The Rebel (3 page)

Elizabeth considered the wisdom in his words. “It takes courage to do that.”

“Aye, and you are very brave. You proved that this morning, so I am confident you will survive this.”

Elizabeth shifted on the bed. “But I have no family except for my uncle, and he is a stranger to me. I am alone.”

“I predict that will soon change,” he said. “One day, you will meet a good man, marry him, make lots of babies, and all this will be nothing but a distant memory.” He tugged at the coverlet and arranged it snugly over her shoulders. “Go to sleep now, lass. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

With that, he rose from the bed and exited the room, leaving Elizabeth alone to contemplate the unexpected sense of calm she felt, and her amazing good fortune at having chosen this particular Highlander to attack on the battlefield that morning.

o0o

Elizabeth woke to the sound of panicked, angry voices, and a door swinging open, banging against the outside wall.

Heart racing with alarm, she tossed the covers aside, leapt out of bed, and swept through the curtain to the front room. Alex was standing outside with his pistol trained on yet another clansman, mounted high on a horse. The gargantuan grey warhorse stomped around skittishly.

“Is that her?” the stranger asked, pointing his knife at Elizabeth, who skidded to a halt just behind Alex.

“Aye,” he replied, “but it’s no concern of yours, Angus MacDonald. I’ll thank you to be on your way.”

The rider wore his tartan up over his head like a hood. She could see his breath in the frosty chill of the morning.

“I heard you were keeping a spy here,” he growled, “and that she charmed you into letting her live. Give her to me, Alex, and I’ll take her to Perth. They’ll know what to do with her.”

“I’ll do no such thing, Angus. The lady is under my protection. Go home now, and forget about her.”

The hooded Highlander eyed her with sinister intent. “She’s no lady if she’s carrying dispatches to Argyll.”

“She had nothing to do with that,” Alex told him. “It’s a stolen uniform she wears.”

The Highlander scowled down at Alex, then turned his menacing blue eyes to Elizabeth. He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “I can see why you were so enchanted. She’s a beauty to be sure, even in that uniform. Why don’t you let me come inside where we can talk about this.

I’d like to see for myself how amiable she can be.”

Alex cocked his pistol and took a persuasive step forward. “Ride out of here now, Angus, or I’ll shoot you through the heart.”

The mounted Highlander raised both hands in the air. “Calm yourself, friend. I’ll not intrude upon your territory. If you’ve already claimed her for yourself…”

“I’ve claimed nothing, nor will you, not as long as I live and breathe. Be on your way now.”

Angus studied him with cool eyes. “You’re too much like your father,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “Swiftly conquered by a pretty face.”

He clicked his tongue and walked his horse away from the cottage. A moment later, he disappeared into the forest like a phantom, and Elizabeth let out a tight breath.

“I take it he was a friend of yours?”

“No’ a friend,” Alex replied. “He’s a ruthless warrior with a heart made of ice.” He swung around and eyed her with intensity. “Put your coat on, lass, and gather up your weapons. We need to leave here.
Now
.”

“Why? Will he return?”

“I can’t be sure, but if he knows of your presence here, others might have learned of it, too. I cannot promise you’ll be safe. I must take you to Edinburgh and deliver you to your uncle.”

Elizabeth needed no further bidding. She hurried to don her brother’s red coat.

o0o

For the whole of the morning, they rode together on horseback through deep forests and steep-sided glens, making their way steadily south toward Edinburgh. At noon, they stopped to rest in a private glade and eat a small lunch of oatcakes and cheese, while the horse nibbled on sweet green grass and drank from a shallow burn.

While they sat side-by-side on a fallen log, they spoke of many things – the politics of the rebellion, their families, the death of Elizabeth’s parents. She was pleased to learn that Alex’s mother and father still lived and were as passionately in love as they had been on their wedding day.

Alex was the eldest of nine children, and he adored all his siblings. He had lost only one – the younger brother who had followed him into danger.

It seemed impossible to imagine that a person could be so blessed during this time of war and rebellion. There was an abundance of love in Alex’s life. He was very lucky, for there was no such abundance in hers.

o0o

That night, under the light of the full moon, Alex and Elizabeth reached a crofter’s cottage on the edge of a fast flowing river, a few miles southeast of Falkirk. A black-and-white sheepdog barked at them as they emerged from the wood and crossed the meadow, but his tail began to wag when they were greeted a few moments later by their hosts in the stable yard – trusted friends from Alexander’s youth, a couple recently married and expecting their first child in the spring. Their names were Mary and Scott MacGregor.

Alex embraced them fondly and introduced Elizabeth, assuring them that her soldier’s uniform was not a reason for concern. They seemed to trust him completely and invited Elizabeth, without hesitation, into their home.

A short time later, they were all gathered around the table before the fire, enjoying a hearty supper of rabbit stew and dumplings. Alex arranged for a trade with the MacEwens: Elizabeth’s uniform for a plain homespun skirt, a light shift, and stays. By the end of the evening, she could have passed for any typical Scottish lass, born and bred in the Highlands. As long as she kept her mouth shut, no one would ever guess that she was born in England and had crossed the Scottish border a few short weeks ago as a nurse with the British army – carrying a dark cloud of vengeance in her heart.

o0o

“Will we reach Edinburgh tomorrow?” Elizabeth asked in a quiet whisper as Alex approached to say goodnight. He would sleep in the stable, while she would enjoy a soft pallet by the fire.

“Aye, he replied. “We will reach your uncle’s shop by late afternoon.”

“But I don’t know where it is, exactly.”

He chuckled. “How many book shops can there be in Edinburgh, lassie? I would guess only one or two.”

In the glow of the firelight, his eyes shone with vitality, and his hair fell in thick, shimmering waves onto his broad shoulders. She felt rather intoxicated by his chivalry. How remarkable, that they had met on a battlefield only two days before and had tried to cut each other in half. It seemed impossible to imagine - for in all the unforgettable moments since, Alexander MacLean had revealed himself to be a gentleman in every way. She had never felt more safe and protected.

Suddenly she realized that everything she’d ever believed about Scotland and its savage breed of Highland warriors meant nothing to her now. All she saw before her was a courageous and decent man who loved his family and wished to live honorably.

A man who sent a heady rush of desire and yearning into her blood.

She gazed wondrously at the beautiful pewter brooch that was pinned to the tartan at his shoulder, and reached out to touch it. How would she ever say goodbye to him? She was not ready for that.

“Sleep well,” he said, then leaned forward to kiss her lightly on the lips.

The startling sensation of his mouth upon hers compelled her forward, and what began as a tender kiss goodnight exploded into a powerful rush of unexpected passion. Her lips parted, and he responded by sweeping his tongue into her mouth, sending ripples of pleasure straight down to her toes. His hand slid around to the small of her back and he tugged her closer, roughly, crushing her breasts up against the solid wall of his chest as he groaned deeply and devoured her mouth with his own.

Gripping the fabric of his shirt in both fists, she held tight, fearing that her knees might buckle under the dizzying onslaught of her emotions. She had never been kissed like this before, and she had no idea how to manage it.

Quickly, he brought the kiss to an exquisite finish and took a step away from her. They stared at each other in dazed bewilderment. Heaven help her. She did not know what to say. There were no words.

“That was… unexpected,” he whispered.

Her heart began to race. What was happening between them? She was losing sight of all propriety and wanted to pull him closer and drag him down to the floor. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her. She wanted it with a primal madness she could not begin to comprehend.

Swallowing uneasily, she loosened her grip on his shirt and dropped her hands to her sides.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “No need to apologize, lass. Your lips were sweeter than anything I’ve tasted in years.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze to the floor.

“I’ve never met a woman quite like you before,” he said, “and for that reason, I must leave you now, because you look too pretty in that frock, and you smell good, too. I fear that if I don’t back away now, I may do something far worse than just kiss you goodnight.”

Elizabeth shivered with longing. “Would that be so terrible?”

His eyes smiled at her, then he toyed with the hair over her ear, sending delightful waves of desire across her flesh. She turned her cheek into the warmth of his wrist and let her eyes fall closed. All the hardships of the world seemed to float away like dust on a summer breeze, as she breathed in the musky scent of his skin…

“I really must go now,” he whispered in his deep Scottish brogue.

She did not try to stop him, for what she loved most about him was his integrity, and she did not wish to tempt him into doing something he might later regret.

“Goodnight,” she said.

He paused at the door and spoke in a quiet, husky rumble. “Good night, Elizabeth.”

She let out a soft sigh of besotted rapture, and then he was gone.

A moment later, still greatly aroused from the intimate encounter, Elizabeth settled down on the soft pallet by the fire, pulled the woolen blanket up to her shoulders, and watched the flames dance in the grate for quite some time before she finally managed to fall asleep.

That night, she dreamed only of Alexander MacLean’s handsome face in the firelight, and the irresistible magic of his touch.

o0o

It had been almost ten years since Elizabeth saw her Uncle Charles, and she was not entirely sure he would recognize her when she walked into his shop. In the years since her mother’s passing, they had exchanged very few letters, for he and her father did not agree on much of anything. Her uncle had the “unmitigated gall” to marry a woman from the Scottish Lowlands, and for that reason they never shared the same political opinions. Hence, over the years, Elizabeth’s connection to her uncle slowly dwindled away to nothing. To be honest, she was not completely certain he still lived.

It was late afternoon by the time they rode into the crowded streets of Edinburgh. As they trotted through the tight congestion, past the street vendors who were shouting to sell their wares, the stench of stale rubbish assaulted Elizabeth’s nostrils. Alex enquired about the bookshop, and they had to ask four people before an older man in spectacles and a tricorne hat was able to point them in the proper direction.

Exhausted and hesitant about her future, Elizabeth locked her arms around Alex’s waist and rested her cheek on his shoulder. With silent assurance, he steered them through the narrow, winding streets.

At last, they came to a tiny bookshop on a busy lane with a sign out front that said
Morrison’s
Books
. She knew they must be in the right place, for that was her mother’s maiden name.

“I believe this is it.” Elizabeth dismounted and stood on the walk for a moment, glancing over all the books in the paned window.

Alex tethered the horse to a post and came to stand beside her. “I give you my word that I will not leave you,” he said, “until I am satisfied that you are in good hands.”

A young boy ran by in a panic, cradling a chicken in his arms. Elizabeth jumped, and realized she felt rather panicked herself. She turned her eyes to Alex and felt a terrible pang of dread in her belly, for she was not yet ready to leave him.

While the cold November wind lifted his long dark hair off his tartan-clad shoulders, he did not speak a word. Elizabeth shivered in the chill.

“It’s time to go inside,” he finally said, then took a step forward and opened the door.

o0o

“Elizabeth! My word, is it really you?” Her Uncle Charles came bounding down a creaky set of stairs with an open book in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

He was still as tall and slim as she remembered, but he had aged since she saw him last. His hair was bone white and pulled back in a queue, his skin had grown wrinkled, and he wore spectacles perched on his nose.

Carefully he navigated his way around tables piled high with dusty books and approached her.

“You look so much like your mother.”

Elizabeth’s heart swelled with a mixture of sorrow and joy as her uncle pulled her into his arms and embraced her.

“I am so happy to see you,” he said.

“And I you,” she replied, weeping and laughing at the same time.

Eventually he stepped back. “I learned of your father’s death,” he said, “fighting for King George. I am deeply sorry, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you, but I am afraid there is more bad news. James was killed as well, three weeks ago. I am the only one left of our family – alone now.”

Charles laid a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No, Elizabeth. You are not alone.

You have family here.”

She clung to her uncle’s steady gaze. He tapped her nose with the tip of his finger, just as he used to do when she was a child. Then he glanced toward the door where Alex was waiting.

“Who is this man?” her uncle asked. “And why does he carry such a big sword into my bookshop?”

Alex strode forward. “My apologies, sir. I am Alexander MacLean of Duart Castle, and I fought in the battle at Sherrifmuir. That is where I met your niece.”