As High as the Heavens (22 page)

"Besides the difference in our social standing, ye
mean?"

"Aye, that and the fact ye seem a God-fearing man,
while I ... I no longer bear any such reverent or loving
feelings for God in my heart."

"And would ye care to tell me why that's so, lass?" He
stared down at her, a troubled look in his eyes. "Surely ye
didn't always feel such animosity toward the Lord?"

"Nay." Heather glanced away. "My mither was a kind,
generous, deeply religious woman. If anyone deserved
the Lord's favor, it was she. But He turned His back on
her in so verra many ways, and she died in such pain.
Such deep pain and despair. And, all the while, those
who lived lives of selfishness and betrayal continued on,
unscathed and indifferent."

She riveted her anger-bright gaze back to him. "I'll
never forgive God for that. He's not fair. He doesn't
care!"

Duncan took her hand. "Och, lass. Be assured that,
with the Lord, no good is ever lost. And He does care.
Indeed, His love's unfailing and as high as the heavens.
Sometimes, though, it seems as if there's no reward for faithfulness, that all hope has died and there's little point
in continuing on. Yet it's in those darkest times that the
Lord is closest, bearing us up. All we must do is cling
to Him and believe."

"Believe?" Her lips curled in derision. "And what is
there to believe in? That the good reap pain and rejection and despair for their efforts, while the evil ones go
through life untouched? That the harder one tries to love
and serve God, the greater the trials?"

He sighed and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "It
may well seem so at times, that I'll grant ye. And man,
being the weak creature that he is, always finds it easier
to settle for less than to take the right turn, to choose
ideals instead of baser things. Nonetheless, whichever
path we choose, whether we believe in God or not, no
one walks through life unscathed. A spiritual person,
though, isn't destroyed or made worse by the pain. And
even our weakness, our doubts and fears, can lead us
closer to God if we let them."

Once more, anger welled, and Heather gave voice to
bitter thoughts she knew she should've kept to herself.
"Fine words," she muttered, looking down, "coming from
a man who has never experienced a moment of weakness or been brought low by doubts and fears. Who has
never lost someone more dear than life itself."

"And so I can't understand aught of what ye're going
through? Is that it, lass?" Duncan released her hand.
"That I'm one of those folk who, therefore, goes through
life unscathed and indifferent?"

Frustration filled her. Och, now she had gone and
done it for sure!

"Nay, I didn't mean it like that! I just meant ..."

As she spoke, Heather forced herself once more to
meet Duncan's gaze. To her surprise, there was no answering anger burning there. There was nothing but
compassion and love, such love! Further words or attempts at explanation shriveled and died in her throat.

"Then what did ye mean, lass?" As if determined not
to permit her to shy away from him or what seemed a
rapidly disintegrating conversation, he grasped her by
both arms. "That I've never been truly tested-neither
my faith nor my courage? And that, until I am, all
my fine claims to honor and integrity and trust in the
Lord aren't worth much? Is that what ye really meant
to say?"

Aye, that's exactly what I meant, Heather thought, going
stiff and unyielding in his clasp. But she also knew she
had already said far more than was kind or wise. Let
Duncan have his deluded faith in God. He obviously
needed it.

She, on the other hand, didn't need anything to do with
God anymore. Despite Duncan's claims to the contrary,
she had never felt God's presence in those dark days
when her mother lay dying-a failing that hadn't been
for want of trying. The long, fruitless, despairing hours
on her knees had produced nothing, however, but coldstiffened joints and an aching back.

Heather expelled a deep breath. "It's not my place to
pass judgment on ye and yer religious beliefs. I beg yer
pardon for my unkind words. Best, though, from here
on out that we not speak-"

"Duncan! Heather! Dinner grows cold while ye two
stand out there jabbering."

At the sound of Fiona's voice, overlaid with a thinly
veiled anger, Heather jumped back. Immediately, Duncan released her. Like two sheepish children caught in a
disobedient act, they wheeled about to face Fiona.

For a long moment the older woman, hands on hips,
met and held Heather's gaze. Then, with a disgusted
shake of her head, Fiona turned and hobbled back into
the cottage.

Without another word or look in Duncan's direction,
Heather followed quickly after.

"A word wi' ye, hinny," Fiona said. "In private, if ye
please."

Heather glanced up from the book of Dunbar's poems
she was reading and met Fiona's gaze. The older woman's
glance was anything but warm. After three days of little
conversation between her and Fiona save for what was
absolutely necessary, Heather knew the moment of reckoning had finally arrived. Silently and without protest
she marked her page, closed her book, and set it aside
on the table. Then she rose and walked across the common room and into her bedroom. Fiona followed stiffly,
her wooden cane tip-tapping across the floor, and closed
the bedroom door firmly behind her.

Taking up the stool before Duncan's workbench and
carrying it over to the window, Heather motioned for
Fiona to seat herself in the more comfortable chair already placed there. "It's about Duncan and me, isn't it? About that day ye found him holding me?" she asked as
she settled herself on the stool. "It wasn't how it looked,
ye know."

"Pish!" Fiona snapped, settling herself in the chair. "It
was exactly how it looked, and well ye know it! Despite
all yer promises to the contrary, ye can't stay away from
my son. I should've known better than to trust the word
of some scheming noblewoman."

"I'm not scheming," Heather protested hotly. "Duncan's a fine man, indeed, the finest man I've ever known.
What woman alive wouldn't care for him?"

"I'm not concerned about other women," his mother
cried. "I'm concerned what yer caring will do to him."

"And pray, exactly what do ye think I'll do to him?"

"Och, come, come now, hinny. Don't play the innocent
wi' me." Fiona made a motion of disgust. "Ye'll break
his heart, of course, then dance off wi' nary a backward
glance."

"And what of my heart?" Heather climbed off the
stool and began to pace to and fro. "Och, but then
I've forgotten. I'm a scheming noblewoman intent on
adding Duncan's heart to my collection of trophies,
aren't I?"

"Aren't ye?"

Heather whirled around and rushed over to Fiona.
She sank to her knees before the woman now glaring
furiously down at her.

"Nay." She gave a fierce shake of her head. "I swear
it. I'd never purposely hurt Duncan. He's a good man.
In truth, he deserves far, far better than the likes of
me.

Some of the tension eased from Fiona's lined and
weathered face. "Then why do ye persist in leading him
on?"

"Leading him on?"

His mother rolled her eyes. "Och, can ye truly be so
dim-witted? Duncan's falling in love wi' ye. Do ye know
how many times he's done that, counting this time with
ye, in all the years I've known him? Do ye?"

"Nay," Heather replied softly. "How many times?"

"Once, lass. Once."

Stunned, Heather stared up at her. "I don't believe
it. Especially not in a man as virile and handsome as
Duncan. Surely some lass, at some time, has managed
to capture his heart."

"Well, believe it or not as ye will," Fiona said with an
indignant sniff. "But I know my son and know his heart.
And I won't have ye breaking it, if I have to send ye and
yer servants packing this verra day."

Tears filled Heather's eyes. She quickly glanced
away.

"Ye can't do such a thing. The queen ... the plot. . ."

"Ye and yer fine father can concoct another plot. Ye
found Duncan. Ye can just as well find another look-alike
for that fancy young lord."

Heather wiped the tears away and met the old woman's
steely gaze. Fiona didn't know, didn't understand. But
then, how could she?

"Nay, we can't," she insisted softly. "There won't be
enough time, if a second look-alike even exists in all of
Scotland."

"Then concoct another plan altogether. I don't care. I
just want ye out of my house. Now. Today!"

"And what reason will ye give Duncan for my hasty
departure?"

Fiona's eyes widened. She swallowed convulsively.

"I-I don't know. But I'm certain a sly lass like yerself
could easily think of something. Besides, he'd accept it
better coming from ye at any rate."

Heather's mind raced. She didn't wish to drive some
acrimonious wedge between her and Duncan's mother.
The older woman had treated her kindly, even generously, from the start. She didn't want her thinking badly
of her, either. But her first loyalty lay with her father
and Queen Mary. She must not forget that, though the
remembrance was becoming more and more difficult
with each passing day.

"Well," Heather began, forcing herself to utter words
that filled her with loathing, "I won't lie to Duncan. If
ye truly want me out of yer house, then tell him yerself.
Have a care, though," she added, hating herself and the
game she must play in order to win. "I don't think Duncan
will take my departure happily. Indeed, if yer suspicions
are true, who's to say he won't wish to return with me
rather than remain here?"

She leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs.
"Indeed, have ye given any thought to that possibility,
madam?"

This time, it was Fiona's eyes that filled with tears.
"Och, ye cruel, h-heartless w-wench!" she quavered. "Ye'd
steal my only child from me without an instant's hesitation, wouldn't ye?"

"Nay, it isn't my intention at all," Heather hastened to
say, feeling instant remorse for her cold words. "But what
choice do ye leave me, Fiona? Just as ye feel loyalty and
love for yer son, so do I for my father. How can I let him
down, or fail him when he needs my help so badly?"

"I never begrudged ye yer loyalty to yer father," Duncan's mother muttered, her gnarled fingers worrying the
rounded head of her cane. "I just wanted ye to stay away
from my son. Ye gave me yer word, ye did. Why, oh why
can't ye keep it? He's naught to ye but some plaything
wi' which to wile away the time until ye can return to
yer fine lords. Yet when ye leave, it'll be Duncan who'll
be devastated, not ye."

"How do ye know that?" Heather glanced down, her
hands fisting in her lap. "Do ye truly think me so cold
and calculating, so devoid of emotion, that I don't feel
as strongly for Duncan as he does for me?"

"Then ye're saying ye love him? That ye'll toss aside all
yer fine titles and elegant life, and come back to live wi'
Duncan once the queen is free?" Fiona leaned forward,
her eyes smoldering, intense. "It's what ye must do, ye
know, if ye're to wed my son. Come back to the Highlands
and care for him and the bairns he'll soon give ye, like
a good wife should."

Heather's throat went dry. Her heart throbbed madly
beneath her breast. Her clenched hands grew damp.
Wed Duncan? Come back to live with him here? Care
for him and the bairns she'd soon bear him?

Strangely, the consideration of such a life was most
appealing. True, the life would be hard, filled with work,
lacking in many of the comforts she had come to know and love, but somehow Heather knew it would also be
a life both rich and happy. To wake up in the morn in
Duncan's arms, to laugh and fight with him, to spend
long winter eves playing chess or reading with him ...
And then, one day, to bear his children, to suckle them
at her breast and watch them grow ...

But to do so would be to turn her back on her father
and her heritage, to risk all for the love of a man-a
man who might ultimately betray her as her father had
betrayed her mother, and her sister's husband had betrayed her.

Heather shuddered. It was far too much to risk, especially for a man she had known but a month.

"I care for Duncan," she said, meeting Fiona's searching gaze with a steady, direct one of her own. "I can't say
I love him, leastwise not after only knowing him such a
short time. But would I sacrifice all for the man I love?"
Heather paused a moment, then smiled sadly. "I'd like
to think I would, if I truly believed that man was willing
to do the same for me."

"Yet ye aren't convinced any man ever would, are ye?"
the old woman observed shrewdly. "Yer father certainly
never struck me as the type to do so. Did he break yer
mither's heart, then?"

Heather's eyes widened. An unwelcome heat flooded
her face.

"It's impertinent of ye to ask such a thing. My parents'
relationship is a private matter and will never be the
topic of idle talk."