Lord of the Highlands (27 page)

She smiled back, savoring the connection of his eyes locked with hers. Beaming, she dipped back into the sporran.

“A-ha! Here’s a little
somethin-somethin
,” she said, pulling out the blue velvet bag. “What might this be?”

“That might be something.”

“Something for me?”

“Aye. Though you’ve been exceptionally naughty. I don’t know that you’ve earned it.”

“You just watch me earn it,” she said in her best seductress voice. “Maybe I haven’t been naughty enough . . .”

“Oho!” He laughed, wrapping her hands around the gift. “If I have any hopes of walking out of here no more lame than I already am, you’ll need to staunch your naughtiness for another hour at least.”

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Well can I open it?”

“And you’re suggesting I could stop you?”

“Oh goodie,” she said, assessing the pouch in her hand. There was something thick inside. Larger than a ring, smaller than a bracelet, though with the heft of one. “What is it?”

He merely shrugged, and she leaned in, planting an enthusiastic kiss on his cheek. “I love presents.”

“Aye, so I see.”

She beamed at him. She could listen to that accent for the rest of her life and she’d never tire of all Will’s
ayes
.

Felicity carefully unknotted the drawstring, and made a little anticipatory gasp to see the twinkle of polished metal.

She pulled out a piece of jewelry made of hammered gold. It was shaped like a torc, an unclosed circle that bore the head of a Celtic creature at each end, with brownish gems for eyes. A thick, blunt pin was secured along the back.

“Oh, Will.” Tucking it close to her heart, she told him, “I love it.”

“A Viking design,” he said, smiling. “I thought it only fitting.”

“Viking jewelry from my Viking.” She shook her head, momentarily speechless, tilting the piece to glint in the weak sunlight.

“The stones are garnet,” he told her, watching her avidly. “They put me in mind of your eyes, when they’re caught by the sun.”

“Is . . . is it a brooch?”

“No . . .” He turned her head gently and, gathering two thick swaths of her hair, secured it at the crown of her head. “For your bothersome hair. Don’t you know? My wish is to free you of even the smallest of your troubles.”

“My silly hair.” Tears stung her eyes as she turned to look at him. Her Will. He was gorgeous to her, sitting there looking so uncharacteristically rumpled, with a day-old beard and disheveled brown hair. “You remembered.”

“Aye, Felicity. You are a hard woman to forget.”

 

They walked along the road, and Will was more certain than ever that Felicity must go.

Time alone with her was heaven. If he thought it were possible to disappear together, to run away and hide on some distant island as James had with Magda, he’d leap at the chance. But he could not let himself forget, for even a moment, the grave danger she was in.

Every minute she spent in the past, the danger only grew. Jamie was relentless; he wouldn’t stop until everything Will loved was destroyed. Even now, he’d be combing the countryside for them. Even now, he’d have Robertson’s followers whipped into a bloodthirsty frenzy.

He had to keep her safe. They had to say good-bye. And Will knew their parting would forever extinguish this strange new vitality, this joy, he’d discovered deep within.

She’d leave, returning to her strange and foreign world. But Will would stay. He’d pledged his help to the Sealed Knot men, to the King. He’d keep his word, and it would likely cost him his life.

But parting from Felicity? The cost of that would be his very soul.

She kept biting her lip in concentration, touching the back of her head, tracing her finger over her wee hair ornament. Will wondered if there wasn’t an invisible string tied from that mouth to his heart, because every time she nibbled at it with that look of happiness on her face, he felt a tug in his chest. It was deeply gratifying to have pleased her so.

She was such a delight, always so ready to embrace pleasure, to be with her was a revelation. When he was by her side, he forgot his inclination to sink ever downward. He’d lived his life driven by disquiet, despondency. But Felicity was so easy, so light, with an inner fire that illuminated a side of himself he’d never known existed.

It was agony to think on their coming good-bye. He was leading them to Lochaber, to Cameron lands. He’d heard tell of a witch there, one who could help his Felicity.

The thought was too painful. An instant misery, like those nettles that had stung her what felt like so long ago. And so he pushed it from his mind, choosing instead to cling to this brief flare of joy in his life.

This joy that he would allow himself to feel, before he had to bid it farewell forever.

Chapter 26

“You will deliver Ormonde and your brother William to me.” Richard Cromwell flicked the ends of his hair over his shoulders, a habit that Jamie was finding particularly irritating. “Their heads will suffice.”

“Who are you to order me?” Jamie paused before the grave of Maggie Wall. Once such an inspiration, it now served as a bitter reminder of how Will had thwarted his plans yet again.

Oliver Cromwell’s half-wit son had shown up on the doorstep of Duncrub Castle, bold as day. Jamie promptly whisked him to someplace more discreet. Robertson’s untimely death had riled the minister’s followers and set village tongues to wagging, and he dared not bring undue attention onto the Rollo household. “Is that an order from your father?” Jamie asked.

“My father is dead.”

“Ah.”
Oliver Cromwell, dead?
The news silenced Jamie, his mind barraged by a thousand different thoughts. Would Cromwell’s death mean the restoration of the King? Would Parliamentarians like him find their fates on the gallows?

“And who takes over in his stead?” Jamie finally asked.

“I,” Richard said simply. He removed a large handkerchief from his pocket and fastidiously spread it over a large rock. He sat, crossing his legs primly at the ankles. “Richard Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, Scotland, and Ireland. I quite like the sound.”

Could it be true?
Could Oliver Cromwell truly have designated his underachieving third son as his successor? And should this half-wit fail? They’d all be hanged as traitors.

“I shall mourn your father,” Jamie told him carefully. Richard gave a mute nod and another flick over his shoulders, and Jamie thought his pale hair and weak features gave the impression of a diluted version of the elder Cromwell. “Oliver Cromwell was one of the last, great men. His death must have been a shock to your family.”

“Indeed. Thankfully it didn’t happen before he had the opportunity to name me his successor.” Dusting a leaf from his trousers, he scanned his eyes slowly over Jamie. “My father spoke of you. I was curious to meet you. The infamous eldest Rollo.”

Jamie bristled. When would he be seen as his own person? He was always lumped with the Rollo men. Tiresome and self-righteous, the lot of them.

“How is it to have a crippled war hero for a brother?” Richard asked suddenly. “It must’ve stung when he bested you at the Tower.”

Jamie was grateful his face was turned.
Tread with care.
He schooled his emotions, smoothing the loathing from his face. “I would’ve traveled to you, in London,” he said, ignoring the jibe. “Upon hearing the news.”

“But I find it illuminating to meet men in their own province,” Richard said, taking in the woods around them. “There is no better way to take the measure of a man than unguarded and among his family. And your Perthshire has a peculiar . . . charm.
Maggie Wall.
Peculiar indeed,” he added with distaste, studying the crudely painted grave marker. “Though I would’ve liked to see the actual inside of your home.”

“Too much danger has crossed my mother’s doorstep already.”

“A dutiful son.” Richard nodded. “If only we could see the same sense of duty applied to the Parliamentary cause.”

Jamie was struck speechless, and Cromwell took advantage. “I too am a dutiful son,” he continued. “And carry on I must. It appears our Royalist enemies have found ways to communicate. Correspondence has been making its way to the King.”

“Beg pardon,” Jamie said in mock innocence. Though he knew he should proceed with caution, this little meeting had him feeling decidedly testy. “But we no longer call Charles II king, correct?”

“Spare me the academics.” Richard’s lip twitched in a petulant grimace. The man was silent for a moment, presumably deliberate, the intention for Jamie to feel his wrath. But Jamie found it had quite the opposite effect, almost comic.

All had heard of Oliver’s attempts to discipline Richard, to train him, hammer a backbone into the man. But Oliver could lay in his deathbed and call his son a leader, and still it wouldn’t make him one.

“As I was saying, the death of my father gives these Royalists fresh hope. The people have gotten the idea they need”—he scowled—“
representation
in the Parliament. More and more rally each day to restore the King.”

“Englishmen do love their monarchs,” Jamie muttered.
I could always flee to France. Escape the wrath of a restored king, should this half-wit fail.

“But I’d have the people love
me
.”

Or I could find myself an exotic whore and wait this out in the Indies.
Jamie could barely conceal his disdain. “It’s not the people whose love you require. As I understand it, you’re finding few friends among the military.”

“And that’s where you come in, Rollo.” Cromwell’s eyes narrowed, and Jamie wondered where in hell this could be going. “If I were to bring down this secret Sealed Knot group, it would do much to earn confidence. Ormonde is a member, and it seems your own brother must be too. Both men were in our hands, and both
you
lost.”

My damned brother. Always it comes back to damned Willie.
“It wasn’t my brother who was imprisoned. It was his woman.”

“Beside the point. I don’t understand why my father put up with you.” Richard shook his head as if disappointed in a willful child. “You were asked to keep a handle on Ormonde. He escaped on your watch, and now he ferries back and forth, easy as you please, carrying letters to and from Charles as if he were a goddamned pigeon.”

Jamie had to look away. He refused to suffer such scolding. Richard had been ineffectual when he was merely Cromwell’s third son, and Jamie couldn’t imagine he’d be any more capable now.

He glimpsed Richard’s lizard smile out of the corner of his eyes. The man thought he’d scored a victory, and it made Jamie’s blood boil.

“What’s important to you?” Richard pressed. “Because if it’s advancement, I suggest you do what you can to squash these Royalists. Retrieve your brother, retrieve Ormonde, get a handle on these things which have spun out of your control.”

Out of
my
control?

Jamie wondered about true leaders and what special quality it was that sparked fear in the hearts of their men. For though Richard was giving him a talking-to, Jamie couldn’t muster enough respect even to look the man directly in the eye.

“Your father doubted neither my commitment nor my abilities,” Jamie said coldly.
No man, not even this fool, will doubt my abilities ever again.
“I will do these things for you. I will bring you my brother.”

“Yes, you will.” Richard flicked his hair. “As I’ve said, his head will suffice.”

Chapter 27

“Don’t get me wrong.” Felicity adjusted herself on the thick blanket they were using in lieu of a saddle. When the Roman road ended and they’d emerged from the woods, Will left her to rest, and he returned having somehow procured a horse.

“I’m very happy to be off my feet.” She wriggled those feet, stretching her sore calves. “And,” she added, nestling her rump back along his belly, “I’m totally loving this riding with you thing.” And boy, was she. Being safely encased in the hard muscle of Will’s arms and legs was pure, delicious heaven. “But it seems to me you can’t just take someone’s horse.”

“ ’Twas borrowed from a Campbell. Believe me, love, the Campbells have coin enough for an entire herd of horses, straight from Arabia if they wished it.”

“Yeah . . .” she said hesitantly. She didn’t think she’d ever really get all the various clans and the seemingly irrational hatred some of them bore each other. “But it’s still stealing.”

“Then would that I could have
stolen
two.”

“Wouldn’t that just be twice as bad?”

He sighed deeply.

“What did
that
mean?” She reached back and nudged him with her elbow.

“It means you have much to learn about the ways of the Highlands.”

“Are you saying I’ll be staying?”

“You know I’m not.” He hugged his arms snugly around her belly in an effort to take the sting from his words.

“You’ll see. You’ll decide to let me stay.” She took one of his hands from her belly and brought it to her breast. “How’s about we take a little break so I can try to convince you again?” She wriggled her hips, grinding back in an attempt to rouse him.

“Och, woman.” Will nuzzled her from behind, trailing lingering kisses and nibbles along her neck. He gave her breast a gentle squeeze. “Would that we had time. But there’s no rest for us now.”

Her neck was cool as he pulled from her to take in the wide-open glen around them. The riding was slow going now, headed uphill.

“They’ll be after us,” he said. “We cannot risk getting caught. I imagine we’ll have riled my brother,” Will added with a low chuckle.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve told you. To Cameron country, to return you home.”

“Will we be safe there?” She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of being kidnapped, or of witnessing men go at each other so savagely. Though she wanted to remain with Will, her strong preference would be to stay clear of men with swords.