A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,87

to distribute pamphlets to rouse interest for the defense of runaway slaves—as her mother had done.

In fact, perhaps she would be well in Scotland, though she knew her uncle was sending her away, in part, to remove her from the influence of “that motley crew of ne’er do wells.”

Still, it didn’t help her mood all that much to know that she must do this alone, with only her chaperone for company. Wasn’t a wedding supposed to be the grandest thing ever?

It was the worst.

Her father couldn’t be roused from his travels to join her, her uncle and aunt were too busy celebrating the Twelve Nights, and not even her cousin James could be swayed from his noble duties—what had he said? He had some debt of honor to pay?

To whom.

And why couldn’t his debt be left for another occasion?

Why must he, too, leave Elizabeth to face this alone?

Worst of all, how was she supposed to face that poor child?

She was twenty-three, and he just a boy. How was she supposed to denude herself, and perform wifely duties, when he was a child, with more hands than sense?

And, dear God, how in the name of England was she supposed to help mend a rift between their nations? Wasn’t that putting too much on the shoulders of women conscripted for this effort? Mind you, that’s precisely what this was, yet another form of compulsory service. It would be one thing if she had adopted this cause all on her own. It was another thing to force a woman—any woman—to lie back and do her duty for the sake of England… in bed.

And nevertheless, it wasn’t so much that she didn’t wish to… explore. It was merely that she wished it to be her own choice—not that of her uncle’s or cousin’s.

Upsetting herself more and more with dark thoughts, she considered that she was being used for a crusade not her own. While, in truth, she didn’t have any meaningful opinions about The King Over the Water, neither did she feel invested in the Forty-Five Rebellion—not for its cause, nor its resolution. These were men’s wars, and in Elizabeth’s estimation, women would never agree to put their sons on a battlefield with swords at each other’s throats. It was no more than a dangerous game of King of the Hill—one minute this king, the next another. What they really needed was a woman on that throne—one with sensibilities something like her own.

Tapping her fingers impatiently, she flicked a glance at Mrs. Grace—the only person in her life who had ever truly understood her, except for maybe her cousin, James, although he, in fact, was the very author of a misery.

“It will be good for you to get away,” he’d said.

“You’ll be lady of a great house,” he’d said.

“Think of it this way,” he’d said.

“Your affiliation may well save a good family from ruin.”

Bollocks.

That family was already ruined. They’d lost both a father and a brother and for all intents and purposes, their lands as well. And in the meantime, it stood to be seen as to whether Elizabeth would even have a complete roof over her head. Many of the Scots’ homes had been razed, if not seized. And what was she supposed to do if she arrived to find the place in shambles? What would her mother have said, if only she’d lived to see this day?

Plenty, Elizabeth was certain.

Like Elizabeth, her mother had been painfully outspoken.

Unfortunately, her father didn’t appreciate Elizabeth’s forthright nature. The very instant her mother kicked up her toes, he’d foisted her upon an aunt and uncle who scarcely had time for their own progeny, much less an annoying niece who was a champion for the poor and oppressed. Neither did they understand her. Only her cousin James had ever cared much for her welfare; although now, so it seemed, even he was against her.

What was he thinking?

Did he expect she wouldn’t speak up if she found the situation untenable? After all these years, did he believe she would turn a blind eye to the atrocities her compatriots were inflicting? Indeed, she was not to be trusted to hold her tongue, and what then?

She, too, would be branded a traitor…

Did they execute women?

At the best of times, Elizabeth was not the one they should assign to such a delicate mission. No matter what her country of origin, she tended to call things the way she saw them. So then, what now if she should happen to agree with