Highlander Betrayed (Guardians of the Targe) (23 page)

“It is because of my years in the king’s service, Rowan, because I have come to know and understand him as I think few do, that I know, beyond any doubt, that he will not stop in his quest for the Highland Targe. If you want your clan to be safe from him, we must send him something he believes to be the Targe immediately and he cannot know from where it came, not precisely. And then we must all disappear so there is no chance he can find us when he does invade.”

“Disappear? You understand nothing.” She rubbed that spot between her brows that he knew pained her at times like this. “The Targe is not just a thing. It is not just a stone with cryptic runes carved upon it. It is a person. It is a place. It is tied to Dunlairig in ways no one understands, not even Elspet.”

“So she is part of the Targe?”

Rowan glared at him but did not answer.

“And the stone in the ermine sack—is that, too, part of the Targe?”

She shook her head, but he didn’t think it was an answer to his question. She strode back through the forest toward the burn where he’d found her.

“Where are you going?”

She did not stop. She did not say a word. She kept up her rapid pace until he had to jog to catch up with her. He grabbed her arm, swinging her hard to face him.

She struggled to be released but he did not let go.

“I see you cannot keep even so simple a promise for more than a small space of time.” She glared pointedly at his hand on her arm.

“You gave me no choice.”

“You had a choice. You always have a choice. Good. Bad. Scottish. English. Keep a promise. Spy for Longshanks. They are all choices.”

“And my choice now is to do what I can to keep you and yours safe from Edward.”

“By making your king believe he has stolen the Highland Targe, rendering us weak and unarmed? By having us
disappear
from our home so that Edward can run riot into the Highlands?”

“Aye. By removing you from his path. He is not a man any of you wish to come to blows with.”

“Oh, aye, he is. He is exactly the man we wish to come to blows with. We will not run like cowards into the bens, quaking at the anger of Edward Longshanks.” She jerked her arm free of his grip only because he allowed it.

“Then your clan will be decimated by the English soldiers, whether you have the Targe or Edward does. Edward will not allow anyone who thwarts his rule to live. If you try to protect your castle from him, this route into the Highlands, your family will die. Dunlairig will burn. Is this relic really strong enough to protect you from that?”

“That relic is the key to preventing Edward from attacking us. ’Tis the only hope we have of keeping him from running up the great glen and taking over everything. Elspet would never allow it. I choose not to allow it.”

“It will happen anyway. Rowan, I do not want to see your head upon a pike.”

“ ’Twould be better than your friend breaking my will with his abuse.”

Nicholas shoved a hand through his water-tangled hair. “You must believe me, I would
never
allow that to happen. Not to you. Not to any woman.”

She nodded, studying him. “I know. I do believe you, though I should know better by now, but it changes nothing else.”

“So what would you have me do, Rowan? Would you have me walk away and let Edward trample over you and yours?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

“If there is any honor in you, Nicholas of Achnamara, you will come to the castle with me and tell my uncle everything that you know.”

“Love, I cannot. Your uncle would—”

“Nicholas, Jeanette said you were a good man. I believed it. Do you? Do you believe you are a good man? Do you really have no heart, no feelings for me, for this clan that has taken you in? Would you exploit Elspet’s illness, and my feelings? Duncan’s friendship? Kenneth’s trust—all for Longshanks’s cold regard? Would he embrace you if you fail in this task? Would he offer you a second chance? Would you keep
his
trust?”

Each of her words sliced deeper and deeper, cutting away any shred of doubt about which way his future lay. Nicholas didn’t know if he was a good man—he suspected he was not, not after all the things he’d done in his life—but for the first time since he was a boy he wanted to be. He wanted to be what she saw in him, what he had once seen in himself.

“There is no way this will turn out well, Rowan, unless we abandon Dunlairig. None. The king will have his prize.”

“Perhaps, but he shall not get it without a fight and you do not ken the fight we can mount.” She faced him, fists on her hips, stronger than he’d yet seen her. “Will you fight with us or against us? That is the only question that needs answering.”

His choice was simple, clear. “With you, lass. I will fight with you, though I think it a losing fight.”

She considered him in silence for long moments, her back rigid and her fists still on her hips. At last she said, “Very well. Come. We must tell Uncle Kenneth everything.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A
S THEY NEARED
the castle Rowan kept looking behind her to make sure Nicholas was still there. Sweat beaded her brow and trickled down her back even though the air was cool and soft and her clothes were still damp from her race up the burn. Her breath rasped against her throat. She wanted to trust him but she knew she couldn’t. He was a spy. An English spy. And in spite of what he had shared with her about his parents, his choices, his feelings, she did not know if any of it was sincere even though her instinct told her it was. But she couldn’t let any soft feelings that had begun to grow between them alter her duty. He was a spy. Uncle Kenneth must know. Anything else was not important.

It helped that Nicholas said nothing as they walked. His silence made it easier to keep her duty foremost in her thoughts, for she feared, if he said anything, touched her, she’d be lost.

And she would not allow that.

They neared the gate passage and Denis was there in his usual guard post, outside the gate, warming his bones, as he liked to say, in the midday sun.

“Whatever happened to you two?” he asked. “It looks as if you tried to drown each other.” There was a tenseness in his voice that was unusual.

“A misstep, ’tis all,” she answered. “Where is my uncle?”

Nicholas stopped behind her, his presence clear, but he wasn’t crowding her.

Denis glanced over her shoulder at her companion, then back to Rowan. “Is aught amiss, lass?”

“I need to speak with my uncle, Denis. Do you ken where he is?”

The old man nodded. “Aye, he is with Lady Elspet.” He shifted from foot to foot. “Scotia was looking for you not long ago. She is also there, as is Jeanette.”

Rowan’s breath hitched. “My aunt?”

“She had another spell from what Scotia said, like yesterday on the ben.”

“Go, lass,” Nicholas said behind her.

His voice sounded full of concern but she could not trust that. Could not trust him.

“I will find Duncan or Uilliam and tell them everything.”

She could well imagine what Uilliam would do when he heard that Nicholas was an English spy, if she could even count on Nicholas doing what he said.

“Nay.” She turned to look at him. “Nay. You will come with me. If Elspet is asleep, we shall tell Kenneth together. If she is awake, we will wait for her to sleep. She thinks well of you and I will not do anything to upset her right now. Besides, you have taken one beating today. I do not want you dead by Uilliam’s hand before Kenneth has his chance with you.”

“Shall I accompany you, Rowan?” Denis asked, his demeanor suddenly prickly.

“I will be fine, Denis.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Nicholas will not hurt me”—she glared at Nicholas over her shoulder—“nor anyone else here.” Not physically anyway. Emotionally the damage was done.

“Are you sure, lass?”

“Aye. Stay here, Denis. All will be well.” She tapped his arm three times with her forefinger and he lowered his chin just enough to indicate he understood there was trouble she could not speak of in front of Nicholas. Rowan finally took a full breath, assured that the watch would be doubled as soon as Nicholas was out of sight. Kissing the old man on the cheek, she whispered, “My thanks.”

They left Denis scowling after them and crossed to the tower. Rowan worked to keep her mind blank, her thoughts empty, for if she dared imagine what was about to happen she would not be able to climb a single stair.

Kenneth had prepared them all for trouble and now trouble had found them in the form of a dark-haired stranger who awakened a need in her she’d never known existed. A stranger who had seduced her and betrayed her. A stranger who intended harm to each and every one of the denizens of Dunlairig, to her family and her home regardless of what he thought his motives were.

As they crossed the bailey, Rowan fought to get her emotions under control. Her feelings for Nicholas were all mixed up with the quiet strength and calm attention he had shown when Elspet had been stricken on the ben, with the way he had comforted Rowan—had kissed her—with the laughter and passion they had shared.

And around everything she was choked by his betrayal of her, of her family, and all the implications of danger that treachery brought to those she loved.

She would not allow him to harm her family.

They approached Elspet’s chamber and Rowan quietly tapped on the door, unwilling to bring Nicholas into this place without her uncle’s permission. Scotia opened the door, looked at the two of them, but oddly said nothing. She opened the door wide enough for Rowan to enter but put her hand out, stopping Nicholas from entering.

“Not you,” she said, her voice a choked whisper. “Not now.”

Rowan started to object but Nicholas looked over Scotia’s head and met her gaze. “I shall wait right here, Rowan. I will not go anywhere.”

Torn between trusting his word and seeing what had happened with her aunt, she finally turned to the room and let Scotia close the door on him.

Kenneth sat on one side of the bed, holding Elspet’s hand in both of his. Jeanette stood next to him, her hand on her forehead as if she had a headache or was thinking very hard. Scotia sat on the opposite side from Kenneth and took her mum’s other hand.

Rowan made her way to Jeanette’s side, laying one hand on her uncle’s shoulder and the other on her cousin’s. “How fares she?”

Jeanette’s lips tightened and she swallowed hard but she did not speak. Rowan squeezed her shoulder, understanding all too well
the pain of losing a mother. Saying the words would only make it more real.

“What will happen if she dies?” Scotia whispered, sounding like a small child. Rowan’s heart lurched. She closed her eyes as the emotions of the day she lost her own mother hovered close, though not the actual memory of it. She had never been able to remember that day.

“We will persevere,” Kenneth said. “We must. It is what she would want.”

Except for the wheezy rattle of Elspet’s labored breathing, there was silence for a long time.

“But what about the blessings? The Targe?” Scotia looked up at Rowan and Jeanette. “How will we protect the clan if neither of us are chosen to replace her?”

A moment of pride warmed Rowan. Scotia was thinking beyond herself for once, but her question was troubling. It would be hard enough to fend off the English with the Targe and its Guardian at full health and strength. Without a Guardian, though… would the stone Targe be anything other than a stone?

“What happens if the Guardian of the Targe dies without a successor?” she asked.

Jeanette shook her head slowly. “It has never happened, at least not in any of the Guardians’ records I have found. This might be the end of the Highland Targe.”

“Jeanette.” She drew her cousin to the hearth, far enough away from the bedside to speak quietly without being overheard. “How does the new Guardian of the Targe get chosen? I know you have gone to the wellspring with your mum, hoping to be chosen, but what exactly happens? How does it work?”

Jeanette stirred the full kettle of broth hanging over the fire for long moments. At last she glanced at the bed, and her mother lying there looking more transparent by the moment, her each breath growing louder.

“I am not supposed to speak of it, but I confess I know not what to do.” She laid her hand against her forehead again. “Rowan, the
power is supposed to seek out the new Guardian. It finds the next lass with a natural gift and chooses her. Mum said it was like she had been empty and felt a sudden upwelling within her, as if she was filled with light and energy. She said it made her dizzy at first, and then had settled within her with an ease and comfort that calmed her and settled her restlessness. It gave her a sense of purpose such as she had never felt before.”

The tiny hairs on Rowan’s body all stood, the description so close to what she had felt during the blessing… and today, when she had purposely called upon whatever that energy was to throw off Archie. She swallowed. It wasn’t possible. She wasn’t of the line.

“Is there some ritual that must be performed, or some sacred place that must be near for this to happen?”

“I do not ken. For Mum it happened on a late fall day when she and her mum were at the wellspring on the ben. That is why she took us there, hoping that the place was important.”

“Her mum was the Guardian before?”

“Aye, and her mum before that. It is not always the eldest daughter, but ’tis most usual. Mum thought since I have a natural talent for healing that I should be the one chosen.”

“What was Elspet’s natural talent?”

“She had a way with animals. Not a healer exactly, but when she was near, the birthings were easier, injuries healed faster, the cows grew fatter, and the sheep’s wool was softer, longer. It worked with crops, too, and people. You’ve seen her blessings. Whatever power comes to her for that purpose, that is what the power of the Targe made stronger, greater. It made her gift not a weapon but a defense. I have my healing, but it would seem that is not strong enough to make me the Guardian of the Targe. Scotia…” She shrugged. “I do not think high emotions are a gift that would serve the safety of the clan.”