As High as the Heavens (21 page)

"So, now ye're accusing me of becoming dim-witted,
are ye?"

Duncan sighed and rolled his eyes. "Women!"

Grabbing up her warm cloak and the thick woolen
mittens Fiona had knitted for her, he handed them to
Heather, opened the front door, and gently but firmly
ushered her outside.

The sun was bright, the snow sparkled as if it had
been sprinkled with millions of tiny diamonds, and the
air was crisp and bracing. Heather threw on her cloak
and donned her mittens. Then, after a narrow look at
Duncan, she headed out in the direction of the frozen
pond. Beth soon followed, the two men bringing up the
rear with the stone and four brooms.

As she walked along a path leading down to the pond
Duncan had cleared earlier, Heather reluctantly admitted that he had been right. Getting out into the fresh air and sunshine would indeed do her a world of good.
Already she felt revitalized, and eagerly anticipated the
excitement of playing an ancient Scottish sport.

A thick layer of snow blanketed the pines, their overburdened forms drooping like an army of weary soldiers.
The tang of peat smoke wafting from the cottage's chimney mingled with the clean, crisp Highland air. In the
distance a mountain cat screamed. High overhead an
eagle shrieked and soared.

It was indeed a grand and glorious day, Heather
thought, glancing about her. A day overflowing with
promise. A day that stirred the blood and gratified the
heart. A day to share with good friends ... and one very
special man.

"For a lass who didn't even wish to step foot outside,"
Duncan observed, catching up with her at last, "ye're
certainly keeping a lively pace. Dare I hope ye've changed
yer mind and are now in agreement with me?"

Heather shot him a slanting look. "It's a beautiful day.
I'll give ye that. The game, however, is quite another
matter."

"But now ye're willing, leastwise, to try it?"

"Aye, I suppose so."

Duncan gave a shout of laughter.

"Well, don't go on so about it," Heather grumbled, even
as his exuberant delight secretly pleased her. "It isn't as
if ye've beaten me at anything besides chess, ye know."

"Nay, I suppose not." Duncan halted a few feet from
the pond. "It's a good beginning, though."

"A beginning to what?" Heather asked, instantly suspicious.

"Why, to transforming ye into a braw, bonny Highland
lass, of course."

Heather gave a snort of disdain. "Ye dream wild
dreams, Duncan Mackenzie. I've no intention of becoming a Highland lass or even of ever returning to the
Highlands, once these remaining months with ye are
over. I'm a Gordon, born and bred, and my first duty is
to my family and home."

He shrugged, apparently unperturbed. "Mayhap and
mayhap not. Have ye forgotten that yer mither was a
Mackenzie? That already makes ye half Highlander. Besides, ye shouldn't close yerself off to new possibilities or
change. To do so shrivels the soul and limits the mind. Be
open, lass. Live life. Experience all its great potential."

He gestured about him. "And see what is truly before
ye. What the good Lord, in His infinite love, has done
for ye."

"The good Lord?" Heather's mouth twisted in derision.
"I long ago lost hope in aught He could do for me. Still,
that failed hope does naught to lessen the beauty of this
day, or the fine company I'm keeping." She laughed.
"Indeed, I'm wondering if the fine weather and glorious
scenery always brings out the poet in ye?"

"Only in the Highlands, lass," he said with a grin.
"Only in the Highlands."

Aye, she thought, there was indeed something about
being in the Highlands. Perhaps it was in her blood more
deeply than she cared to admit. Or perhaps it was the
fresh mountain air and the simple yet healthy life she
had been living since her arrival. Or perhaps, just per haps, it was the exhilarating effect a certain handsome
Highlander had upon her.

It didn't matter. One way or another her time here
was limited. Already a full month had passed and only
two remained. Then, only three months more after that,
she'd be wed. Wed to a kind, well-born man, but a man
who wasn't and would never be a man the like of Duncan Mackenzie.

As quickly as that thought struck Heather, she shook
it off. "Well, are we going to stand here all day," she
inquired with a forced brightness, "or do ye intend to
teach me curling?"

"Och, aye ... It's simple really The object is to slide
a stone down the length of the pond and come as close
to a marker as possible. To move the stone along and
control its direction, ye sweep the ice in front of the
stone with the brooms."

"I take it there'll be two teams?"

"Aye."

"Men against women?"

"That wouldn't be fair."

Heather considered for a moment. "Fine. Then I
choose Tavish."

Duncan eyed her, then shrugged. "Have it yer way. I'll
warn ye now, though. I'm one of the best curling players
in all of Kintail."

She laughed. "And ye don't like to lose at aught, do
ye?"

He grinned. "Nay, I don't. But ye knew that already,
didn't ye?"

Though his words and smile were lighthearted, there was an added meaning in the look he sent her ... a
hot, piercing, determined look. He hadn't forgotten for
a minute, Heather realized with a forbidden thrill, about
the ceilidh or their kiss, or the things said between them
that night. He hadn't forgotten and had no intention ever
of allowing her to forget, either.

Beth and Tavish, talking and laughing, arrived at that
moment. Grateful for the interruption, Heather turned
to them. Already their faces were flushed and their eyes
sparkled each time they looked at each other. Heather
smiled. If she didn't miss her guess, her maidservant
would leave the Highlands with a future husband in
tow.

"Tavish is my partner. Ye're paired with Duncan,"
she informed her maid. At the crestfallen look in Beth's
eyes, Heather laughed. "Come, come now. The way ye
two moon over each other of late, it'd hardly be much
of a game if ye and Tavish played together, and well ye
know it."

She took three brooms from Tavish, handing one to
Duncan, one to Beth, and keeping the third for herself.

"Lead on." She motioned Duncan forward with an
impatient wave of her hand.

The next two hours sped by in a gleeful if frenzied
melee, interspersed with frequent mishaps that sent one
or more players tumbling to the ice as they raced up and
down the pond. True to his word, Duncan maintained
an overwhelming command of the curling stone, scoring point after point with only minimal assistance from
Beth. Heather, however, refused to admit defeat.

She dove repeatedly in front of Duncan, her broom
sweeping furiously before her. Most times, however, she
succeeded in accomplishing little more than temporarily
diverting his forward progress before he nimbly dodged
and continued forward once more. In spite of Heather
and Tavish's repeated dismal defeats, there was laughter,
spills, and invigorating exertion. Before the foursome
realized it, Malcolm was calling them to the midday
meal.

Flushed, damp with perspiration, her cloak and much
of her skirts a sodden mess, Heather followed Beth and
Tavish back up toward the cottage. Duncan soon joined
her.

"Ye look most becoming with yer red cheeks and hair
all askew," he said, grinning down at her. "And ye played
a most ferocious, if bumbling, game."

"Grant me but a few more weeks of practice," Heather
replied tartly, "and then dare call me bumbling."

"With the natural talent ye displayed today, I'd be a fool
to dare such a thing." Duncan's grin faded. "The spring
thaw, though, will soon be upon us. The pond ice will
thin rapidly and become unstable. I'd wager we'll have
few opportunities safely to play again."

Heather pretended affront. "And isn't it so like ye to
teach me a game ye know I'll never have the chance to
master? Must ye always be the one who is best at everything?"

"Nay." His expression turned serious. "Indeed, the
thing I want most to be best at seems the one thing I'll
never achieve."

Heather's steps slowed. "And pray, what might that
be?"

"Think on it, lass," was his enigmatic reply. "Then tell
me if ye can't guess what I want most in the world."

There was something in his eyes, something deep and
dark and intense, that should've warned Heather not to
press further. Yet that look of yearning, mingled with
a fleeting vulnerability, beckoned with an irresistible
force. That a man could feel so deeply about anything
intrigued her. What a man wanted deeply was always a
good measure of that man.

Heather drew to a halt and turned to him. "Truly,
Duncan. I don't know. I'd be most interested, though, in
hearing what it is ye want most in the world."

"And why is that, lass?"

She smiled. "Why else? It'd help me to understand
ye better."

"Am I such a mystery to ye then?"

"Aye, that ye are. Ye're not at all the simple Highlander
I first imagined ye to be."

He glanced away, finding sudden interest in the distant, snow-capped mountains. After a long moment,
Duncan turned back to her.

"Not at all the simple Highlander, eh?" He sighed. "I'll
tell ye true, lass. It'd be far better for me if I were."

Unease twined about Heather's heart. Was he already
beginning to regret this masquerade he was preparing
himself for?

"Mayhap," she finally said, knowing she must make
some sort of comment. "But then, I can't say I'd find ye as interesting, or that ye would've suited as well for the
role ye must soon play."

"Aye, but when it's all over ye'll return to yer fine life,
as I must to the only life I know." As he spoke, a haunted
expression shadowed Duncan's eyes. "Yet, in all truth,
will it ever be the life I'll want again? It's a bothersome
question. A question that, of late, gnaws most mercilessly
at me. It's a question, as well, that frightens me, Heather.
It frightens me like naught I've ever known before."

Heather stared back at Duncan. It tore at her heart to
hear him voice the same fears that had been hers since
that January day her father had first revealed his plan to
rescue the queen. It was bad enough she'd had to carry
the secret with her all these months, a secret that had
grown increasingly difficult to keep the longer she had
come to know Duncan. But it was a secret she had still
vowed to uphold.

Was there nothing she could say to ease his pain without revealing what she dared not reveal? His fears were
justifiable. He cared for his parents; he was a man who
took his responsibilities seriously. But he was also a man
who seemed to need more than what a simple Highland
life could ever give.

In the past, it was evident Duncan filled whatever
free time he had with as much intellectual and artistic
stimulation as could be found in such a remote and
rustic place. He had his books, his wood carving, and
now, Heather thought with a tiny smile, he also had his
chess. But what if, after learning all she had to teach him, then pretending to the life of a nobleman for the brief
time it took to rescue the queen, Duncan discovered a
hunger for what had always truly been his birthright?
What would he do then?

He was a man who straddled two worlds-the world
of a simple Highlander as well as one of a Scottish lord.
Would either world truly accept him, though, once he
knew the truth? Duncan's twin might well hate his
brother for his involvement in the plot to rescue the
queen. He might also hate him for the possible threat
to Colin's now sole right to the Stewart estates. Indeed,
if Duncan were truly the firstborn of the two ...

None of that mattered; none of that could be ascertained or resolved just now. All that mattered was Duncan. Duncan, who stood before her, his eyes shadowed
with pain, his expression bleak and confused.

Impulsively, Heather reached out and took his hand.
"Dinna fash yerself," she said, squeezing his hand in a
gesture of comfort. "It'll all work out in the end."

He smiled sadly. "Ye're sweet to say so, lass. But already, since meeting ye I know my life has changed. And
if, when it's all over, I lose ye-"

"Och, Duncan. Don't say it. Don't say it!" She tugged
on his hand, attempting to pull him toward the house.
"This isn't the right time for such words."

Duncan dug in his heels, refusing to be led away. "Will
there ever be a right time, lass?"

A pair of penetrating green eyes locked with hers. A
pair of eyes brimming with hope-and an unguarded
look of love that took Heather's breath away. Panic rose
to squeeze the breath from her lungs.

Frantically, she glanced around, seeking Beth, Tavish-anyone. To her dismay, everyone had already gone
inside. There was no hope for succor, no rescue. She
forced herself to meet Duncan's steady gaze.

"I-I can't say if there'll ever be a right time," she began
slowly, choking back the response she truly wished to
give. "Mayhap ... when all this is over, but I can't promise
ye aught. Though we seem to share much in common,
there are yet things on which we differ greatly."