Island of the Swans by Ciji Ware Page A

lesson to be learned in that, missy.”
    Jane was too numb to take much notice of his critical tone. Unable to stifle her tears, she wept out of anguish for what fate had befallen her friend, as well as sheer relief at being rescued and seeing Thomas again.
    Mercifully, a neutral bystander had already placed a cloak over Matilda’s body. A few yards away, her late husband, Jock, lay stiff and gray on a small rise where his friends had dragged him after the heart seizure struck.
    “The bairn…” Jane whispered in tears. “The babe’s died too,” she choked, taking refuge in Thomas’s sheltering arms.
    “I’m taking Mistress Maxwell home, Godfather,” Thomas said quietly to Simon.
    The older man looked as if he were about to raise an objection, but held his peace. Jane’s eyes, brimming with tears, drifted back to the boat and the lifeless form beneath the cloak. She felt herself lifted up and placed sidesaddle on Thomas’s mount.
    “Looks like that gang went back to work, once they spied us comin’,” she heard Constable Munro say.
    “They’ve had their bit of amusement for the day,” Simon commented dryly. “Always did think ’ol Jock’s temper would do him in one day. Done his wife in too, it appears.”
    “Pity ’bout her four bairns,” replied the constable.
    “Her mother’ll look after the brats, I expect,” answered Simon.
    “Thomas?” Jane murmured, relieved to feel the horse begin walking up the slope of Ramsay Lane. Now she wouldn’t have to listen to the sound of Simon’s harsh voice.
    “Yes, Jenny?” Thomas replied softly, nuzzling his chin in her matted hair, which was moist from sweat and the foul waters of the loch.
    “I hope my Aunt Elizabeth had her bairn today,” she said, tightening her arms around his waist and patting the solid expanse of his back. “She moaned just like a sheep. That’s good , ’tisn’t it?”
    “Aye… ’tis a good sign the wee one’s on its way.”
    The horse plodded uphill in silence.
    A few minutes elapsed before Jane asked another question. Her eyes were still closed and her body remained relaxed as she sank into the slow rhythm of the gelding’s even pace.
    “Thomas, do you think Constable Munro ever guessed ’twas the two of us who ripped down those coronation proclamations five years ago?”
    “No, I believe our secret’s safe, pet.”
    His voice told her he was smiling.
    The roan carefully picked its way up the path to Castle Hill and Jane felt Thomas’s arms tighten around her body as the incline grew steeper. Suddenly she spoke again.
    “I’m so glad you’re back, Thomas.”
    “I’m glad to see you haven’t changed. Mistress Maxwell… your spirit, that is—”
    “ You’ve changed… a lot.”
    “Aye… on the outside. So have you, Jenny, lass.”
    She sighed and clutched the arm encircling her tightly as she heard the horse’s hooves move from turf to cobblestones.
    “Don’t kiss my head, Thomas. ’Tis foul smelling,” she said softly.
    “I wouldn’t dream of it, lass,” Thomas replied, his nose twitching slightly from the rank odors that gave proof of her recent ordeal. “At least, not at the moment.”

Four

    N OVEMBER 1765
    H AMILTON M AXWELL WAS UNABLE TO MAKE OUT WHAT WAS BEING SAID BEHIND closed doors at the top of the stairs, but he knew from experience his parents were having an argument. Sir William’s drunken tirade was soon met by Lady Magdalene’s increasingly angry responses, and as the voices grew more strident, Hamilton and his three sisters exchanged discomfited looks.
    “’Tis bound to be about you , Jane,” speculated Hamilton, who, at nineteen, liked to assume superior knowledge about family matters in contrast to his younger siblings.
    Hamilton certainly had more than an inkling of his father’s mood on this particular morning. After all, he had witnessed Sir William’s reaction to receiving a letter from Lady Maxwell two days earlier, a letter proposing a ball to celebrate Jane’s