Highlander's Prize (34 page)

Clarrisa tightened her hand around the ring as Daphne gripped her wrist and led her between other tents. The fight faded as they searched for the banners of the Earl of Sutherland.

“There…” Daphne muttered. “Pray, Clarrisa, for I have no faith in anything else at the moment.”

***

“Where did they go?” Lord Home demanded.

Norris shivered and looked about the tent as though searching for the women. “I… I heard ye and the prince…” he muttered.

“Ye shall not question him further, Lord Home.” James spoke sharply. “The surgeon told ye he was near death.”

“So he did,” Home replied, but Norris saw the suspicion glittering in his eyes. Norris played his part, lying still, as though his walk to the door had overtaxed him. In truth, he was itching to be free of the tent, but Home would follow him the moment he left. The women needed more time to escape.

So he lay back, allowing the prince to believe him weak. But it was a dangerous game, one that might end in his death if Home decided he knew too much. For the moment, though, he had to stay put. Broen MacNicols owed him a large favor—so long as they were both among the living by dawn, a fact he wasn’t entirely sure of.

***

“I’ve got to get ye both away from this camp.” Gahan Sutherland was a huge man. His hair was black as midnight, and his hands massive. He turned the ring over several times before slipping it into his pouch.

“Strip out of those dresses.” He didn’t give them any time to argue, pointing at Clarrisa and Daphne. “And thank Christ both of ye have short hair, or I’d be cutting it off. Ye’ll dress as lads—and even that may not be enough to get ye out of this camp as more than corpses. Undress while I fetch ye some clothing.”

He was gone only a few moments before he ducked under the rod holding up the top of the tent and threw a bundle of clothing at them. “Get into these and grab me sword and shield before ye attend me outside.”

“So now we’re lads…” Daphne muttered as she tried to buckle the belt to hold the kilt around her waist.

“You’ve come a far distance from life in the convent,” Clarrisa whispered.

Daphne gasped, but her eyes filled with merriment. She smothered her amusement behind a hand. “Ye’re wicked, Clarrisa.”

“She is English, nothing more foul on this earth, except perhaps the stench of English royal blood.” Lord Home stood in the doorway with his men behind him. “Something I plan to rid this country of.”

***

She should have been afraid, but all she felt was a sense of calmness that settled deep, feeling like it was seeping into her bones.

Lord Home motioned his men toward her, but Clarrisa stepped forward. Daphne tried to hold on to her, but she gently twisted her wrist from the girl’s grip.

“I am finished with these games,” she announced. Surprise flickered in Home’s eyes, but she focused on the admiration on the faces of his men. She’d not die a coward.

Once outside the tent, she drew more than one curious stare. “Well now, my Lord Home, shall you slit my throat here for all to see?”

“Be silent, woman,” he growled.

Boldness flooded her, sparking a rebellious desire inside her. “I think not. If your plan is to murder me, I believe all should know you are not satisfied by your victory.”

“I told ye to be silent!” Lord Home hissed.

“Clarrisa of the house of York doesn’t often keep her mouth shut.” Clarrisa jerked around, certain Broen’s ghost had arrived, because the man had sworn to protect her.

“She does so because she is the daughter of a king.” Broen was filthy. His shirt was brown with dried blood, and his kilt sliced in several places. Mud was caked to his boots all the way to his knees, but he was the finest sight she had ever beheld. She launched herself toward him, only to be caught by the royal guards.

“Laird MacNicols… we feared ye dead.” Lord Home spoke softly. The man didn’t care for how many men were clustered about them. “Let us retire to the royal pavilion.”

“As ye like, so long as ye tell yer men to get their hands off
my
woman
.” Broen’s voice was deadly, and he’d raised his sword, his eyes bright with challenge. The royal guards closed around Lord Home, obviously fearing for their master’s safety.

The fear she hadn’t felt earlier arrived now, choking her. Had she found him only to watch him die because of her careless behavior?

“Now there, me lads… is a fine example of what happens when a Highlander steals a woman.” Kael Grant appeared beside Broen, looking as battle-worn and determined. He held his sword up, standing shoulder to shoulder with Broen. “So I suggest ye do what he says. Unlike the rest of ye, the battle has nae really ended for us.”

“Put down your swords. To threaten me is to threaten the prince,” Lord Home declared.

The guards holding Clarrisa didn’t agree; they released her with a shrug. She ran through the space between her and Broen, reaching for the man she’d longed so much for. He held her only for a moment, but she was sure it was a lifetime.

“To hold her is treason, Laird MacNicols, but ye are welcome to share her execution,” Home muttered before marching back toward his pavilion. He raised his hand and waved his guards at them, but one look from Broen and the guards tugged on the corners of their bonnets, waiting to follow them to the royal pavilion.

“Clarrisa, lass… why is it ye are never where I leave ye?” He’d pulled her close and buried his head in her hair. She heard him draw in a deep breath, the arm binding her to him quivering. One of the royal guards cleared his throat.

“’Tis a damned sad day when a man returns from death’s doorstep and cannae take a moment to enjoy his woman’s embrace.”

“Aye, it is that, makes me wonder what I’ve been bleeding for,” Kael stridently agreed. Several of the guards looked away, unable to maintain their determined stares.

“A letter arrived. It was signed with your name, Broen. Claiming ye needed me here to tend ye,” she explained.

Kael stepped close while Broen still held her to him. “Whose men escorted ye here?” Broen demanded softly. The seriousness in his expression made her shiver because it was clear their situation was as precarious as she believed. Lord Home might have her executed for no other reason than the blood flowing through her veins. But what frightened her was the determination in Broen’s eyes to shield her, with his own life if necessary.

“Lord Home’s. Norris is there in the royal pavilion. He gave me his signet ring, but we were discovered.”

Kael muttered something. “Norris is playing a damned dangerous game to be resting his head there when his own men are here.” Broen looked around, his muscles tensing.

Kael shook his head. “We’ve no chance of success. No’ with our men on the other side of the camp and all of us fresh from the field. Better to see if we can play it out. Norris is clearly of the same mind or he’d no’ be lying down in that royal pavilion. I’d bet me lairdship on it.”

“Aye, and the fact that he gave his signet ring says he can be trusted.”

Determination flickered in Broen’s eyes, and it gave her confidence, but there was something else there, something that sent a sickening twist of dread through her.

***

“Where is the prince?” Broen demanded.

“He’s gone to confession. His Majesty is besieged by guilt over his father’s passing. He’ll likely be gone for hours,” Lord Home informed them from behind his desk. His tone was smug, and he casually reached for a goblet of wine before looking at them.

The royal guards had had no difficulty in releasing her, but they had also escorted Broen along with her into the pavilion she’d so recently escaped. Fate had a misplaced sense of humor.

“I shall continue to make decisions that have His Majesty’s best interests at heart,” Lord Home declared.

She could hear him condemning her, but what sickened her was the fact that Broen was standing beside her. That was the horror she could not bear.

“Laird MacNicols does not need to share my fate. I became his mistress to have a place.” She almost choked on the words but still forced herself to continue. “My uncle raised me to always consider gaining the best position I might.”

“Poppycock,” Broen announced. “She’s the woman I plan to wed because I damned well want to. Ye’re a bloody bastard to go after my woman while I’m out fighting to protect yer interests.”

“Don’t listen to him… He has a noble heart and wants to protect me,” Clarrisa offered quickly. “I duped him into believing I have affection for him, but I couldn’t ever have tender feelings for a Scotsman.” She tried but failed to put as much disgust in her tone. At least she kept her chin level and her stare unwavering.

Lord Home smiled at her, but it wasn’t a pleasant expression. “Rebellion shall not be tolerated, no matter the reason. The prince will be crowned, and only those loyal to him will be left in Scotland.”

He looked beyond her. “Slit her throat and run through any man who steps into yer path.”

Broen let out a snarl, but he had been disarmed, and the royal guards were all armed with pikes. The men lowered their weapons, pointing the deadly iron tips at them. A sense of calm gripped her, and she stepped forward, confident in her choice. Broen snarled softly and dug his hand into the back of her dress to yank her back.

“Release me, Broen,” she muttered her words kindly, but the expression she witnessed on his face was one of the Highlander she’d faced when he first stole her.

“Nae a chance in hell, woman. Ye belong to me, and any man who threatens ye will face me.”

He pulled her behind him, and Kael planted a hard hand on her shoulder to yank her behind him as well. Horror gagged her as the royal guards squared their shoulders and stepped forward with their pikes aimed at Broen.

“We’ve received a ransom demand for Lairds Chisholms and Matthews from the remains of the royalist ranks.”

The royal guards jumped, pointing their weapons at the young prince as he came hurrying through the door. The guards escorting him drew their swords, bristling.

“What happens here, Lord Home?” the prince demanded.

“Lord Home was just hearing about the ransom demand from Laird MacNicols and his clever plan to trade Clarrisa of the York family for our men.” Norris Sutherland spoke up from behind the prince, pushing himself into a seated position. “Incredibly clever to trade an English royal bastard for good Scots lairds.”

The prince smiled. “A wonderful idea, and it warms our heart to see ye recovering.”

James turned to stare at her. He moved forward, looking more mature than his fifteen years. “I understand my father wanted to have a son with you.”

Norris watched her from behind the prince, warning her with a stern look. Lord Home was quiet, obviously unwilling to admit he’d been making execution decisions without the prince’s approval. She lowered herself in front of the prince.

“I did as commanded by my family.”

James considered her for a long moment. “Every child owes obedience to their parents. It is written in the scriptures.” The prince lost his composure for a moment, grimacing as though he was in pain. “Something I have recently learned I am guilty of not doing. I will forever strive to repent for the sin of being part of my father’s death. The circumstances do not excuse me from the commandments.”

Everyone in the tent waited for the youth to recover his poise, which he did quickly. He turned and walked to a large chair and sat down in it. Clearly he’d been raised to rule, for he looked like a king at that moment—poised and calm as he considered everyone in the pavilion.

“My prince…” Lord Home muttered. “She is a threat to you. Her kin will only arrange another match for her, with another man who thinks to challenge your place.”

“Which is why ye should allow me to wed her,” Broen interrupted. “I’ll take her into the Highlands, and our children will be loyal to ye. I’ve proven my loyalty these past few days by fighting on yer behalf.”

“But you have a betrothed, Laird MacNicols,” Lord Home declared, his skin flushing with agitation. He pointed at Daphne where she stood silently watching the entire exchange. “Daphne MacLeod is bound to you and in just as much need of controlling, for her father fought with the royalists. I’m happy to report he fell in battle and will no longer trouble us, but the man had no sons. The MacLeods need controlling by a laird loyal to our prince. Besides, what the church has blessed cannot be undone so simply.”

A strangled gasp came from Daphne. She slapped a hand over her mouth, but her eyes were wide with grief. Tears began to slowly fall down her cheeks.

“A betrothal must be honored.” The prince spoke gravely. “There is no way to avoid that truth.”

“I failed to honor it,” Daphne interjected. “The disgrace is mine. Broen has the right to renounce me for refusing to take my wedding vows.”

“As I said, the MacLeod need controlling, beginning with this girl who needs to honor her father’s word, but another match can be made for her,” Lord Home sputtered. He made a slashing motion with his hand. “MacNicols hopes to breed sons who will have a claim on your throne, and we have no need of men who plan such treason.”