Leaning over the map, Jeremy traced Cobby’s and Hugo’s prospective route. “They’ll drive via Berwick all the way to Wolverstone, carrying word that you and I will be coming via a different, less obvious route.” He glanced up and caught Eliza’s eye. “Meanwhile, you and I will go down Cannongate and along High Street to the Grassmarket and the stables there, to the southwest of the town, then head out along this road”— he pointed —“heading southwest to Lanark via Carnwath. But at Carnwath, we’ll turn east.” He traced the road eastward. “Going via Castlecraig, Peebles, Innerleithen, Melrose, Galashiels, and St. Boswells through to Jedburgh and the border beyond.”
“The same border crossing they used on the way here,” Eliza said.
Jeremy nodded. “We’re wagering they’ll assume we’ll take the faster road with more traffic for cover. From their point of view, there’s no reason for us to use the Jedburgh, or more accurately, the Carter Bar crossing, because they can have no idea that we’re making for Wolverstone, which is actually more readily reached from that direction.” He looked at her. “If we leave at dawn, making all speed, with luck we should reach Wolverstone by tomorrow evening.”
Eliza frowned. “What I don’t understand is why they — Scrope and his people, possibly even the laird — would follow a curricle with Cobby and Hugo in it.” She looked at Jeremy. “Quite obviously neither of them is me.”
Jeremy grinned.
Cobby looked smug, and Hugo looked triumphant.
“What our magnificent trio have failed to mention,” Meggin said, “is that Hugo is a thespian of long standing.”
Hugo’s grin widened. “I have a wig that will match your hair well enough, and a gold silk evening gown much like yours. Add a little padding, throw your cloak over all, and I’ll pass as you easily enough — I’m not that much taller or broader, and I can assure you I’ve plenty of experience walking, gesturing, and talking like a woman, enough to pull the wool over most casual observers’ eyes.”
“And we only need to fool casual observers,” Cobby put in. “The ostlers at the smaller inn’s stables, and anyone else who might see us en route, who might be asked to point out where we’ve gone. I can pass for Jer well enough.” He glanced at Jeremy, grinned. “I have before.”
“In addition to that,” Jeremy said, his gaze refixing on Eliza, his expression growing serious and a touch uncertain, “we were hoping you would consent to donning male attire — breeches, boots, shirt, and coat.” Faint color rose in his cheeks. “In the interests of confusing Scrope and his people.”
Her gaze locked with his, Eliza’s lips curved, then she grinned as widely as Cobby. “That sounds like an excellent idea.”
Jeremy felt a surge of relief. “Good.” He glanced at Cobby and Hugo, then concluded, “So that’s our plan for confounding Scrope, his people, and even the laird, and getting you safely to Wolverstone.”
Eliza spent a glorious half hour relaxing in a hip-bath filled with hot water in a cheery upstairs bedchamber. Feeling clean and much more like herself, she reluctantly climbed out and dried herself. In a fresh chemise Meggin had loaned her, wrapped in a warm robe, she was kneeling before the fire drying her hair and quietly marveling at the turn of events — most especially at her new insights into an absentminded scholar who, viewed through his friends’ eyes, seemed far less distant and detached from wider life than she’d thought — when a tap on the door heralded her accommodating hostess.
Smiling as she shut the door behind her, Meggin held up the pile of clothes she carried. “These are Hugo’s contributions to your disguise.” Bustling over to the bed, she started laying them out. “I suspect the silk shirt and neckerchief are his, but the jacket, breeches, and boots most likely came from one of the theaters.”
Rising, Eliza joined Meggin by the bed. “How useful to be able to raid their wardrobes.”
“Especially as he was able to get alternatives — we can pick which best suits.” Meggin held up a tweed jacket. She wrinkled her nose. “That’s simply too countrified — it will make you stand out.” She looked down at the offerings spread on the bed. “You need to look unremarkable in every way.”
They picked through the clothes, holding each garment up, discarding some immediately, leaving others to be tried on.
“The three of them have put a lot of effort into this … this adventure, as Cobby called it.” Eliza met Meggin’s eyes. “I’m truly in their debt, and yours, too.”
Meggin waved. “We were happy to help, and truth be told, I haven’t seen the three of them so animated in months, if not years. All three normally lead very … well, cloistered lives, even Cobby. An event like this that gets them challenged, enthused, and out and about, dealing with the world even if only for a short time, is no bad thing.”
Eliza gestured to the clothes. “They seem to have thought of everything.”
“I’m sure they have.” Meggin sighed. “But they do have a tendency to assume that everything will go exactly as they plan. For instance, you and Jeremy reaching Wolverstone in one day by such a roundabout route. I have reservations, and raised them, too. I agree it’s possible, and with both Scrope and this laird potentially on your heels, there’ll be no time to dally, but that timing allows for no hurdles along the way, and in my experience nothing runs that smoothly.” Meggin caught Eliza’s gaze. “I did suggest that you and Jeremy take a maid with you, just in case, but they vetoed that on several counts, and I have to admit their reasoning is sound.”
Eliza tipped her head, considering. “Along the lines of, what would a gentleman and a youth need with a maid?”
Meggin nodded. “Among other things. Most telling was that you and he wouldn’t be able to travel as quickly as required while dragging an extra body along. Taking a maid would more or less ensure you had to pass the night somewhere along the road, and Jeremy is set on not allowing Scrope, or this laird, even that much chance to come up with you.”
Eliza grimaced. “That’s not something I would argue with.”
Eventually, she donned new silk drawers Meggin had bought for her, and between them they used a silk cravat to bind her breasts. Eliza kept her necklace on, tucking the rose quartz pendant safely out of sight between her squashed breasts; the fine chain with its amethyst beads was concealed well enough beneath Hugo’s silk shirt. The shirt fitted well enough in the body, but the sleeves hung past her fingertips. Meggin had brought needles and thread. They each took one cuff and, with a few quick stitches, shortened the sleeves.
“There. Try that.” Stepping back, hands on her hips, Meggin watched critically as Eliza redonned the shirt. Then Meggin nodded. “Good. That will pass. Now for the rest.”
Twenty minutes later, with rags stuffed in the toes of the boots to make them fit, Eliza stood before the cheval glass, settled the soft-brimmed hat over her tightly pinned hair, and surveyed their handiwork. “I really do make a passable young man.”
Beside her, also looking into the mirror, Meggin nodded. “A youth on the cusp of manhood. As long as you remember to stride and not glide, you’ll do.”
Eliza glanced down at her feet, then, grinning, caught Meggin’s gaze. “The boots will help with that.”
Meggin laughed. “True. So, are you ready?”
“Yes.” Straightening to her full height, chin rising, Eliza nodded as imperiously as her brother Gabriel might. With a graceful bow, she waved Meggin to the door. “Lead on, ma’am, and I’ll follow.”
Chuckling, Meggin complied.
But when they reached the head of the stairs, Meggin stepped back and waved her on. “Go down first — they’re eagerly waiting to see the results of their endeavors.”
Lips curving, Eliza started down the stairs. The front hall came into view as she descended. She saw a pair of boots, then, as the legs in the boots were revealed, realized they were Jeremy’s. He was standing closest to the stairs.
Meggin’s reservations about the men’s planning abilities replayed in her mind. For her part, she’d been
surprised, delightedly so, by their resourcefulness thus far, but as Meggin had warned, perhaps she shouldn’t expect too much of them — they weren’t magicians. They were scholars, and such beasts didn’t change their spots purely through an exercise of enthusiasm.
With every step downward, she saw more of Jeremy. With every inch revealed, it was conclusively confirmed that her memory of him physically had been well and truly superseded. The present reality was significantly different, in ways that still made her heart beat faster, made her breathing quicken, and sent awareness prickling over her skin.
Ignoring the effect, head held at a lofty angle, she descended the last stairs; stepping onto the hall tiles, she coolly met the men’s widening gazes, then slowly turned, careful not to pirouette like a girl but half swagger around like a male.
Jeremy couldn’t take his eyes off her; they’d fixed on her long, shapely legs, displayed to advantage by the breeches and boots as she, with slow deliberation, had come down the stairs step by step, and now wouldn’t shift. As she continued her turn, he had to force himself to blink, force himself to haul in a breath — and only then realized he’d stopped breathing.
Despite his intentions, his gaze flicked unerringly to the curves of her derriere, subtly outlined beneath the skirts of the jacket she’d chosen.
His mouth dried. Another wave of heat washed through him, as it had in the basement when she’d smiled so dazzlingly at him.
His conscious mind, his logical, rational scholar’s mind, arrogantly dismissed the reaction — yes, it was lust, pure and simple, but that just meant he wasn’t dead — but some other, less rational part of his psyche knew there was a great deal more to it than that.
And he’d just volunteered to escort her, an unmarried Cynster princess, in her male guise, the two of them alone, over all the miles to Wolverstone.
His new insight cast the journey in a completely different light, more an ordeal than an adventure.
At least it would only last for a day.
He forced himself to meet her gaze as, completing her turn, she raised her eyes to his face. “You look … very plausible.”
Cobby cast him a sharp glance, then smiled at Eliza. “Convincing,” he declared. “Totally convincing.”
“You’ll do very well,” Hugo said. “Especially if you remember to move like that.”
If she continued to move like that … raising a hand, Jeremy rubbed his left temple.
“Come along, all of you.” Meggin had followed Eliza down the stairs. She shooed them into the dining room. “There’s an early breakfast waiting. You need to eat so you’ll be able to race off, to hare out of Edinburgh the instant the sun’s up.”
Ignoring the intrigued look Meggin cast him, Jeremy stood back and let the others go ahead. He seized a moment to steel himself before following them in.
Over a hearty breakfast of pancakes, griddle cakes, sausages, coddled eggs, bacon, ham, kippers, and kedgeree, they went over their designated routes one last time. Jeremy was pleased to note that Eliza didn’t restrict herself to tea and toast, as so many fashionable ladies did. She ate enough to see her well into the day, much to his relief; while potentially fleeing Scrope and the laird, a fainting female was the last thing he would need.
“With any luck, Scrope and this laird will hie after us and leave you two to make your way to Wolverstone unmolested.” Cobby pushed back from the table. “Really, the odds have to be very much on our side. There’s no reason whatever for either Scrope or the laird to look west, let alone cast their net wide enough to include a man and a youth.”
Hugo had eaten quickly, then excused himself to don the gold silk gown he’d borrowed and the cloak Eliza’s captors had given her; he reappeared in time to hear Cobby’s last remark. Hugo struck a ladylike pose in the doorway. “Certainly not when they have a lady and a gentleman of precisely the description they seek to follow instead.”
The others all stared.
Jeremy recovered first. “The gown suits you. It brings out the hazel in your eyes.”
Hugo batted his lashes. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”
“’Pon my word, you make a very dashing young lady, Hugo, m’lad.”
Hugo pointed at Cobby. “Just remember to drop the ‘m’lad.’”
“Well,” Meggin said, taking stock of them all. “You’re all nearly ready, which is just as well.” With her head she directed their attention to the uncurtained window. It faced east, and the faintest lightening of the sky was spreading upward and outward over the roofs. Meggin rose. “Just wait one more moment while I fetch my contribution.”
The other four exchanged puzzled glances. They drained their cups, put down their napkins, and rose.
They were waiting in the front hall, Eliza swirling a man’s cloak about her shoulders, when Meggin came out through the door from the kitchens carrying three packed saddlebags. “These are for you.” She handed one to Cobby, and the other two to Jeremy. “Just in case.”
Cobby and Jeremy peeked under the bags’ flaps.
“Food,” Meggin informed them. “And there’s a small knife in the bottom of each bag.”
Just in case. Eliza met Meggin’s eyes. “Thank you,” Eliza said, then glanced at the others. “For everything.”
Cobby saluted her. “We’ll see you at Wolverstone this evening.”
“We’ll beat you there.” Hugo took her hand in a manly grasp and shook it. “We’ll be waiting on the terrace with a glass of wine in hand to greet you.”
Eliza shook Cobby’s hand, too, then enveloped the smaller Meggin in a warm hug. They touched cheeks, squeezed fingers.
Releasing her and stepping back, Eliza waited while Jeremy bussed Meggin on the cheek. “I’ll come and visit again soon,” he said. “Without the excitement.”
“You must.” Meggin’s gaze flicked to Eliza, including her. “You’ll need to tell me how all this works out.”
Amid a flurry of farewells, the front door was opened, and Eliza found herself standing beside Jeremy in the street.
“Good luck!” Meggin waved from the open doorway.
They all waved back, then Eliza and Jeremy looked at Cobby and Hugo. The three men saluted; Eliza quickly mimicked them.
“Until Wolverstone.” Jeremy turned up the street, gesturing for Eliza to follow.
“To Wolverstone!” Cobby and Hugo echoed as they swung away and, with Cobby carrying Jeremy’s bag, walked off in the opposite direction, down the sloping street.
Following Jeremy, Eliza quickly climbed to Cannongate. Turning left, side by side they strode east along the Royal Mile, into High Street and past the Tron Kirk — the church beside South Bridge that she’d remembered — and on past the Cathedral of St. Giles and the Parliament.
She used the moments of pacing along the largely deserted main street to practice her manly stride. At first she found keeping her hips relatively still difficult, but by the time they were nearing the western end of the main street, she’d mastered the art of taking longer strides and letting her arms swing in a more natural manner.
One saddlebag slung over his shoulder, the other over one arm, Jeremy paced alongside her, acutely aware of what she was doing, that every now and then her gaze would drop to his hips, his thighs, as she used his stride as a model for hers.
Ignoring the distraction as best he could, he kept his gaze trained on the street, scanning ahead, probing every alcove, dissecting every shadow. His instincts were awake and alert, his senses alive in a way he couldn’t remember ever experiencing. He told himself it was because he was protecting her — and it was — but he’d never imagined the simple act of protecting a female would generate this level of excitement, let alone the blend of suppressed tension and readiness for action that was presently coursing through him.
It was exhilarating; he was starting to comprehend how men like his brother-in-law and the other members of the Bastion Club might have grown addicted to this medley of sensations. It was undeniably a challenge to be in ch
arge, to make the plans, give the orders, and play the knight-protector, but he’d never expected the accompanying thrill that came with success, with achievement, much less that it would have much effect on him.
He was a scholar through and through; what did he know of or need with such warrior-protector reactions?
Clearly there was another side to him, a dormant side with which he hadn’t previously engaged.
The castle loomed ahead. Bumping Eliza’s arm — as he would have if she’d been male — he veered left, striding down the curve of Grassmarket to where a collection of stables served the traffic that came into the city from the southwest.
As they approached the stable he’d selected as the most suitable for their purpose, he murmured, “Remember — I’m your tutor, you’re my charge. Look bored and disinterested in what’s happening about you. Don’t speak unless you have no other choice.”
She nodded. “Give me one saddlebag.”
Halting outside the stable, he handed her the bag he’d been carrying; the other still over his shoulder, he left her by the roadside without a backward glance and went into the stables, hailing the stable master and engaging in a swift exchange of pleasantries before getting down to the business of choosing suitable mounts for them both.
Instinct constantly prodded, then more insistently pricked, urging him to glance back at Eliza; he had to keep lecturing himself that if she’d been the lad she was supposed to be, he wouldn’t think to watch over her, not unless some commotion arose.
Gritting his teeth, he concentrated on the matter at hand. They needed two swift steeds to carry them along the roads, even, if necessary, across the fields, but their best time would be made on the roads. That said, they also needed strength and stamina; while they could and would change horses at least once along the way, he wanted to get as far as possible, Carnwath at least, before having to stop at another hostelry.