Island of the Swans (93 page)

“Your Grace, I don’t think—”

“Give it to me, you fool!” Jane demanded, stamping her riding boot on the soaking grass.

“Jane!” Eglantine cried with alarm, jumping down from the carriage. “You’re not going to shoot Alex—”

“Don’t be daft!” Jane retorted with exasperation. “I came to prevent a murder, not to commit one! Is it loaded?” she asked.

“Yes, m’lady. You’ve merely to cock it.”

“Excellent! Come on! Now, unharness one of the horses and put on the bridle and saddle I left on the floor of the carriage.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said the coachman, shaking his head.

The two women huddled within a circle of weeping willows. The new spring leaves on the graceful branches were just starting to unfold, but the fog was so thick, the two sisters could hardly glimpse the top of the trees. The driver soon had Jane’s saddle cinched around the horse’s girth and he handed the reins to her without further comment. Before long, they heard other horses’ hooves, and the shadowy outline of another carriage appeared in the mist. The small hackney trap was pulled by an old nag who had seen many years of service. It stopped not twenty feet from where Jane and Eglantine hid behind the grove of drooping willows.

“That must be Thomas,” Eglantine whispered tremulously.

Jane peered through the swirling fog as a tall, familiar figure appeared out of the carriage. At the same instant, another carriage drew up. Because of the mist, the vehicle’s gold embossed stag’s head crest was barely visible. Five men emerged: the Duke of Gordon and four others whom Jane didn’t recognize.

“No doubt the seconds and the surgeon—pressed into service,” she whispered grimly.

Jane and Eglantine gazed silently at Alexander Gordon, whose black cape made him appear as sinister as a highwayman.

“Well, Fraser,” Alex called belligerently, “’tis been a long time since you insulted me on the High Street in Edinburgh—and you’ve been insulting me ever since.”

“’Tis not my intent to do you harm, Your Grace,” Thomas replied quietly. “The words exchanged then were but the mouthings of children.”

“Ah, but they set in motion what was to come, did they not, you scoundrel!”

“’Tis a daft business, this,” Thomas said wearily. “After all these years, there’s no evil directed at either of us. Why not let—”

“My honor has been greatly compromised, Captain Fraser,” Alex interrupted, snarling. “You’ve slept with my wife and now you appear in London to rub my nose in it.”

Thomas shook his head.

“I simply came to my daughter’s nuptials at the invitation of her father-in-law, my former Commander. ’Twas nothing to do with your honor, or any wish to besmirch it!”

“’Tis of no consequence what you think about it now as you face my challenge, Fraser. State your weapon.”

Thomas shrugged.

“Pistols.”

“Ah… so I anticipated,” Alex said. “Ambrose,” he called to one of the shadowy figures who had stayed close to the duke’s carriage, “present the arms for Captain Fraser’s inspection. Unless you prefer your own?”

“I didn’t sail from America prepared for a duel,” Thomas said dryly. “But I must warn you, m’lord. Arms were my profession for lo these many years. I ask you once again to reconsider this folly.”

“I wish to see you dead,” Alex replied coldly. “And I intend to accomplish the deed myself.”

“And you wonder why you lost the woman you loved most in life!” Thomas retorted, his temper frayed to the breaking point. “You never, understood Jane Maxwell… you resented the fact that I did. So, I suppose you have to try to kill me because of it. But if you fail, my good man, then your death will break her heart another way!”

“Where’s that horse!” whispered Jane, retreating farther into the grove of willows.

“What are you going to do?” Eglantine croaked hoarsely, scurrying to keep up with her sister.

“I don’t know!” Jane declared hoarsely, gesturing to the coachman to assist her aboard her mount.

“Captain Fraser,” said the man Alex had called Ambrose, a slightly stooped gentleman undoubtedly recruited from among the late-night habitués at White’s. “These are a matched pair of pistols. As you have no second, these two men will each load one firearm, if ’tis agreeable with you?”

Thomas merely gave a short nod. Each man carefully placed a small square of loosely woven cloth over the muzzle of the gun’s barrel. A single ball of lead was placed on it and an iron rod tapped the ammunition into place.

“Since both pistols belong to me, sir,” Alex said tersely, “you may choose whichever one you wish.”

Ambrose held a loaded firearm in each hand and offered them to Thomas. Without any deliberation, he selected the gun on his right.

“Now, gentlemen, to determine who will have first fire, I will toss a coin into the air. As the offended party, Your Grace,” he said, nodding to the Duke of Gordon, “’tis your choice to call the toss. These rules are acceptable to both of you?”

“These rules are
ridiculous
!” Jane hissed to her sister as she attempted to quiet her horse. “’Tis simply civilized slaughter!”

“If His Grace calls the toss correctly, he will have the first fire,” Ambrose intoned nervously. “If His Grace calls the toss incorrectly, Captain Fraser will have the first fire. Again, gentlemen, are the rules clearly understood?”

Both men nodded. Ambrose took a deep breath.

“I shall now toss the coin and allow it to fall to the ground where you may both examine which way it lands.”

And with that, he dug into his pocket, and settled the coin on his thumb.

“Tails,” Alex growled as the shilling sailed into the air, “for ’tis a dirty dog I challenge this morn.”

All six men bent to see the result of the toss.

“’Tis heads, m’lord,” Ambrose announced. “Captain Fraser will have the first fire.” Alex nodded, his jaw twitching slightly. “Your Grace,” the duel master added resignedly, “will you take your ground?”

“With the greatest of pleasure,” replied Alex between clenched teeth. He stalked through the verdant grass to a spot in the field where he was nearly obscured by the mist.

His fellow club member from White’s followed him, and with his boot, scuffed a line in front of where Alex was standing, pistol at his side. Then Ambrose began to count off the distance which the rules ordained should exist between the two combatants.

“One, two, three, four…” he droned, until ten paces had been reached. Again, the doctor marked with the toe of his boot the place where Thomas was to stand.

“Captain Fraser, will you take your ground?”

“Aye,” Thomas responded resignedly, walking slowly to the indicated spot.

Thomas and Alex faced each other in the wide field as a rosy blush of dawn appeared on the horizon.

“This is insanity, Your Grace,” Thomas shouted. “I beg you—”

“Take your shot, sir,” Alex retorted, “and then die a dog’s death, you cuckolding rogue!”

At this, Thomas remained silent, his shoulders tense, his pistol at the ready.

“Your Grace, are you prepared to receive Captain Fraser’s fire?”

Alex had paled, but his eyes stared at his adversary without flinching.

“I am,” he replied coldly.

“Captain Fraser, cock your pistol, sir.”

Ambrose held a lace-edged handkerchief above his head.

He took another deep breath, and in an unsteady voice, shouted into the dank air.

“Prepare to fire, Captain Fraser. One, two…”

Thomas slowly lifted his pistol from his side, and pointed it at the fog-shrouded figure in front of him. After a moment’s hesitation, he swung his arm in an arc and held the gun above his head. He fired a shot harmlessly into the gray morning sky.

“The captain has refused to do you harm, Your Grace. Do you consider yourself satisfied by this act?”

“I do
not
!” Alex shouted, his voice trembling.

“Then, m’lord, cock your pistol, and prepare to fire.”

Suddenly, the sound of thundering horse hooves startled the six men who stood poised in the damp field. Each looked around uncertainly.

A small figure in a green velvet cape rode into view and flung itself off its mount.

“You two prancing peacocks!
Stop this at once
!” Jane shouted furiously, standing in the direct line of fire between the two men she had loved.

“What the devil—” Alex bellowed. Then he cursed loudly as he recognized his wife.

“Jane… stand away, please! I beg you!” Thomas shouted.

Ambrose, the two seconds, and the surgeon gaped, openmouthed, at the sight of the Duchess of Gordon withdrawing a pistol from beneath her cape. With a lightning motion, she pulled back its firing hammer.

“I will shoot
anyone
who comes near me or tries to kill anyone else standing in this field!” she cried.

Thomas took a step toward her.

“That means you, Thomas Fraser! That means
all
of you! I’ve had about as much of this nonsense as I’m going to stand!” she exclaimed.

“How did you get here?” Alex asked incredulously.

“In a carriage… how do you suppose?” she snapped. “Word of such idiocy travels fast in London, Your Grace,” she added acidly. “And you, Captain Thomas Fraser,” she cried, aiming her firearm directly at his chest. “How did you propose to take care of little Maxwell Fraser if your foolish gamble rendered you dead?”

Thomas averted his eyes and stared at the ground.

“And I imagine the Duke of Gordon didn’t give much thought to the future of Lord Huntly, when he demanded his so-called
satisfaction
!” she said bitterly, turning to confront Alex. “And what of the lassies, and your namesake, Alexander, or even the litter of wee bastards who lie in their cots at Gordon Castle. Would you be
satisfied
to leave them fatherless, should your fabled
archery
arm fail you, and Thomas, here, be given another shot? No, to even
consider
you might lose this contest wasn’t
manly…
not enough derring-do for you!” she said sarcastically.

She took a step closer and waved her cocked pistol menacingly.

“You fools!” she shouted angrily at both men. “Between the two of you, you’ve sired at least
thirteen bairns
—and
not
all by
me
, as you both are well aware!”

At this, Alex and Thomas exchanged uncertain glances. Alex allowed his pistol to fall to his side. Jane’s voice rang out in the chill morning air.

“Those children need you in their lives…” she continued with a ferocity that silenced all the men standing in the damp grass. “They need your silver and your guidance… and, damn you… they need your
love
.”

The Fourth Duchess of Gordon was, by now, shaking with fury.

“You’re
fifty-year-old men
! So think on
that
before you decrepit old goats take up arms over the love you claim you bear Jane Maxwell!”

She nodded her head sharply to one of the astonished seconds.

“You there—Ambrose, is it?” she said, squarely aiming her pistol at him.

“Douglas Cummings, Your Grace,” he corrected her. “He’s Ambrose Leigh,” he added, pointing at his companion.

“Well, come over here, Douglas, and help me mount my horse.”

Obediently, the middle-aged gentleman retrieved her mount and cupped his hands. Jane placed her muddy boot in his palms and easily swung herself on her charger. Once again, she aimed her firearm directly at her husband.

“Alex Gordon… repair to your coach, if you please.”

The duke opened his lips as if to protest, then thought better of it, and retreated to his carriage. The unneeded surgeon, the seconds, and Ambrose climbed in after him.

“And now you, Thomas,” she said quietly. “Please ride safely back to your lodgings… and say to Master Maxwell Fraser that the Duchess of Gordon very much enjoyed making his acquaintance.”

Thomas looked at her, shook his head slightly in disbelief, and strode to his hackney coach.

“When I discharge the bullet in this pistol,” Jane shouted from her sidesaddle perch, “you’re each to return to your own warm beds and stay in them until you regain your senses.” She yanked on the reins of her horse, prompting her skittish mount to rear slightly. “Good night, Gentlemen!” she cried loudly.

She raised her hand over her head, and pointed the muzzle of her gun at the dawn-streaked sky. Suddenly, a sharp report rent the air. Slowly, the two carriages rolled across the field in opposite directions as the sun crested over the tops of the green willow trees.

Thirty-Four

J
UNE
1797

I
N THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED,
J
ANE WAS THANKFUL TO HAVE
received no word of another duel between the two men whose quarrel she’d interrupted in the swirling fog the morning following Louisa’s nuptials. Neither did she hear personally from either one of the combatants. The meeting of the three of them at the break of dawn in a field near Buckingham House now seemed nothing but a bizarre dream.