Rebellion & In From The Cold (31 page)

“There is news,” Serena said, and told them.

At first light, they took what they could carry. Parkins laid Maggie as gently as he could in the litter he had fashioned. She bit back her moans, and though she tried, she was too weak yet to hold the baby. The journey into the hills was slow and nearly silent, with Malcolm leading the way.

At the top of a ridge, where the first early flowers were pushing their way through the thin soil, Fiona stopped. The forest where she had come as a bride spread beneath, shimmering behind a thin, morning mist. At the top of the rise stood the house where she had lived with Ian, given birth to her children.

As she stood, the breeze rippled her plaid but left her cheeks colorless and her eyes dull.

“We will come back, Mother.” Serena slipped an arm around her mother’s waist and laid her head on Fiona’s shoulder. “They will not take our home.”

“So much of my life is there, Serena, and my heart. When they brought your father back, I thought my life had ended, as well. But it has not.” She took a long breath. Her slender shoulders straightened. Her head came up. “Aye, the MacGregors will come back to Glenroe.”

They stood a moment longer, watching the blue slate house glimmer in the strengthening sunlight.

They reached the cave two hours later. Malcolm and Serena had already laid by wood and peat for the fire. They had blankets and stores from the kitchen, medicines and milk drawn fresh that morning.
Hidden behind rocks was the chest that held Brigham’s shepherdess and a miniature of his grandmother, and his strongbox. Serena set her grandfather’s claymore at the entrance to the cave and checked the pistols and ammunition.

Gwen tended Maggie while Fiona soothed the baby they already called young Ian.

“Can you fire a pistol, Parkins?” Serena asked.

“Yes, Lady Ashburn, should it become necessary.”

Despite her fatigue, she grinned. He had used the same tone of voice he might have if she had asked him if he knew how to remove a wine stain from lace. “Perhaps you would take this one?”

“Very well, my lady.” He took the pistol with a slight bow.

“You are more than you seem, Parkins.” She thought of the competent manner with which he had fashioned the litter, and of the way he had pulled it and its fragile burden over the rough ground. “I begin to see why Lord Ashburn keeps you close. You have been with him long?”

“I have been in service with the Langstons for many years, my lady.” When she only nodded and stared at the mouth of the cave, he softened. “He will come back to us, my lady.”

Tears threatened, but only one managed to escape before she blinked them back. “I would give him a son this first time, Parkins. What was his father’s given name?”

“It was Daniel, my lady.”

“Daniel.” She was able to smile again. “We shall name him Daniel, and he will be brave enough to walk into the lion’s den.” She turned her smile up to Parkins. “He shall be the next earl of Ashburn, and one day he shall walk through Glenroe.”

“Will you rest now, Lady Ashburn? The journey has tired you more than you know.”

“Aye, in a moment.” She turned to be certain the others were busy. “When Brigham and my brother return, they will not know where to find us. It will be necessary for one of us to go down every few hours and watch for them. You and Malcolm and I will take shifts.”

“No, my lady.”

Her mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “No?”

“No, my lady, I could not in good conscience permit you to travel again. My master would not hear of it.”

“Your master has nothing to say about it. Both he and Coll will need to be led to this place.”

“And so they shall be. Young Malcolm and I will arrange it. You and the other women will remain here.”

Her face, pale and bruised with fatigue, set into stubborn lines. “I will not sit in this bloody cave and wait when I can be of use to my husband.”

Parkins merely spread a blanket over her. “I fear I must insist, Lady Ashburn. My lord would demand it.”

Serena merely scowled at him. “I wonder that Lord Ashburn didn’t dismiss you years ago.”

“Yes, my lady,” Parkins said comfortably. “So he has said himself many times. I will bring you a cup of milk.”

* * *

She slept. She had the pistol at one hand and the sword at the other, but her dreams were peaceful and filled with Brigham. She could see him clearly, almost clearly enough to touch him as he smiled at her. Her hand was in his, and she could all but feel the warmth of his flesh as they danced together under dappled sunlight near the riverbank. He wore the gleaming black and silver, and she the ivory satin
seeded with pearls.

They were alone, gloriously alone, with only the rippling rush of water and the call of the birds for music. Their faces were close, then closer, then close enough to kiss as they continued to step and sway with the dance.

He was so handsome, her tall English lover with the dashing rebel’s heart. His kiss was so sweet, so gentle, like one of greeting or of farewell.

Then she saw the blood staining his coat, seeping through it to dampen her hand as she reached for him. The blood was real, real enough that she could feel the warmth of it on her skin. But when she tried to take him into her arms, he faded until she stood alone on the banks of the river, with the only sound the high call of a warbler searching for its mate.

She woke with Brigham’s name on her lips and her heart thundering. Fighting for air, she lifted her trembling hand and found no blood. Slowly, struggling to separate dream from reality, she pressed the hand to her heart. It wasn’t a warbler she heard, but an eagle. It wasn’t the song of the river, but the moan of the wind.

He was alive, she told herself, and laid a hand over the mound of her stomach as if to reassure her child that its father was safe. Almost immediately she heard the whimper of the baby already born. Wearily she rose to make her way to the back of the cave. With Fiona’s help, Maggie held young Ian to her breast, where he sucked lustily.

“Serena.” Maggie’s voice was thin and her cheeks still deathly pale, but her smile was sweet. “He grows stronger every hour,” she murmured, and lifted a hand to stroke his downy head. “Soon you’ll have your own.”

“He’s beautiful.” With a little sigh, Serena sat beside her. “God was good enough to give him your looks instead of his father’s.”

Maggie laughed, settled comfortably in the crook of Fiona’s arm. “I didn’t know I could love anyone as much as Coll. But now I do.”

“I know the journey was difficult for you. How do you feel?”

“Weak. I hate feeling so weak and helpless.”

Serena stroked her cheek. “A man doesn’t fall in love with a packhorse, you know.”

This time Maggie’s laugh was a little stronger. “If some girl tries that trick with my little Ian, I’ll scratch her eyes out.”

“Of course, but you’ll be sure to teach it to your daughters.”

“Oh, aye.” Maggie shut her eyes. “I’m so tired.”

“Just sleep,” Fiona murmured. “When the bairn’s had his fill, we’ll tend him.”

“Will Coll come soon?”

Over Maggie’s drooping head, Fiona’s eyes met Serena’s. “Aye.” Fiona’s voice was soothing. “Very soon. He’ll be so proud of you for giving him a son.”

Serena gathered up the dozing baby as Fiona settled Maggie among the blankets. “So tiny.” Serena swaddled Ian and laid him to sleep. “It always seems a miracle.”

“It is.” Fiona looked to the far side of the cave to where Gwen lay curled in exhausted sleep. “Each child is a miracle. There is always death, Serena; there is always grief and loss. Without the promise of new life, we couldn’t bear it.”

Serena asked now what she had not been brave enough to ask before. “Do you think they’re dead?”

“I pray they live.” Fiona took Serena’s hands in hers. “And I will pray every moment until we know. You must eat,” she said briskly. “For yourself and the child.”

“Aye, but …” She let her words trail off as she glanced around the cave. “Where is Malcolm?”

“With Parkins. They left soon after you went to sleep. Down for more supplies.”

Frowning, Serena started to accept the bowl Mrs. Drummond offered.

“Don’t you fret about them, lassie, my Parkins knows what he’s about.”

“Aye, he is a good man, Mrs. Drummond, a steady one.”

A becoming blush glowed in the widow’s cheeks. “We are to be wed.”

“I am happy for you.” She stopped, her fingers tightening on the bowl. “Do you hear that?” she whispered as she set the bowl down.

“I hear nothing.” But Fiona’s heart had risen into her throat.

“Someone’s coming. Stay to the back of the cave. See that Ian makes no sound.”

“Serena.”

But even as Fiona reached for her, Serena was moving quietly to the cave opening. Ice ran through her veins, freezing her fear and making her strong. She would kill if God showed her no other way, and she would kill well.

With a steady hand, she picked up the pistol, then the sword. If the English had come, they would find women alone, but they would not find women defenseless. Behind her, Mrs. Drummond gripped a carving knife.

As the footsteps came closer, there could be no doubt the cave would be seen. Holding both weapons, Serena stepped out of the cave and prepared to do battle. The sun fell over her, striking her eyes so that she narrowed them even as she leveled the pistol.

“Still a hellcat, I see.”

Brigham, supported by Coll and Parkins, managed to grin at her as he was half carried over the broken ground. The light shone over his blood-streaked coat and breeches.

“Oh, sweet God.” Laying the weapons down, Serena ran to him.

Her face swam in front of his eyes as he struggled to speak again. He could only manage her name before darkness closed in on him and smothered the pain.

“
How bad is it?” Serena knelt on the floor of the cave beside Brigham while Gwen examined his wounds. The fear had returned, drying her mouth to dust.

Wordlessly Gwen probed Brigham’s side where the ball was lodged. A few feet away, Fiona dressed the gash in Coll’s leg while he stared in wonder at his son.

“The shot was meant for me.” Coll clung to Maggie’s hand. The fire in his leg was a dull, almost dreamy pain beneath his exhaustion. He was alive, beside his beloved wife and firstborn son while his friend lay bleeding from a bullet that had been meant for him. “He stepped in front of it, took it. We were trying to fight our way into the hills. We’d lost, everything was lost. We were separated from our regiment. I thought—at first I thought him dead.”

“You brought him back.” Serena looked up, gripping a blood-soaked cloth.

“Aye.” Coll turned his face into his wife’s hair. Wanting to smell only the sweetness of it and not the stench of death and battle.

He would never be able to describe the events of the last day and night. But he would always remember the desperation he had felt when he had carried Brigham into the hills. He would remember hiding like a wild dog and binding the wounds as best he could while the English searched the rocks and heather. He had hidden in the lee of a rock, too weak to cross the stretch of moor to a barn. There, lying in scrub with Brigham unconscious beside him, he had seen the soldiers come and set fire to the building. And he had heard the screams of the wounded who had hidden within.

He had made the rest of the miles to Glenroe mostly at night, supporting Brigham when he was conscious, carrying him when he was not.

“We were afraid for you,” he managed after a moment. “Afraid the English would come before we could warn you.”

“The bullet must come out right away.” Gwen pressed a cloth against the wound as all eyes turned toward her. “We must find a doctor.”

“There is no doctor.” Serena felt the hysteria bubbling up and fought to control it. Had he been given back to her only so that she could watch him die? “If we searched for one, we would only bring the English down on us.”

“I know the risk,” Gwen began.

“They would kill him.” Serena spoke flatly. “As an English nobleman, they would be doubly harsh. They would heal his wound only to keep him alive for execution. You must take it out.”

“I’ve never done anything like this.” Gwen closed a hand over Serena’s arm. “I lack the skill and the knowledge. I would kill him in trying to save him.”

Panic fluttered. Beneath her hands, Brigham moaned and stirred. “Better he die with us, here.” Her eyes were grim as she looked down at Brigham. “If you won’t try, I will do it myself.”

“My lady.” Parkins’s voice was as expressionless as ever as he stepped forward. “I will remove the ball, with Miss MacGregor’s assistance.”

“You? Can you?” Serena gave a brittle laugh. “We’re not talking about starching lace, man.”

“I have done it once before, my lady. That is once more than you. And Lord Ashburn is my master,” he said stiffly. “I will tend him. He will need to be held.” Parkins turned his gaze to Coll.

“I will hold him.” Serena leaned over Brigham’s body, as if to shield him. “And God help you if the knife slips.”

They built a fire and turned a blade in it until the tip glowed red. When Brigham surfaced, Gwen held a bowl of medicine heavily laced with poppies to his lips. Sweat poured down his face no matter how diligently Serena wiped his skin with a cool cloth.

“Sit with Maggie and Mother, Rena,” Coll said quietly. “Let me hold him down.”

“No. This is for me to do.” She braced herself over Brigham, clasping her hands on his arms, then lifted her face to Parkins. “I know you will have to hurt him, but for mercy’s sake, be quick.”

The valet had stripped off his coat and rolled back his sleeves to reveal thin, spindly arms. Serena closed her eyes a moment. She was putting her love, her life, into the hands of a man who looked able to do no more than shine boots. Opening them again, she studied the valet’s face. Steady. She had called him so herself. Loyal. More than loyal, she realized. As a man could love another, he loved Brigham. With a prayer, she nodded for Parkins to begin. And watched the knife cut into her husband’s flesh.

Even dazed by the drug, Brigham stiffened. Serena used all her strength to press him down even as she murmured to him, nonsense, endearments, promises. She watched the knife go deeper and ignored the rolling of her stomach.