As High as the Heavens (34 page)

"The journey back across the loch still concerns me,"
Duncan said. "It'll put us all in the open for some time."

"There's naught to be done for it." Robert smiled. "Besides, Willie has orders to lock in the castle inhabitants
once he, ye, and the queen reach the outside, then throw
the castle keys into the loch. It'll buy ye all some extra time
for escape, even after the theft of the keys is discovered.
And if ye happen to meet with any resistance while attempting to reach the loch, we're counting on yer added
brawn to hold them off for however long it takes for Mary
and Willie to make it to and through the castle gate."

It seemed like a sound enough plan, Duncan thought.
Once more, he nodded.

"It'll have to do then."

Robert Gordon paused to scan the faces of all the men
present. "Do any of ye have aught more to offer? If not, I
can smell supper cooking. We need to adjourn this room so the table can be set for the evening meal. And, if we
hurry, I'd wager we'll have just sufficient time to wash
up before Anne Drummond calls us back to table."

Alastair Seton chuckled. "After that pronouncement,
Robbie, I doubt any of us would dare bring up another
point. Besides, once supper's done, we still have several more hours of testing this man's"-he indicated
Duncan-"knowledge of all things vital before we can
take to our beds."

The others, John Beaton and John Sempill among
them, quickly added their agreement. As they rose to
depart, however, Robert Gordon stayed them with an
upraised hand.

"A moment more, though, if ye will. Pray, indulge me
with a cup of fine Rhenish wine to celebrate yet another
recent change in plans."

The table's occupants glanced at each other in surprise,
then sank back into their chairs. Robert rose, poured out
seven cups of wine from a swan-necked, silver flask on
the sideboard, and carried them back on a silver tray.
After he passed a cup to each of the men, he raised his
own in toast.

"Earlier today," he said, his smiling gaze meeting Lord
Seton's, "Alastair and I agreed that the union of our two
families was long overdue. Though the wedding date of
our two children was originally set for three months hence,
we've jointly decided little purpose is served in postponing
it any longer. To that end, I invite ye all to the wedding
of my daughter, Heather, and Charles Seton"-his glance
swung to lock with Duncan's-"in two weeks' time."

Duncan crept through the sleep-shrouded house, moving
with catlike stealth along the hall from the third floor
where he had been bedded, down the stairs, and along
the second-floor hall to Heather's bedchamber. It was
the first opportunity he'd had since breakfast to speak
with her. Most coincidentally, Charlie Seton had seen
to it that she had stayed away all day and late into the
evening, supposedly visiting some family friends who
lived in Kinross.

Robert Gordon's hand was in that feeble ruse, Duncan well knew. A ruse to keep Heather and him apart
as much as possible until the plot was commenced and
done. Robert Gordon, who, Duncan thought, gritting
his teeth in silent frustration, had also seen to it that
his daughter wed before she had opportunity to break
the betrothal herself.

But that would never be. The older man's self-centered
manipulations would end this very night. If not for the
queen and her rescue attempt on the morrow, Duncan
would have straightaway taken Heather back with him to the Highlands. Such an act, though, would've been
as selfish and self-serving as anything Robert Gordon
had ever perpetrated.

Duncan had told her in the forest, that day the outlaws
had tried to take her, that he loved her so deeply that
he'd sacrifice everything-even his honor-for her. And
he skirted perilously close to impugning that honor-and
hers-in paying her a late-night visit in her bedchamber.
He had never imagined, though, that events would force
him to act in such a manner.

What if, after even this desperate measure, Heather
still turned from him? Yet what choice was left him?
Duncan wondered as he paused at last outside Heather's
door. There was no way of knowing what other devious
plans Robert Gordon had up his sleeve to keep him and
Heather apart until she was at last wed to the Seton
lad.

Not surprisingly, the door to her bedchamber was
locked. Duncan grimaced in irritation, briefly considered
knocking to waken her, then thought better of it. Though
he knew Beth slept below stairs with the other servants of
Drummond House, he didn't think it wise to risk awakening Heather's father, who he knew slept across the hall.
Better to climb in through her bedchamber window if
it was open or, if it wasn't, tap on it.

As luck would have it, Heather had drawn the window open to cool the room. After negotiating the maze
of tree branches that spread just above and outside her
window, Duncan leaned forward, shoved the window
open wider, and swung into the room. He landed with
a soft thud and glanced about. In a corner shadowed from the moonlight streaming in through the window,
Duncan could just make out a bed. Heather slept, undisturbed, therein.

He hesitated but a moment, his courage momentarily
failing him. If he left now, Heather wouldn't be the wiser.
And that, perhaps, would indeed be the best for the both
of them.

What gave him the right to force a life-changing decision on her? If God meant for them to be together, He
would make it happen, wouldn't He? And if He didn't,
then it wouldn't.

But what if Charlie Seton and Robert Gordon had
found some way to change Heather's mind, to go against
the will of God? Did he really want to know that, tonight
of all nights, when he was about to risk his life on the
morrow? Perhaps it was best to keep his illusions for a
time longer. Nothing could really be acted on, one way
or another, until Mary was free of Lochleven Castle.

Still, if he quailed now, he'd always wonder if their
love was truly meant to be, or if he had squandered
it because of his cowardice and inaction. He'd always
wonder-and always curse himself, too.

Squaring his shoulders, Duncan strode over to the bed.
He leaned down and took Heather by the arm, shaking
her gently.

"Lass? Lass," he whispered, "wake up. Wake up, I
say.

She mumbled something, turned toward him, and
dozed on. Duncan squatted, shook her again.

"Heather, wake up. It's Duncan. I must talk with ye."

Lids, thick with long, lush lashes, lifted. For an instant Heather stared at him, her gaze confused, unfocused.
Then recognition dawned.

"D-Duncan!" she croaked in a sleep-thickened voice.
"How did ye come ... why are ye here?"

He pulled her to a sitting position. "Through the window. And my reason is quite apparent. I wished to speak
with ye this eve." He managed a wry grin. "However,
considering ye've been out all day and most of the eve
with yer betrothed ... well, this is the first chance I've
had to talk with ye."

Heather brushed the long tangle of hair from her face,
rose, and took up her bedrobe draped across a nearby
chair. She hastily put on the garment and fastened it
closed before glancing back to Duncan.

"It isn't proper for ye to be here. Couldn't we talk in
the mom?"

Duncan gave a sardonic laugh and rose to stand before
her. "Och, so now that we're back with yer own kind, it's
time to stand on formalities again, is it? Last time we
were alone ye hardly gave a care for proprieties. And
now, now ye can't bear to be unchaperoned with me!"

"It isn't a case of bearing or not bearing to be alone
with ye," she whispered, outraged. "It's a case of my
father sleeping just across the hall, and my betrothed
and his father resting upstairs."

"Aye," Duncan snarled, his anger rising apace with
his anguish, "and how would it look if I were caught in
yer bedchamber?" He stepped back, his hands fisting at
his sides. "It'd be too humiliating, wouldn't it, to admit
I had just cause to be here."

Heather stared up at him, then sighed and shook her head. "Och, Duncan, Duncan. I don't wish to fight with
ye. And I'll never be ashamed to admit to my love for ye.
I just don't wish to cause others pain in the doing."

"It's too late for that," he growled. "Young Seton's in
love with ye. Even a blind man can see that."

She looked away. "He's a dear, sweet man. But I swear
I've never pretended to a deeper affection for him than
one of brother and sister."

"Well, he hardly sees ye as a sister, and make no mistake!"

"And don't ye think I know that?" Heather turned back
to him, her eyes blazing. "He's as adamant as my father
that our wedding date be moved up." She cocked her
head, studying him closely. "Ye do know of my father's
intent to see Charlie and me wed in two weeks' time,
don't ye?"

"Aye," Duncan said through clenched teeth, "I know.
Is it yer intent, as well?"

She stared up at him. "I can't believe ye asked that.
Do ye discount my love for ye so quickly, that ye'd think
I'd so easily throw ye over?" She gave a snort of disgust.
"Truly, Duncan Mackenzie, but at times ye can be so
addlepated!"

A fierce, wild hope swelled in Duncan. "Then ye still
love me? Ye still wish to be my wife?"

"Y-yer wife?" Heather's eyes grew wide. "Ye ... ye
never said ye wished to wed."

"And do ye imagine me so disreputable, that I'd tell a
lass I loved her and then not wish to wed her?" Duncan
shook his head. "Truly, lass. If ye believe that, ye don't
know me as well as ye think."

She closed the distance between them and put her
arms about his neck. "Then say it," she urged softly. "Ask
me to wed ye, to become yer wife."

Taken aback by Heather's sudden boldness, for a
fleeting instant words fled Duncan. Then reality struck.
Heather not only still loved him but wanted him to propose to her. All his earlier misgivings fled. Somehow,
some way, they would make a life together.

He grinned. "Will ye wed me, Heather Gordon, and
be my wife?"

"Well, I don't know . . ." Heather said, pretending
indecision. A mischievous quirk to the corners of her
mouth, however, gave her away.

Chuckling softly, Duncan swung her up in his arms
and twirled her about the room. "Say it, lass. Say aye or
I'll turn ye about until ye're too rattled to tell up from
down and right from left."

"D-Duncan!" Heather gasped. "Have a care or ye'll
waken the entire household, servants included."

Ever so slowly and gently, he lowered her until her
feet again touched the floor. "For a lass who just proposed to a man," he replied with a teasing grin, "ye've
gone suddenly quite shy. Is this what I'm to expect once
we're wed?"

"Nay." Pressing close, she hid her face in the curve of
his shoulder. "But if only ye knew how long I've dreamt
of this night ..."

"I knew, sweet lass," he said, his heart pounding in his
breast. "I was there in that verra same dream, hoping,
wanting the same thing."

She lifted her face to his. Unshed tears, like so many priceless jewels, glittered in her eyes. "Truly, Duncan?
Truly?"

"Aye, truly." He covered her mouth with his, taking
her lips with a gentle but uncompromising possession.
"Truly and forevermore."

After a time, sated and breathless, they parted. Heather
gazed up at Duncan through eyes made hazy with delight. "That was indeed magnificent." She sighed in contentment.

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "Aye, I am a
rather braw kisser, aren't I?"

She slapped at him playfully. "Och, and aren't we
puffed up with ourselves, now that we've gotten what
we wanted?"

Duncan leaned down and, yet again, kissed her. "I have
ye, don't I?" he said, his voice a husky rasp when he finally
drew back. "That'd make any man a wee bit puffed up,
to have such a bonny lass as yerself for his own."

"Would it now?" Heather shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't
know or care. I'm quite content with ye and want no
other."