A Highlander Never Surrenders (21 page)

“What choice do I have?” she bit out acidly.

He nodded, proving that he gave her no choice at all. “Ye will do as I say and obey my commands. If we are forced to fight our way out, many lives will be lost on both sides.”

Claire conceded with a tight nod and let him and Robert lead her down the stairs. What else could she do? If she screamed, Steven would come running. A battle would ensue, and Claire would have to choose a side on which to fight. She was angry with Graham, but she knew she couldn’t fight against him.

When they reached the bottom step, Graham surveyed the great hall with sharp eyes. He found Steven first, seated now, his face wiped clean of blood. He moved on until he found the man he sought.

A subtle nod from his longtime commander pulled Brodie to his feet. Within an instant, the silent order passed throughout the hall and every MacGregor followed. They were leaving—and they might need to fight to get out. Being warriors, they knew that ofttimes hasty retreats could not be avoided. There was no cowardice in it. They would fight another day.

Angus led the group across the crowded floor, his bulk carving a straight path to Graham. Robert dashed to their table and escorted Anne back to his group.

“To the stables,” Graham commanded. “Angus and Donel will hold the rear while Robert and I lower the drawbridge.” He looked up at his burly friend. “Angus, if anyone goes after them, take off their heads.”

“Nae!” Claire whispered hotly. She would not stand by while the MacGregors slaughtered Connor’s men.

Graham cut his gaze to her and then withdrew his order and told Angus to make them sleep instead.

“Claire, what is going on?” Anne’s eyes were wide with fear as she clutched her sister’s wrist.

“Where is the drawbridge room, Claire?” Graham demanded, cutting off her reply to Anne.

Casting him a reproachful look, she told him and then gave her sister a slight shove forward, following the others out the doors.

When they reached the stables, Brodie pushed her into the darkness. “Ye know where the stalls are. They need to be opened, now.”

Claire sprinted to the stalls and released the horses as Angus and Donel joined them, unimpeded. Brodie was the first to mount and the first one out. Claire took last position with Anne between herself and Angus. They sped across the moonlit bailey, halting at the drawbridge and waiting for it to descend.

Satan’s balls, what should I do?
Claire looked behind her. Her instincts told her to go back. She could not abandon James. He would never forgive her. But if she returned, Graham would kill him. She was certain of it. Why? Why did he suspect James of such a terrible thing? Would he and Robert go to Monck with their suspicions? No, they had no proof. They could do nothing.
Nothing but kill him themselves.
Dear God, were they doing that now?

“Claire, please tell me what is going on?” Her sister’s terrified voice pulled her attention back. “Why are we fleeing like this? What has happened?”

“A misunderstanding,” Claire promised lightly. “I will explain it to you later, but there is naught to fret over.”

When the massive chains of the drawbridge screeched and rolled through Claire’s ears, she closed her eyes and tried to quiet her pounding heart. They’d gone directly to the drawbridge room as Graham had said. Relief flooded through her. James was still alive.

The thick planks were going down fast. Too fast. She pulled her shoulders around her ears as the drawbridge smashed down, sending dirt and splinters flying.

“Let’s go!” she heard Brodie order, and joined him as he flew across.

When they reached the other side, Claire wheeled her horse around. The men of Ravenglade had to have heard that! She was right. The captain was the first one out, followed by a charge of others. To her right, Claire caught a flash of metal beneath the moonlight as Brodie unsheathed his long claymore.

“Steven, stop! Do not come across!” Claire shouted at him, and was not surprised when he obeyed, calling a halt to the rest.

“My lady, what is the meaning of this?” He motioned to the drawbridge, having no idea why she, her sister, and the MacGregors were on the other side.

“I am afraid we must leave. We have a long journey ahead, you know.” She prayed with all her heart for some miracle that would make the captain simply smile and wave them farewell. She groaned when Steven began to advance again.

“Why are there only fourteen horses with you?” He peered across the bridge at them, straining to see who was missing, but it was too dark and too far. “Where are the other two riders?”

Claire glanced at the castle gate. Aye, where the hell were Graham and Robert? How were they going to get past Steven and the small army behind him? Her fingers tightened on her reins, but she managed to keep her voice steady as she called out, “They are receiving rations from Amish, the cook. They should be along any moment now. Ah,” she smiled past Steven’s shoulder at Graham and Robert rounding the lists, their horses tearing up the earth behind them. “Here they are now.” She swung her gaze back to Steven when he reached for his sword. “Captain, you shall let them pass.”

To her chagrin and distress, Steven did not obey her this time. With a commander’s shout, he ordered his men into battle formation. Fortunately, most of them were too drunk to know their direction.

With a curse that bit at the wind, Claire ripped her cap from her belt, yanked her braid up into it, and charged her mount over the drawbridge. She had to stop Steven before he lifted his blade to Graham and the twelve strapping Highlanders behind her rushed into the fray. She meant to stop the captain, not kill him. So when she came upon him, she whipped her sword across her chest and brought it back hard against his, knocking it from his hand.

“Captain, you will call a halt!” she commanded with the same force her brother would have used, and looking much like him, wearing his cap. Her blade flashed beneath the moonlight as its tip came to rest against Steven’s throat. “Do not make me tell you a third time.”

Steven stared up at her with muted fury, but he did nothing while Robert sped past them and onward to Anne. Graham slowed his mount to a halt when he reached Claire.

“This was all a terrible misunderstanding, Steven,” Claire promised the captain, with regret softening her voice. “I will return and give a full account. But for now, you must do as I say.” She sheathed her blade and snapped her reins, taking off with Graham over the drawbridge without another word.

Chapter Nineteen

W
hat is there to trust, save what we have been taught?

They were not followed into the black woods. Still, they rode on through the labyrinth of thick oak and birch for leagues, until the next morn. They traveled west, avoiding Killiekrankie and James’s waiting men, and did not stop until they reached the banks of Loch Tay.

In silence, Claire helped her sister dismount. Anne’s legs buckled beneath her from being in the saddle so long, but as she led her away, Claire praised her for not issuing a word of complaint. Graham watched them as they reached the center of the small, sunlit clearing and Claire laid out her sister’s pallet. His eyes followed her a moment later when Claire cut across the campsite and squatted at the edge of the loch to dip her hands in the water. He wanted to go to her, to take her in his arms and make certain that nothing more than her lip had been injured. Hell, he’d never forget how she looked when she told him she hated him. She was angry with him for making her leave Ravenglade and for pounding Buchanan’s face into the wall when she should be grateful that he did not skewer the bastard after seeing her bloody mouth. How was he to know that her injury was accidental? While they rode, Robert had told him what happened in Ravenglade’s solar. She believed in Buchanan’s innocence, and Graham could not fault her for it. Such betrayal from a friend was difficult to accept. He would not force her to listen to any more of his charges against the man she considered her friend. She was safe, for now, away from her brother’s killer. They had to tell General Monck, of course, but that could wait until after they reached Skye. What happened after that, Graham did not want to ponder. Monck would go forward with his marriage arrangement for Claire and Rob. But what of Anne, now that her betrothed was sure to hang?

Rob had said naught of the passionate kiss he’d witnessed between his best friend and his betrothed in the lists, and Graham almost wished he had. He had had many lasses—could have his pick of dozens more. Was he so black-hearted that he sought to take his friend’s woman? What was this madness that made him desire Claire Stuart more than any other?

He cursed fate for bringing him to her. How the hell could his life change so profoundly in so short a time? He could not think clearly on anything but her. Not battle. Not women. Just her. Her mouth. Her eyes. Her hair. Her scent. He knew how she walked, talked, ate, breathed. It was driving him mad. Hell, even when she punched him in the mouth he wanted to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless. His gaze settled on her again. She snatched his breath away, even looking like a lad . . .

He moved toward her as if his legs had a mind of their own. His eyes were fastened to the bonnet on her head. Hell, he’d been right. Fear gripped him as never before when he thought of her fighting the governor’s men alone.

When he reached her, he bent his knees beside her and looked out over the water. “ ’Twas ye who had attacked Monck’s men.”

She nodded without looking at him. “Monck betrayed Connor.”

“I do not believe he did,” he said quietly, turning to look at her. “Hell, Claire, ye could have been killed.”

“I wasn’t.”

He studied her profile while she kept her gaze on the loch. He didn’t know whether to shake her for being so foolish, or admire her courage and skill. How in blazes had Connor lived each day without being sick with fear for her safety? He taught her to fight like a man, Graham answered himself. More than that, her brother had trained her to be a warrior. And yet, here she was, a lass, more bonny than any other, setting his heart aflame with a need that rattled him to his core.

“You and Robert are wrong,” she said quietly. “James loved Connor. He did not betray him, and I shall never forgive you for striking him.”

“I struck him because I thought he struck ye,” he corrected her. When she finally tilted her face to look at him, the curious quirk of her flaxen brow, the vivid bonny blue of her eyes hit him like a kick in the guts. He turned away, knowing that if she looked into his eyes she would perceive a weakness in him that scared the hell out of him. A weakness for her, and her alone. He was a Highland warrior, willing to fight any war, but even he knew enough to flee when defeat was imminent. He stood up and left her, and did not look back. When he passed Robert, he guiltily avoided his friend’s gaze. Snapping up Angus’s pouch as it came to the big man’s lips, Graham pushed through the dense forest growth until it swallowed him up.

Claire watched him go, wishing, for the first time in her life, that she possessed the candid abandon of her sister. Anne would have called him back, casting discipline and pride to the wind. Claire wanted to know what it was about her that had changed an arrogant rogue into a brooding bear. He’d practically taken off James’s head because of her, not because of Connor. But he’d threatened to kill her dearest friend, she reminded herself. He’d forced her to leave Ravenglade in a way that would convince poor James that she, too, believed in his guilt. Och, how could Graham suspect him? She understood that Graham didn’t know James the way she did, but what reason could he possibly have for believing the one man who loved her brother as much as she did had led him to his death? Was there another reason for his accusation? Graham had demanded to know if she loved James. Could he be jealous? She was trained to trust her instincts, and her instincts were telling her that Graham had softened to her. It was in the way he kissed her, with both possession and surrender. It was in his eyes, always on her, and in the way he looked at her, as if she delighted him and tortured him but a moment later. Did he care for her? No, he was a self-professed rogue of the worst sort. Besides, she didn’t truly believe that Graham was the kind of man who would kill another out of jealousy.

This was all her fault. She had allowed Graham to trick her into telling him things about James that could be incriminating. Graham Grant was a warrior who knew how to wield his devastating charm as well as he wielded his fists in order to get what he wanted.

Aye, she remembered his promise not to be bested by her, how effortlessly he had smiled at James’s side in the great hall while he conspired against him. She wanted to believe the aching need in Graham’s kiss in Ravenglade’s lists was real. But how could it be when the instant it was over, he had the look of a man who hated himself? She glared in the direction he’d gone. She wanted to know why he accused James, and what he planned on doing about it. She was also damned good and tired of being the source of his sour mood. Did he find her so unappealing that trying to win her favor, whatever his rogue heart wanted it for, repulsed him? Determined to get some answers, she straightened, dusted off her trews, and took off after him.

Claire elbowed her way through prickly branches, climbed over rocks, and fought swarms of gnats, cursing all the way. Where in blazes was he? Satan’s balls, if he was drunk and fell into the hands of thieves, she’d kill him. Why the hell was she even looking for him when she could have just waited for his return to put her questions to him? She fought vehemently to convince herself that she was not some addlebrained wench chasing after him the way Lianne had at the inn. She would let him know that, as well!