Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (37 page)

Behind her the sky paled with the arrival of the sun. Birds tested their voices in their first morning songs as she urged Maise into a ground-eating trot.

Another ridge, another valley. Where was that damned bridge?

From far behind, Rose thought she heard the deep-throated trumpet of a stallion.

Someone followed. But who? It did not matter, for whoever it was, she must flee before it was too late.

The sun rose, sparkling off the dew below her mare's sweeping hooves. Down a steep grade now, and there—off to her right, just a quarter mile away—was the bridge. And past that, no more than a mile, would be MacAulay Hold.

Good God!

Harlow halted Beinn at the hill's crest.

Lady Fiona was headed toward the bridge to MacAulay Hold. But then, she was the old laird's daughter.

And yet he'd heard the tale of the old man's addled state. What MacAulay would care if she died? Mayhap she would be mistaken for just another Forbes. But no—not just another Forbes. The wife of
the
Forbes! The woman who would bear his heirs and therefore was a strong threat to them.

She would not be safe at MacAulay Hold. He must stop her.

But there! Off to the right! A man! Bow raised!

No! Not sweet Fiona! She must not die!

Harlow wrenched his bow from his shoulder to fit an arrow to the sinew.

"Jesu!" Leith breathed, astride his bay mount, seeing Harlow at the hill's crest, bow bent.
Nay, Jesul
he pleaded, and, sweeping up his own bow, he set his arrow to flight just a heartbeat after Harlow's.

He saw it pierce the lad's side, saw the boy's body jerk, nearly falling from his horse. But Harlow did not fall. Instead he gripped Beinn's mane and turned to disappear below the hill.

"Nay!" Leith shrieked, his soul aching with the certainty of Harlow's quest to kill the lady he loved more than life. "Nay!" he railed again, kicking his mount into a gallop and thundering up the rise.

He saw Harlow for only a fleeting moment before he was hidden from sight again. Beneath him, Leith's mount heaved for breath. Far ahead a black horse emerged from a copse. "Rose." He whispered her name. She was there, bent low over her mare's dark mane, her hair hidden beneath a Forbes plaid. She was alive. Still alive.

But there. Harlow rode on—following her like a hound with Beinn's great strides closing the distance.

Please, ]esu!
Leith prayed, and took the downhill grade at a dead run. The bay stumbled, half-sliding down the slope.

To the right, a movement caught Leith's eyes. What? A man? A large body teetered to its feet.

A wounded man? But who? How? Harlow's arrow?

No time to learn the truth! No time to stop.

Sweet Jesu, protect her!

She was a quarter mile ahead. No more. He had to stop her. He could not fail his Hannah. But the pain. It speared outward from the arrow, gripping Harlow in dark waves. He could not stop. Must save Fiona. Must prove his mettle. Beneath him the white stallion labored, his heart pounding, his great body lathered, his nostrils wide and flaring.

A rock ahead. The huge stallion swerved. Harlow swayed, his splayed hand cradling the arrow that pierced him, his fortitude slipping and suddenly he was gone, sliding beneath the animal's churning hooves.

Rose pulled Maise to a halt before the MacAulay's gate. Above the timbers a man heralded her.

"I must see Laird Ian MacAulay!" she called desperately.

"Nay," answered the man, canting his head in an attempt to see beneath the plaid that covered hers. "Na one sees the auld laird these days."

"Not even the laird's own?" she called, and reaching up, she swept the shawl from her head.

"God!" gasped the man. Sunlight sparkled like unquenched flame from the woman's loosed hair. Her chin was uplifted, her voice strong and sure in the still morn. " Tis auld Ian's lady."

"Nay," breathed his partner, awe making his voice rasp. "'Tis his daughter returned from afar."

"Or mayhap na kin at all, but a trickster sent from our enemies."

"Nay," said the other. "Ye canna look upon her face and deny that she came from any but Lady Elizabeth. She is the exact image of the auld laird's first wife."

There was a moment of breathless silence before the gate swung open.

No hesitation. No delay. Rose was through, her heart racing along with Maise's hoofbeats over the hard-packed earth. Past a small boy and his sister. Past an unhitched dog cart. She slid from the mare's back and in a moment was through the thick doors of the hall.

Faces turned to her. Jaws dropped, but she stopped for nothing, driven by the aching need that drew her toward Ian's chamber.

"MacAulay," she breathed, rushing on.

A man stepped before her, blocking her way, but she dodged him, hurrying across the floor and throwing open a door.

Ian MacAulay sat bolt upright in the midst of his velvet-draped bed.

"Father." Rose breathed the single word, forgetting the lies she had told. Forgetting everything but this one moment—her head filled with eerie sensations she could no longer deny. Men streamed in behind her, reaching for her.

"Nay!" Ian said, lifting one hand and startling them with the strength of his voice. "Nay." He shook his head. "Leave us."

Ahead, Beinn stood with trailing reins. Harlow lay not far away, crumpled on the earth. But Leith had no time to stop, to question, to learn the truth, for the woman who held his soul was now inside MacAulay Hold.

Pressing the bay onward, Leith thundered up to the timber gate.

Huge hooves skidded to a halt, sliding in the churned earth.

"Let me enter," ordered Leith, his tone low and even, his expression somber and hard.

"Nay," returned the man who stood above the wall, his lance lowered toward Leith's chest. "I have told ye afore. Na Forbes is welcome here."

"Let me in." Beneath him the stallion lifted impatient hooves in a slow, cadenced dance.

"Nay," called the lance man. "I willna allow—"

But he never completed his sentence for Leith had no time to waste. He spurred his mount forward and with three desperate swipes of Leith's arm, the gate fell, severed and bent. With a roar, Leith pressed the bay on. The stallion reared, charging the break. Wood splintered, flying in all directions, and they were through, racing along the course Rose had taken only minutes before, but now there was another beside him—Roderic, his face a mask of determination "I am with ye, brother."

Vaulting from his mount's back, Leith flew to the door of the hall.

"Me lady!" He roared the words like a challenge. "If ye have harmed a hair on her head, me axe shall na be stilled till this keep floats in blood."

Warriors pivoted toward him, hands reaching for weapons.

"Hold!" commanded a wavering voice.

Heads turned.

Ian MacAulay stood in the doorway of his bedchamber. And beside him, hale and straight and lovely, was Fiona Rose.

Relief sluiced through Leith's war-ready system, calming his fighting instincts, quieting the killing rage.

"I will have her back," he said, his voice barely audible, but his expression so dark his intent was obvious.

"He broke through the gate, me laird," announced the guard, rushing in.

"Then I shall see him out!" challenged another, drawing his blade.

"Nay!" called Ian in a stronger voice. “There shall be na blood shed here this day."

"Me laird." Dugald hurried down the steps toward them. "Ye have only just regained yer speech. Ye must save yer strength."

"Save it?" Ian smiled, though only one corner of his mouth lifted. "For what?" He paused, straightening his back and seeming to grow younger as they watched. "What could be more important than the return of me own daughter to MacAulay Hold?"

"With respect, me laird," Dugald said stiffly, his gaze shifting to Rose's face, "there is na proof that she be yer true daughter. Indeed, Murial swears that she is na."

"Murial." Ian nodded slowly. "I fear her hatred for the Forbes has infected ye with its poison, Dugald. Too long has she mourned her brother Owen's death. Tis past, and time to make a new future—a future where the Forbes and the MacAulays are again friends."

"Nay!" choked Dugald. "Too much has passed between us. There shall never be peace."

"Aye," said Ian, his expression somber. "For the sake of me daughter, Fiona, there shall be."

"We know na if she be indeed yer kin," spat Dugald. "But we do know that she is a Forbes—living with the verra man who kilt me brother by marriage!"

Leith tightened his grip on his axe. "I didna kill Owen," he said. "But the other is true. Fiona is indeed a Forbes now." It was far too late to back away from the lies now. "Though she was once a MacAulay."

"Lies!" Dugald shouted, fists clenched. "All lies from the mouth of a filthy—"

"Quiet!" Ian roared, then paled, looking weak as Rose gripped his arm to help him remain upright. "Dugald," he said finally, his tone softened, his head shaking sadly. "Have ye na eyes? Or be ye too young to recall the lass's mother?"

Dugald's gaze turned slowly to Rose, his expression hard, his jaw clenched.

Beneath his glare Rose refused to flinch. Reality had faded into a blur, so that she was no longer sure what was a lie and what was truth, but she had proclaimed herself to be the old laird's daughter, and now she must play out the game. Holding herself straight as a lance, her chin lifted, she spoke. "I
am
Fiona MacAulay, daughter to Elizabeth and Laird Ian."

"Nay!" Dugald snarled. "Ye are an imposter, brought here for Forbes' devious purposes. To—"

"'Tis na true." Ian shook his head, his voice firm with conviction, stopping Dugald's words. "Forbes has brought her for
me
purposes. At me request."

"Me laird." Dugald took a short step backward, his tone baffled, his scowl dark. "Why?"

Ian's old eyes softened. "I could na afford to lose ye to this mission, Dugald," he said, "for me health was fast failing. I needed ye here with our people. Thus..." He shifted his gaze to Leith and shrugged. "I asked Forbes." He smiled, looking younger. "A test of sorts, mayhap, to judge how dearly he wished for peace between us. And indeed ..." He motioned toward Rose, who stood as still as a statue. "He must have wanted it a great deal, for he has dared much to bring her to me."

The old eyes drifted to Leith. "Have ye not, Laird Forbes?"

Leith watched the MacAulay with narrow-eyed caution. How much did the old man know? How much did he guess? Though he had lost his ability to speak for a time, he was not a senile old fool, but a wizened, crafty bastard with something up his sleeve. Did he accept Rose as his daughter, or was he simply pretending that he did?

Dugald's gaze flew to Rose again. "Forbes searched far indeed, but mayhap he but searched for a woman who looked like yer lady of auld. One to trick even ye, knowing how ye longed for that child. He only tries now to make ye the fool, for there is na proof."

"Laird Forbes has found the jeweled brooch I gave the lass' mother. He brought it here to me along with the wee plaid the bairn was wrapped in when she was taken from this hold."

Dugald scowled, shaking his head. "The Forbes are a devious lot and could have found a way to deceive us. There is na proof."

So there was the truth. Laid bare—exactly as Leith saw it. He braced his feet, his heavy thighs
taut, his right hand on the dark handle of his battle-axe.

But Ian's voice came, startling them all.

"Ah, there ye are wrong, young Dugald, for indeed—there is proof."

Rose swallowed a gasp, spinning her wide gaze to Leith.

"Proof?" Dugald took a step forward. "Proof, me laird?"

"Aye." Ian nodded, motioning Rose nearer. "And with the proof will come the beginning of a lasting peace between the Forbes and the MacAulays. Na more shall blood be shed. Na more shall we fear for our lives or the lives of our—"

"Nay!" screamed a woman, and suddenly she was behind Rose, her arm encircling her slim neck, her dirk poised at Rose's exposed throat.

Panic and shock surged through Rose like heady wine, weakening her knees, numbing her senses.

Death! She could feel it like a tangible thing.

"She shall die!" shrieked Murial, her knuckles white against the dirk's handle. "She shall die to avenge me brother's death! Me Owen." Her voice was hysterical. Her trembling hands were tight and hard against Rose's neck. "Ye killed him," she wailed at Leith.

"Nay." Leith kept his voice soft, placating, but his heart beat with painful strokes against his ribs.
]esu, do not let her die,
he prayed.
Take me instead.
"I didna kill yer brother."

"Liar!"

He raised his empty hand, palm outward. "I dunna deny that I wished him dead, Lady Murial, for I thought he had defiled me sister. Indeed ..." He nodded solemnly, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I did wish him dead. In truth, I had me hands about his neck. But I didna kill him." He straightened slightly, flexing his hands. “Though he asked me to."

"Lies! All lies!" Murial shrieked, pulling Rose backward slightly. "Ye would have us believe he would shame us all with his death."

"Nay," denied Leith, daring one step forward. "I dunna ken how he died, only that I was na the cause. I could na." His voice was low, one hand outstretched. “For I knew then that his love for Eleanor was deep. I could na kill him—as ye canna kill Fiona."

"I shall!"

"Murial," Ian said, his face pale as he stood helplessly looking on, "ye canna..." For a moment he lost the necessary words, but they came to him in a moment. "Ye canna kill her, any more than ye could kill me last night."

Murial blanched, and though she stumbled backward a step, she dragged Rose with her, her hand still tight on the dirk and her wide gaze on Ian.

Silence settled in the hall as their eyes met.

"Aye," Ian said, his voice low. "I ken yer purpose in me room last night for I felt yer intent. As did me daughter. And thus her arrival here this morn."

"Nay," Murial whispered.