A Highlander Never Surrenders (11 page)

“Please, have a seat, my lords,” the steward offered, his voice echoing off the high hammer-beamed ceiling. “I will inform the governor that you await him, and then see to your drinks.”

“Good man.” Angus gave him a hearty pat on the back, nearly catapulting the steward into the hearth.

“He’d line up the members o’ Parliament and kiss every one o’ their bloody arses fer a drink,” Brodie complained to Robert when they were alone and the others had taken their seats around the table.

His burly cousin cast him a wounded look before he joined them. “We are here on goodwill,” he said as he sat. “I was tryin’ to be gracious to the poor sot. He looked frightened when he saw us, and I—”

“He should be frightened,” Brodie said sourly. “If there’s treachery here, they should all know well what they’re comin’ up against.”

“Monck has no reason to come against the MacGregors,” Robert asserted. “He isn’t that foolish.”

“The law has always been against us,” Brodie reminded him. “Mayhap he wants to show the other generals his strength and cunnin’ by killin’ outlaws far more deadly than Connor Stuart.” Hearing him, the rest of the MacGregors began whispering among themselves.

“Nae,” Robert insisted quietly. He had to stay their growing concern, or Claire would not be the only threat to General Monck’s safety. “Parliament accepted my pardon of your kin’s crimes when I became earl. The MacGregors have been left alone.”

“We’re still proscribed,” Brodie sneered. “Our heads are still worth much, and there is nae more Parliament. Mayhap, Claire Stuart is correct in her thinkin’ and the governor is no’ to be trusted.”

Robert stared at him across the table. “Callum would not have sent any of you if he believed that.”

“Callum doesna know what became o’ Connor Stuart.”

“Nor do I.” A voice at the entrance pulled their attention there. The man standing in the doorframe was tall, a full two heads taller than the woman beside him, her arm loosely coiled around the crook of his elbow. His eyes, slightly darker than his curly,shoulder-length hair, were a piercing shade of gray, like twin blades forged from the finest steel. He set them on Brodie first, and then on Robert.

“You have found Claire Stuart then?”

The woman with him lifted her face to the men. Her creamy complexion was slightly flushed. Herstorm-colored eyes were wide and as fathomless as the sea as she settled them on Robert.

Robert came slowly to his feet, though later, he did not remember moving, nor even breathing looking at her. It was Anne, for Claire had described her to perfection. She wore a flowing gown of pale coral, adding to the delicacy of her appearance. A thin circlet of beaten bronze wreathed her brow. Beneath it, a gossamer veil of white draped her long,loose-flowing hair, like a mist over a summer sunset. Her beauty was timeless, and he felt transported into another age when Scotland was young and maidens were fair and gentle beings who loved men for their honor.

Unable to take his gaze from her, he bowed before her. “I . . . ehm . . . I am Lord Robert Campbell.” He did not let himself forget his name, for he wanted her to know it. To come to know him.

“Have you found my sister, Lord Robert Campbell?” Her voice fell sweetly upon his ears. Her eyes did not blink while she waited for his reply.

“Aye, I’ve found her.” He was glad to tell her. But there was more, and for this he looked away and addressed the governor of Scotland as he led her into the hall. “But I have not found her brother. I fear he has perished in England.”

“Alas, we feared as much.” Monck rested his hand on Anne’s shoulder when she dipped her head to hide her tears.

Robert’s gaze hardened on the general as he took a step toward him. “Then . . . you knew?”

“He disappeared some months ago,” Monck said, offering Anne her seat. “Why do you think I sent you to find him and made haste bringing his sister here where I thought it safe?”

“I didn’t know why,” Robert answered truthfully.

“Now you do.” The general pulled out his chair and waited until Robert had returned to his own before he sat. “We have prepared for the worst news, but we did not expect you to bring it. My representatives are already in London engaged in other business. I have advised them to look into Stuart’s disappearance. I’ve dispatched three dozen others to search for Lady Stuart, but she is much like her brother. When she does not want to be found—”

“They are twins,” Anne said, turning to Robert.

“That explains much.” He smiled at the glistening warmth in her eyes when she spoke of her brother and sister.

“Is she well?”

“Aye, my lady. She waits anxiously to see you again.” He was rewarded with the faintest trace of a smile hovering about her mouth. When his gaze lingered on her, she looked away, veiling her eyes beneath a lush spray of russet lashes. He could smell her. Like the heather moors in the stillness of dawn, her scent washed over his senses, leaving him helpless to say or do anything but look at her. His gaze dipped to her lips, full and wide above a deeply cleft chin.

“How did you find her?” the general asked, hauling Robert’s attention to him once again.

“Quite by chance,” Robert answered. “We came upon her just before two of General Lambert’s men were about to . . .”

Monck bolted upright in his chair. His gray eyes sparked like lightning across a charcoal sky. “Lambert’s men are here in Scotland?” When Robert nodded, the general leaned back and rubbed his jaw, coming to some conclusion that drew his hand into a fist.

“And where is Lady Stuart now?” he asked, fixing his gaze on Robert.

“She’s safe,” Brodie informed him, shooting Robert a warning look to mind his mouth.

“I would see her.”

“There’s nae need,” Angus said, looking around for a server with their drinks. “If ye changed yer mind aboot trustin’ us with her safety, then we’ll leave now, withoot either o’ them.”

Monck sized up the beefy,auburn-haired Highlander with a penetrating, somewhat surprised look. “You are the one they call the Devil?”

“Nae,” Brodie answered again, “our laird had other matters to attend. We are here in his stead.”

When the general looked about to protest, Robert interjected. “My lord, I can vouch that these men are every bit as lethal as their chieftain. The sisters will be well protected with them until they reach Skye. I will escort them also, along with The MacGregor’s first in command, who waits with Lady Stuart while we speak.”

The general turned to Anne, then drew in a long breath before he returned his steady gaze to the others. “Your caution, even with me, is wise, though unnecessary.”

“That remains to be established,” Brodie murmured as two servers entered the hall with their refreshments.

Monck’s eyes drifted slowly back to the lethal-looking Highlander. Though his spine went stiff in his chair, his voice remained calm. “A legion of my own men were attacked outside Stirling; two were killed. Lambert and Fleetwood, who I might remind you all now practically rule the country, have made open accusations that I stand with the Royalists.”

“Do you?” Robert asked him after the drinks were served and the servers left.

“I stand alone, Argyll.”

“But it is true then, you were allied with Stuart?” Saying it gave Robert a sense of disquiet. So far, Claire had spoken the truth.

Monck lifted his flagon to his lips and sipped slowly, looking into its claret depths while he spoke. “He had my respect, and I his. That is all any of you need to know.”

“I need more than that,” Robert said, the determination to see that he got it burning in his eyes as he leaned over the table.

“Very well then. I will tell you only this, young man. Peace is more grievous to men in subjection, than war is to those who enjoy their liberties.”
^*

Robert nodded, and a ghost of a smile curved his lips. He understood, but there was one more thing he had to ask. “Is there any reason one might believe that you had something to do with Connor Stuart’s demise?”

Immediately, Anne’s face paled, and Robert was sorry to be discussing this in front of her.

“Absolutely not!” Anger passed over the general’s features, leaving them taut and hard. “Connor was my friend.” He turned to Anne and took her hand in his. “I will discover what happened to your brother, my dear, and justice will be done.”

While the general’s face was difficult to read, Anne’s was not. She wanted to believe him. She had no reason not to. She had no idea what her sister suspected. Claire had to be wrong. Robert just could not accept that the governor had had anything to do with Connor’s death. But he could not be absolutely certain, and for that reason, he found himself eager and impatient to protect her from whoever might do her harm. Delicate and quiet, she was nothing like her sister. He looked at her hand, alabaster smooth and elegant. This one had never wielded a sword. Her gaze was not bold, but rather shy and modest. Yet, there was strength in her, as well. She had controlled her sorrow and faced what her heart did not want to accept—her brother’s death. She did not recoil at the sight of twelve of the most feared Highlanders in Scotland, with whom she would soon be traveling, but sat among them unfazed. That is, until Angus, who had given only half his attention to the conversation from the moment the drinks were served, and the other half to the large cup clutched in his fingers, looked up.

“Ye said yer own men were attacked outside Stirling. This occurred after Stuart’s death, nae?” When Monck nodded, Angus shrugged his massive shoulders. “It sounds to me like whoever attacked yer men had somethin’ more personal against ye than the possibility of ye bein’ a Royalist. As Campbell said, there might be more than one who believe ye responsible fer Stuart’s death. Some of his followers, mayhap.”

Only because Robert was giving Anne his rapt attention did he notice the sudden flare of panic in her eyes. Every muscle in her body went tight, and she looked around the hall as if on the verge of fleeing.

She knew something. Why did she remain silent, Robert wondered, eyeing her? Was she protecting someone? A man, mayhap? Suddenly he understood Graham’s sour mood when Claire spoke of . . . “James Buchanan.”

Robert didn’t realize he had spoken the name aloud until Monck and Anne turned to him in unison. “What about him?” It was the general who spoke.

“How well do you know him, General?”

“Well enough for him to trust that I had naught to do with Connor’s death. He—” the governor paused suddenly, then said, “Is James dead, as well? I have neither seen nor heard from him in quite some time.”

“Lady Stuart told us that Buchanan lives,” Robert said and did not miss the gentle squeeze Monck gave to Anne’s hand.

“That is pleasing news. Lord Buchanan is a good man,” the general said, then turned to Angus. “This is not about revenge. Buchanan would never attack my men. My enemies and Stuart’s are the same. Does Claire know where to find Buchanan?” Monck asked Robert next.

“I presume she does,” Robert said.

“Good. I would have you deliver a message to him. Tell him I wish to see him and hear what happened to Connor from his own lips.”

“Of course,” Robert agreed. “But if I might ask, why have you not sent him a missive to question him sooner?”

“Because I do not know where the rebel army resides. And even if I did, I would not send a written missive to a known Royalist rebel. It is safer that way for all involved. That is why I must call on your service yet again. I need someone who is trustworthy. Will you aid me in this and deliver the message?”

Robert squared his shoulders. “Consider it done.”

The general nodded, then sighed, as if with great relief. Though his eyes remained somber, he smiled at the young earl. “Connor made it his duty to learn all about the lords of the realm. In the event of his demise, he wanted his sisters married to trustworthy men. He learned much about you.” He continued despite Robert’s look of disbelief. “He learned that you have remained unsoiled by the politics of the land. And that you are a man set apart from your grandfather and your uncle. He told me you have proven yourself to be fair and unprejudiced, and that those whom he questioned regarding you all agreed that you hold honor and integrity above all else.”

“That he does,” Angus agreed with a muffled belch.

“That is why I chose you to find him,” General Monck went on. “And why he asked that when I chose husbands for his sisters, it would be you whom Lady Claire Stuart weds—when this matter is settled, of course.”

Robert remained utterly still in his seat. Somewhere beyond his range of awareness, he heard Brodie snicker and swear an oath not fit for Lady Anne’s ears. He heard the general continue mercilessly about fate, and how God in His great wisdom had brought Claire to Robert when no one else could find her. He felt his gaze shift to Anne. Her eyes grew large and tender on him, her lips spread into a kind smile, almost sympathetic. Would she pat his hand next and try to assure him that he would not be miserable married to her warrior sister?

“Nae!” Robert sprang from his chair.

“Pardon?” Monck looked up at him, puzzlement marring his dark brow.

“Lady Stuart is not—” Robert’s eyes fell to Anne. Her displeasure at his harsh refusal was clearly visible in her unshielded expression. He was about to cause her great insult, and it sickened him. “She is violently opposed to Roundheads, my lord. She will refuse me, and I—”