As High as the Heavens (12 page)

"Hold a moment." The older man grabbed Duncan by
the arm. Duncan glanced down at the other man's hand,
then back up at him. Robert released his arm.

"There's one other thing," he continued, irritation beginning to sharpen his drink-thickened voice. "The subject
of yer reward, if ye succeed in rescuing the queen."

Duncan shook his head. "I don't expect a reward, save
for that of the satisfaction of seeing Mary restored to
her throne."

"And I say, temper yer overblown Highland pride long
enough to accept what is offered, will ye?" A knowing
look gleamed in Robert Gordon's eyes. "I've heard it said
ye're an ambitious man. Two hundred pounds could go
a long way toward fulfilling many ambitions."

Two hundred pounds. It was a year's wage for one of
the gentry, Duncan thought, and nearly four times more than he and his father had managed to earn in even one
of their best years. Two hundred pounds would go a long
way in building up their prize herd of Highland cattle,
not to mention in helping complete all the improvements
still needed to make the cottage more comfortable for
his ailing mother.

He shook his head and sighed, knowing it still wasn't
right to accept money for something more honorable to
do for free. "That's indeed a princely sum, my lord, but
I can't accept it. It isn't right to take money in payment
for rescuing the queen. A man shouldn't benefit in the
doing of his duty."

"Many men will benefit, just as many will be ruined, if
Mary regains her throne." Robert Gordon's lips thinned
in displeasure. "Why shouldn't a man who risks his life
above all others not share in the largesse? It'll be but a
small token, to be sure, in light of what the queen will
grant ye for yer bravery, but yer due nonetheless."

"It doesn't matter." Duncan clamped his jaw in obstinate pride. "I don't do this for hope of reward."

A hard, calculating light flared in Robert Gordon's
eyes, dispelling, if only fleetingly, the mists of his drunkenness. "Don't ye? Well, mayhap not for any monetary
reward, then, but some prizes of the flesh can be equally
as sweet, even if far more fleeting. Like, mayhap, my
daughter's fair flesh?"

A cold chill ran through Duncan. He stared back, silent, waiting.

If ye won't take money in payment for saving the
queen," Robert snarled, "then take it as a bribe not to
breed my daughter. I've seen how ye look at her. I know what such looks mean. Take the money as payment for
sparing my bonny Heather from yer sordid advances."

It was the drink speaking, Duncan told himself. No
father-leastwise not one who truly loved his daughterotherwise would talk so crudely about her as Robert
Gordon had just done. And, nobleman or not, no man
his age would dare taunt a man far younger than he or
speak so disparagingly of his honor.

"It's past time we were returning to the house, my
lord," Duncan growled, clamping down on his rising
anger. "Afore ye say aught more that ye might regret."

"Ye're a haughty one, to be sure, for all yer simple
ways. Far too haughty to speak so to yer betters."

As if to attack him, Robert lurched suddenly toward
Duncan, lost his balance, and would've fallen into the
snow if not for Duncan's quick response. He righted the
ale-besotted man, then immediately pulled back.

"I find yer crude manner distasteful," he said, "especially when ye speak so poorly of Heather. Ye may not
bear a good opinion of me or my intentions toward yer
daughter, but ye should have more faith in her. Heather
isn't some ill-bred strumpet. Her morals are of the highest caliber."

"So yell abstain from seducing her then, will ye, and
solely because ye've the greatest respect for her high
morals?"

Nay, Duncan thought with a sudden, painfully intense
insight. I'll want her all the more because I respect her.
Because she's a woman worth risking everything for, and
a prize beyond compare. Not that ye're capable of un derstanding that, leastwise not in yer current state. And
perhaps, just perhaps, never.

"If it's any comfort to ye, my lord," Duncan said instead, "yer daughter despises me. She'd never stoop so
low as to couple wi' one such as me. Ye've naught to be
concerned about."

"I want yer word on it nonetheless, Mackenzie. I want
yer word ye'll not touch my daughter."

"I'll not force myself on her, if that's what ye're implying," Duncan muttered, shooting him a furious, seething
look. "As hard as it may be for ye to believe, we Highlanders have our honor."

"Then ye'll give me yer word ye'll keep yer filthy paws
off her, will ye?"

"Aye, but not because ye offer me money. I wouldn't
ravish yer daughter any more than I would any other lass,
be she noble or common." He dragged in an unsteady
breath. "Now, ye're more than welcome to stand out here
in the cold until ye freeze, but I'm going inside."

"And did I give ye leave, ye cocky young upstart?"
Robert Gordon yelled after him as Duncan strode out
for the cottage. "Ye overstep yerself yet again, ye do, to
walk away from one of yer betters."

"Aye, mayhap I do," Duncan gritted under his breath,
never once breaking stride as he battled a savage swell
of disgust and rage. "If I truly were walking away from
one of my betters."

Duncan's bedchamber was not only spacious but also
surprisingly well appointed for a man of such obviously rustic upbringing, Heather decided. Though his bed was
a simple boarded affair, consisting of a shallow wooden
box standing on four short legs, at least the straw mattress was supported by the newer rope mesh rather than
the old-fashioned, less flexible boards. It was also quite
well made and roomy enough for both her and Beth to
sleep in comfort.

A down comforter encased in a coverlet of fine, dark
blue woolen broadcloth and two plump down pillows
graced the bed. Beside the bed sat one of two large,
carved wooden storage kists. The other large chest stood
beneath one of the room's two oiled paper-covered windows. The second window shed its wintry sunlight onto
the worktable at the room's far end. Two large, framed
maps-one of Scotland, the other of the world-adorned
the walls, and a high-backed, comfortable-looking
wooden chair sat at an angle to the kist before the window. Dried rushes covered the packed dirt floor.

Though the bedchamber lacked the additional amenities Heather was used to back at Dunscroft Castle,
it was apparent the Mackenzies were indeed relatively
prosperous. She guessed Duncan's bedchamber was the
least well-appointed room in the house, recalling the
hardwood floors covered by a few simple, handwoven
rugs, the large dining table and set of four high-backed
wooden chairs, the tall cupboard filled with pewter ware,
and several large kists she had seen in the main room
when she had first entered.

It wouldn't be so unpleasant residing here for the rest
of the winter after all, Heather admitted belatedly, her cheeks warming with shame at her earlier disparaging
remarks to Duncan.

"Shall I unpack yer things"-Beth chose at that moment to interrupt Heather's rueful musings-"or would ye
prefer I fetch a basin of water for ye to wash up a bit?"

"Aye, fetch me some water, if ye will, Beth." Heather
turned slowly, surveying the room once more. "Before we
can put aught of our things away, we must first impose on
the Mackenzies' generosity in using one of their kists."

"Ye mean, impose on Duncan Mackenzie's generosity,"
her maid, with a twinkle in her eyes, corrected her. "It's
his room, his kists, I'd wager."

Heather sighed in exasperation. "Och, aye." She managed a shamefaced smile. "I suppose I'll need to remember that from here on out."

"It's always said ye draw more flies with honey than
with vinegar."

"Och, and won't the Highlander like being compared
to a fly?" Heather laughed. "Well, now that I think on
it, he is rather a pest and most vexing at times, just like
ay.

"And then at other times," Beth offered snidely, "he's
most charming, not to mention verra braw and bonny."

Irritation welled in Heather. Whose side was Beth
on-hers or Duncan's?

"Mayhap in yer mind. I can't say I care much for him
myself."

Her maid laughed. "And sure, the moon-eyed looks
ye cast him when ye think none are watching arise from
yer utter disgust. Of course, of course. How could I be
so slow-witted, and me, knowing ye so well?"

"Beth, hish!" Heather's glance swung to the open
door. Fortunately, no one seemed to be standing nearby.
"Someone-my father even-might overhear and take
yer words to heart."

"And do ye seriously imagine ye've managed to hide
yer infatuation with this Duncan Mackenzie from even
yer father, much less from the man himself?"

Heather's mouth went dry. Her face flamed red. "I-I'm
not infatuated with Duncan Mackenzie. I just find him
... well, verra different."

"Och, and that he is," Beth chuckled, "when ye put
him up against the kind of men ye've known until now.
Of the nobility, I mean. My Tavish is a fine piece of man
flesh himself, if I do say so."

With a despairing sigh, Heather walked to the chair
before the window. She sat and clasped her hands in her
lap. A few weak sunbeams pierced the oil paper panes,
flooding the spot with light and setting her many rings
to glinting brightly.

"Och, Beth. What am I to do?" she moaned. "What
am I to do?"

"About what, my lady?" The maid quietly closed the
bedchamber door, then joined her mistress at the window. "Ye've done naught wrong."

"Haven't I?" Heather blinked back tears of humiliation. "I've barely met the man and already I'm all but
panting with lust after him. Then, in the next moment,
I'm flying in his face, hurling insults at him, all but begging for a fight."

She lowered her head and buried her face in her hands. "Och, what's the matter with me, Beth? I've never been
so petty or mean-spirited before."

"It's simple, my lady." Beth squatted before her and
laid a hand on Heather's knee. "Ye're attracted to the
lad, and he to ye. Why, the passions ye stir, one in the
other, are strong enough to feel each time ye're both in
the same room."

Heather lifted her head and gazed at her maid in horror. "Don't say such a thing. Don't even think it! He's not
the man for me. He's not!"

"Why, because he's a commoner and beneath ye?"

"Of course. Ye know it's impossible. . ."

At the recollection that Duncan Mackenzie was, in
truth, no more a commoner than she, Heather's voice
faded. The realization caught her up short.

Though Duncan couldn't be told the truth about his
noble heritage until Mary was rescued, there was nothing to preclude his knowing afterwards. Then there'd be
nothing to preclude her permitting-her father's consent
notwithstanding-Duncan's subsequent courtship, if he
truly was as attracted to her as she was to him. Yet even
the remotest consideration of such events transpiring
filled Heather with terror.

If she must wed someday, she wished to wed a man
she didn't love. It was the only way to prevent the same
tragic fates both her mother and sister had suffered. If
she never gave her heart to her husband, she'd never
crave what she might well never have-his love and devotion. It was her duty to wed and bear children to carry
on the Gordon lineage, especially now that she was the only surviving child and heir. That much she would do
and do so willingly.

But she refused to entwine her life and hopes and
dreams around some man. All she wanted from a husband was to be left alone to pursue her life as she had
lived it until now. A life filled with books, with music and
fine things, with stimulating conversation and intellectual
pursuits. What she didn't want, and wouldn't tolerate, was
the sacrifice of all at the altar of an unrequited love.

Aye, Heather decided, it was indeed possible Duncan
Mackenzie desired her. If her attraction for him was so
obvious to Beth and the others, it was most likely equally
obvious to him.

But he was nothing more than a crude, uncivilized
savage-a savage who surely wanted only to bed her
and nothing more. She had to believe that, though the
longer she was with him, the more difficult it was becoming to cling to those earlier assumptions. Indeed, to
believe anything else was to lay her heart wide open to
unspeakable pain and rejection.

And he couldn't help who he was. It was part of his
upbringing, the way of the Highlander. Indeed, it was
said they loved nothing more than their fighting and
reiving, their ale and wenching. It was also said they
had no interest in more tender pursuits. They hadn't the
time, nor placed much value, on loving.

They cannot help themselves ...

"Aye," Heather replied finally in response to her maid's
question. A fierce determination filling her, she rose and
stared down at Beth. "Because he's a commoner, he can
never, ever, be the man for me."