In the Highlander's Bed (28 page)

Constance had seen enough. She turned on her heel and left the room. This man was not worthy of her.

She went out into the ballroom, searching for Charlotte, wanting to go home. If anything, Holburn had made her realize how deeply she missed Gordon—

Her steps came to an abrupt halt when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face coming toward her.

It was Fiona. And she was wearing the muslin and lace dress Constance had been in the night she was kidnapped. The gown had been carefully mended and washed so that only the most critical eye could see signs of wear. Her rich mahogany hair was styled high on her head. She wore no jewelry or adornment other than a fan she carried. She didn’t need the fripperies. She appeared absolutely exquisite, a fresh, wholesome beauty in a sea of jaded appetites.

Coming to Constance’s side, Fiona flipped open the fan to provide them a moment of private conversation. “I am so fortunate to have caught you alone. Come with me,” she whispered before Constance could speak.

“Where are we going?” Constance wondered.

“To Gordon.”

Constance couldn’t move. “He’s alive?” she said, almost afraid to dare to hope.

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“Yes,”Fiona said, bringing her head close to Constance’s and giving her arm a squeeze. “Except that he must leave England as soon as possible. There are people who would have smuggled him out of the country by now, but he won’t leave until he sees you again.”

“Where is he?”

“First, is this true that you have promised yourself to another? It’s all everyone is talking about this evening. They keep mentioning your name with the Duke of Holburn’s.”

“No, it’s not true,” Constance said. “Most particularly not now. Please, Fiona, take me to Gordon. I have so much to tell him. Or is he here?” she asked, struck by the even more amazing thought that he might be in that very room. She began searching the crowd with her eyes.

“He’s not in these rooms,” Fiona said.

“Then where is he?”

“There is a park across the road from this house—”

She talked to air. All Constance needed was a direction. Fiona hurried to keep up with her.

They had wound their way through the growing crush of guests and were halfway to the door, when Fiona’s hand reached out and stopped Constance. “Don’t take another step.”

“Why?” Constance asked, alarmed by Fiona’s sudden paleness. It was as if all color had drained from her face and she’d gone as white as the dress she wore.

Fiona flipped open her fan, using it to whisper, “That officer over there…” She nodded in the direction by the door. “He’s the man who led the attack on our camp.”

Constance looked in the direction and was surprised to see Captain Jonathon Ardmore, the officer who had been at Madame Lavaliere’s dance. His uniform was all brass and braid, and he sported a sling over one shoulder, the injured hand wrapped in bandages.

He saw Constance, his brows rising in recognition, and began moving toward her.

“Please,” Fiona said. “I can’t be near that man. His arm is injured because Tad bit him. Our brave dog almost tore his arm off.”

She didn’t need to say more. Constance turned around, ready to head in the opposite direction, and almost walked right into the Dowager Duchess of Holburn.

Worse, she had her son at her side. “His Grace wishes a formal introduction,” the dowager said. “Miss Constance Cameron, this is my son, His Grace, the Duke of Holburn.” Her words came out in a rush, as if she feared he’d bolt before she was done.

His sullenness did not endear him to Constance any more than his previous indifference. He bobbed the quickest greeting imaginable.

“What a pleasure to meet you,” she shot back. “Now, if you will excuse me—”

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Holburn blocked her way. “I would have preferred this one with the darker hair, Mother,” the duke continued in a lazy, sensual voice, “over the one you’ve chosen.” He referred to Constance. “I don’t like blondes.”

Before Constance could gather her wits to answer, Fiona stepped in. “AndI don’t appreciate arrogance,” she replied, her refined Scots’ accent giving the reprimand punch. “Moreover, if all you desire in your future bride, Your Grace, is hair color, let me inform you that Constance Cameron is not the wife for you.You lack the spirit.”

“Who areyou? ” Holburn asked, sounding more intrigued than insulted.

“Yes,who are you?” his mother echoed, definitely insulted.

“Someone who doesn’t have time foryou ,” Fiona said, taking Constance’s hand and pulling her toward the garden door. Constance glanced back and saw Holburn watching them leave, a speculative look in his eye. He completely ignored the dowager, who was so upset, presumably over Fiona’s rudeness, that the feathers in her hair shook with her indignation. He started to follow.

“This way,” Constance said, pulling Fiona’s hand and ducking through a garden door.

The crowd in the ballroom had spilled out onto a wide terrace. Fiona and Constance navigated their way toward some stairs leading down into the garden. The ground was damp, so none of the other guests wanted to venture this far lest they damage their footwear.

“There must be a gate here someplace,” Constance said as they moved deeper into the garden’s shadows.

Fiona said, “Thatwas the man your sister wanted you to marry?”

“He’s a duke. Charlotte has a softness for one of us marrying a duke.” But it wasn’t going to happen.

Not now that she knew Gordon was alive.

“That was my first London party,” Fiona murmured.

A wistfulness in her voice caught Constance’s attention. “Was it all you thought it would be?” she asked.

“I personally have never been impressed.”

Fiona shook her head. “Whether it is or isn’t no longer matters. It’s lost to me.”

Constance pulled up short. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t belong there any longer, Constance. I’m damaged goods.”

“Not through any fault of your own,” Constance replied with fierce protectiveness. “Do you hear me?

Please, Fiona, reach inside of yourself and be proud of who you are. Let that sustain you instead of some nonsense about being untouched. The man who loves you will not care.”

“How little you know of men,” Fiona said.

The garden was much larger than Constance had suspected. They were walking in the silver moonlight toward the garden wall. A line of trees and shrubs provided privacy as well as foreboding shadows.

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Constance stopped near the wall, protected from the sight of those on the terrace by a sheltering of evergreens. “I know enough to believe that any man worthy of your love will respect you for the person you are.”

“If that was the case, courtesans would be wives,” Fiona said.

Constance took her by the arms. “Please, Fiona, never give up hope. Never lose faith in love. Life makes no sense without it. And as soon as I find the garden gate, I’m going to your brother and I will never leave him again—”

A shadow against the shrubberies moved. Hands grabbed her shoulders, effectively cutting off anything else she was going say. Before Constance could make a sound, Gordon whirled her around and planted a kiss on her lips.

Nineteen

He was alive.

With a soft, glad sigh, Constance leaned against Gordon, reveling in the solid, very real feeling of him.

This was the man she loved. The only man she could ever be with. What had made her think she could marry another, even to give their child a father?

And he was happy to see her. Just when the kiss should break off, he’d come back for more. If she could have swallowed him whole, she would have. He wore coat and breeches—and this time even a neck cloth. The Sword of the MacKenna was on a belt around his waist. It bumped her hip as he gathered her close and kissed her more deeply. He smelled of the Highlands, the fresh, clean air and the magnificent forests.

At last they became aware of Fiona tapping them on the shoulder.

“Are you mad?” she whispered furiously. “Do you not realize where we are? Gordon, why didn’t you stay over in the park?”

He ignored his sister’s frantic questions. “I missed you,” he said to Constance, a wealth of meaning in every word.

“I love you,” she answered.

Gordon brought his head down for another kiss.

Fiona stopped him by placing her hand in the path between his lips and Constance’s mouth. “Do you not hear me? We must leave now,” she said, enunciating each word. “Ardmore is inside.”

“Ardmore? That bastard—” Gordon let go of Constance. Placing his hand on the hilt of the sword, he said, “And what is this about you and another?”

“After that kiss, Gordon, do you truly think I could consider another man?” Constance said, pulling him back to her.

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He would have kissed her again, but Fiona tugged on his coat sleeve. “Please, Gordon, don’t be foolish.

You must leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Constance.”

Constance melted in his arms. “Nor will I let you.”

“So there is no duke waiting to marry you?” he asked.

“Even if there was, I’d let him wait,” Constance said. “I’ve loved only one man in my life, Gordon Lachlan, and it’s you.”

“Please,”Fiona begged, “donot kiss. We need to leave now.”

But what truly helped her case was the sound of scratching close by and a whimper. “Tad,” Gordon said. “Grace is holding him but he’ll start barking if we don’t go to him.”

“Grace is here, too?” Constance asked happily.

“Aye, she’s become the closest I have to a sister,” Fiona answered.

“Which we won’t be much longer if someone doesn’t help me with this dog,” Grace said in a harried, hushed voice from the other side of the wall.

They all laughed. Gordon sobered enough to say, “Are you ready, Constance? Will you leave with me now?”

“Where’s the gate?” was her answer.

It was close by, hidden behind some shrubs. Gordon pulled back the branches and lifted the latch, but before he could let the women through, there was a male grunt and a heavy-sounding thud. A man cursed the garden’s uneven ground. Constance recognized the voice.

“It’s Colster,” she warned.

Gordon started to swing open the door but Constance didn’t move. She knew they were seen. Their light-colored ball gowns had to stand out in the moonlight.

She was right.

“Constance? Is that you? We’ve been looking for you everywhere. You disappeared from the ballroom.

What are you doing out here?” he asked as he moved closer.

She moved to stand in front of Fiona and Gordon. “Please, Justin, keep your voice down.”

“Why—” he started, then stopped as he recognized Gordon, who held the garden gate half open. “So the devil does live.”

“’Tis good to see you, too,” Gordon replied, his voice guarded.

Tad chose that moment to push his nose through the partially open gate. He sniffed and then shouldered
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the gate open, breaking free of an exasperated Grace so he could attack Constance with a glad, joyful run. Coming up on his hind legs, he embraced her with so much force, she fell back against Justin. There was a rope around his neck.

Grace followed him, blowing on her palm. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold him, not once he heard Constance’s voice.”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Constance told the wolfhound, who had the good manners to come back down on all fours after his initial happiness was registered.

“Glad to see who?” Phillip asked. He was moving toward them, and would momentarily join their growing band beneath the protection of the trees. “Justin, did you find Constance?”

Gordon groaned his frustration while Justin said in a low voice, “I found her. She’s here.”

Phillip came closer and stopped dead in his tracks when he realized Constance wasn’t alone. “Lachlan,”

he said coolly. “Are you mad?”

Gordon frowned his response.

“This is Fiona Lachlan, Gordon’s sister,” Constance said to fill the sudden silence. “And this is Grace McEachin.”

“Scots,” Phillip said, pressing his lips together with distaste. “Have you come to try and take Constance with you?” he demanded, not bothering to lower his voice.

“Yes,” Gordon said. He held out his hand and Constance went to him. Tad moved around to nudge her hand and let her know he was there, too.

Phillip shook his head. “We can’t let him, Justin.”

“Yes, we can,” Colster answered. “Do you not see, Phillip? They belong together with the same fierce passion you and Charlotte have.”

For a long moment Phillip stood still. “But what of Constance? What life can he give her?”

“The only one I want,” Constance said.

“I’m leaving the country,” Gordon informed them. “I want her with me.”

“Where are you going?” Justin asked.

Gordon’s hold around Constance tightened. “Wherever a ship will take me.”

“And the sword?” Phillip wondered. “What will happen to it?”

“I won’t use it against the English, if that is what you are asking,” Gordon said. “Colster’s offer to the clan has been a godsend. Most of my clansmen are resettling on his lands. I don’t want to disrupt their chance for peace. I’ll take the sword with me.”

Fiona stepped forward, her exasperation clear. “My brother must leave tonight,” she said. “Please,
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Captain Ardmore is in the ballroom. He was the one who attacked our camp. If he finds Gordon, he’ll see him hanged for the reward. But is my brother leaving? No, he insists upon standing here gabbing instead of fleeing to safety the way he should.”