The Black Knave Read Online Free

expression did not hold much hope for the idea.
    Neither did Rory.
    Bethia MacDonell stood stunned before the intimidating presence of Cumberland.
    “Marry?” She hated the tremble she heard in her voice. She hated it almost as much as she despised the man standing in front of her, trying to bend her to his will. “But I was betrothed—”
    “To a dead man, milady,” Cumberland said curtly and without sympathy. “He was a traitor. As you are a traitor. And your brother.”
    She did not shiver at this description of herself. But tremors ran down her back as she heard the threat for her brother. He had only eleven years, but he had the courage and mouth of a much older lad. He had already insulted Cumberland, calling him a scurvy dog before Bethia could get him out of the room. She had agreed with that assessment, but she knew their lives stood in the balance.
    Bethia looked around the walls of the castle, which had become a prison. She’d been brought here to Rosemeare with her brother and held in a tower room to await Cumberland’s pleasure. Her two oldest brothers had died at Culloden. Only her younger brother remained to carry on the name of their branch of the MacDonells. But there was little left remaining. Their estates had been confiscated, their clan members either killed or hunted.
    Her betrothed, Angus Macintosh, had been killed at Culloden. She thought of Angus: tall and fierce, even a little frightening, though he had always been kind to her. ‘Twas not a love match, but she had been fond of him and had not objected to the betrothal which her older brother had arranged. Angus had been all warrior, all courage. A man—and leader—to admire.
    She bit back her tears. She had not yet allowed one to fall, not when she’d heard about the deaths of her brothers, nor when Cumberland’s men took them from their home and burned out all their clansmen. Not when she’d heard of Angus’s death. She would be as strong as any of the men in her family. She would not, could not , show weakness.
    “You are fortunate, Bethia,” Cumberland said. “You have a friend at court who asked me to look after you. But the king’s orders are quite clear. He wants no more Jacobite uprisings. Those who survive can do so only by submitting to his will.” His dark eyes pierced her. “Do you understand?”
    She swallowed the bile in her throat. She had to protect Dougal, no matter the cost to her.
    “The king has chosen a husband for you,” Cumberland said. “The Marquis of Braemoor. His family fought well at Culloden. I understand he is a pliable man.”
    Pliable . Weak. A traitor not to the king, but to all the braw men who fought for Prince Charlie.
    “Does he approve of a bride he has never seen?” she asked, hoping against hope that he would not. She was not a beauty, nor had she any dowry now.
    “The king is making it well worth his while,” Cumberland said smugly. “He will receive confiscated estates. The Forbeses will guard them well from any additional uprisings.”
    She wondered if her own family’s lands were among them. The bile grew even more bitter. She was not even to be sold. A man had to be bribed to take her, bribed most likely by her own property.
    She searched her memory for any snatch of conversation about the Forbeses. She knew, of course, about Lord President Forbes. Because of his influence, several of the Highland clans refused to join the young prince. His name was an anathema to those Highland clans that did declare for the bonnie prince.
    “I will tell the king you accept?”
    She held her breath, her mind working feverishly. If she could take her brother and escape …
    She knew there were people helping Jacobites escape. Prince Charlie was still free despite the huge reward offered for his capture. And there had been whispers lately of a man who helped fugitives. If she agreed, perhaps she and her brother could escape on the journey. She rode well; so did Dougal.
    “I know nothing about