Mine Is the Night_ A Novel - Liz Curtis Higgs [167]
“Good,” Jack told him. “What else did you hear?”
“Meikle ado about Lords Balmerino and Kilmarnock. They were Jacobites, ye ken, beheaded in the Tower o’ London for treason.”
Jack grimaced, having read a detailed report in The Gentleman’s Magazine. “That will do,” he told the lad, then drew a handful of coins from his purse.
While the messenger stumbled off toward the punch bowl, Dickson resumed his seat, a troubled expression on his face. “Is your lady still loyal to the Jacobites, milord, or is she all for the king now? ’Tis the one question the general is sure to ask.”
“Aye.” Jack picked up his soup spoon, though he’d lost his appetite. “When he does, I’ll be ready with an answer.”
With a blustery wind roaring down the High Street, Jack walked uphill toward Edinburgh Castle, the paving stones slick beneath his boots. On the day of the Common Riding, his heavy admiral’s uniform had been an encumbrance. But with October upon them, the dark blue wool coat, as well as the scarlet waistcoat beneath it, provided much-needed warmth.
Dickson had spent two hours grooming him. “Like a thoroughbred, milord,” he’d said.
Jack had offered no protest, knowing he would need every advantage his military standing might offer. His mission was twofold that noontide. The first would require gold; the second, humility. Though Lord Mark had a reputation as a duelist, Jack had no intention of touching his sword.
They passed beneath the portcullis of the castle with little resistance, the dragoons easily spotting his rank and deferring to him accordingly. Climbing the cobbled road round to the left, past the cart sheds, they were directed toward the governor’s house, clearly the newest building in the castle compound.
“Fine prospect,” Dickson commented, nodding at the splendid view of the capital and the North Sea beyond it.
“Aye,” Jack agreed, giving it a cursory glance. On the way down, when he held two signed agreements in hand, he might admire the scenery. But not now.
Judging by the number of dormers and chimneys poking through the slate roof three stories above, the governor’s residence housed a full complement of officers, deputies, constables, and the like. Jack approached the center entrance, shoulders squared, head high, all the while reminding himself he’d need more than his own strength to see him through. “The LORD strong and mighty,” he said under his breath, “the LORD mighty in battle.”
“Praying, milord?” Dickson asked.
“Always,” Jack replied, then lifted the brass knocker. A moment later they were ushered into the entrance hall where they found enough weaponry mounted on the walls to give any visitor pause.
The lieutenant who greeted them was polite but wary. “Is General Kerr expecting you, sir?”
“He is not,” Jack informed him, “though he’ll know my name. Tell him Admiral Lord Jack Buchanan wishes to meet with him. At once.”
Seventy-Four
Gold loves to make its way
through guards, and breaks
through barriers of stone.
HORACE
eated among the high-backed chairs lining the entrance wall of the governor’s house, Jack crossed his legs and brushed a fleck of dirt from his boots as if he had all the time in the world. Letting his impatience show would not serve him well. General Lord Mark Kerr might leave his visitors cooling their heels for a half hour, but he could not ignore them forever.
Finally the governor strode into the hall, a thick stack of papers tucked under his arm.
Jack was on his feet at once. “General, a moment of your time.”
“I always have time for a peer,” the older man said, though he did not smile, and his tone was cool. “In my office, shall we?”
“I should think a larger room with a table might better serve,” Jack told him. “I am here on business of some importance to His Majesty. Others may be required to serve as witnesses.”
The governor’s slender mustache twitched. “This way, then.”
They traveled through a warren of rooms until they reached one of sufficient size to feature a table with a dozen