As High as the Heavens (33 page)

The Drummonds. Duncan jerked his attention back to
their hosts, Patrick and Anne Drummond. Co-conspirators
in the rescue plot, they had generously offered their grand
and spacious home to the Gordon party. Several nobles
also involved in the plot would arrive on the morrow to
finalize the last details.

He managed a terse smile. "Ye've a fine house," he
said, acknowledging the middle-aged couple. "Ye must
be verra proud."

It took Patrick Drummond a few seconds to respond,
so intent he was in staring at Duncan. His wide-eyed
wife didn't reply at all.

"Er, aye," the man finally said. "It's a fine house indeed."

A door closed upstairs. Footsteps-two men by the
sound of them-clattered down the long, wooden staircase. Duncan turned.

An older man with close-cropped hair, a thin mustache, and a pencil of a beard frosted with gray was followed by a much younger, plain-faced man of medium
height, pale skin, and light brown hair. Both, by the way
they carried themselves and the fine clothing they wore,
were obviously also of the nobility.

As he caught sight of Heather, still standing with her
back turned, talking to the Drummonds, the younger
man's face lit with unabashed delight. "Heather!" he
cried and hurried toward her. "Heather, my love!"

At the sound of her name, Heather wheeled about.
Surprise, uncertainty, then dismay flashed across her
face. She slanted a quick look at Duncan. He stared back
at her, stone-faced.

For some reason, she couldn't seem to hold his gaze
and quickly averted it. Gathering her skirts, she went to
meet the younger man.

"Charlie, I-"

Before she could get another word out, the man she
had called Charlie grabbed her hand, kissed it passionately, then pressed it to his breast. "Ah, lass, lass," he
breathed, smiling ecstatically. "It's been so long since
last I saw ye. I never thought much of yer father's plan
to send ye away to the rustic isolation of the Highlandsand especially not for so long a time-but, looking at ye now, I see it did ye no harm. Ye've a certain look-a
glow, even-that ye never had before."

Blushing furiously, Heather pulled her hand from his
chest. Tugging Charlie along to stand beside her, she
turned back to Duncan.

"Er, Charlie," she began, glancing nervously from one
man to the other, "this is Duncan Mackenzie, the man
who is to impersonate-"

"It's quite evident who he is to impersonate, lass,"
Charlie laughingly finished for her. He grinned and held
out his other hand to Duncan. "I don't know if anyone
has told ye this or not, but ye're the spitting image of
Colin Stewart. If I didn't know better, I'd wager a year's
income from our sheep farms that ye're his long-lost
twin brother."

Duncan went still. "I didn't know Colin Stewart had a
twin." He turned to Heather. "Why didn't ye ever tell me
that? Or did ye instead prefer, for some private reason,
simply to omit that wee detail?"

Heather blanched, then looked to her father, who had
moved to stand before the fire and talk with Patrick
Drummond. Luckily, he had overheard Duncan's question and moved quickly to come up behind his daughter.

"It's but a figure of speech," he offered smoothly. "Isn't
it, Charles? Colin Stewart is, and always has been, the
sole heir of the Stewart fortunes. He has no siblings."

Charlie laughed good-naturedly. "Och, aye. I didn't
mean aught by my ill-conceived remark, my good man."
Once more he extended the hand he had let fall when
Duncan had turned to Heather. "One way or another, allow me to offer my welcome and profound respect for
yer courage and loyalty to our queen. It'll be quite a feat,
indeed. That old curmudgeon Lady Margaret Douglas
isn't easily fooled. I wish ye good fortune in finding the
opportunity to spirit Queen Mary out of that moldering
old fortress."

For an instant more, Duncan eyed the possessive clasp
Charlie had on Heather, then took up his other hand and
shook it. "Aye, loyal I am," he ground out, "but I can't
speak to my courage. I but do what must be done." He
paused, arching a dark brow. "And ye are ... ?"

Confusion momentarily clouded Charlie's expression.
Then understanding dawned. "Och, aye." He gave a wry
laugh. "Pray, forgive my poor manners. I suppose the
introductions did become waylaid, didn't they?"

"Aye, they did," Heather interjected. "And the poor
manners are mine, not yers," she said, shooting the
young man an apologetic smile before focusing her attention back on Duncan.

Somehow, Duncan knew what was coming. There was
no doubt whatsoever in his mind that he wouldn't like
what he next heard. He forced himself to stand there
quietly nonetheless.

"Duncan," Heather said, meeting his steely gaze with
a resigned but steady one of her own, "this is Charles
Seton, son of Lord Alastair Seton. Charles is the man I
told ye about ... my betrothed."

Behind her, Robert Gordon coughed behind his hand,
the sound suspiciously like that of a muffled laugh. Duncan's gaze swung to meet his. Blatant triumph gleamed
in the older man's eyes.

The first day of May dawned bright and sunny. Duncan
rose, washed and dressed, then went downstairs. Though
sunrise had come and gone over an hour ago, after last
night's upsetting meeting with the Setons, he hadn't slept
well in the strange, if finely appointed bedchamber, and
awoke groggy and ill-tempered. Heather had told him
a light breakfast would be served for several hours in
the great chamber. If luck was with him, Duncan would
have an opportunity to steal a few moments to speak
privately with her.

She was alone in the room, just finishing her bowl of
porridge at the long dining table. When Heather saw
Duncan she flushed, rose, and pretended sudden interest
in shoving in her chair. Duncan, guessing her intent to
grab her bowl and hurry from the room, strode quickly
over and barred Heather's way.

She paused, ever so reluctantly lifting her glance to
his. "Aye, ye wanted something?"

He didn't like the defensive look in her eyes, nor the
edge to her voice. It smacked of evasion, as if she were
hiding something.

"Ye know I do, lass," he forced himself to reply as
civilly as possible, when what he wanted most to do was
grab her and shake the truth from her. "I want to know
when ye plan to tell young Seton about us."

Heather backed up against her chair. "I hardly think
that's of much import just now, what with only one day
left before ye must depart for Lochleven. There are far
greater issues-"

"Not to me there aren't!" Duncan took her by the arms
and pulled her to him. "Have ye changed so quickly, back
to the fine lady ye once were, that ye now regret what
we had, the words of love ye spoke to me?" He gave her
a gentle shake. "Have ye, lass?"

Tears flooded her eyes, eyes, Duncan now noted,
smudged with shadow as if she'd had an equally sleepless
night. He leaned closer, staring intently down at her.

"Talk to me, Heather," he commanded softly. "Tell me
true what's in yer heart."

Instead of answering him, she struggled to escape.
"Och, let me be, Duncan. I don't wish to hurt ye, but I'm
so confused. Charlie's a dear, sweet man, and last night,
after ye stormed up to bed, he took me aside, told me
he loved me."

"And now ye must weigh the relative value of his love
against mine, is that it?" With the greatest of efforts,
Duncan clamped down on his pain and rising anger. "If
so, I can't see why ye struggle so long in yer dilemma.
Seton's worth shines far brighter than mine."

"Don't say that!" With a sharp movement, Heather
twisted free of Duncan's hold. "It isn't that at all. But
I can't so easily toss all I've ever known aside. I'm my
father's sole heir now. I have commitments ..."

"Yer father spoke to ye last night, too, didn't he?"

Frustration filled him. What chance did he have against
all the power and influence stacked against him? Indeed,
he was a fool to imagine even for an instant that he had
ever had any chance to win Heather's hand.

Yet to lose her so quickly, after less than a day back
in her own world, not only wounded him deeply but also stung his pride. He had thought she cared more
than that for him, that she valued what they had shared
more than so easily to toss it aside. But now ... now
he wondered.

"Ye don't understand!" Heather gripped his arm, her
fingers digging into his flesh. "Aye, my father was actively
involved in inviting Charlie to join us here. I confronted
him about it after I left Charlie last night. He doesn't
care for ye; he admitted it and felt I should meet with
Charlie before I made up my mind. But it doesn't mean
I can't think for myself, nor make up my own mind who
I'll take to husband. I just need some time. . . "

Duncan gave a snort of disgust. "Och, how fickle is
yer heart, how shallow the love ye once professed for
me, that ye now attempt to weigh it like some mess of
vegetables bought at market."

"I'm not weighing it!" Heather cried, anger flashing
now in her eyes. "But I don't wish to hurt Charlie or my
father, if it can be helped. I love ye, Duncan, but it's no
excuse to treat others callously."

At her fervent avowal, some of the pain ebbed. "What
do ye wish of me, then, lass?" he asked with a weary sigh.
"I don't want to lose ye. It'd tear out my heart to do so.
But I fear ... I fear ..."

"Aye, it's the same for me." She reached up, stroked
his face with a light, lingering, tender touch. "I need
some time, Duncan, and today isn't the day to work it
all through. The morrow-and all that must then come
to pass-hangs heavy enough on me." She smiled wanly.
"Pray, let us first get through tomorrow. Until ye come back safely to me, I can't think so verra clearly about
aught else."

He took her into his arms, holding her close, and rested
his chin upon her head. "I'll come back to ye, sweet lass,
and no mistake. Alive and well, or ye won't have to make
a choice between Seton and myself at all."

By noon that day all the nobles involved in the plot
had arrived. They met in the great chamber soon thereafter, taking their places around the long dining table.
Heather, her participation essentially completed, was
coerced to take in the town with Seton, leaving Duncan
to stew impotently for the next several hours in a roomful
of men. Until suppertime, no effort was spared in outlining in great detail the people to contact once within
Lochleven, the timing of when to spirit Mary away, and
where the horsemen awaiting the queen would be waiting along the shore.

Duncan learned that only fourteen-year-old Willie
Douglas-the foundling son of Sir William Douglas, Lady
Margaret's oldest legitimate son from her marriage to
Robert Douglas-and George Douglas, another of Lady
Margaret's sons, would actually aid him once he was
in Lochleven. While Duncan, in the guise of their good
friend Colin Stewart, kept Lady Margaret and Sir William sufficiently entertained and distracted, young Willie
was to steal the castle keys from his adoptive father Sir
William during the feast celebrating Willie's return to
the island. He had only recently been forgiven and taken
back into his father and grandmother's good graces, after having been banished subsequent to Mary's first failed
escape attempt, of which he had played a part.

"The queen has been notified today is the day of
her deliverance," Robert Gordon then informed him.
"George Douglas has sent, via his mother, a pearl earring of Mary's. It's a signal to her that the time is ripe
for escape. Yer first task, after settling into yer role as
Colin Stewart, will be to find a private moment with
George Douglas. He'll apprise ye then if there are any
last-minute changes to the escape plan."

Duncan nodded. He had been given artistic likenesses
of all at Lochleven-the queen included-to study. He
hadn't a worry that he'd quickly and easily identify the
key players there, friend and foe alike.