Page 35

“You will deliver Ormonde and your brother William to me.” Richard Cromwell flicked the ends of his hair over his shoulders, a habit that Jamie was finding particularly irritating. “Their heads will suffice.”

“Who are you to order me?” Jamie paused before the grave of Maggie Wall. Once such an inspiration, it now served as a bitter reminder of how Will had thwarted his plans yet again.

Oliver Cromwell’s half-wit son had shown up on the doorstep of Duncrub Castle, bold as day.

Jamie promptly whisked him to someplace more discreet.

Robertson’s untimely death had riled the minister’s followers and set village tongues to wagging, and he dared not bring undue attention onto the Rollo household.

“Is that an order from your father?” Jamie asked.

“My father is dead.”

“Ah.” Oliver Cromwell, dead? The news silenced Jamie, his mind barraged by a thousand different thoughts. Would Cromwell’s death mean the restoration of the King? Would Parliamentarians like him find their fates on the gallows?

“And who takes over in his stead?” Jamie finally asked.

“I,” Richard said simply. He removed a large handkerchief from his pocket and fastidiously spread it over a large rock. He sat, crossing his legs primly at the ankles. “Richard Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland. I quite like the sound.”

Could it be true? Could Oliver Cromwell truly have designated his underachieving third son as his successor? And should this half-wit fail? They’d all be hanged as traitors.

“I shall mourn your father,” Jamie told him carefully.

Richard gave a mute nod and another flick over his shoulders, and Jamie thought his pale hair and weak features gave the impression of a diluted version of the elder Cromwell.

“Oliver Cromwell was one of the last, great men. His death must have been a shock to your family.”

“Indeed. Thankfully it didn’t happen before he had the opportunity to name me his successor.” Dusting a leaf from his trousers, he scanned his eyes slowly over Jamie. “My father spoke of you. I was curious to meet you. The infamous eldest Rollo.”

Jamie bristled. When would he be seen as his own person? He was always lumped with the Rollo men. Tiresome and self-righteous, the lot of them.

“How is it to have a crippled war hero for a brother?” Richard asked suddenly. “It must’ve stung when he bested you at the Tower.”

Jamie was grateful his face was turned. Tread with care. He schooled his emotions, smoothing the loathing from his face. “I would’ve traveled to you, in London,” he said, ignoring the jibe. “Upon hearing the news.”

“But I find it illuminating to meet men in their own province,” Richard said, taking in the woods around them.

“There is no better way to take the measure of a man than unguarded and among his family. And your Perthshire has a peculiar . . . charm. Maggie Wall. Peculiar indeed,” he added with distaste, studying the crudely painted grave marker.

“Though I would’ve liked to see the actual inside of your home. ”

“Too much danger has crossed my mother’s doorstep already.”

“A dutiful son.” Richard nodded. “If only we could see the same sense of duty applied to the Parliamentary cause.”

Jamie was struck speechless, and Cromwell took advantage. “I too am a dutiful son,” he continued. “And carry on I must. It appears our Royalist enemies have found ways to communicate. Correspondence has been making its way to the King.”

“Beg pardon,” Jamie said in mock innocence. Though he knew he should proceed with caution, this little meeting had him feeling decidedly testy. “But we no longer call Charles II king, correct?”

“Spare me the academics.” Richard’s lip twitched in a petulant grimace. The man was silent for a moment, presumably deliberate, the intention for Jamie to feel his wrath. But Jamie found it had quite the opposite effect, almost comic.

Weak-chinned buffoon.

All had heard of Oliver’s attempts to discipline Richard, to train him, hammer a backbone into the man. But Oliver could lay in his deathbed and call his son a leader, and still it wouldn’t make him one.

“As I was saying, the death of my father gives these Royalists fresh hope. The people have gotten the idea they need”—he scowled—“ representation in the Parliament. More and more rally each day to restore the King.”

“Englishmen do love their monarchs,” Jamie muttered. I could always flee to France. Escape the wrath of a restored king, should this half-wit fail.

“But I’d have the people love me .”

Or I could find myself an exotic whore and wait this out in the Indies. Jamie could barely conceal his disdain. “It’s not the people whose love you require. As I understand it, you’re finding few friends among the military.”

“And that’s where you come in, Rollo.” Cromwell’s eyes narrowed, and Jamie wondered where in hell this could be going.

“If I were to bring down this secret Sealed Knot group, it would do much to earn confidence. Ormonde is a member, and it seems your own brother must be too. Both men were in our hands, and both you lost.”

My damned brother. Always it comes back to damned Willie. “It wasn’t my brother who was imprisoned. It was his woman.”

“Beside the point. I don’t understand why my father put up with you.

” Richard shook his head as if disappointed in a willful child.

“You were asked to keep a handle on Ormonde. He escaped on your watch, and now he ferries back and forth, easy as you please, carrying letters to and from Charles as if he were a goddamned pigeon.”

Jamie had to look away. He refused to suffer such scolding. Richard had been ineffectual when he was merely Cromwell’s third son, and Jamie couldn’t imagine he’d be any more capable now.

He glimpsed Richard’s lizard smile out of the corner of his eyes. The man thought he’d scored a victory, and it made Jamie’s blood boil.

“What’s important to you?” Richard pressed. “Because if it’s advancement, I suggest you do what you can to squash these Royalists. Retrieve your brother, retrieve Ormonde, get a handle on these things which have spun out of your control.”

Out of my control?

Jamie wondered about true leaders and what special quality it was that sparked fear in the hearts of their men. For though Richard was giving him a talking-to, Jamie couldn’t muster enough respect even to look the man directly in the eye.

“Your father doubted neither my commitment nor my abilities,” Jamie said coldly. No man, not even this fool, will doubt my abilities ever again. “I will do these things for you. I will bring you my brother.”

“Yes, you will.” Richard flicked his hair. “As I’ve said, his head will suffice.”