Captured by the Highlander (30 page)

Moments later, in the privacy of her bedchamber, Amelia wept for the violent circumstances of Richard’s death and the
chill
ing, gruesome indignity of his severed head traveling in a bag to a neighboring Scottish castle as a prize. She didn’t care what he had done. No human being deserved such treatment.

She wept also for her foolish, aching heart—the mad love she felt for the man who had committed this brutal act of savagery. Her disappointment was beyond measure, her heartbreak inconceivable.
all
her hopes for a happy life here at Moncrieffe—a life spent with her beautiful lover, who was, for a short time, the true mate of her soul—were crushed. He was not the man she’d believed him to be. She had put too much faith in him, in his ability to overcome his violent nature and embark upon a life of peace and diplomacy. His clothes, his home, his wit, and his charm—al
l
of it was a mask he wore. He’d deluded her father with it, just as he’d deluded her.

Now she must conquer and lay to rest the passion she
still
felt for him—which made no sense, after what he’d just confessed. Yesterday he had told her that passion could blind a person. He was correct on that point. Every time she remembered the pleasure they shared in bed, her heart broke
all
over again.

Had he ever truly cared for her? she wondered suddenly.

Or had
all
of this been for Muira?

The
following
morning at dawn, Amelia wrote a letter of
farewell
to Josephine, along with a brief note to Duncan, left them both on her desk for a servant to find, then walked out of the castle and stepped into her uncle’s coach.

There was a
chill
in the air. Puffs of steam shot out of the horses’ nostrils as they tossed their heads and nickered in the faint morning light. How quiet and peaceful it seemed.

Her uncle joined her a few minutes later with
all
of his bags and belongings, curious as to why they were leaving so hastily, without saying good-bye to Duncan. She explained that she had broken off her engagement and did not wish to discuss it. He stepped inside the coach, which bounced under his weight, and did not push her to say more, at least not yet. The door closed behind him. She felt very tired. He patted her hand and said he would listen when she was ready to speak of it. Amelia could only nod.

The coach
pulled
away from the castle, and she did not dare look back.

* * *

The minute Duncan opened his eyes to a blinding ray of sunlight shooting in through the window, he knew he had lost her.

By some inexplicable means, he had slept through the night, but it was a night haunted by dreams of corpses and blood, and the scorching fires of
hell
burning at his skin. He dreamed of Amelia, too—watching him from a balcony above while he sank deeper and deeper into a sea of flames beneath a smoky sky. She waited until he was immersed to the neck in fire, then turned and walked away. She did not look back, and he remained there, staring after her, floating on the fiery
swell
s.

He sat up in bed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart. There was a dul , muffled ache inside him, like distant roaring thunder. He looked at the window. The sun was just coming up.

Then he saw the note—a sealed letter, slipped under his door sometime during the night or that morning. From Amelia, no doubt. An acute sense of panic gripped him. He
swall
owed over a debilitating
swell
of dread, then went to retrieve it:

Duncan,

By the time you read this, I will be gone. My uncle is
taking me back to England. I am sorry to leave without
saying good-bye, but I am certain this is the better
way. I do not wish to ever see you again. Please honor
that wish.

Amelia

He tried to breathe, but his lungs felt tight. She was gone, and she did not want him to fol
l
ow. She did not wish to ever see him again. There was no hope for forgiveness. The tenderness she had begun to feel for him was no more. It was dead, annihilated, and he was the only one to blame, for he was the one who had
killed
it. He had slaughtered their love in a savage, bloody massacre. He had murdered someone he’d promised to spare.

An unarmed man in cold blood. Sliced his head off with an axe, and stuffed it into a bag.

It was an unquestionably brutal act of savagery.

But
still
—still!—
Duncan could not bring himself to regret it.

Even now, he would do it again. He would do it ten times over to protect her. He would sacrifice everything—her love and, in turn,
all
present and future happiness—to keep that vile monster from ever touching her. Even if it meant never seeing her again.

Duncan crossed to a chair and sat down, tipped his head back, and listened to the steady ticking of the clock while everything inside him went quiet and
still
.

* * *

«Will
you speak to me, Duncan?” Duncan looked up from his book and saw Angus standing in the open doorway, waiting for an invitation to enter the study.

“Come in.”

Angus entered and stood for a moment, looking around the untidy room. “Iain’s worried about you,” he said. “As am I. You’ve not left these rooms for five days.”

It was true, but he’d needed time to think. Time to ponder and reflect upon his purpose in the world, the source of his strength, and the value of the sacrifice he had made.

He was glad Angus had come. There was much to discuss.

“I regret some of the things I said and did,” Angus told him, “especial y in the banqueting
hall
. I was not fair to you, Duncan. I should never have doubted you.”

Duncan closed the book and set it aside, rose from the chair, and shrugged into his green silk morning coat. He adjusted the lace at his sleeves, then approached his old friend. “Did your father receive the package I sent?”

“Aye, and let me assure you, there was dancing and a feast like no other. You should’ve been there, Duncan. I wish you were.”

Duncan merely nodded.

“But
you’ve
not been celebrating,” Angus noted as he adjusted his tartan over his shoulder.

“Nay, I have not.” He waved Angus into the room and poured him a glass of whisky.

“But you did the right thing, Duncan. Do not think otherwise, not even for a minute. Bennett got what he deserved, and Scotland thanks you for it. You shouldn’t be punishing yourself. You deserve a medal.” He accepted the glass Duncan held out.

“I have no regrets, Angus.” Duncan sat down on the sofa.

Angus’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Duncan skeptical y. “I’ll argue that point, because I believe you have one very big regret—the loss of the colonel’s daughter.” He
swall
owed the whisky in a single gulp and set the glass down on the corner of the desk next to a
tall
stack of books.

Duncan crossed one leg over the other and looked toward the window. His silence seemed to stir Angus’s impatience.

He began to pace the room.

“You’re better off without her, Duncan. Surely you know that. She left you, for God’s sake. What kind of woman…?”

He stopped and took a breath. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and me. And despite our differences lately, I consider you my friend. I respect your leadership and your strength and your
skills
on the battlefield. You’ve saved my life more than once, as I’ve saved yours.” He paused. “Come back to us, Duncan. Forget about the Englishwoman. She was not worthy of you. She was in love with that worm, Bennett, and defended him until the end. You can do better.

Al you need is a pretty little Scottish lass to turn your head and remind you that you’re a proud and strapping Highland warrior.” He paused again and took a breath. “Make no mistake, I loved my sister, and I’ll always be indebted to you for what you did to her
kill
er, but it’s time for us both to move on. Pick up your weapons again, Duncan. Don your tartan and carry your shield with pride.”

Duncan frowned at him. “Pick up my weapons? For what purpose?”

“What other purpose is there but to fight? The rebel ion has withdrawn, most of the Highlanders have retreated to their farms, yet the English are
still
here. We need to drive them out of our country once and for
all
, while we
still
have their fear in our hands. Bennett’s head in a bag is already spreading a wave of terror through the English garrisons. I say we continue our rampage until they retreat completely, back across the border.”

Duncan considered this. He gazed out the window at the clouds in the sky and
recalled
the Butcher’s rampage of terror in the past. It had been effective, there was no question of that, and with Bennett’s death the Butcher’s infamy would only grow.

Yet there were other things to consider. There was the
small
matter of his conscience, and his dreams, night after night.…

He met Angus’s gaze. “I believe I can exert more influence through the Moncrieffe title. I have the ear of the King, and despite what has come to pass between Amelia and me, I am certain that her uncle, the duke,
will
continue to support my efforts to establish peace, if I choose to step forward and make a case for it.”

Angus scoffed. “Winslowe
will
not hear a single word you say after what you did to his niece. I’d be surprised if she hasn’t already told him who you are and how you abducted her in the dead of night, and threatened her life. An army of redcoats could come marching in here any day now. Which is why I suggest you don your tartan and ride out of here while you
still
can. Iain can take your place here. He’s more suited to this kind of life than you are.”

“Amelia
will
tell
no one,” Duncan said. “She gave me her word.”

Angus scoffed bitterly. “You trust her word, do you? The word of the English?”

“Aye, I trust it.”

“Be sensible, Duncan. Use your head.”

A wave of anger washed over him, and he stood. “How do you expect me to be sensible? The woman I wanted as a wife is repulsed by me. She thinks I’m more of a monster than that raping, pil
l
aging pig Richard Bennett. For
all
I know, she could be carrying my child, and I
will
never know.”

Duncan could hear the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. Perhaps Angus could hear it, too, because he took a sudden step back.

“And I do not even have my weapons,” Duncan continued.

“They’re at the bottom of Loch Shiel.”

“Fook, Duncan. What are they doing there?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot say. I barely remember.
all
I know is that they were weighing me down and I probably would’ve drowned if I hadn’t let them drop.”

“But your father’s sword—he passed it down to you.”

“It’s a hundred years old,” Duncan told him. “You think I don’t know that?” He strode to the window and slammed his fist down on the stone ledge. “I think I’ve lost my mind.”

For a long time he stood there, looking out at the lake; then he felt Angus’s hand on his shoulder.

“Fight, Duncan. It’s what you were born for. It’ll restore your sanity. Trust me in that, and come with me today.”

Duncan shook his friend’s hand away. “Nay! It
will
only make me more of a madman. I cannot do it. Something else has to be done.”

“What are you saying?”

He faced Angus. “I’m saying it’s time I retired the Butcher. I did what I set out to do. I
killed
the foul bastard who raped and
killed
Muira. Now, I’m done. I’ll
kill
no more.”

“Duncan, listen to me.”

“Nay! I
will
not listen to another word! Go and
tell
Fergus and Gawyn to meet me at the cave. We’ll talk about what must be done. You are
all
free men, and if you wish to continue on your own, I
will
not stop you, and I
will
do what I can to protect your identities. But I
will
not be joining you. I’m done, Angus. I’m going to do what I can to get Amelia back.”

Angus frowned.

“I love her. I
will
not live without her.”

He loved her.
Loved her!

Angus took an anxious step forward. “You’re making a mistake. She’s English, and she doesn’t understand the way we live.”

“She understands more than you think, Angus. Now go, please. I’ll come to the cave tomorrow at dusk. The only thing I have left of the Butcher is the shield. I’ll bring it, and I’ll offer it to you, if you wish to continue the fight. If that is your choice, I’ll pledge my loyalty to your cause. You are my friend, Angus, and I
will
never betray you. But I
will
not be joining you.”

Stunned, Angus nodded as he backed out of the room.

Duncan sank into a chair, looked up at the portrait of his mother, then cupped his hands together and pressed them to his forehead.

There. It was decided. He was going to lay the Butcher to rest and fight some other way. And somehow …somehow … he was going to earn Amelia’s forgiveness.

Somehow he would redeem himself in her eyes and win back the gift of her respect.