chest or seated in the saddle of a fine warhorse wielding your musket. Ye dinna have to be this person or that, ye just have to be ye.”
She swiped at her eyes and looked up at him. “Ye’re right.”
“Aye,” he said, not trying to curb the twang of arrogance. “Ye’d best heed.”
She laughed. “Now ye’re overly confident.”
“I just want to be me, lass.”
Jenny playfully swatted him, and he grabbed her hand, pulling it to his lips. They were warmer now from his touch.
“Soldier, seducer, nursemaid,” she teased.
“Nursemaid?”
“Aye, ye attended your cousin, and the hugs and encouraging words ye just gave me were very similar to my nursemaid’s when I was about six years old.”
He chuckled. “I may be a soldier and seducer, but I would no’ label myself a nursemaid.”
“What would ye call it, then?” she teased.
“Let me see… I think I should like to call myself a healer.” He winked.
“A healer?” One arched brow rose in question. God, he loved how expressive she was when she was letting her guard down.
“Are ye no’ better, lass? Are ye no’ healed from melancholy?”
“I suppose I am,” she said softly, and he had to resist the urge to pull her into his arms.
“Ye see, the name fits.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m certain most things will fit in that big head of yours.”
He tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Dinna be jealous.”
Jenny’s mouth fell open a little in mock outrage. “I am no such thing.”
“If ye say so.”
She huffed and gave a little shove to his chest, but he caught both her hands in his and pressed them to the place where his heart beat.
“Ye, sir, are baiting me.” Her voice was a little breathless, and he liked the soft lilt.
“I may be,” he drawled.
“Tease.” She pinched him playfully on the muscle of his chest, just a few inches above his nipple.
“’Tis true. Shall I pinch ye back in the same spot?” He waggled his brows. “Make it even?”
She backed away from him, shaking her head, and he could just barely make out the curve of her smile. “I came over here to make ye feel better, Toran, and I am leaving with a lighter heart.”
“Trust me, lass, when I say that I am as well.”
Twenty-Two
Glasgow was a cacophony of noise, between the pipers, horse hooves clomping on the cobbles, shouts of newcomers meeting with those who’d already arrived, and drums that beat with no particular coordination. It was glorious chaos, and to Jenny it almost seemed like a mirror of the battle that had taken place here hundreds of years before between Robert the Bruce’s troops and the English. It was odd how often history repeated itself. The two countries united but always divided.
The prince was quartered with Sir Hugh Patterson at Bannockburn House following his return from battle, and Jenny still for the life of her couldn’t understand why the prince’s advisors had told him to retreat. Why had he not pushed onward to London?
She supposed it was because he didn’t think he had enough troops. But from what she’d heard, the Welsh supporters of the Stuart line had rallied and marched on London thinking to meet the prince there.
The overcast sky gave way to drizzle and mist but nothing stronger. Jenny glanced at Toran, gathering strength just from his presence. And from the rest of her men, nodding at her with approval. To think back to two years ago when she’d gotten the idea to ride out into the night—that since then she’d been able to amass all of this.
When they reached camp of the prince’s army, set up outside the walls of Bannockburn House, they weaved their way through tents and carts, passing by dozens of men and women she didn’t know and dozens more she did, as they stood back to allow Jenny and her army to pass on the way to greet the prince. Prince Charles stood on the steps of the great manor house before a crowd of people, looking every bit as French as Jenny imagined the royals in Paris might look. His long ivory-and-silver frock coat shimmered, embroidered with cream-colored silk thread in what at first looked like everyday flowers but on closer inspection were in fact tiny white Jacobite roses.
He wore a powdered wig, and his cheeks were pink, but she guessed the color was from the excitement and perhaps the wine that he held freely in his hand. He was indeed as beautiful as witnesses made him out to be,