In the Highlander's Bed (22 page)

“I delivered your letter, Gordon,” Brian said. “I did as you ordered. I didn’t wait for an answer but handed it to the servant and left immediately. I never saw a sign of anyone following me.” He nodded toward the paper Gordon now held. “He told me my ear was only a small part of what we’d have to pay if she’d been harmed.”

“Is he bringing an army?” Thomas demanded. Fiona and Grace pushed their way back through the crowd with the bandages. They knelt beside Brian, who was sitting, and began tending his wound.

Constance couldn’t prevent herself from saying, “I’ve seen ears like this. He’ll heal. The bleeding is bad but he’ll be fine.”

Fiona nodded, her eyes wide. Her hands trembled as she cleaned away the blood.

Again Constance could feel the shift of opinion moving away from her.

“I don’t know how many men he has,” Brian answered Thomas. “There was only him.”

“The duke is not bringing an army,” Gordon said. Everyone turned to him. He held up the letter. “This is from Colster. He says for me to meet him on the hallowed ground of the ruins at St. Columcille’s. I know the place. It is an hour’s ride south of here.”

“Does he want you there alone?” Thomas asked. “I don’t advise it.”

His voice reflecting mild surprise, Gordon said, “He actually encourages me to bring as many as I wish.

He says he hopes to see a good number of his clansmen there. He wants to discuss a matter with us.”

“Hisclansmen?” Constance asked, puzzled.

“The duke was one of us at one time,” Gordon said. “Then Laird MacKenna attempted to destroy him and his brother Lord Phillip. When Colster lived as one of our clansmen, we knew him by the name Tavis the Blacksmith.”

Several people nodded.

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Gordon held up the letter so all could see its bold, slashing writing. “He’s bringing the Sword of the MacKenna.”

Constance feared her knees would give out beneath her. If the duke brought the sword, then an exchange must be made. She looked to Gordon, but he would not meet her eyes.

“It could be a trick,” Thomas warned.

“I know Tavis,” Gordon said. “It is no trick. Nor do I believe he knows about the attack on Brian. It’s not his way.”

“What ishis way?” a man in the crowd asked.

“He’s a fair man,” Gordon said. He sounded preoccupied, and Constance wondered if he thought about her, about what might happen to her…to them?

“A fair man?” Thomas challenged. “Look at what has happened to Brian. There is nothing to discuss.”

He pulled his dirk from its scabbard and waved the knife in the air. “The time has come for us to fight for our homes.”

His words were quickly seconded.

Gordon took charge. “We’ll be riding in the hour. Thomas, handpick the men. I want at least fifty. The rest of you will be on guard. Protect the women and children.” He looked to Fiona. “See that Tad is tied up and doesn’t follow.”

“Yes, Gordon,” she said.

At last Gordon looked at Constance, his expression giving nothing away. “You will be riding with us.”

She nodded dumbly, her mind crowded with questions that she dared not ask in front of the others.

“I want to ride with you,” Brian said.

Gordon nodded agreement and started in the direction of his tent. Constance fell into step behind him, Tad at her heels. She waited until they were inside to speak.

“Will you turn me over?” She waited his answer, her heart on edge.

He’d opened the tack chest and pulled out a clean shirt. “I don’t know.”

“What does that mean?” she demanded, a sense of hysteria rising in her throat.

Gordon was to her side in a blink. He took her by the arms, lifting her and pressing a hard, possessive kiss on her lips. There was pain in this kiss…and fear.

She responded by putting her arms around his neck. His hold on her loosened as he brought her close.

The kiss softened. They opened to each other.

He held her against his chest. “It will work out,” he said. “It will be as it should.”

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Her response was to hug him tighter. She refused to let him go. She didn’t want to leave the tent. She didn’t know if she could bear to live past this moment.

But they must. They had no choice.

So when Gordon stepped away, she let him go.

He changed, putting on a jacket of dark green that matched his eyes. She resisted the urge to smooth a hand over his shoulders.

As for herself, she put on a dark blue day dress Fiona had loaned her. It had become one of Constance’s favorite dresses because it set off to advantage the Lachlan tartan. She’d wear that plaid today, and wear it proudly, no matter what happened.

Gordon placed his low-crowned hat on his head. His gaze skimmed to his tartan, draped over her shoulders. “’Tis a bold statement, lass.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

As if agreeing no words were needed, he lifted the flap, to let her leave first.

Outside, the camp was a hive of activity. Gordon took her arm and started to walk toward the stables when Mad Maggie unfolded herself from beside the next tent where she’d been sitting with her Patty.

This was a cleaner, more cared for version of the woman who had attacked Constance that first day, but she could still be as agitated.

“It’s happening,” Maggie said, her voice rising. “It’s the water. It will come.”

“Maggie, go find Fiona,” Gordon said.

“I can’t. I have to warn you,” she said directly to Gordon with an intensity that alarmed Constance. “The water will close over you. It will carry you away.”

“Hey now,” Emma Reivers said, hurrying up. “I’ve been looking for you, Maggie. I’ve been wondering where you were. Come along, and bring Patty, too.”

“I had to warn Gordon,” Maggie said.

“Yes, and you have,” Emma soothed. “However, Gordon has work to do now.”

“I know. He must fetch the sword.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, and taking Maggie by the arms, started to steer her away. She paused in front of Gordon and said in a low voice, “Did you know, we lost a daughter who would have been just about Maggie’s age?”

“I didn’t know that,” Gordon said.

Emma looked at Constance. Tears welled in her eyes. “After she died, my husband and I shut off our hearts. However, since we’ve had the care of Maggie, she’s opened us up a bit. Maggie will never be
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right in the head, but we were needing someone to look after. Thank you.”

She didn’t wait for Constance’s reply, but hurried off, Maggie reluctantly going with her. “It will be all right, Gordon,” Maggie called over her shoulder. “Patty says you will be all right. Just watch the water.”

Constance touched Gordon’s arm. “Do you believe she has a gift of prophecy?”

Gordon shook his head. “I’ve known her for years, and she has been talking about water all that time.

It’s nonsense, Constance. Leave it be.”

“I want to believe all will be fine,” she said soberly.

“It will be,” he answered, taking her arm by the elbow and directing her onward.

Thomas and the men were already saddled and ready to go. Fiona was there, too. She came forward to meet them before they joined the others. She gave Constance a long, hard hug and then said to her brother, “Please, I pray that you haven’t been fighting for so long that you’ve forgotten there is another way to live.”

“I haven’t forgotten, Fee,” Gordon said. “I’m fighting to reclaim it.”

Her doubt was clear in her eyes. “Please bring Constance home to us,” she begged.

The hardness left Gordon’s face. “Yes.”

Constance wanted to believe he could.

Someone had saddled Gordon’s horse. There was no question but that Constance would ride, once again, with Gordon.

Settling back against his chest, she whispered, “We have come a long way.” He squeezed her tight and then nodded for his men to follow him. Tad howled at being left behind, but Fiona had tied a rope around his neck and he had no choice other than to stay.

It was a grim band of warriors that rode down from Ben Dunmore. Thomas rode at Gordon’s side, the others in double file behind them.

Constance didn’t speak. Instead, she rested her hand on his arm circling her waist, their touch a vital link.

The horses were fresh. They covered ground swiftly. After an hour of riding, they rounded a bend in the road and came upon the abandoned abbey of St. Columcille’s.

A party of some twenty men and horses waited for them on a stretch of cleared land beside the ruins. A coach waited to the side, and as the Scots drew closer, a woman opened the door and came out.

Charlotte.

Constance caught her breath at the sight of her sister. Feelings that she thought she’d buried away filled
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her throat. Yes, Charlotte could be overbearing, but the Cameron sisters loved each other.

Her sister was fashionably dressed in an emerald green and yellow traveling ensemble in the military fashion currently in vogue. A cap of the same emerald sporting cascading yellow feathers sat at an angle on her head.

“That’s my sister, Charlotte,” Constance whispered to Gordon, who reined his horse to a halt some fifty yards from the English just as another woman climbed down from the coach. She wore a marine blue velvet coat and was hugely pregnant.

“It’s Miranda,” Constance said, breathing the words. “Gordon, she’s with child. No wonder she and Alex returned to England.”

Before she realized it or could stop them, tears spilled from her eyes.

“What is it?” Gordon asked. “You never cry.”

“I know,” Constance agreed, the tears still coming no matter how hard she tried to stop them. She pressed her hand against her cheeks. “I just am overwhelmed to see them. And Miranda is going to have a baby.” She smiled through the tears. “That is such a blessing. She and Alex have been through so much.”

“What do you want us to do, Gordon?” Thomas’s businesslike voice cut in.

“The one in the blue jacket is the one who cut me,” Brian said.

The Scots all turned to take the measure of the man. Alex Haddon stood proudly beside Charlotte’s husband, Lord Phillip. In tall boots and breeches, he wore his long hair loose, a Shawnee sign to his enemies that he was not afraid of them.

Lord Phillip appeared equally angry. Constance could not like him. He’d tried to destroy her family over Miranda jilting him for Alex…and yet, they stood side by side, a unified family.

She had only met the Duke of Colster once, briefly, a few months ago. He’d changed since then.

Before, he’d been rough around the edges. He now appeared the very model of an English gentleman, and the similarities between him and his twin Lord Phillip were more pronounced.

They’d all come to fetch her, she realized. Even Miranda, who probably shouldn’t be traveling.

What would they think if they knew she’d brought all of this on herself by first planning to run away?

And she hadn’t even left a note…and yet herethey were for her.

Gordon sensed the change in Constance—and it tore at his heart.

Her sisters stood holding each other as if needing the extra support to stand. Constance should be with them, he thought. They were family.

Colster signaled for one of his men to come forward. The man carried a broadsword in an ornate scabbard, its hilt decorated with bloodred rubies. A ripple of excitement went through the Scots. Colster
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knew what he was doing. He pulled the Sword of the MacKenna from the scabbard, the sound of metal against metal filling the air. He held the weapon up so the morning’s thin light caught the blade, turning it to silver.

Gordon noticed Lord Phillip stiffen and knew he was not in favor of this transfer. Lord Phillip understood, as did Colster, what this sword meant to the Scots.

Colster walked to the halfway point and stuck the sword into the ground.

The time for decision was at hand.

Constance tensed. Gordon wished he knew what she was thinking. He prayed for guidance, for wisdom.

“Wait for me,” he ordered his men. He dismounted and began leading Constance on Tempest toward the duke.

As he walked, Constance whispered, “I love you.”

Gordon halted, suddenly unable to go on. He stood as if rooted to the ground. Every fiber of his being wanted to turn to her, and yet, too many watched.

The actions he took and decisions he made over the next few minutes would determine her future. And they would seal his fate.

He drew a deep breath, his own eyes burning. He dared not turn to her. If he did, he knew he would break.

Without moving, he confessed, “I love you, too, with a passion and depth that has changed my whole being. I want to do what is right, but I no longer know what that is.”

“What does your heart tell you?” Her quiet voice was like the whisper of his own conscience.

He tightened his hold on the reins. “It wants to be free of this quest for justice. But the best I can hope for is compromise. I can’t bring my father back…and even if those who lost homes had their possessions returned to them, they are scarred.”

“People rebuild,” she answered.

“But can they forgive? Is it wrong that I love you so much that I long for a life free of this, that I want a home we build together? What of justice? Am I not called to protect those who can’t protect themselves?”

“Sometimes, Gordon, there is no right answer. My father could never even look at a Shawnee without remembering what happened to my mother.”

“And what sort of man was he?” Gordon asked, knowing the answer.

“Angry. Sad…” She paused. “Lonely. There could never be peace for him, and he didn’t care that he had three daughters who loved him.”