The Traitor's Club_Jeb
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About Laura Landon
Chapter 1
The sun had yet to show its face as Jeb made his way through Hyde Park. The letter he’d received told him the exact spot he was to meet Her Majesty’s representative. Like so many times in the past, Jeb’s pulse quickened at the idea of a clandestine assignation.
He hadn’t considered ignoring the request. How could he? The missive was sealed with the official mark of the Queen. But neither did he intend to agree to whatever mission Her Majesty wanted to send him on.
He’d sacrificed enough during the war and had nearly been killed for it. Still, his curiosity was too great to ignore the message.
He crossed the arched walkway that spanned the Serpentine, its serene waters smooth as glass in the predawn hour, and leaned against the moss-covered balustrade.
“Good morning, Lieutenant Danvers,” a familiar voice said.
Jeb turned. “Major Dunworthy. What an unexpected . . . pleasure.”
Jeb’s former commanding officer and now special advisor to the Queen laughed as he stepped into view. “I wondered if you would come.”
“Curiosity got the better of me.”
“Does that mean you’re not serious about considering an assignment from Her Majesty?”
“That’s exactly what it means.” Jeb knew that for Dunworthy to want him on this mission, it had to involve risk and could get him killed. “I no longer have a death wish, Dunworthy. You’ll explain to Her Majesty that since I survived the war, I fancy living a little longer.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.” Dunworthy turned. “It was a pleasure seeing you.”
Jeb watched his former commanding officer take several steps away from him, then pause. He turned toward Jeb, his face showing his doubt as to whether or not he should attempt further persuasion.
Jeb knew it was unlikely that Dunworthy would give up so quickly or easily. He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. And it was obvious he wanted Jeb for something that was important. Jeb struck a cavalier pose, sighed, and lifted his chin. He would hear the man out.
“I remember you telling me once that your goal was to raise and breed horses.” Dunworthy’s voice remained conversational. “Have you begun your venture?”
Jeb hesitated. “I’m working on it.”
Jeb wasn’t about to tell Dunworthy that he didn’t have enough money to buy the quality stallions he needed. Nor did he have an estate—even a small tenant farm close to London—where he could pursue his dream.
“That’s too bad,” Dunworthy said. “I remember how good you were with horses. You have a fine gift.”
Dunworthy turned but didn’t move away.
“You wouldn’t reconsider Her Majesty’s offer if she included, say . . .” He turned back, as if wanting to see Jeb’s reaction. “A champion thoroughbred?”
It took some effort to stifle the scoffing noise that threatened to erupt from Jeb’s throat. “If Her Majesty did own such an animal, well then I would be quite interested indeed. But—”
“As it happens, she does,” Dunworthy interrupted. “Just gifted to Her Majesty’s stables by the royal family of India. A gray Arab, I’m told. Won every race at the Royal Calcutta last year. The raja was set to geld the brute, but the prince wouldn’t hear of it. Gave it to Herself just to save it. Just for you, one might even say.”
Jeb dug his toes into his boots as if that would help steady him. He couldn’t believe he was hearing Dunworthy correctly. “An Arabian? The Queen owns an Arabian? That Arabian?” He swallowed hard. Top-caliber stock was his goal, but the beast that had outstripped every Arabian at the Royal Calcutta? It was too much to dream of. “This mission must be quite important for Her Majesty to give up such a prime piece of horseflesh. Or that dangerous.”
“Perhaps both. Or maybe it’s the sensitivity of the matter, and she needs someone she can trust.”
“And she thinks she can trust me?”
“She wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t be trusted.”
Jeb weighed the risks against the rewards, but all he could see was the boon it would be to have Her Majesty’s stallion to begin his horse-breeding business. It was exactly what he needed to assure his venture would be a success.
“Oh,” Dunworthy said. “I almost forgot. Her Majesty also mentioned a monetary reward if you successfully complete the mission.” Dunworthy delayed finishing his sentence to add impact. “I believe the amount she mentioned was ten thousand pounds. Perhaps that sum might assist you in building your stable.”
God’s teeth. Ten thousand pounds. It was a fortune. It was more than a fortune. It was—
“Perhaps,” Jeb answered. He struggled not to indicate how interested he was in Her Majesty’s offer. He took several steps toward Dunworthy, then stopped. “For curiosity’s sake, I’d like to hear exactly what Her Majesty would like me to do that is worth so much to her.”
“Gladly,” Dunworthy said. “Would you care to walk a bit further?”
Jeb stepped toward Dunworthy, and together they walked down the path.
“Nearly two hundred years ago, a certain clan in Scotland—the MacFarlane clan—stole a crown that belonged to the King of England. Their laird removed the jewels and sent the empty crown back to His Majesty. England, of course, tried to retrieve the jewels but never got them back. The MacFarlane clan chieftain is now the Laird of Langholm. Rumor has it that the jewels were hidden in the walls of Langholm Castle, and they’ve never been found. Until recently, we think.” Dunworthy paused. “Yesterday Her Majesty received a package containing one of the jewels.”
“Only one?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a note attached?”
Dunworthy shook his head, then sat on the nearest bench. Jeb sat beside him.
“Who does Her Majesty think sent the jewel?”
Dunworthy released a heavy sigh. “Perhaps someone sympathetic to England. Or someone intending to destroy the Laird of Langholm. MacFarlane has his share of enemies. But the Queen does feel the package was addressed by a feminine hand.”
“And that is to be my mission? To discover who sent the jewel and why?”
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are the most suited. Her Majesty discovered that your father and MacFarlane attended school together before he became laird. And your father was also acquainted with the woman MacFarlane married. Lady Constance, the daughter of the Earl of Cantington.”
“I’ve heard Father speak of Lord Cantington. And his daughter. There was somewhat of a scandal when she ran away with a Scot.”
Dunworthy rose and continued down the path. Jeb followed. “There is also one more point of which you should be aware.”
“And that is?”
“According to our sources, the forces surrounding MacFarlane have increased in recent months. You will most likely find Langholm Castle quite secure.”
“Does your source know why?”
“The most obvious reason is because MacFarlane knows that someone has found the jewels and he wants to prevent the culprit from escaping with them.”
“And another reason not so obvious?” Jeb added to Dunworthy’s statement.
Dunworthy shrugged his shoulders. “The possibilities are numerous.”
“You mean dangerous,” Jeb finished for Dunworthy.
“I didn’t say this mission was without danger.”
“You didn’t have to. I can’t recall an assignment I was sent on that didn’t involve risk. Some more than others.”
“Yes, you above all our agents discovered that firsthand.”
Jeb stopped on the path. He’d had firsthand experience, all right. Firsthand experience he’d fought long and hard to forget. Experience that still made the flesh on his back prickle just thinking of it.
He turned to overlook the fountains and cascading flower beds kept
lush and beautiful by the Serpentine’s generous waters. The sun was nearly over the horizon, and it wouldn’t be long before the park would be inhabited by early-morning riders.
“So the question remains,” Dunworthy said from behind him. “How badly do you want the reward Her Majesty is willing to bestow?”
Jeb held his breath for several moments while he considered his decision. He’d survived the war—barely. When he’d returned, he’d vowed he wanted only one thing from life—to breed horses and never put his life at risk again. Except he didn’t have what he needed to live his dream.
But that may just have changed.
All he had to do was accept this one last assignment and he would have the most enviable stock among horse breeders. The gray Arabian was a gift too stunning to refuse.
“How quickly can you get me a map to Langholm Castle?”
“I brought it with me.”
Jeb turned and took the map from Dunworthy’s hand.
“How soon can you leave?”
“In a few days. I have an engagement to celebrate the christening of Lieutenant Hugh Wythers’ first child. I really must attend.”
“Ah yes. Another of your Traitor’s Club, I wager? Will the other members be there?”
“Yes.”
“Be sure not to mention that we spoke. Or what we spoke about. This is strictly confidential.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Jeb said with a wry smile. He turned away from his former commanding officer, then paused. As he turned back, Dunworthy’s hand fell lightly on his shoulder. It was out of character for the man, and Jeb did not mistake the gesture. “I’m grateful to you, sir. Truly.”
Dunworthy nodded and stood as if he had something further to say. But a moment later he merely lifted an eyebrow, turned on his heel, and left the park.
A knot formed in the pit of Jeb’s stomach. What he was about to do would affect the rest of his life. If the mission went well, he was poised to become a country squire. So why was every bone in his body telling him to head for the trees?
Chapter 2
Jeb had been on the road nearly a week and had only a brief respite at the MacKinnon place, where he stopped to make his introduction and see first-hand the horseflesh the famed Scot might have for sale. It was part of his cover, and he knew better than to pretend he’d visited MacKinnon prior to reaching Langholm. These Scottish clans were tight as bark to a tree, and he couldn’t risk saying he’d visited the stud farm when he hadn’t.
In the end, it had proved to be a profitable visit. The man had stock that interested him greatly.
Jeb pulled Goliath to a halt and stretched his shoulders. He wanted to laugh. Although he’d never admit it to the other members of the Traitor’s Club, he’d grown soft from life in London.
There’d been a time during the war—as he and Caleb and Hugh and Ford were forging their bond—when riding for days on end wouldn’t have bothered him in the least. Now he was stiff and sore and would be glad when he reached Langholm Castle. Which should be in less than two hours if the directions Dunworthy gave him were accurate.
Jeb was eager to reach his destination and return to England with the jewels. The closer he got to Langholm, however, the more eyes he felt at his back. The more the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. By the time he reached the graveled path that led to the castle, he noticed that the grounds were more heavily guarded than the crown jewels of England. But of course, that’s exactly what they were guarding.
Jeb had been warned of the heavy presence of sentinels, and he had to admit that if part of his fortune in jewels had gone missing, he’d want them heavily guarded, too.
He walked Goliath at a leisurely pace, not wanting to give any of the guards a reason to think he might be there to cause trouble.
They allowed him entrance, and when he reached the castle, he dismounted. A stable lad rushed to take his horse, and Jeb handed Goliath over with instructions to feed and water his mount, then give him an extra ration of grain.
After tossing the lad a coin, Jeb stepped up to the massive front door.
Before he could reach for the brass knocker, the door opened, and Jeb faced a stern-looking butler whose demeanor was better suited to a jailer than a nobleman’s servant.
“Mr. Jeb Danvers. I’ve come on behalf of my father, the Earl of Stafford, to pay my respects to Laird Langholm.”
The butler stepped back to allow Jeb to enter. “I’ll see if the laird is receiving.”
Jeb stepped into a beautiful entryway, and the butler closed the door behind him. As soon as he disappeared, Jeb moved around the grand entry, letting his joints adjust and taking in the opulence clearly meant to impress.
The interior of Langholm Castle reminded him of a manor home in most any part of England. Both the design and furnishings were English. It was obvious MacFarlane’s wife had a strong affection for England that she’d incorporated into her grand Scottish home.
The house was well kept, the wood was well polished, and the windows shone as if they’d been cleaned that very day.
But among the traditional pieces were some rare and expensive trappings. It was obvious that MacFarlane appreciated the finer things in life as well and enjoyed showing them off. Most notable among them was his collection of intricately crafted whalebone ships. Masted rigs of all sizes were cleverly displayed on priceless parquetry tables along the massive entry hall, interspersed with cleverly framed collections of battle spurs and military finery.
Before Jeb could take it all in, the butler returned.
“Follow me.”
There was not a hint of hospitality in the man as he led Jeb to a receiving room. “The laird will be with you shortly.”
Jeb entered the room, and the door whispered closed behind him.
The furniture that populated the room was grand and overstated and spoke of wealth and influence.
Jeb went from window to window, studying the view of the Langholm grounds, spotting the sentries. The park was massive and so lush with shrubbery and trees that it was a challenge to see any activity. He was looking out a set of wide glass-paned double doors that led to a terrace and inviting garden when he heard the door behind him open.
Jeb turned and got his first look at the Langholm laird.
The man emanated a powerful presence and carried himself like someone accustomed to being in control. He was tall and broad shouldered and wore his height to an impressive advantage.
MacFarlane’s hair was graying, much as Jeb’s father’s was, but the laugh lines that were present on his father’s face were absent from MacFarlane’s. So was any hint of warmth in MacFarlane’s steel-gray eyes. Jeb sensed MacFarlane was a man of whom he should be wary.
“Mr. Danvers,” MacFarlane said, entering the room. “What a pleasure to meet you. There’s no doubt you are Winston’s son. You resemble your father a great deal.”
“I will take that as a compliment, MacFarlane. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. My father sends his best regards.”
“Come, sit down. I look forward to hearing how your father has managed since we last saw one another.”
The laird’s demeanor took Jeb by surprise. The words he spoke were proper, cordial, welcoming. But his tone conveyed none of that. Jeb sat down in the chair MacFarlane indicated. Before they began their conversation, the door opened for a maid who entered with a tray of small sandwiches and cakes.
“Would you care for tea, or something stronger to banish the dust of the road?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer something stronger.”
MacFarlane laughed, then nodded to his butler to tend to the drinks.
Jeb took one of the glasses, grateful for the smooth, cool amber liquid. “Excellent,” he said. “Armenian?”
MacFarlane lifted his glass in toast to Jeb’s correct assumption. “I see you have Winston’s gift for recognizing fine brandy.”
“Another compliment,” Jeb said. “Yes, Father has always had august taste.”
“Then that hasn’t changed from our school days.” MacFarlane took a satisfying swallow, then lowered his glass. “So what brings you across the border? If I recall correctly, your family estate is far to the south.”
“Actually, I rode up from London. I have an interest in horseflesh and have just come from the MacKinnons.”
“Ah yes. MacKinnon has some of the finest broodmares in Scotland. Did you find anything that interested you?”