As High as the Heavens (32 page)

They left late the next morning, after the woman and
man Angus had brought along to assist Fiona in Duncan's
absence were thoroughly instructed in their duties, and
Duncan had said his farewells to his mother. Fiona, however, refused to allow Heather to escape quite so easily.
While the men were loading the last of Heather's belongings onto the packhorse, and Beth was busy retrieving
Heather's riding cape and making one last check of their
former bedchamber, the old woman approached her.

"A moment of yer time, hinny," she all but commanded, her gaze imperious and flint hard. "If ye think
ye can spare it, of course, after all these months under
my roof."

Heather nearly snapped back a tart refusal, but then
thought better of it. Beneath the ill-mannered request
lay something deeper, honest and heartfelt. Something
that, Heather was certain, involved Duncan.

She forced a bright smile. "I can always find time to
spare for ye, Fiona. Besides, even as ye approached me,
I was intent on seeking ye out to say my farewells."

"Were ye now?" The older woman gave a disbelieving snort. "Well, then ye won't mind," she said, taking
Heather by the arm and leading her around the corner
of the cottage and out of sight of the others, "if we speak
a moment in private."

"As ye wish." Heather drew up and waited patiently
for Duncan's mother to begin.

Fiona hesitated but a moment. "Duncan told me what
Malcolm had said. He also told me he suspected ye know
more than ye're willing to say about his birth parents.
Is that true?"

"It doesn't matter." If she refused to tell Duncan, she
certainly wasn't about to tell his mother. "What matters,
for the next week at least, is that we all focus on the plot
to rescue Mary, and that it achieves a successful conclusion. Once it's over and Duncan has come through
unscathed, there'll be ample time to deal with the issue
of his true heritage."

"Then ye do know more than ye're willing to reveal."

Heather grasped Fiona's hand. "It'll do no good to
upset Duncan now. Don't say aught to him, I beg ye.
He'll know the truth soon enough. I swear it."

His mother eyed her intently. "I haven't much choice,
do I? Believing ye, I mean."

"I wouldn't do aught to hurt Duncan. Do ye believe
that at least?"

Fiona's lips tightened, but she gave a curt nod. "Aye,
I suppose so. Ye love him, or so he tells me."

"That's true. I love Duncan with all my heart."

"Blessed Mither! I was afraid of that." The older woman's shoulders slumped. "Well, be that as it mayand I'm not saying I give ye my blessing-no matter what
happens at Lochleven, no matter what his true heritage
and parentage are, Duncan will never be happy save in
the Highlands. It's in his blood. Once it's there, ye can
never take it away."

Somehow, Heather had always known that. It was just
too painful to consider how she and Duncan could ever
hope to make a life together here. She was, after all, the
only heir to the Gordon estates.

"Aye, I know that."

Tears filled her eyes. Fiercely, she blinked them
back.

A gnarled hand reached out and took Heather by the
chin, gently turning her face until she met Fiona's searching gaze. "Ye truly do love him," Duncan's mother said,
wonder now in her voice and shining in her eyes. "Ye
truly do understand the problems facing ye both."

Heather nodded. "I'd like to think so."

"Mayhap I've misjudged ye, hinny." A thoughtful look
gleamed in Fiona's eyes. "Mayhap."

"I wouldn't make any hasty decisions in that regard."
Heather gave a soft, strangled laugh. "Ye can't yet know
how all this will turn out. Even as much as I love Duncan,
I can't be certain if our love will be sufficient to overcome
all." She sighed. "I don't even know if, after all this is
over and done with, we can ever be together."

"There are many obstacles in yer way, not the least of
which is yer father," Fiona admitted. "Whatever happens,
though, one thing is certain. He needs to come back. Ye must send Duncan back to me. No matter who he truly
is, he must come back to the Highlands."

Inexplicably, anger filled Heather. Would no one allow
her and Duncan the freedom to make their own decisions?

"And I say, Duncan must make that choice for himself,"
she replied, her voice gone low and hoarse. "That isn't
for either of us to decide. When it comes to the matter
of his life and destiny, it's his right to choose his own
path, not ours."

"True enough." Fiona nodded in agreement, apparently not at all upset with Heather's impassioned protest. "But, more than aught he's ever wished, my son
wishes to please ye, be wi' ye. Ye possess a great power
over him. Ye can influence what he chooses ultimately
to do. Have a care, hinny, that ye don't lead him where
he doesn't truly wish to go. It'll destroy ye both, in the
end, if ye do."

"I-I'll have a care."

Unsettled by the older woman's pronouncement,
Heather backed away. There was no more that needed
saying. Fiona's greatest fear had now become her own.

"I-I must be going." She waved vaguely toward the
front of the cottage. "The others ... they're waiting on
me.

"Aye, so they are." Duncan's mother gathered up her
skirts and headed back the way they had come. "And
we don't want to keep them from their next adventure,
do we?"

Nay, we don't, Heather thought as she followed Fiona.
In just five days'time, Mary must be rescued from Lochleven Castle. In just five days'time, Duncan must risk his life
for the queen.

And, in just five days' time, Heather added, filled with
an unnerving mix of fear and foreboding, she must decide, once and for all, whether there could ever be hope
of a future with a certain dashing, devastatingly handsome, and decidedly wonderful Highlander.

The weather was mild, the roads dry, and the journey
pleasant. Though Heather and Duncan, thanks to the
ever vigilant Robert Gordon, had no opportunity for
private conversation, they were content just to be near
each other, to steal a secret smile or catch the other's
gaze.

By the last day of April their little group finally entered
the Tayside region. In the morning, they rode through a
pelting rain. By noon the clouds had dissipated, taking
with them the foul weather.

Blue skies appeared. The sun sparkled on the rainsoaked grass and trees, glinting in the drops of water
like so many precious jewels. In the mists rising from
the ground, the heady fragrance of flowers permeated
the air. Riding alongside Heather, Duncan thought it was
a glorious day to be alive.

To avoid undue notice of Duncan and any resultant
unwelcome talk, Robert Gordon thought it best to wait
until dusk before approaching the town of Kinross. Duncan's first inkling they were finally nearing the vicinity
of Loch Leven was the cry of wild geese. Then, as they
emerged at last from the trail winding through Blairdam Forest, Heather pointed out the mist-shrouded shape
of Benarty Hill in the east and the dark Lomond Hills
on the left.

As they made their way along the shore to the west end
of the broad loch, the cacophony of honking geese, nesting in the reeds and cattails along the lake's edge, rose
in volume. Duncan exchanged a wry grin with Heather,
then turned to gaze once again out upon the loch. In the
fading light, the sun's final rays gilded the island castle in
a rosy glow. With no small amount of concern, he noted
how the loch's dark waters lapped to within almost a
foot of the thick, high walls enclosing the castle. Save
for the other option of swimming through the chill waters, access to and escape from the small but imposing
fortress could only be made with the slow conveyance
of a boat.

The castle's north and east walls sat at right angles to
each other; the other two were multiangular. The small,
five-storied keep was oblong, with walls of squared rubble that looked to be about five feet thick. At the keep's
opposite corner, Duncan could just make out a tall, round
tower. It was said Mary, the queen, resided there.

That reminder of why he was here, far from his beloved
Highlands, filled Duncan with a fierce elation. His hands
clenched around his reins. In but two days' time, on the
second of May, he would join at last with several others
within Lochleven Castle to rescue his sovereign.

But two days more, he mused, and all the past months
of Heather's careful tutelage would come to fruition-or
end in dismal failure. He could well imagine his fate if
his deception was discovered within Lochleven's dank old walls. Perpetual imprisonment in the castle's dungeon
or a summary beheading. Neither fate sat well with him,
nor the additional consideration of the possible torture
he might suffer in an attempt to extract from him the
names of his co-conspirators.

As they rounded a curve of the loch, the town of Kinross at last came into view. Already, in the gloaming,
lights burned brightly from myriad windows peeking
from beneath steep, thatched roofs. Gray wisps of smoke
from hundreds of cook fires curled up through stone
chimneys into the darkening sky. It was a calm, cool,
peaceful night. Duncan could almost imagine that he and
Heather-husband and wife-rode toward home, to one
of the many half-timbered houses in Kinross town.

But such an imagining wasn't reality. He and Heather
weren't husband and wife. Life, at least for a time more,
wasn't calm and peaceful. Instead, it reeked of intrigue
and danger. That grim reality was hard to face, yet face
it he must.

Life, as they had once known it, might well be changing. Changing ... and not necessarily for the best.

All was in order for their arrival at Drummond House,
a fine, brick courtyard dwelling on the outskirts of Kinross. Fat beeswax candles blazed from their perches
overhead in the candle beams and from tall, brass tripods set on the floor. A small but cheery fire snapped
and popped in the blue slate fireplace. The oak floors
had been freshly waxed and polished.

Duncan scanned the parlor, overawed by its opulence. Besides two long, high-backed settles, there were four
box chairs and two stools. Situated between the settles
and chairs were intricately carved, low oaken chests
that also served as tables. Pewter plates decorated the
fireplace mantel and, in addition to the hunting scene
tapestries hanging on the wainscoted walls, an oblong,
blue-and-red rug, swirled in some strange, complex pattern, covered the middle of the floor.

As fine as Angus Mackenzie's tower house had been,
this house outdid it in every way. It was a most vivid
symbol of the chasm separating a common man and
the nobility, Duncan thought. He couldn't help but feel a
twinge of envy for those fortunate enough to live such a
life. It also brought most forcibly home the vast contrast
between his upbringing and Heather's.

"It's a Turkey carpet," Heather said, coming up to stand
beside him as he stared down at the big rug. "It was imported from the Orient and has been in the possession
of the Drummonds for over twenty years now."