The Black Knave by PATRICIA POTTER Page B

struck a pose. ” ‘Tis the height of fashion.”
    She raised a haughty eyebrow.
    “And as comfortable as striding barefoot across hell,” he added drily.
    “You should try some of the garments we women must wear.”
    “I might be doing that,” he said. “How do you think I would look as an elderly woman?”
    She looked at him critically. “A very tall elderly woman.”
    “I canna shrink,” he said, “but I can bend a little.”
    “Hmm,” she said, her gaze sharpening. “A challenge.”
    “And you love them.”
    “Some. But you risk much, my new lord.”
    “No more than you.”
    She turned back to the mirror. “I hear you have a wife.”
    “The whole of Scotland apparently has heard that.”
    “A Jacobite wed to a king’s man? ‘Tis news, Rory. And unexpected, at that.”
    “I was given little choice, and my new bride even less. If I did not marry her, God knows what fate Cumberland would have dealt her.”
    “Always the rescuer.”
    “I received land in exchange,” he said defensively.
    “But that is not why you did it, is it Rory?”
    “I would have been suspect had I not. I am a wastrel, remember, and what wastrel would turn down the king’s favor and new lands?”
    “And how does the bride accept this?”
    “My marriage seems to be the principal topic of conversation,” Rory said irritably.
    “Only because it is so out of character.”
    “‘Tis true I have little faith in the institution. If you had known my mother, and my legal father, you would understand why. It is a marriage in name only, one that both the lass and I hope will end soon. But her younger brother is being held by Cumberland and you know my own precarious position.”
    “But does she?”
    “Good God, no.”
    “Do you not trust her?”
    “I do not want another life in danger. And she wants her brother freed. I am no’ so sure what she would, or wouldn’t, trade for it.”
    “Ah, Rory, sometimes I think you enjoy complicating your life.”
    “And you do not? But enough of this. Young Ogilvy has been taken, the last of his particular family. I wish to free him.”
    She stopped what she was doing and turned her body around. “You’ve only smuggled out fugitives before. Do you now intend to storm one of Cumberland’s prisons?”
    “Aye, that is exactly what I intend.”
    “You are daft.”
    “You’ve said that of me before.”
    “I’ve not changed my mind.”
    “I need some more cosmetics.”
    “Of course,” she said wearily. “Can you tell me what you have in mind?”
    “I know the gaol where they are keeping him. One of my men will instigate a fight and hopefully be thrown into one of the cells. Then his dear old mother will visit him, and on her way out ask to see the notorious Jacobite.”
    “And you are the dear old mother.”
    “Aye. Do you think you can do it?”
    She eyed him far more carefully. “More to the point, can you ?”
    “I make a great greybeard,” he said testily.
    “A woman is a trifle different, my lord.” Her hands touched him at his waist, bending him slightly. “If you bend, we will need to give you a hump. A cane would not hurt, either. I have a gray wig we used not long ago. A few handkerchiefs to give you a bosom, then a pillow some bulk. You will make an ugly woman, my lord, if you’ll be forgiving me for saying so.”
    “I’d rather be ugly than fair,” he said. “I donna fancy British hands on me.”
    “You will not have to worry about that, not when I finish with you.”
    “When?”
    “When do you plan to return?”
    “Day after tomorrow.”
    “Then come tomorrow night after the performance. I will have everything you need.”
    He took the several steps over to her, leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek.
    “Now you’ve ruined all my efforts” she fussed, even as she looked pleased. “I’ve missed you, Rory.”
    Bethia nursed the pup for the next few days, waking up several times during the night to give him another feeding.
    She had fixed a