Stuart, Elizabeth (26 page)

"Of
course, my dear," Glenkennon finally said with just the right tone of
concern. "We shall speak of this later, after you've rested." He
toyed absently with his glass, inspecting the carefully manicured fingers
clasping its crystal stem.

An
uncomfortable silence stretched between them so long that Anne jumped when he
spoke again. "You know, women are adaptable creatures," he mused
aloud. "Given time, they're capable of adjusting to any set of
circumstances. Tis a most wonderful characteristic of your sex, my dear."

Anne
swallowed to ease the growing dryness in her throat. She had no idea what he
was getting at, but she did not trust his faintly purring voice or the
calculating way he continued to regard her.

"You
seem strangely loath to speak of your experiences, Anne. One would think you'd
be ranting about your ill treatment at the hands of those outlaws or else
prostrate with exhaustion and embarrassment. Since you're neither, I must
wonder at your amazing fortitude." He raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
"Forgive my foolishness, Anne, but could you possibly be seeking to
protect those rebels?"

She
forced herself to meet his gaze. "I fail to see how fainting at this point
would improve matters, and as for ranting about my ill treatment, I've already
told Charles I was treated with every consideration. I seek neither to protect
nor harm the MacLeans."

"And
were you treated with consideration by Sir Francis MacLean?" Glenkennon
asked, immediately taking up her words. "'Tis rumored he's most considerate
of the fairer sex—even his enemies. Many have been said to have, ah... shall we
say, enjoyed that consideration."

The
words cut painfully into Anne's heart, reminding her that she had been only one
of many for Francis. She drew a deep breath, returning her father's stare
unwaveringly. "I'm not certain what you're suggesting. What answer do you
wish me to give?"

Glenkennon
sipped his wine meditatively, his eyes downcast, veiled by hooded lids.
"Let's not mince words, Anne." He placed his glass on the desk with
deliberation. "Your stay at Camereigh has thrown doubt upon your
reputation. I must know if you are still a virgin if I'm to successfully
negotiate a marriage for you."

Anne
stared at him, an angry flush mounting her cheeks. Francis had been right; her
father did plan to sell her in marriage to the highest bidder. "And would
it spoil your plans if I weren't, Father?" she snapped, anger making her
foolishly bold. "Tell me, how much would my value decrease? How much gold
would you lose if I were in slightly used condition?"

Glenkennon's
eyes narrowed with displeasure. He leaned across the desk toward her.
"You're being impertinent, Anne," he said smoothly. "I must
assume you're so overcome with exhaustion you don't know what you're saying. I
don't remember your being such a foolish girl."

The
silken voice awoke a prickle of fear. She would be foolish indeed to defy him.
He would only enjoy crushing whatever resistance she could muster. She clasped
her hands tightly in her lap to still their trembling, hating herself for her
helplessness—for giving in to him so easily. "You're right, Father, I'm so
weary I can scarcely think," she said, her voice carefully expressionless.
"You've naught to be concerned about. I'm still as God made me and have
known the touch of no man—most certainly not that of Sir Francis MacLean."

Glenkennon
leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing about his thin lips. "It
is well. I knew you'd not disappoint me, Anne. You may go now," he said,
dismissing her abruptly.

She
rose and moved hurriedly across the floor. "Oh, and Anne..."

She
turned back, one hand clutching the door knob.

"Be
sure to get plenty of rest. I'd not see you again when your thinking is so
disorderly. Impertinence in a woman is a trait I will not abide. I suggest you
remember that."

She
stood motionless, caught in his unblinking stare while the unspoken threat hung
menacingly between them. Finally breaking free of his penetrating gaze, she
gave a quick nod and slipped out the door. Pulling it shut behind her, she fled
down the echoing hall as though pursued by all the demons of hell.

Francis
shoved a damp lock of hair back from his forehead. It had been a long, wearying
morning of training. He glanced at his men, who sprawled tiredly in the shade
at the edge of the meadow, many naked above the waist as they rested.
Unfastening his leather jack, Francis drew his shirt over his head. The cool
breeze at once began drying the sweat from his glistening body.

William
Cameron lay beside him, eyes closed in exhaustion. Francis smiled at the boy.
He had worked Will relentlessly that morning, but he had been pleased by what
he had seen. The boy was tough. Will had not given up, even when his arm
trembled so he could scarcely raise his sword.

Francis
gave the boy a shake. "Come lad, don't tell me you're spent. We've only
begun."

Will
opened one baleful eye, then closed it again in relief at the teasing
expression on his uncle's face. "I'm past spent, sir. I think I'm dead and
gone to heaven this ground feels so good. If Glenkennon himself were upon us, I
doubt I could pick up that sword."

"You
did well, lad. Far better than I expected after a month's inactivity. It'll
take time to regain your strength," Francis said encouragingly. "I
don't like the way your mount shys from the ring of steel, though. If Jamie
will allow it, I'll see to the mounting of you. It's often the mount that makes
the difference in a fight."

"I'd
like that," Will murmured, a smile curving his lips. "Find me
something like that black brute you ride... then teach me to stay in the
saddle."

Francis
grinned at the compliment. "I'm afraid Leven has no equal, lad, but I'll
see what I can do."

"Horsemen
approaching!"

The
shout rang out down the line, abruptly silencing the desultory laughter as
every hand groped instinctively for a weapon.

After
a moment Francis relaxed against the oak behind him. His keen eyes had caught
the colorful flash of a lady's habit. Smiling cynically, he lounged at his ease
though many of his men now stood to attention to meet the approaching riders.

Elizabeth
Macintyre looked her beautiful best as she drew her spirited chestnut to a
halt. Her emerald-green habit was cut simply enough, but fitted in a manner
that drew a man's eyes to her attributes. Her luxuriant black tresses coiled
demurely over one shoulder in a heavy twist that shone in the morning sunlight.
The color of her cheeks was heightened by the day's exercise, and her brilliant
hazel eyes sparkled with flecks of green fire. Seated expertly on her prancing
mare, she was a picture to gladden the heart of any man.

Francis
swung lazily to his feet, hatless and shirtless before her in the warm spring
sun. "Good morrow to you, Mistress Macintyre. What fortunate wind brings
you to us this morning?"

She
flashed him a blinding smile. "I was on my way to visit a kinswoman and
heard the good tidings of the Camerons. I hoped to enjoy a comfortable visit
with Janet and rest the night before continuing my journey—if I might beg a
place at your board..."

Francis
swept a graceful bow which, oddly enough, wasn't incongruous with his state of
undress. "We're honored, mistress," he drawled, blue eyes glinting up
at her in amusement. "You're welcome, as always."

He
lifted an arm encompassing his men. "Pardon our present state, but you
find us resting after a morning of exercise. We aren't fit for a lady's eyes,
I'm afraid."

Her
eyes swept appreciatively over his finely muscled torso, noting the way the
thick black hair curled on his broad chest and tapered to a fine ebony line
against the dark bronze of his flat belly. "Oh, I don't mind," she
said with a provocative glance.

Francis
turned to Will, lips twitching at the spellbound look on the boy's face.
"Elizabeth, you'll remember William Cameron here, Jamie's eldest
boy."

Elizabeth
leaned down, smiling at the boy in an intimate manner. "Of course, I
remember you, Will, but I'd no idea you'd grown into such a fine figure of a
man. 'Tis pleased I am to see you back safe and sound."

"My
thanks, mistress," Will managed to get out.

Elizabeth
turned her attention back to Francis, and the two exchanged a few more polite
comments. Finally, with a nod at Will and another brilliant smile, she rode off
in the direction of Camereigh.

"Sweet
Jesus!" Will breathed, shaking his head after the retreating figure.
"I can't understand why you remain unwed, Francis, with a carrot like that
dangling before your nose." He shot a sly grin at his uncle. "And
I'll warrant she's yours for the asking from the look of things."

"Ah,
lad, you've not yet learned there's more to a woman than meets the eye. The
wrapping's nice, but 'tis the substance beneath that must be worth the price of
the package."

"I'd
like a look beneath that wrapping," Will remarked, gazing hungrily after
the disappearing riders.

Francis
laid a hand on his shoulder. "You'd best leave that wrapping to more
experienced hands," he whispered with a grin. "She'd eat you alive
and be looking round for more."

"Is
that so?" Will demanded indignantly. He punched Francis playfully and soon
the two wrestled in the grass with the MacLean clansmen crowding around
shouting their encouragement.

***

Elizabeth
rode slowly toward Camereigh, smiling in satisfaction. So the rumors she had
heard were true. The Camerons were free, and Glenkennon's daughter was gone.
There would be nothing to keep Francis's attention from her any longer.

Her
eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Marriage to Francis MacLean had been her goal for
as long as she could remember. She must have been only nine or ten when she
first had seen the magnificence of Camereigh, first had heard her mother
whisper what a match she might make. As she had grown to womanhood, his name
had been the one on every woman's lips, and he continued to be the prize every
marriageable girl longed to snare. Even her father had encouraged her
pretensions, proudly reminding her she was the most beautiful lass in all
Scotland and frequently wishing aloud for an alliance with the powerful
MacLeans.

But
Francis had never shown her any peculiar mark of regard until the year past,
when her family was visiting Camereigh. On that night they had walked in the
garden, and Elizabeth had allowed Francis to kiss her in a way that left no
doubt where his thoughts lay. She had teased him to the limit of his endurance
before calling an abrupt halt to his passionate caresses. She had been certain
he would soon ask for her hand, but strangely enough, no word had come. After
that night, Francis had been a charming companion whenever they met, but she
had failed to be with him alone long enough to provoke the response she
desired.

She
had come to the Camereigh revel a month earlier, determined to win a
declaration from him. But that night his eyes had followed the Randall chit
with more interest than Elizabeth cared to recall. Her fingers tightened on the
reins and a fever of jealousy rose in her heart.

She
wanted him. Since that night in the garden she had thought of little else.
Other men had kissed her since then, but it was Francis she dreamed about,
Francis she could not forget. And besides—he had all that lovely gold.

She
smiled to herself. This time there would be nothing to stand in her way. She
would spend a tiresome visit with her aunt until she heard the Camerons were
gone. Then she would return, once again stopping to rest the night at
Camereigh. Only this time, she would get Francis into bed with her. After he
had bedded her once, or maybe twice if she could manage it, she would leave,
returning later to claim she carried his child.

Francis
wanted children, hadn't her father told her that often enough? A strange
excitement tingled inside her. Perhaps she truly would be carrying his child by
then, but if not, she could always stage a fall after the wedding and lose the
fictitious child. She would be Lady MacLean of Camereigh then and rich beyond
her wildest dreams.

Only
one thought marred the beauty of the plan. Francis would be furious if he ever
learned what Elizabeth had done. She gnawed the finger of one gloved hand
thoughtfully, uncomfortable at the thought of his wrath. She must take care
that he never suspected.

***

Francis
did not return to Camereigh that morning. Seeking any alternative to an
afternoon spent in polite verbal fencing with Elizabeth, he set out to find
Donald. His clansman was establishing a warning system for his crofters to be
ready should Glenkennon march on them again.

Francis
had learned of the earl's frustrated plan to ambush him, and could only thank
God he had not been mad enough to challenge Charles Randall's small force that
day. Glenkennon was ruthless; he would stop at nothing to destroy the MacLeans.
Yet he would do nothing rashly. When Glenkennon struck it would be with animal
cunning, and Francis had to move carefully if he were to survive.