Stuart, Elizabeth (51 page)

Anne
gazed sheepishly at her hands. "I suppose I didn't think. Of course, she
should be here."

There
was a flicker of understanding in the look Kate directed at her. "Sir
Francis not bein' at home and none other fitted to act hostess, 'tis your place
to do the honors of the house. Pull yourself up, child, and welcome our
guests."

"She'll
be furious," Anne stated with a wry smile, deciding Kate understood the
situation very well.

"Aye,
there's like to be fireworks afore the day's over," Kate said with a
twinkle in her gray eyes. "But I've never seen a MacKinnon who'd run from
a fight. Now come down, lass. I'll be behind you."

Anne
hurried down the stairs, reaching the door just as it was thrown open by
servants from the hall. As the travelers entered, Anne found herself face to
face with an astonished Elizabeth.

"You!"
the woman hissed softly, her brilliant hazel eyes narrowing at sight of her
rival. "What does a Randall at Camereigh in these times?"

Anne's
cheeks flamed with brilliant spots of color. She longed to tell Elizabeth exactly
why she was there, but Kate stepped between them.

"I'll
just take your wraps now. We've food and drink in the hall and Mistress Anne
will be seein' to your comfort," Kate said, giving Anne a long look.

Recovering
both her poise and her manners in the same instant, Anne made herself known to
Elizabeth's mother and invited the group into the hall. Lady Macintyre was a
frail, faded image of her daughter. It was easy to see where the girl got her
looks. It was also easy to see where the petulant beauty got her disposition,
Anne discovered, as Lady Macintyre disdainfully declined the offer of
refreshments and insisted on being shown her room at once.

By
the time Anne had seen the women to their chambers, Elizabeth had recovered
from her surprise. "I'm sure you understand my astonishment at seeing you,
Mistress Randall," she said with a throaty laugh. "Does Francis think
to stop Glenkennon again by using you..." She gazed at Anne slyly,
"... or are you making yourself useful in other ways?"

"I'm
trying to help in whatever way I can," Anne remarked. "Poor Kate has
her hands full seeing to things with Camereigh in such an uproar."

"You
know what I mean," Elizabeth said sharply. "Let's end this pretense.
What are you doing here?"

Anne
met Elizabeth's look evenly. "I'm here because Francis and I are to be
wed, Elizabeth. You may make what you will of that."

Elizabeth's
pale face went red with fury. "I don't believe it! It's me he wants. He's
shown me every time he had the chance."

"Perhaps
he has...but it's me he asked." Anne moved toward the door, eager to be
away from the look of hatred on the woman's face.

"I'd
not be so sure if I were you," Elizabeth said, her confident voice
stopping Anne just as she reached for the door. "A man may change his
mind... even on the eve of his wedding."

Anne
turned. "Don't fool yourself, Elizabeth. You don't know Francis as well as
you think." She drew the door shut behind her with a prayer that her words
were true.

Anne
didn't believe Elizabeth's words for a minute. No, she assured herself, the
haughty beauty didn't trouble her at all. She stared into the mirror, anxiously
surveying her reflection. The new gown of deep green satin Kate had hemmed that
morning fit her trim figure becomingly, and she had washed her hair earlier,
then brushed it till it gleamed. Now the shining mass hung down her shoulders
with no adornment but a simple black ribbon. The style might not be
fashionable, but Francis preferred it that way.

With
one last reassuring glance in the smoky glass, she hurried down the hall to the
laird's room where Francis had asked her to meet him before dinner. As she
opened the door, he rose to his feet, a smile lighting his dark face. "Ah,
lass, I've just had welcome news. The minister should reach us by midday...
what say you to becoming Lady MacLean on the morrow?"

She
blinked in surprise. The next day her wedding day? "Oh, Francis, tomorrow
would be wonderful!" she exclaimed, stepping into his ready embrace. She
felt his arms tighten about her and his lips brush her hair. The tiny knot in
the pit of her stomach dissolved. There was nothing to fear from Elizabeth. She
had been a fool to let the woman's words cause her a moment's disquiet. "I
only wish we could wait for Janet and the MacDonnells," she said, drawing
away from him. "Do you think they'll be here in time?"

"I
hope so, lass, but we dare not wait. Glenkennon and his men marched north out
of Ranleigh yesterday afternoon."

His
words shattered her happiness, sending her contentment splintering about her
like fragments of broken glass. Glenkennon was on the march.

"He's
coming here... now?"

"Well,
he'll not be here tomorrow, lass," Francis said lightly. "It'll take
five to six days with an army any size. He's in no mind to push his men to
exhaustion and have them fall panting at our feet. He'll take his time and hope
to arrive with men fresh and eager to fight."

"So
he's coming. I'd hoped..." She broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You
knew this day would come, Anne," Francis said softly. "This fight's
been brewing a good twenty years. Don't fear, love. We're ready. And tomorrow
you'll be my wife," he added, touching her cheek gently. "Of that
much I'm certain... though afterward it'll be as God wills."

"He
can't will the victory to anyone as evil as Glenkennon," she whispered.

Francis
laughed. "I'd no' presume to speak for Him, but I've arranged to see you
taken care of no matter the outcome."

She
stared up at him in consternation. "Francis, don't you dare even think of
sending me away! You'll think Glenkennon's wrath that of a child compared to
mine if you try anything so foolish as you did last spring!"

"I'll
not send you away," he replied. He caught her throat with gentle hands,
pressing his thumb against her throbbing pulse. "I've no life apart from
you," he whispered, taking her lips in a long kiss.

After
a moment, he raised his head, his eyes holding hers reassuringly. "Don't
fear, lass," he repeated. "With all the Highlands roused against him,
Glenkennon doesn't stand a chance. He's lost, Anne. He doesn't know it yet, but
he's lost."

His
gaze suddenly shifted from her face, traveling slowly over her to take in the
significance of the new dress. The deep blue of his eyes went warm with knowing
laughter. "If I'm not mistaken, lass, that's a new gown. You and Kate have
been busy, it seems." Taking her hand, he spun her around before him.
"But I'd best keep you away from Robbie at dinner tonight... the
MacPhearson's ever had an eye for green."

He
took her arm, and they walked together down the stairs and into the crowded
hall. Seating her beside him at the laird's table, he gave the hovering
servants a quick nod for the meal to begin. All about Anne the conversation was
of the coming English, the men laughing and making bets upon what hour Glenkennon's
men would turn tail and run. It seemed that she alone in all that large company
failed to view the coming battle with any degree of eagerness; she alone
dreaded the hour when Glenkennon and his men would appear outside the gates.

When
the meal was over, Francis rose to his feet and calmly began explaining the
events set in motion by that message from Ranleigh. Under cover of sunset, all
the sheep and all but a few of Camereigh's cattle were being driven deep into
the mountains.

The
last of the harvest had been gathered, a tribute to Francis's planning, when as
far back as spring he had insisted on an early planting. The gamble had paid
off. The late frosts hadn't come, and the storehouses were swollen with the
most plentiful harvest Camereigh had ever seen. What little remained in the
fields would be systematically destroyed. Francis had already given the order
to burn the fields and storehouses of his crofters. His people were busy firing
their lands even then.

The
forests and moorland surrounding Camereigh would be hunted to exhaustion, so no
red deer or grouse or even any lowly hares might be found to feed Glenkennon's
men. His army would be forced to keep up a long and expensive supply train
through the hostile mountains where trained raiders already waited in readiness
to harry the train and keep supplies from reaching their destination.

As
Francis ended his recital, a breathless silence held the room. Laughing,
confident faces had gone serious at his words. Reaching down, he clasped Anne's
hand, drawing her to her feet beside him. "And I've word a man of the
Kirk, Charles Dorton by name, will reach us tomorrow. Since none of you,"
he gazed pointedly at Robbie MacPhearson, "have been able to convince my
lass of the folly of becoming my wife, you're invited to my wedding tomorrow
afternoon." A deafening round of cheers went up and the serious moment
passed as Francis had meant it to.

Nearly
an hour later, Francis and Anne broke away from their well wishers. Francis
accompanied her upstairs, but Anne was too restless at thought of Glenkennon's
coming for sleep. "Could we walk a while tonight?" she asked softly.

Francis
chuckled. "Does the idea of threading your way through close on six
hundred unruly clansmen appeal to you, lass?" He grinned down at her. "Now
I think on it, I did promise you another walk on the beach some months
back."

She
smiled, remembering the warm feel of sand between her toes and the crystal
image she held of his naked body outlined against the backdrop of crashing
seas. "That's a promise I'll hold you to."

He
leaned his arm against the door, bending toward her. "A walk on the beach
is out of the question tonight, but mayhap a turn on the battlements will
answer, lass."

She
nodded. "I've a need to feel the wind."

They
climbed the twisting narrow stairs of the eastern tower, finally stepping out
onto the battlements to the surprise of the men patrolling there. The perpetual
sea breeze immediately made itself felt, billowing Anne's skirts against her
legs and sweeping her hair across her face.

Though
the wind was steady from the sea, they could smell the acrid odor of smoke
rising from the burning crofts to the east. The night sky glowed a hideous
crimson, and the occasional flicker of dancing flames could be seen in the
distance.

"Is
there danger it will spread?" Anne asked, gazing in horrified fascination
as the eerie colors shifted across the dark heavens.

Francis's
grip on her arm tightened so convulsively, she winced. "No," he said
harshly. "The danger is that not enough will bum. Christ's blood! That it
should come to this!"

She
pressed her cheek against his shoulder, realizing how it hurt him to watch his
lands burn. His arm went around her and they stood beside the wall silently
drawing strength from each other as the sentries noiselessly paced out their
watch.

When
they returned to her chamber, Francis poured two glasses of wine. "To our
wedding day," he said solemnly, lifting his glass toward her, "and to
all the tomorrows we'll share, lass."

She
nodded, wondering at his words. Francis was no different from any other man.
Only a keen wit and a stronger sword arm than most had enabled him to triumph
over his enemies. No magic protected him. Base treachery or sheer strength of
numbers might still bring him low.

She
took the glass he held out, swallowing the wine quickly in the hope it would
ease the tightness in her throat. Might their hours together already be
numbered... and how many had she foolishly wasted?

Her
fingers tightened about the stem of her glass and she tossed off its contents
in one long draught. Placing a hand upon the brown velvet of Francis's doublet,
she leaned toward him, her eyes dark and burning with urgency. "Stay with
me tonight."

Francis
set his glass down in haste, its contents spilling over the side, staining the
lace tablecloth a bright, spreading red. His only answer was to catch her to
him in a deep, compelling kiss.

***

Anne
and Francis were married the next afternoon before as many friends as could be
squeezed into the hall. Much to Anne's disappointment, neither the Camerons nor
the MacDonnells had arrived, but Francis would not hear of waiting longer.

Despite
the expected siege, the kitchens of Camereigh turned out such a feast as
overwhelmed Anne's imagination, and the wine and ale hauled from the cellars
seemed enough to drown them all. With the cheerful music of the pipes and the
laughter and bawdy jesting of their guests, it was easy to forget the future in
determined merrymaking of the present.

The
evening quickly spun itself out, and Anne made ready to leave the hall,
honoring Lady MacPhearson and two MacGregor women with a request to attend her.
She entered Francis's candlelit bedchamber, grateful for the quiet of the room
after the noisy din of the crowded hall. Kate had readied the chamber, lighting
perfumed tapers and turning back the sheets on the great bed.