Stuart, Elizabeth (54 page)

The
pen snapped between Francis's fingers, and he threw it away disgustedly. Rising
from his seat, he leaned toward Will, his cold, blue eyes speaking his anger.
"If you were any other man, you'd be facing a length of steel now,
lad."

Will
stiffened, but his gaze didn't waver. "I know that, sir, but it had to be
said. And I'll have you know I'm not the only one at Camereigh asking questions
about your bride."

Francis's
heavy brows rose contemptuously. "Who else here calls my wife an
enemy?"

"There
are others," Will stated vaguely.

"I
said who, boy? Has the MacPhearson complained to you? Has Euan Grant whispered
this ugly tale in your ear in confidence?" he scoffed.

Will
turned and stared disconsolately out the streaming window. "No, sir."

"Then
let me tell you what I think, Will. You've been listening to the lies of a
jealous woman," Francis said quietly. "Elizabeth Macintyre has been
spreading those tales since she arrived at Camereigh. No one else has listened,
recognizing her words for what they are. But I'm sure she's pleased to have
discovered a way to hurt me through you. That's what she wants, you know."

He
paused, but Will did not turn around. He sighed heavily. "Anne is not
Glenkennon's daughter, Will. She was born of the legal union of Bruce MacKinnon
and Mary MacDonnell. Until a few days ago, none knew the story save Conall,
Ian, Donald and myself. You may apply to any of them for the particulars since
you think me too 'besotted' to know the truth."

"If
you say it's true, I'll believe it," Will murmured without turning around.
"I've no need to ask the others."

Francis
nodded in satisfaction. "Even if Anne were a Randall, I'd not question her
loyalties, Will. The easy time Conall and I had inside Ranleigh was not so
untroubled as you believe. Anne risked a great deal to warn me when my life was
in danger. She's always thought of my safety and happiness before her own.
There are many reasons I could give for my belief in her," he added,
"but frankly, lad, it's none of your business. Glenkennon's used her as a
pawn in his struggle for power. If you knew all, you'd realize she's more
reason to hate the man than you and I together."

The
room was silent save for the slow patter of raindrops from the rapidly
dwindling storm. "I suppose I've been a fool," Will said hollowly.
"But Mistress Macintyre was so convincing. She made me believe she was
afraid for you, and... and I was, too." He turned sheepishly to Francis.
"And I was ready to believe anything against a Randall."

Francis
rose and moved to Will's side. "There's not a man alive who's not believed
the lies of a beautiful woman, Will. Let it be a lesson to you, lad." He
shook his head and sighed. "It's partly my fault for allowing her venom to
flow unchecked. I've refrained from doing what's necessary out of respect for
poor Alsdair, but the time's come to end the woman's vicious lies."

Will
gazed up at him in surprise. "Can you do that, sir?"

Francis
tousled the boy's hair affectionately, but his voice was grim. "Aye, I can
do it."

***

Anne
clutched the heavy ledgers to her chest as she hurried down the hallway. Donald
had given her the books to take to Francis when he had brought the welcome
news. Glenkennon was experiencing such bad luck it would be days yet before he
could reach Camereigh. Her mind leaped ahead. Perhaps the trouble was so severe
that he would be forced to turn back. The snows of winter would soon be upon them,
making campaigning impossible. Then it would be spring before he could mount
another assault, and anything could happen by spring.

Rounding
the corner, she ran straight into William Cameron, their collision scattering
the ledgers to the floor in all directions.

Will
steadied her and stepped back, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "I... I
beg your pardon, m'lady. I trust you're not hurt."

"Not
at all," Anne said, recovering herself. "I'm justly served for paying
no attention to my direction."

Will
bent and began gathering the books without meeting her eyes. "These are
heavy. Could I carry them for you?"

Anne
smiled at his stiff, self-conscious manner. "No. I thank you for the
offer, but I'm only going as far as the library. Donald asked me to take them
to Francis."

He
placed the books in her arms. "You'll find him in the laird's room then,
not the library." His eyes lifted to hers, and he smiled ruefully.
"And I believe you'll find him in a better mood than that of last
night." For a moment he looked as if he wished to say more, then with a
graceful bow he was gone down the hall.

Anne
stared at his retreating back, wondering what his courtesy betokened. Francis
had been hurt by the rift with his nephew, she knew, though he had refused to
discuss it with her. Janet had assured her the boy would come around. She hoped
he had.

Upon
reaching the laird's room, she turned the latch and went in. At the sound,
Francis glanced up, a welcoming smile smoothing the worried furrows from his
brow. He rose and took the ledgers from her.

"Donald
had to ride to Cairndonagh. He asked me to bring you these," she
explained. Her eyes lifted to his hopefully. "Francis, is it true? Donald
said Glenkennon's men have turned against him, and that they're still days from
here. Do you think they'll have to turn back?"

He
brushed a kiss against her brow. "I doubt that, love, but it's no secret
that the more trouble they have, the better for us." He drew up a chair
for her, then lounged back onto the desk. "Tell me what you've been about
this morning."

"I've
had a long visit with Janet," Anne said, sitting down. "She insisted
on knowing all about our courtship." She chuckled and shook her head.
"I'm so glad she's pleased with our marriage. I've never had a sister
before, and I've missed having a woman to talk to since Mother died. There's
been no one save Bess." She stared down at her fingers unhappily, twisting
them together in her lap. "And I don't even know what became of her after
I left Ranleigh."

"Well,
you might ask her that when she arrives," Francis said, grinning.

She
stared up at him in surprise. "What?"

"If
all's gone according to plan, she should be on her way here by now. My people
have kept an eye on the lass. They'd orders to snatch her away at the first
opportunity."

"Oh,
Francis, you've no idea how worried I've been about her!"

He
raised one dark eyebrow. "Don't I, though? You've mentioned her at least a
dozen times a day since we returned."

She
threw him a grateful look. "I didn't mean to trouble you with it. I know
you've many important matters on your mind."

He
shook his head. "The lass helped you through a difficult time. I'd not
leave her friendless to weather Glenkennon's wrath."

Anne
rose and walked to the window, throwing it open to allow the cool, damp air to
rush inside. So Bess was safe; she might even be somewhere nearby.

Anne
gazed up at the sky. It had stopped raining, but the heavy mists still swirled
about the castle battlements, obscuring them from sight.

She
leaned her elbows upon the casement, inhaling the damp smell of wet moorland
and heather, suddenly longing to be outside in the wind. "Couldn't we ride
out this morning?" she asked, glancing back at Francis. "Not far...
just down the beach and back. I've not been outside the walls since we arrived,
and once the English come it could be months before we have the chance again.
Surely there'd be no danger with Glenkennon so far away."

Francis
smiled indulgently. "Aye, I'll take you for a ride, lass. It's what I've
been wantin' all morning myself. Go change. I'll call for the horses."

Anne
hurried across the floor, pausing to glance back at him as she reached the
door. "By the way, I saw Will this morning."

"Oh?
And how was the lad?"

"Friendly
enough, though a trifle stiff." She stared at Francis suspiciously.
"Did you speak with him, Francis?"

"Aye,
though not in the way you fear," he replied. "The boy came to me
earlier. He's not a bad lad, Anne—he just didn't understand. I set him straight
quickly enough." He grinned. "Now hurry if you wish to ride. It's like
to rain again, and I'll not have you drenched."

Stepping
into the courtyard fifteen minutes later, Anne was surprised to see several
heavily armed clansmen mounted and waiting beside Francis. She glanced at him
questioningly. "Must we ride with an army?"

"Aye,
love, but only a small one," Francis returned. "Glenkennon and his
men may be miles away, but I've given orders no one rides out with less than a
half-dozen men. We'll go for our ride, but we'll go armed and ready."

Conall
led a dainty dappled gray mare to Anne's side. "Is my cousin protesting
our company, Francis?" He scowled at her in mock severity. "What an
ungrateful wench you are."

She
laughed and allowed him to boost her into the saddle. "I'd never protest
company, Conall. Rather, I hate to be a plague upon you!"

"No
Highlander considers it a plague to ride with a comely lass, cousin."
Conall winked broadly and moved away as Francis nudged Leven over beside her.

"How
do you like the mare?"

Anne
stroked the animal's satiny neck. "Well enough, I suppose, though I do
miss Cassie. I hope she's been cared for."

"One
of my men exercises her daily, but she's growing fat on the best hay in
Glenkennon's stable. Don't fret lass; I plan to have her back."

She
stared at him, amazed, then broke into helpless laughter. "Oh, Francis, is
it Gawain? He seemed marvelous good with horses for a Lowlander."

Francis
merely smiled mysteriously and shrugged his shoulders, giving Leven his head
toward the open gateway. Anne put her heels to the mare, following Francis's lead
out the narrow gate onto the wet, spongy turf of the meadow.

Crossing
the open space, the riders entered the drenched woodland where shivering
raindrops hung on every leaf. In spite of the damp, threatening weather, the
band was in a mood of high glee, Conall and Francis swapping insults and Donald
interjecting a wry comment now and again.

Upon
reaching the narrow stretch of beach, the party halted, watching in awe as the
breakers rolled in from the sea, twice as large and powerful as usual. Shells
and pieces of wood littered the sand along with a number of large stones that
had been flung up along the tide mark, mute evidence of the force at work
beneath the waves. Anne longed to dismount and inspect each treasure at length,
but she knew time did not allow it.

All
too soon Francis ordered their return. The clouds had lowered and the mists
were sweeping in again, heavy with the threat of rain. Shivering, Anne drew her
cloak more snugly about her as the party made its way across the open moor
south of Camereigh.

"Riders
ahead, m'lord," one of the men sang out.

Anne
glanced up in surprise. Had someone come after them? She watched curiously as
horsemen began to emerge from the misty border of birchwood ahead. A cold
breath of wind swept over them, whipping the manes and tails of their mounts
and lifting the trailing fog from about the riders ahead.

Jerking
her mare to a halt, Anne stared in disbelief. The man sitting his horse
squarely in their trail was none other than Glenkennon.

For
a moment, time stood still on that lonely windswept hillside outside of
Camereigh. Nothing moved save the wind, which caressed Anne's face and breathed
across the rippling grasses like a thing alive. All was silence—even the
strident sea birds that usually filled the skies above Camereigh were strangely
absent. Beside her. Conall broke the stillness with a furious expletive, but
Anne could not drag her eyes from the hateful apparition materializing from the
swirling mist ahead.

"Shall
we make a push to get round them?" Donald asked softly.

"No."
Francis shifted in the saddle, tightening his reins. "From his position
Glenkennon can cut us off easily enough. We'd be forced back against the sea if
we tried to run."

"There
are eight of them and six of us. Let's take them," Conall urged.

Francis's
eyes slid to Anne. "I think not, Conall." He returned to his study of
Glenkennon. "The earl is signaling for speech with us. Let's oblige him,
shall we?" He glanced at Anne. "Are you with us, lass?"

She
nodded. "I'd like the chance to tell my dear stepfather what I think of
him."

Francis
gave her a look of approval and set his horse forward at a slow walk, one hand
resting motionless on his thigh in close proximity to both pistol and sword
hilt. He rode seemingly at ease, his dark face impassive, betraying none of the
thoughts which must have been whirling in his head.

Anne
began to pray, silently—desperately. Not Glenkennon—not now. He should still
have been miles away for God's sake! If only she had a pistol, a knife, anything!