A Highlander Never Surrenders (16 page)

“Mayhap he fancies her.” Anne stepped toward him to help him with the knot. “It would explain why he is not the dashing, devilish rogue you all speak of.”

“Lass,” Angus uncorked the lid of his pouch of brew and offered it to her, “Graham Grant would stab himself in the innards before he handed his heart to any maiden. I have known him fer many a year. He is exactly what he appears to be, an angel wi’ horns.”

Hearing this, Robert nodded in agreement. Graham was a likable fellow, even while he took down his opponent’s castle. The taking of Kildun’s entire garrison with the MacGregors two years past was proof enough for Robert. He set his eyes on the narrow path Graham had taken with Claire. What if Anne was right? What if his best friend had not been honest with him, and he did indeed care for Claire? Could that be the cause of Graham’s morose mood? And would Robert stand in his way if Graham had finally found the woman who could tame his heart? He glanced at Anne. What of her? Would he be able to hand her over to James Buchanan when the time came, knowing that his heart would remain with her in Perth for the remainder of his days? He’d vowed to himself to always do the right thing. To take not the easy path, but the right one. How could making Graham’s, Claire’s, and his own life miserable be the right thing to do, even if the law demanded it? He would speak to General Monck. But first, he had to make Anne understand how necessary love was to him. He would not be seen as dishonorable, especially not in her eyes.

“My lady.” He turned to her after spreading out his blanket for her use and offered her his arm. “May I have a word with you alone?”

“Of course.” She accepted his arm and let him lead her away from the others.

“Your sister told me that you are familiar with Sir Thomas Malory’s tales of Arthur Pendragon and his noble knights,” he began slowly, thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on the ground ahead.

“Aye, I know them well.” The wistful pitch of her voice was enough to set his heart racing.

“You pretended to be Guinevere when you were a child.” He smiled at his boots and then raised his eyes to her to bask in her soft laughter.

“I drove my poor father daft, but I so wanted to be her.”

“Why?”

She sighed and tilted her face up at him to ponder his question. “Because she was loved by such an honorable man. She would have had to have been quite an extraordinary woman, do you not agree?”

Robert simply stared into her wide, haunting eyes and nodded. He wanted to touch her so badly it near doubled him over. What else was there to do but tell her? He knew now that she would understand.

“Your sister is very beautiful,” he said earnestly. “She’s very brave. Her devotion to you and to her cause is an exceptional quality.” Anne smiled at him, then looked away. “But,” he added, drawing her gaze back. “I do not love her.”

“Are you certain?” she asked him quietly, without a trace of anger in her honeyed voice.

Robert’s relief was evident in his smile when he nodded. “Aye, for my heart has been claimed by a queen.”

They were alone. Finally. Of all the things Claire wanted to say to him, shout at him, over the past sennight, she could remember none now. She glanced at Graham riding at her left. He’d changed her plans once again. She’d wanted a chance to speak to James alone. To tell him what she wanted him to do to help her and Anne escape the MacGregors and their two friends. Now she would not get that chance. She had to think clearly and not let Graham get in the way.

“D’ye love him?”

His question was so unexpected, Claire narrowly avoided getting struck by a branch in her path.

“What? Who?”

“Buchanan.”

She slowed her mount, and Graham slowed his. “What does that matter to you?” When his eyes hardened on her, her nostrils flared. “I have a question of my own, since we are asking. Why do you take such great care in avoiding me?”

For a moment, he looked as if he wouldn’t answer her. She let him know with a deliberate tilt of her chin that she would be just as stubborn.

“I’m ill,” he conceded vaguely.

“Och, I did not know. Is it something . . .” She paused, her concern turning to suspicion. “You converse with everyone else. This affliction is only a danger to me, then?”

“Ye are the cause of it.”

Anger sparked her eyes. “Is it the lack of anything truly important to you that makes you so cold, so uncaring toward the women who have shared with you something precious? You use all to gain for yourself alone.” He parted his lips to speak but Claire would not have it. She’d wanted to tell him this since the morning they left the inn. He had deliberately made her like him, and then treated her like the plague. He had kissed her, but each time only to prove that he could best her, if he so desired. Which, he made most evident, he had no desire to do. And the worst part? He did not care about any of it!

“Even warriors care about something,” she accused. “Where does your loyalty flow? To the Royalist MacGregors, or to the Roundhead Campbells? They call you commander, but you are truly just a rogue.”

His expression darkened. His lips tightened with anger, and his mount bucked and snorted forward at the pressure applied to its ribcage. Sensing the sudden danger to her well-being tempted Claire to reach for her sword.

“D’ye love him?” he asked again, refusing to be pulled into her fight, and proving to Claire once again the resolute command he held over his emotions.

“Aye, I love him!” she shouted at him, frustrated by his silly question. “I am considering wedding him because I want a husband to obey and a dozen babes at my breasts!”

The dark furrow of Graham’s brow vanished, and he smiled at her so suddenly, every moment but this one fled from her memory.

“What d’ye know of babes?”

She shrugged and quirked her mouth at him, liking the fact that he knew her enough already to appreciate the sheer absurdity of her declaration. “I know they need to eat.”

“And, one hopes, not all at the same time.” Graham laughed, and Claire joined him. She didn’t ask him again about the days that had passed between them. She wanted to put the past behind her and let her guard down a little with him. She wanted to laugh with him more often and not worry about who was besting whom. His mirth made her feel ridiculously lighthearted, a condition that was sorely lacking in her life since Connor died.

“So tell me about James Buchanan,” he said as his laughter faded.

“What do you want to know?”

“How long has he been a friend of your brother’s?”

“Since we were eight. Connor and I are . . . were twins.”

Graham studied her face, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “Do twins fight as often as other siblings do?”

“Connor and I had fights aplenty,” she laughed softly. “But he fought with James more. They were like true brothers.”

“I did not fight with my brother much. But my sisters bickered endlessly.”

Claire narrowed her eyes and snaked a grin at him. “Mayhap that explains your aversion to living with a woman.”

“Mayhap,” Graham agreed. “There were eleven of them.”

Claire let out a little gasp of surprise and repulsion. “Dear God, you poor man. Connor would have hanged himself if there had been eleven of us.”

“I spent much time with Callum as a boy. We fought all the time, but ’twas never serious. Who usually won?”

When Claire cast him a puzzled look, he clarified, “When Connor and James fought, who usually won?”

“Och, Connor did. All the time.”

They talked the entire way to Ravenglade, and Claire was glad they did. She saw a more open and genuine side of Graham. She had been wrong about his not caring for anyone. He cared deeply about his kin and his friends, and Claire found herself a bit envious of them. She was sorry she had said all those terrible things to him, but he seemed to have forgotten them, and that was fine with her.

“Do as I say,” she said in a low voice as they waited for the drawbridge to descend in front of them. “Give the others a chance to get accustomed to you and all will be fine.”

Graham didn’t answer, but scanned the entire inner bailey when it came into view. It was deserted but for a few bothies, a smith, and at least fifty men waiting on horseback on the other side of the drawbridge. Another fifty stood watching them from the battlements, alert to the visitors below.

“Impressive,” Graham muttered to Claire as the horsemen approached. “All Buchanans?”

“Hardly any Buchanans,” Claire told him. “These are mostly men who follow my brother. The Buchanans hold this land in fief for my cousin Charles, but Connor ruled here. All are outlaws, and don’t care who they kill.” She cut him a teasing glance. “So make sure they like you.

“Captain,” she called out, and a rider took the lead, reaching her first. The man looked happy enough to see her, but spared her only a brief look before his eyes settled on Graham.

“Steven, there is a group of men waiting beyond the forest. Anne is with them. They are Royalists, save one, and he is a friend. You will ride out now and bring them here while I inform James.”

The captain did not hesitate to do her bidding, even as another man, riding out from the rest, ordered him to make haste.

He sat tall in the saddle, his raven hair slicked back into a tight queue tied at his nape. His eyes were a deep shade of cobalt lit from within when he looked at Claire. Graham watched him closely as he offered Claire a loving smile and raised her hand to his lips.

“I should throttle your neck for leaving here without a word. I feared you dead.”

“Monck took Anne,” Claire informed him. “She has been safely returned to us,” she hastened to add when his expression went black. Graham eyed her, noting her use of the word “us.” “James, this is Commander Graham Grant. He and his companion . . .”

James finally turned to Graham. “Commander of the clan Grant?”

Graham shook his head. “The clan MacGregor.”

Looking rather impressed himself, James held his hand out to him. “Have you come to fight on our side? We certainly could use you.”

“James,” Claire drew his attention back to her. “Commander Grant and the MacGregors aided me in rescuing Anne. The rest of his men await safe approach.”

“They have it!” Buchanan ordered without hesitation. “They are welcome to stay for as long as they wish.”

“One night is sufficient,” Graham thanked him.

“James, they saved Anne with the invaluable aid of Lord Campbell of Argyll.”

“A Campbell?” James turned back to her, a deep frown marking his brow. “They are Roundheads, Claire.”

“Aye, I know that,” Claire agreed with a wry smile. She loved James dearly, but he had a way of speaking down to her, as if she could not possibly understand the ways of war, her being a woman and all. “I trust him.”

James lifted a doubtful brow at her, then offered her an indulgent smile. “There is much you need to tell me, I think.”

Claire nodded, then looked at Graham. How would she get James alone before the morning? Did she even want to anymore? Aye, she had no choice. James had to help her now. Once she and her sister reached Skye there would be no escaping the fearsome protection of the chieftain whose name his own men whispered. And all to be brought right back to Monck when he sent for them.

Chapter Fourteen

A
nd no enemy more deadly than the one who avoids the battlefield, yet covets the prize.

Graham decided that battling with his opponent only tempted him to kiss the insolence right off her mouth. So he continued to stay away from her. That didn’t mean he didn’t watch her. She’d only caught him twice, and both times he vowed not to look at her again. But his eyes were drawn to her whether she spoke to anyone or remained silent. Nights were the most agonizing, when she sat with Anne, her bonny face faintly illuminated by firelight. It required every ounce of strength he possessed not to fall, mesmerized by the perfect sublimity of her smiles. Sometimes, though, he found it impossible not to let his gaze linger on her, even after she found him watching.

But even depriving himself of all the pleasures he could find in her was not as difficult as seeing Robert staring at her across the same fire.

Since leaving Edinburgh, Robert had often tried to make conversation with the woman he was going to take as his wife. And for the first part of their journey, it was apparent by Rob’s sullen demeanor that they shared naught.

This changed on their way to Perth. They found one thing for which they both had a fondness. Claire’s sister drew them together with laughter and whispers that made Anne giggle, knowing they were about her.

It was enough to make Graham want to crack a few heads. Would he have to watch this budding romance between Claire and Robert bloom before his eyes? No, he would leave their company first. Better to see them off without him than to feel a prick of anger toward Robert. And better that Graham did his best to avoid her until then.

But Claire Stuart was not a lass easily ignored.

“This way,” Graham whispered as he crept low against the forest floor, his dagger in one hand and Donel’s lance in the other. Claire huddled close to him, straining to see through the overgrowth of bushes. She’d insisted on hunting with him this morning. He’d refused emphatically, but he was learning that Claire Stuart did what she wanted.