmere before you know it. The common people shall prevail.”
“Viva la revolucion!” said a small chunky man wearing a striped, tubular hat with a tassle on the end.
“Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité ou la mort!”affirmed a tall man with a cadaverous face.
“Hush, brothers,” the masked man said softly, “Sound carries in these hills. Would you give all away? But if we play our cards just right, the cursed English will have a small army climbing up their backside before the year is out. Gwyndonmere is the perfect staging area.”
“An’ what do you get out of it?” demanded a man who had been sitting quietly to one side.
“I get a toehold that will allow me to revive the revolution, and my friend over there,” he nodded to another masked man, “will gain the woman of his dreams,” the masked man replied. “Just wait and see.”
“La femme fatal,” the previous speaker chuckled. “I’ve seen that one. Are you not sure that you are not taking on more than any one man can handle?”
“Oh, I can handle her,” the second masked man boasted. “She is putty in my hands. Already she has brought the Duke so close to ruin with her profligate spending that he is foregoing his session in Parliament. She is quite wroth with him for denying her a chance to swank around during the London Season. All I need to do is offer her a chance to regain her social position and she will do anything I say.”
After a few more words, the seven stood up and six of them filed out. The seventh turned and looked at the second masked man. “Be careful of becoming too over-confident. Plans that turn on the whims of a woman are easily over-set. The Duchess might be the pea goose you make her out to be, or that could be an act. Moreover, are you sure you have understood the inheritance laws? Have a care my friend, and look sharp to the games you play. If you run afoul of the local constabulary, I’ll make no move to pull your fat out of the fire.”
“Have no fear,” said the second masked man. “I know just how to make the Duke look the fool and to wind the Duchess around my fingers, poor lonely woman that she is. The Duke has no idea how to woo or win her.”
“Be as that may, I’ve seen evidence of your handywork of late. If you tip your hand too early, all will be lost.” With that, the seventh man left the cattle byre and was swallowed up by the night.
The masked man waited until the last footsteps had died away, then he removed his mask and tucked it in his pocket. He took out a dark piece of cloth and wiped his face, then pulling up the hood of his cloak, he began to make his way down the treacherous cliff path back to Gwyndonmere castle.The Duke simply does not know what treacherous ground he walks upon. I will depose him; I will have my revenge. And I will make a way for Napoleon to bring his armies through Scotland and into England. I have no love for the French, but I have none for the English either. They made my childhood a living hell. Why should I care what happens to them?
Chapter 26
Celeste hurried to assist the Duchess get ready for the day. The beautiful white lily was carefully ensconced in the Duke’s study, its perfect bloom a symbol of hope. It was simply too bad that such horrible events had come to Gwyndonmere. The place was nearly picture perfect; a gem left untouched in spite of the various troubles that had so recently come to Scotland.
