the one responsible, the person who had my mother killed, was a female rebel. Mistress J, a leader of rebels.”
His confession was a punch to her gut. This man standing before her, whom she’d kissed, whom she’d dreamed of a future with, whom she’d harbored and protected, was her enemy. Or at least he had been.
“Ye believed I had your mother killed?”
He nodded, his face tight.
“And now?” she asked, fearing the worst. “Ye canna be both a loyalist and a Jacobite, Toran. Ye canna switch back and forth if ye hope to gain anyone’s trust. Ye canna stay here if ye think me capable of cold-blooded murder.” How will I ever trust ye again?
“I am a Jacobite, Jenny.” He got down on his knees, taking her breath away. “I swear to ye, my loyalties lie with the rebellion. Ye have inspired me to choose the side of right. My mother’s side. And I believe ye were no’ responsible for her death. I’m ashamed to have allowed those lies to have influenced me at all.”
“Why did ye not choose her side before?”
He gritted his teeth. “My da was a loyalist. My whole life I was raised to be such. When my mother defected, I didna even know. It wasn’t until just before her death that I found out, and I was in too much shock that she might have abandoned my father’s ideals. And then when her body was sent… I was told that ye threw her to the wolves, and I believed it.”
Her breath caught, and she gripped the sides of her gown to keep from striking him. Tears pricked her eyes, and she was close to screaming—both for the agony of him having thought such a thing and for all the lies he’d told her since the moment they met that she’d believed. How could he have shown her such affection if he believed her a murderer?
“I dinna believe it, lass. Not now.”
“But ye did.”
“I confess, I did.” He grimaced. “But from the day I entered your service, your keep, I’ve been true to the cause, to the prince…to ye.”
“How much of…us was real?” Jenny’s knees wobbled, and she was close to collapsing. She squeezed them together to help keep herself steady. Dinna fall down. Stay upright. Stay strong. “I let ye kiss me… I shared pieces of myself.”
She felt like she was being strangled. He wasn’t the first man to have lied to her, and she was certain he wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. That it was him at all was probably why it hurt so much.
“There is more.”
Her fingers came to her throat as she listened.
“Simon—”
“He’s in a cell. Dirk told me.”
“Did he tell ye why?”
“Because he was sotted on nearly an entire cask of ale and attacked ye again.”
“That is not the truth. Simon was sent by my uncle to keep track of my whereabouts in order to give the information to Boyd. They struck a bargain—the life of the men in the garrison for mine, Isla’s, and Camdyn’s. I didna believe it until Simon told me they were still alive.”
Jenny shook her head. “That was days ago.”
“Aye.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Her throat was so dry, and she felt as though she was going to be sick. Her hands were cold, going numb where she clutched the skirt of her gown.
Finally, she was able to speak, her words coming out in a croak. “Ye need to leave, Fraser. Go back to the garrison for all I care.” Och, but that was a heinous lie. She didn’t want him to go back there, back to certain death, and that made all of this even worse. For she truly did care for him.
“Jenny, please—”
“Dinna call me that. I am nobody to ye. Dinna remember me. Dinna remember what ye saw here. If ye ever cared about me at all, ye’ll forget me and my people, and ye’ll never grace my presence again.”
He was shaking his head, his face crumbling into despair like she’d never seen on another person. She read it in his face, that he regretted everything, wanted forgiveness, was willing to beg for it down on his knees before her.
“My lady, please,” he pleaded, anguish on his striking features, his icy-blue eyes glistening. “I swear to ye now, on pain of death, that ye have all of my loyalty. I am with ye. I am loyal to Prince Charles.”