The Black Knave by PATRICIA POTTER

some with contempt. Few took a second look.
    He rode to the Fox and Hare, a tavern where he often stayed. Located near the Edinburgh Royal Theater, its patronage included a wide assortment, ranging from actors to British officers, who enjoyed the proximity of the latter, particularly the actresses. For the past five months, Rory had maintained a permanent room over the tavern. Several British officers also kept rooms there.
    He greeted the officers in the taproom, recognizing most, spotting one or two he’d not seen before.
    “Ah, Captain Lehgrens,” he said, swooping down on one of the officers as he waved his arm in an extravagant manner. “A game of hazard this evening?”
    “My good fellow,” Lehgrens replied, “you’ve been gone far too long. It’s not good gamesmanship to win, then leave.” He eyed Rory’s clothing. “You’ve become quite a dandy.”
    “Since my father’s … departure from this world, I can now indulge my tastes.”
    “I seem to recall you’ve always indulged them, but not quite as flamboyantly in dress.”
    “But now I have a bride to impress,” Rory said with a grin. “The king’s own choice.”
    “So we’ve heard. The notorious Rory Forbes a husband.”
    Rory wagged a lace handkerchief. “Braemoor, my dear captain. You keep forgetting I am now the Marquis of Braemoor.”
    Lehgrens gave him a mocking bow. “My lord.”
    “Ah, that’s more like it,” Rory said. “A little subservience.”
    Lehgrens stretched out. “You have it, as long as you lose. Now about this wife. Is that why we have not been graced recently with your presence?”
    “Nay. No lass will ever tie me down.”
    Lehgrens frowned. “We were hoping your … marriage would open Elizabeth’s door to us.”
    “Elizabeth can play with whomever she chooses.”
    “For some reason, she chooses you.”
    “Or she doesn’t choose you,” Rory said, leaning back with a smile pasted on his lips. If only they knew. As with Mary, Elizabeth was one of his couriers and, as important, supplier of the items he needed for disguise. She had also taught him to use them.
    Elizabeth was fifteen years his senior. She had, in fact, initiated him in the ways of love when, as a seedling, he’d appeared backstage after one of her performances. He looked extraordinarily needy, she had teased him. She had become his friend in days when he’d had none, and because he’d been totally indifferent to politics, she’d confided in him about her Jacobite roots. When he’d become the Black Knave, he visited her in Edinburgh, trusting her with his deadly secret because he so badly needed her help. He needed to go places that Rory Forbes could not go; he needed the expertise to make himself into an old man, or a vicar, or even a woman.
    Everyone believed he shared her bed, though that aspect of their relationship had ended years ago. He’d chosen to allow the myth to continue. It protected Elizabeth, and it suited him to have his father believe he was dissolute. So wags had him bedding Mary at Braemoor, and Elizabeth here. He was considered a cocksman of great repute.
    A wife and two lovers.
    If only the Brits knew the truth of it….
    He’d indulged in no lovemaking since before Culloden. ‘Twas too dangerous for both him and the lady. He intended to take no one to the gallows with him if he were caught. His wife should be safe, since she was forced into the marriage by the king himself. Mary and Elizabeth knew the risks they were taking, but Mary’s heart obviously belonged to Alister, and Elizabeth… well, he and Elizabeth had forged a friendship that no longer had a place for sex. He also suspected that her heart was already claimed.
    “A tankard of rum?”
    Rory looked at Lehgrens. “Rum? Have you sunk that low, my dear fellow?” He turned to the barmaid. “Claret, my love. The best.”
    “Your fortunes have indeed changed, my lord,” Lehgrens said. ” ‘Twas not so long that you bought your lodging with my