Stuart, Elizabeth (17 page)

"Meaning
you'll try to stop me from taking my sister out of here."

"I
won't try," Francis promised with a dark smile.

Ian
MacDonnell stepped out from the wall. "Come nephew, sit down and have an
ale. Let's discuss this situation like civilized men. The lass has not been
harmed, so you've no cause to go fondling your sword hilt as if you'd enjoy
nothing better than to run us through."

Charles
turned toward Ian, his gray eyes cold with disdain. "I'm disappointed you
should countenance this, Uncle—disappointed, but not surprised. When I see you
traffic with this unprincipled blackguard, I hate to admit our kinship."

MacDonnell's
eyes glinted steely blue and the muscles of his jaw tightened visibly.
"Aye, lad, but blood's blood, whether you will or no, and there's no
changing the fact no matter how ashamed a man may be of his kin."

The
tension in the room tightened like a vice. Anne had to get her brother out
before violence erupted. "Charles, listen to me," she said, forcing
herself to speak calmly. "I swear I've not been treated with any
discourtesy. I've my freedom about Camereigh—I don't mind staying longer."

She
turned toward Francis, casting him a look of entreaty. "Sir Francis, let
me speak with my brother alone. I'm sure once he understands, you can discuss
this more calmly."

"No."

She
stared at him in surprise. "Francis, please, I—"

"I
said no!" he interrupted in a harsher voice than he had ever before used
with her.

His
rough tone acted like a lash to goad further Charles's anger. "So you plan
to continue holding her prisoner here?" he questioned. "What do you
think to accomplish by it?"

Francis
moved deliberately across the carpeted floor. Catching Anne's chin between his
long, tapering fingers, he twisted her head away as if to study her profile.
"Your sister's a very lovely woman, boy," he said consideringly. He
dropped his hand before Anne could turn away. "I'm sure I can think of
some use for her," he added, a sardonic eyebrow raised in Charles's direction.

Anne
stared at Francis in amazement, unable to believe his deliberate baiting of her
brother.

"Come,
lad," MacDonnell put in hurriedly, "your men and horses are spent,
and you need a good meal under your belt. Rest here tonight, and perhaps we can
come to some agreement on the morrow."

Charles
glared from one man to the other, his blazing eyes speaking his fury. "You
may have little concern for your honor, Uncle, but I'll not spend an
unnecessary hour with this whoreson of a Scotsman."

Francis's
hand flew to his sword, and Anne caught her breath as the gleaming blade slid a
few inches from its sheath. Charles rested his hand on the basket hilt of his
own muddy blade. The room was so quiet, Anne could hear the ticking of the
ornate French clock across the room. The sound hammered against her ears while
the two men glared furiously at each other across the narrow space.

Finally,
Francis shoved his weapon back into its scabbard with a decisive click.
"I'll not stand accused of murdering foolish children," he said,
controlling his temper with obvious difficulty. "But take care you don't
try my patience further. I'm like to turn you over my knee and give your
backside quite a thrashing."

Charles
moved forward until he stood directly before Francis. "I'm not afraid of
you, MacLean," he said so softly Anne had to strain to hear. "You may
laugh at me for a youth, but if you hurt one hair of my sister's head, I'll
come after you... and you'll pay."

An
unexpected smile spread slowly over Francis's face, relaxing the taut muscles
along his jaw. "You're game, lad, I've no doubt of that. I think you've
more MacDonnell blood than you care to claim just now. Don't let that rash
tongue get you killed before you learn a bit of wisdom, though; Scotland has
need of lads like yourself." He stepped back and his hand swung away from
his sword. "Now be gone before I forget my quarrel's not with you."

Charles
gazed at Francis in stunned surprise, obviously uncertain what to do. He
glanced at Anne, then back to Francis.

"Go
on lad," Ian said softly. "Anne'll come to no harm."

Charles
turned and strode to the door. "We'll have you out of here before long,
Anne," he said, pausing in the doorway. "I promise."

Anne
heard his tramp on the stairs, then the sound of his voice in the courtyard
calling clipped orders to his men. Weak with relief, she flew to the window,
scarcely able to believe he was riding out of Camereigh unharmed. Turning, she
glared at Francis. She could not reconcile the laughing, tender man of last
night with the cold-blooded devil who had used her just then to move her
brother to justifiable anger. Any contest between the two would have ended
little short of murder.

With
a sick feeling in her stomach, Anne turned away from Francis and walked blindly
out the door. She pushed past the anxious Janet, ignoring her questions and
slamming the door to her chamber.

Alone
in her room, she paced the floor, desperately trying to resolve the conflicting
desires within her. In the last twenty-four hours she had run the gamut of
emotions from despair to joy and back again, and she felt exhausted by the
tumult of feelings in her breast.

Just
what did Francis want from her—and what were his motives? Had he only been
acting for her brother's benefit, or had his real performance been the past
night, when Anne had been so easily convinced of his sincerity by a kiss?
Poisonous arrows of doubt darted through her. Francis was using her. Thank God
her eyes had been opened so soon!

The
afternoon waned, and Kate came to call her to supper. Pleading a headache, Anne
remained in her room, thankful to the ever-dependable Kate for a tray of soup
and bread. She tried to eat, but each bite choked her, and she finally shoved
the tray away in disgust.

Wearily,
she dressed for bed, knowing sleep would be long in coming. She gathered up her
embroidery, but it lay untouched in her lap. Why had Francis acted as he had?
And what part did he mean her to play? What schemes really lay behind his
tender words? There was no trusting the man, she told herself. He was as
changeable as the Scottish weather.

A
loud knock at her chamber door broke the silence. Startled, she dropped the
needle she had taken up. "Who is it?" she called.

"Francis."

She
swallowed hard. Francis was the last person she wanted to see at that moment.
"I've retired. It must wait till morning."

The
door swung open. Francis strode into the room without hesitation. "I think
not. We'll talk tonight."

"Well,
do come in," Anne snapped, jerking her robe more closely about herself.
She rose to her feet. "After all, I'm your prisoner; I can't lock you out.
You might even think of some use for me if you put your mind to it!"

Francis
folded his arms across his chest, gazing at her impassively. "I think
you've sulked long enough; it's time we got things straight between us."

"I
have the headache," she informed him.

He
lifted an eyebrow. "So we were told." He crossed the floor until he
stood before her. "The truth is, you're angry with me and have kept to
your room in a temper."

"Angry...
yes, I'm angry!" she threw back furiously. "You used me deliberately
to anger Charles when we could have easily explained everything. And what's
more, you enjoyed it! You enjoyed manipulating us both!"

His
narrowed eyes held her own, their cold expression unchanging. "It's time
you faced the truth, Anne. You and I belong on opposite sides; strictly
speaking, we're enemies. My first loyalty must be to my family and my clan. The
lives of too many people depend on me for personal considerations to matter.
I'll do anything I must to win the freedom of the Camerons. Do you understand
that?" he asked, dropping his voice. "Anything!

"I
couldn't let you talk to Charles alone for fear you'd give away too much. We
don't want Glenkennon to think you're safe and comfortable here. I wanted to shake
them up, make them worry about your well-being. I must keep them anxious enough
to release their prisoners in exchange. After Jamie and the boys are back,
we'll have time to work out whatever's between the two of us."

"But
I'll be back at Ranleigh then," she protested.

"Not
necessarily." The trace of a smile warmed the wintry blue of his eyes.
"I plan to hold onto you for a while."

She
moved toward the fire, wishing she could steady the erratic beating of her
heart. Coldness filled her. "Even if I wish to go?" she whispered.

"I'm
afraid so. I'm an unprincipled blackguard, you know."

At
his words, her anger flared again. "Do you think if you keep me here I'll
just fall into your arms at the snap of your fingers? God, I know I was easy
last night. Do you really think after today it'll be that easy again?"

He
took in her angrily flushed face and flashing blue eyes, the golden mass of
hair hanging in a luxurious curtain about her quivering shoulders. His heart
ached at the mistrust in her voice and the hurt mirrored in her eyes.

"No,
I don't think it will be easy... for either of us," he said softly.
"But there's something between us we can't deny. I can no more stay away
from you than you can from me. God knows, you're the last woman in the world I
need to be involved with..." He paused, staring at her intently. "But
I can't stop myself, and I've given up trying."

He
closed the distance between them with one long stride. Placing a gentle hand on
her shoulder, he turned her around. "Do you understand, Anne? This is the
way it has to be for now." He tilted her face up, his eyes searching hers
for any hint of understanding. "I can't promise I'll never hurt you. I may
have to, as I did today. But I give you my word I'll do what I can to limit the
harm to you and your brother. And when this mess is over, we'll have time to
pursue our own future."

It
was happening again. She was falling back under his magical spell. It mattered
not that he had used her, that he had just told her he might have to again. He
pulled her close against his chest, his strong arms holding her comfortingly as
he gently stroked her hair. He did not kiss her or even speak a word—just held
her tightly in the haven of his arms. Anne closed her eyes, knowing it was
enough —that he would always have the power to bring her back into his arms.

By
noon the next day, the guests had departed, leaving the echoing halls of
Camereigh empty save for the boisterous MacLeans. Standing in the open gateway
between Francis and Janet, Anne strained for one last glimpse of Ian's vivid
plaid as the MacDonnells disappeared among the far trees. The sun shone hotly
against her face, and the breeze across the meadow smelled of spring flowers
and greening forests, but inside she felt a spreading, wintry hollowness.

It
seemed Anne was always saying good-bye to the people she loved. First Charles,
then her mother and Philippa —now the MacDonnells. Would she ever see them
again? Ian had been terse making his last good-byes. Did that question haunt
him also?

As
if in answer to Anne's bleak thoughts, Francis placed a comforting hand upon
her arm, drawing her closer. She turned toward him. His eyes were steady on
hers, his touch reassuring. "You'll see them before long, lass. Scotland's
no' so broad a land a determined man can't cross it." He drew her beside
him toward the stable. "Come, let's have a smile. Tis too bonny a day for
that dark frown."

Anne's
spirits lifted at the promise in his eyes. He was right—it was too lovely a day
for brooding. Ian would soon return as he had promised. Besides, how could she
be unhappy with Francis beside her?

Janet
caught the look that passed between Francis and Anne, and her eyes narrowed in
sudden concern. She had seen that look on her brother's face before and knew
where it led. She watched the two move together across the courtyard, shoulders
touching, heads bent close in conversation. Had she been blind to what was
happening beneath her very nose?

Francis
had a way with women, she'd not deny, but she did not like to think of Anne
falling victim to his easy charm. It would be dangerous for the MacLeans, and
besides, she'd not like to see the girl hurt. She bit her lip thoughtfully. It
might not be her place to interfere, but she would have a word with Francis
before riding for home in the morning.

***

Janet
got her chance to speak with her brother after the evening meal. Sitting
comfortably in his private hall, she considered him silently, uncertain how to
bring up the touchy subject.

Francis
grinned down at her from his place beside the fire. "What's to do, sister?
You seemed so anxious to talk with me at dinner, yet now you sit as though
you've nothing to say. Come, it can't be so bad as that."

Taking
a deep breath, Janet plunged in determinedly. "What is Anne to you,
Francis?" she asked bluntly.

Francis
frowned in surprise, then raised an imperious eyebrow. "And what business
is that of yours?" he countered.