As High as the Heavens (3 page)

"Aye, and that's what Colin and everyone else were led
to believe. Times were unsettled then for Lord Stewart.
He feared a clan uprising that might overthrow him. So
he came to me for help. It was I who suggested he send
one of his sons away to ensure, if the uprising succeeded,
at least one would live to inherit."

"And the child was sent to the Mackenzies because
they were Mither's kin and could be trusted," Heather
supplied, her agile mind quickly picking up the thread
of the tale.

"Aye." Robert Gordon cocked his head. "Yer Uncle
Angus took the bairn and hid him with a trusted clansman and his childless wife. There he has grown to manhood, unaware of his true heritage, living the rough if
wholesome life of a Highlander."

"But he's a full thirty years old now."

There was something amiss here, Heather thought.
There was more to this than just a simple fostering of a
helpless child until the danger passed.

"His father did indeed die in the uprising," she said,
watching her own sire now with more care, "but Colin
survived and was raised by his grandparents. Why, in all
this time, hasn't this other twin been brought back?"

Something passed across Robert Gordon's face. Something dark and furtive. Almost too casually, he lowered his gaze to flick a speck from his padded trunks.

"It seemed best not to complicate things," he finally
offered. "Only one twin could inherit at any rate. Until
now, it was decided that it was kindest to let the Highlandreared lad live out his life unaware of what he'd never
have."

"And who made that decision for him?" Unease twined
about her heart and twisted her gut. "Indeed, who was
left of his real family to decide such a thing? Surely not
Colin? And his grandparents died several years ago."

"Colin doesn't and must never know. It would be the
ruination of our plans." Robert Gordon shrugged. "What
does it matter anyway, at this late a date? What's done
is done. Better to thank our good fortune that few know
the truth of his existence. It'll serve our needs well in
the rescue of the queen. And that, lass, in the end, is all
that truly matters. The queen ... our queen ... and the
ultimate welfare of our nation, matters more than the
twisted path one man's life has taken."

"Aye, I suppose so," Heather admitted reluctantly.

Though the manipulation of the other twin didn't set
well with her-and even more so because her father
apparently had been involved in that decision-she had
been raised to believe the good of the many must outweigh the welfare of one. It was best to face the fact that
the less she delved into the reasons for this unfortunate
sequence of events, the better she could accept it.

"It's sufficient that this man will well suit our plans,"
her father was saying, already moving on to his next
point. "There is but one minor problem. His education, I am sorry to say, has been sadly neglected. In truth, he
has been raised as a common Highlander. It'll take some
schooling to fashion him into a noble who can pass
muster with that Douglas shrew and her brood."

Heather gave a wry laugh. "So, ye wish a man reared
as an uneducated peasant to impersonate Colin well
enough to worm his way into Lochleven?" She shook
her head in bemusement. "And pray, how much time
do ye imagine that task will take?"

"It doesn't matter. We've only three months left. By
the beginning of May, when all threat of winter is surely
past, we must strike. It'll be the best time of year for
the queen to rally the support she needs to regain her
throne." He paused for a moment. "And that's why we
need ye, lass."

"Need me for what?" Heather asked, suddenly wary.

"Why, what else? To school the lad to appear the noble,
of course."

"Me?" Her eyes widened in surprise. "Ye want me to
journey into the Highlands in the dead of winter to teach
some man who is scarce educated-"

She stopped. Her eyes narrowed.

"Can this man even read? It'll be nigh impossible to
teach him if he cannot read."

Nervously, her father slanted his gaze from hers. "I
can't say for certain. There's been little opportunity to
question the particulars of his upbringing all these years."
He glanced back and managed a wan smile. "But surely
yer uncle saw to it that he was taught to read."

"Och, aye," Heather said with a disgusted snort. "And
haven't I already seen many times over what attention to detail Uncle Angus puts into things? It'd be the greatest fortune if this man can even eat with knife and fork,
much less wash more often than once a fortnight."

"It doesn't matter, lass." Her father leaned forward
and took her hand. "We can't risk involving additional
people in this plot, or word of it will leak out and we'll all
be dead before we've the chance even to attempt Mary's
rescue. It was why I offered yer services. Only a woman
could well and quickly teach the manners of Court and
the proper way a noble comports himself. And only a
woman-if it can be done at all-could get a proud man
to mold himself in ways foreign to his nature."

"So, ye mean to use me to manipulate this man."

Anger flared in Heather's breast. In some inexplicably
painful way, she was beginning to feel as used and manipulated as this mysterious Highlander. Only a woman,
indeed!

it, don't like it, Father." She shook her head, a frown
on her face. "I don't like it at all."

"Neither do I or any other of us, lass," he said, patting her hand to soothe her. "I know it's most unusualsending ye so far afield at a time like this. But ye'll be
well chaperoned in that fine tower house of yer Uncle
Angus. And ye can bring a serving maid, and even one
of the cooks to keep ye in all the dainties ye're accustomed to.

"Why," he forged on eagerly, as if warming to his subject, "if ye've a mind for it, while all the preparations for
yer journey are being made, we can take a short trip to
Aberdeen to buy ye enough new books easily to entertain
ye for the next three months."

When Heather remained silent and most obviously
unconvinced, he squeezed her hand. "Ah, lass, lass, what
choice do we have? And it's for the queen. In the end, we
must all sacrifice whatever it takes to save the queen."

True enough, Heather thought in grudging agreement.
They must all be willing to sacrifice for the sake of the
queen. But to journey north in this weather, and deal
with some potentially illiterate and most definitely unwashed Highlander ...

Gazing at her father's pleading countenance, Heather
knew she couldn't refuse him even this. She sighed her
acquiescence.

"Well, a sojourn in the Highlands with Uncle Angus
and Aunt Jean and some barbaric peasant wasn't quite
how I envisioned passing the remaining winter, but I
too wish to see Mary regain her throne."

When her father gave a small cry of joy and leaned
forward to hug her, she lifted a warning hand. "I only
said I'd do what ye asked. I can't promise what can be accomplished with this man in but three months' time."

"Och, dinna fash yerself, lass," her father, once again
falling back into more ancient dialect, said by way of assurance as he took her into his arms. "Ye're a well-read,
intelligent, and most bonny young woman. Ye'll win this
man over like ye've won the hearts of so many others of
his sex. Ye must be a wee bit patient with him at first,
though. It'll all be so new to him. It'll take time for him
to adjust, once he knows what is expected of-"

Heather went still, then pushed out of her father's
arms. "He doesn't know about this? Have ye even asked
him if he wishes to help us?"

Robert Gordon inhaled a deep breath. "He'll help, and
no mistake. Angus is his laird. He'll do what Angus asks.
Besides, the Mackenzies have always been intensely loyal
to the throne. There's no reason to doubt his-"

"Ye presume much, Father, in making plans for this
man's life without even first consulting him. It isn't right
or fair."

His lips pursing in thought, he considered that for a
moment. "Well, ye're most likely right, lass, but we also
can't spare the time. First, I'd have to meet with him
personally to gain his agreement, then return for ye. It's
just as well I bring ye along, prepared immediately to
embark on his lessons. The worst that can happen, for
the price of yer journey, is that he refuses."

Heather eyed him wryly, then rose and walked across
the library to stare out the window. Twilight had fallen,
and the land was shrouded in a hazy, snow-muted light.
The skeletal trees swayed and clacked their branches in
the rising wind, until the frigid air swirling against the
stout, stone walls finally found a chink at the window
and surged triumphantly inside.

Awash in a sea of mixed emotions, Heather pulled her
damask shawl more tightly to her. Not even an hour ago,
she had stood at this very window and wished mightily
for some event to rescue her from the days of endless
boredom. Yet now that the opportunity was presented
her, she wasn't so certain she wouldn't far prefer the
safe, predictable existence that had always been hers. To
journey far afield in such unstable times was frightening
enough. But to set out on an undertaking that could well
be life-altering for some mysterious man ...

A man who, Heather realized with a small shiver, was
the darkly handsome Colin Stewart's identical twin. Yet
a man most probably as unlike his brother as any man
could be.

What if he were content with his life as it already
was? What if he were wed and had a family to protect
and feed? How would he feel to be asked to join such
a dangerous undertaking? An undertaking, at its heart,
fraught with deception and manipulation?

Heather's fingers clenched in the shawl's warm, rich
wool. It wasn't right what they planned for this man.
Even if he agreed to an outward transformation to make
him appear what he had, in truth, always been born to
be, he hadn't any way of knowing what it might cost him
in the end. And all because her father now sought to use
them both-Heather included-as he had once used her
mother and, in the doing, broken her heart.

Indeed, she thought with a ripple of presentiment,
there was no way of knowing what her complicity in
this deliberate trickery might cost her, either. It was, at
the very least, a foolish, danger-fraught way of easing
the winter's boredom. And, at the worst, a sorry solution
to the gnawing sense that life should hold more for her
than a loveless marriage to a kind if unexciting man.

With all her heart, Heather now wished she had never
set such a course of events into action-even if only with
a selfish, ill-conceived, and ultimately futile prayer.

kinza1( CountRy, zhe high(\nds

"Och, it's a cauld, nestie day, isn't it, Duncan, my
lad?"

As the two men rode along, the dark-haired Highlander paused to settle his skittish horse, then shot his
father a wry glance. "And is it any more so than what
ye'd expect for the end of January?"

Just then a chill wind blew down from the towering
heights of Beinn Eighe, surging across Loch Torridon to
engulf the two men in a frigid blast of air. With his free
hand, Duncan Mackenzie tugged his thick plaid more
closely to him and gave a great shout of laughter.

"By mountain and sea, how I love this land! It's like a
beautiful woman, one moment all soft and sweet-smelling as the heather on the hills and the next, as brash and
prickly as a thistle."

Malcolm Mackenzie grinned at his son. "Yet even the prickly thistle has its soft, silky down, if ye just take the
time to find it. Like most women, not that ye've ever
lingered wi' one long enough to discover that."

At the gentle reproof in his father's words, Duncan
chuckled. "I'll give ye bairns to bounce on yer knee soon
enough, Father. But the lasses are as bountiful and sweet
as the highland flowers in summer, and I've yet to have
my fill of them. Ye wouldn't wish me to wed one lass in
haste, would ye, then find my true love in another?"

"Duncan, Duncan," Malcolm laughingly replied. "Have
a care, lad. Ye can't play so fast and loose wi' the lassies, or fate will yet step in to punish ye for yer carefree
ways.

"Indeed?" Duncan gave a disparaging snort. "And what
punishment would fate deal me, do ye think, in retribution for my unwillingness yet to wed?"

"Och, who knows?" His father shrugged. "Mayhap it'll
send ye a lass to love who won't love ye."

"Then I'll be verra sorry and repent my wild ways, and
fate will take pity on me and give me the lass as my reward." He tossed his dark, windswept mane of hair from
his face and grinned. "Isn't that the way of the lassies,
Father? They like ye best when ye're brought low?"

"Well, I don't know about that. They do like to comfort and coddle ye, though." Malcolm cocked his head
in consideration. "I can't deny that I like it verra much
when yer mither takes it into her head to coddle me. It's
verra, verra pleasant."