As High as the Heavens (30 page)

Robert blanched and reared back in his chair.

Angus leaned over and gripped Duncan's arm. "Get on
with ye, lad. It's but the liquor talking. He doesn't know
what he's saying. He's been drinking from his personal
flask long before we even arrived here."

"I don't care." Duncan jerked free of his laird's hold.
"Drunk or not, no man has the right to gainsay a woman's
honor. No man-not even her father!"

"Nay, lad, no man does," Angus agreed with quiet emphasis. "But, as yer laird, I'm asking ye to let this lie. In
the end, it's Heather and her safety that matters, not
some paltry feud with her father."

He was right. As pleasurable a consideration as smashing in Robert Gordon's face might be, it was far more
important to assure that Heather was safe. The barely
leashed anger faded, replaced by a growing concern over
Heather's increasingly prolonged absence.

Duncan turned to his laird. "Aye, Angus. What matters is Heather's safety. So, if ye don't mind, I'll leave
the Lord Gordon to ye. At present, I've indeed far more
important matters to deal with."

He strode to the door, but not before Robert Gordon,
apparently having rediscovered his courage, fired one
final, parting shot. "Keep yer hands off my daughter,
Highlander," he shouted. "Do ye hear me? I'm warning
ye. Keep yer filthy hands off my daughter!"

Ah, curse my father, Heather thought as she strode down
the path leading to the pond, then kept on going until
she entered the dappled shade of the oak and birch forest. Curse him for his unreasoning hatred of Duncan, and
his lack of faith in me.

Wasn't it bad enough he had coerced her into leaving
the safety of home and hearth to spend half the winter
in the frigid Highlands, with total strangers no less, and
that with nary a concern for how she'd manage or what
hardships she might have to suffer? But now, after all
these months, to return and immediately accuse her of
immoral conduct. Why, it was past bearing!

It didn't matter that she had fallen in love with Duncan
Mackenzie. It didn't matter if she truly believed it was
cruel and unfair to keep the truth of his birth from him
any longer. No matter her feelings for the handsome
Highlander, Heather also knew her duty. Her duty to
her queen and her duty to the Gordons.

She walked for a time-how long she didn't know-her
thoughts centered on the dilemma of what to do about her father. Finally, Heather drew up short, unnervingly
aware of how far she had wandered into the forest and
away from the cottage. Not a breeze reached this deep
into the trees; not a bird chirped or leaf rustled.

Suddenly, Heather was overwhelmed with a sense of
heavy foreboding-and a terrifying certainty that she
was being watched. She turned, her glance searching
the shifting balance of light and shadows.

"D-Duncan?" she croaked, struggling to discern who
her unseen observer might be. "Is that ye, lurking behind
some tree? If it is, I don't find yer game verra amusing.
Come out, now. Come out, I say."

There was no answer. Fear prickled down Heather's
spine. Her hands grew clammy, her throat dry. She withdrew the small dirk Duncan had given her, holding it
out before her.

"Come, then," she said, fighting to hide the quaver in
her voice. "Are ye such a sniveling coward that ye can't
face a woman?"

"I don't know," a raspy, unfamiliar voice replied. "What
do ye think, Jamie? Are we, or are we not, sniveling
cowards?"

As he spoke, a big, burly man with scraggly brown hair
stepped from behind a dense stand of bushes. Another
man, shorter by a head but heavily muscled, followed
quickly behind. Both were filthy. Both wore tattered
shirts and frayed plaids, and looked as if they didn't
possess a penny between them. Both, however, carried
long wooden staffs and dirks shoved into their belts.

"Well, Jocko, my lad," said the shorter man, who was
obviously Jamie. "I don't think anyone could fault us for admiring such a bonny lass from afar, do ye? It isn't as
if we're e'en worthy of touching the hem of her skirts,
after all."

Jock grinned, revealing several rotted and two missing
teeth. "I don't know about ye but I, myself, was thinking
of more than touching the hem of her skirts."

"Like mayhap," Jamie offered with a feral leer, "tossing
up her skirts and seeing what secrets lay beneath?"

"Aye." Even as the big man agreed, he signaled for
Jamie to fan out to his right in what Heather guessed
was an attempt to encircle and entrap her. "Seeing and
enjoying, if ye get my meaning."

Heather backed away. Frantically, she tried to gauge
whether she could make it to within earshot of the cottage before the two men caught her. She had always
been fleet of foot, but the two men-obviously outlawslooked hardened and tough. Luck was as much with
them, that they'd bring her down before she could reach
help, as it was with her that she could successfully escape. It seemed the wiser course to face them rather
than leave her back unprotected as she ran.

"Ye're fools if ye think I'll be taken easily." She waved
her knife slowly before her. "I know how to use this, and
use it I will."

"Och, and why would ye e'en wish to, my wee, bonny
lassie?" Jock crooned. All the while, he moved in unison with his compatriot to maneuver until one stood to
either side of Heather. "We mean ye no harm. A quick
coupling in the leaves wi' each of us and we'll soon be
on our way. Indeed, if ye don't wish for yer family or
husband to know, none need be the wiser."

"But I'll know," another voice, deep with anger, rose
from behind Heather. "And I can't say I find yer baseborn
behavior at all to my liking."

"Duncan!" Relief flooded Heather with such a rush
she felt almost dizzy.

He moved to stand beside her, a claymore in his hand.
"Get behind me, lass. Now!"

For once, she didn't dispute his right to order her about
and promptly did as told. From behind the broad, comforting expanse of his body, however, she peeked around
to see the two outlaws' reaction. They didn't look at all
happy or overly intimidated, though they possessed only
dirks and staves and Duncan was armed with a claymore.
Her grip about her own dirk tightened. It might take the
two of them, after all, to rout the other men.

"Well, well," Jock said. "And what are ye to the lass?
Her brother, or husband, or e'en lover, mayhap? One way
or another, she looks woman enough to satisfy us all."

"What she is to me is hardly yer business," Duncan
snapped, glaring murderously at the two outlaws. "And
ye'll never get to her, save through me." He lifted his
long claymore with a one-handed grip, his powerful arm
muscles bulging with the effort to raise what was typically a two-handed sword. "Now, be gone before I strike
ye where ye stand."

Eyes wide, the two men looked at each other. Then,
with a mocking laugh and some covert signal, they simultaneously rushed him, staves held high. Uttering
the Mackenzie battle cry, Duncan charged forward to
meet them.

With a mighty slice of his sword, Duncan severed Jock's stave in half. The act, however, left him open
to Jamie's attack. The smaller outlaw swung his stave
around, catching Duncan in the side.

Grunting in pain, the big Highlander staggered backward. Jock dropped one of his pieces of stave. He swung
the other at Duncan's head. At the last second, Duncan
ducked then kicked the onrushing Jamie in the gut.

With a choking cry, Jamie sank to his knees. Nonetheless, the momentary distraction was Duncan's undoing.
Jock brought his stave down hard across Duncan's sword
hand.

Numbed by the pain, Duncan dropped his claymore.
Jamie scrambled to his feet and came up behind him.
Swinging his stave in front of Duncan, he grabbed the
other end and viciously slammed it against his throat.

"Duncan!"

Heedless of her own safety, Heather raced toward
the two men. Even as she did, the smaller but brutally
powerful Jamie began to throttle Duncan.

With a triumphant smile, Jock walked over. He picked
up Duncan's claymore, turned, and approached for the
killing blow. Yet, even as the breath was slowly forced
from him, Duncan fought back with all his strength.
Jamie, however, managed to hang on.

There was little time to consider the consequences of
her actions. All that mattered was Duncan. Heather came
up behind Jamie. Before Jock could discern her intent,
she plunged her dirk into his compatriot's back.

Roaring in pain and surprise, Jamie dropped his stave.
He leaped back and turned on her.

"Ye wanton she-fox!" he screamed, livid with rage, then came at her, a look of murderous intent blazing
in his eyes.

Released from the choking hold, Duncan fell to the
ground. Jock, momentarily stunned by the sudden turn of
events, hesitated, the claymore falling to his side. Not so
for the wounded Jamie. He flung himself at Heather.

Only the quickest of moves saved her. She leaped to
one side. Spinning around in a trick Duncan had taught
her, Heather thrust out her leg. The burly little man
tripped, tumbling headfirst into the mud and leaves.

At that moment Jock lifted his sword for the killing
blow. It was too late. With blinding speed, Duncan rose
into a crouch. He launched himself at Jock.

Both men went down. Jock's sword hand struck hard.
The claymore sailed away.

Heather raced after it. Even as she reached the sword,
gripped it with both hands, and heaved its massive length,
Jamie climbed to his feet. He paused, though, when he
saw the claymore in Heather's hands.

"Ye're no match fer me, lass," he rasped, "e'en wi'
that big sword in yer hands. Ye haven't the strength to
wield it."

In as much to hide her own uncertainty as to present
a confident mien, Heather smiled grimly. "Mayhap not,
but ye can't be certain, can ye, until ye test me? And ye've
already had one taste of my blade. Do ye wish to risk a
taste of another?"

For the first time, doubt darkened Jamie's eyes. He
looked to Jock who, by now, was rapidly coming out on
the losing end of the battle with Duncan.

"Ye're hardly worth the trouble." Jamie spat into the leaves. "No woman is." Keeping an eye on the sword
Heather held, he began to back away. "Let Jock have ye
if he wants. If he e'en lives long enough to enjoy ye."

With that, Jamie wheeled about and fled into the forest. She watched until he was safely out of sight, then
turned back to where Duncan still fought with Jock. The
big outlaw was tiring even as Duncan's rage seemed to
lend him an endless source of strength. It soon became
apparent Duncan intended to give no quarter and might
well beat the other man to death.

"Hold, Duncan," Heather cried, edging as close as she
dared to the two men. "Let him go. Let him go, I say!"

Her plea was just enough to distract Duncan for an
instant. Jock saw his opportunity for escape. He staggered backward, wheeled about, and fled in the same
direction Jamie had gone.

With a cry of fury, Duncan set out after him. Jock, in
his terror, was fleeter of foot. Still incensed, still fired
with the lust for battle, Duncan stalked back to where
he had left Heather.

"Little fool!" He grabbed her roughly by the arm and
jerked her to him.

Heather's grip on the claymore loosened, and it fell
to the ground.

"Have ye a death wish, then," he continued to rage
at her, "to stroll into the forest alone after the countless
times I've warned ye not to? Answer me!"

Taken aback by his anger, Heather gazed up at him
in shock. "I-I'm sorry, Duncan," she stammered finally.
"I was upset with my father and just meant to get away from him to sort out things. I didn't realize how far I'd
walked until it was too late."

"Feeble excuses, each and every one!" He took her by
her other arm and gave her a teeth-rattling shake. "It's so
like a spoiled, pampered noblewoman to think only of
herself. Ye're yer father's daughter, and no mistake."

Stung by his words, Heather wrenched free. Before
she even realized what she was doing, she swung back
and slapped him smartly on the side of his face.

"How dare ye," she cried, "accuse me of such insensitive, self-serving behavior! I told ye I was sorry and I am.
Do ye think I wouldn't care if something happened to ye?
On the contrary, it'd break my heart, it would."

He went still. "Why?" His voice had gone low and
harsh. "Why would it break yer heart?"

Tears filled her eyes and clogged her throat. "Why
do ye think, ye heartless wretch?" she whispered. She
looked down, unable to meet his now intently searching gaze.

"I don't know, lass." Duncan crooked a finger beneath
her chin, lifting it until Heather once more met his gaze.
"I don't know, but I'd give my life's blood to hear it."

Heather opened her mouth to tell him. Then fear
rushed in, choking back the words she was about to
say. Tears welled and spilled from her eyes.