As High as the Heavens (39 page)

Ever so reluctantly, Angus Mackenzie swung down from
his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy. He didn't
like involving himself with anything having to do with
Robert Gordon or his failed plot. In the aftermath of the
queen's defeat at Langside by the Earl of Moray on May
thirteenth, Mary had fled, seeking sanctuary with her
cousin, Elizabeth of England. She was now, for all practical purposes, a political prisoner, and Angus doubted
Elizabeth would be fool enough ever to free her.

It was, the big Scotsman well knew, the end to all
their hopes of restoring Mary to the throne. It would
also be the end to their lives, if Moray ever discovered
the names of the men who had plotted against him and
for the queen.

But there was yet one deed left to be done-and he
would do it gladly-before he could hie himself back to
the safe anonymity of the Highlands. Squinting in the
glare of the setting sun, Angus looked up at the imposing
brick structure that was Drummond House. Bathed in the rays of the setting sun, Robert Gordon awaited him in
the doorway, his smile of welcome frosty and forced.

"Well, where's the lad?" Angus demanded without preliminaries as he climbed the steps to stand before the
nobleman. "I can't say I've much taste for any involvement in this shameful treachery of yers, but if it's the
only way to gain Duncan's freedom, for his sake and his
sake alone, I'll swallow my displeasure."

"If ye ever wish to see him freed at all," Robert growled,
his smile fading, "ye'll also mind yer tongue. It matters
not to me if he rots below stairs. He's been a thorn in my
side even before the first time we met. For that matter,"
he added, grimacing as if at some unbidden memory,
"he remains so to this day."

"This has gone too far, ye know," the big Highlander
said. "Yer obsession over losing Fia to David Stewart,
and yer need to punish him through their sons well past
the grave."

Surprise widened the other man's eyes. "And how long
have ye known about David's and my wee feud?"

A grim smile touched Angus's lips. "Since even before ye wed Margery. Though ye've a fatal propensity
for underestimating most folk, I'm not quite the country
bumpkin ye've always taken me for. Unfortunately, my
efforts to turn my sister from wedding ye fell on deaf
ears. She loved ye too much to listen to reason, that ye
weren't and likely never would be over Fia. Still, though
I failed to save her, I won't fail this time. Ye'll give me
Duncan or suffer the consequences."

Robert lifted a graying brow. "And those consequences
might be?"

"I'll expose ye as the leader of the plot to free the
queen.

He chuckled softly. "Och, aye, and risk bringing yerself
and yer family down in the doing?"

Angus shrugged. "My chances of successfully escaping into the wilds of the Highlands are far better than
yers, Gordon."

For a long moment, he watched the play of conflicting
emotions in the nobleman's eyes. Anger, then growing
fear. Frantic scheming, then rising indecision. Finally,
though, all were banished by a defeated resignation.

"I've accomplished all I set out to do," Robert Gordon
muttered at last. "He's not worth further thought, much
less effort."

"I can take him out with me then?" the big Highlander
asked. "No strings attached?"

"No strings. However, I'd suggest waiting until dark
and garbing him in a hooded cloak." Robert opened
the front door and motioned Angus inside. "Though it's
rumored Moray finds Colin Stewart's accusation that
his long-lost twin was the man responsible for Mary's
escape ludicrous, it's possible his spies are still out and
about."

"I'm surprised ye didn't turn Duncan over to Moray
yerself. That would've put an easy end to yer dispute
with the lad."

Robert paused in the entry area to shut the door. "As
ye already intimated before, exposing Duncan would've
risked exposing me and the other conspirators. Otherwise, I'd have done so long ago. My enmity with his
father notwithstanding, the cur kept sniffing too long and hard at my daughter. He had to be stopped, one
way or another, before he ruined Heather's marriage to
Charles Seton."

Angus turned. "Am I to assume that's no longer a problem? Duncan ruining all yer fine plans for yer daughter?"

"It has all been taken care of, ye can be sure."

"Well, then it's for the best, I'd wager," Angus said.
"Any lass who'd choose to do her father's will-especially
the will of a father such as ye-over the call of her heart
wasn't the woman for him."

"To yer backward Highland way of thinking," Robert
agreed, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm certain it
must seem so. But then, ye and yer kind have always
allowed yer passions to govern ye overmuch."

For a split second Angus's eyes narrowed, then he
laughed. "Mayhap. Mayhap, indeed. But I'd still prefer
to be governed by my passions than to tether my heart
to petty, self-serving concerns, soul-rotting reprisals, and
devious machinations. Now"-he gestured toward the
stairs that quite evidently led down beneath the house"if ye've said all ye need to say, I'd like to see Duncan."

"He's in the fourth room on the left." Robert Gordon
pulled out a long, rusty key and handed it to Angus. "Give
me an hour to depart Kinross. Then ye can free him."

Angus lifted an auburn brow. "So, ye don't wish to
face him, do ye?" He took the proffered key.

"We've naught more to say to each other. I don't wish
ever to see that strutting young cock again."

The laird of the Mackenzies shrugged. "Suit yerself."
He smiled wryly. "If the truth were told, though ye well deserve it for what ye did to him, I can't say I'd care to
watch Duncan kill ye at any rate."

Footsteps, heavy and hesitant, sounded on the stairs.
Duncan groaned and turned-or at least as far as his
chains would allow-onto his side. Was it suppertime
already? He didn't care. Food, what little was ever served,
had long ago ceased to matter. Let his jailer, for all he
cared, eat the tasteless swill.

The footsteps grew nearer, pausing finally outside his
door. A key probed at the lock. The latch rattled. With
a creak of rusty hinges, the thick oak door swung open.
Seconds ticked by with unrelenting slowness, and still
the visitor neither spoke nor moved.

Duncan lay there, his body burning with fever, too
weak and weary even to pretend interest in whoever
stood so overlong now in the doorway. Then the visitor-a man by the sound of him-walked farther into
the room.

"Duncan?" a strangely familiar voice ventured. "It's
Angus. Angus Mackenzie. Are ye awake? Speak to me,
laddie."

It took a moment for Duncan's befuddled brain to
sort through the words and grasp their meaning. Then
comprehension, joyous and pulse pounding, surged
through him. Oblivious to the chains jerking at his arms,
the shackles gouging into his wrists, Duncan swung
around.

"A-Angus?" he croaked, his own words sounding foreign, rough with disuse. "Is ... is it truly ye, man?"

The big, burly Highlander stepped close, knelt, and
placed his hand on Duncan's arm. "Aye, lad. It's me and
no other."

Duncan blinked, attempting to focus through the haze
of smoke and dim light. "Why? Why did ye come?"

"Why else, lad?" A chuckle rumbled in Angus's chest.
"To take ye home, of course."

"Home?"

The word sounded like heaven itself. Home, Duncan
thought with a bittersweet longing. Home ... the Highlands.

"Aye, home."

Suddenly, Duncan's eyes burned, but whether it was
from the smoke of the poorly wicked torches or from a
swell of tears, he didn't know. "Nay, Angus," he whispered
thickly. "It's not possible. Gordon hates me and surely
means to see me dead. He won't permit ye to take me
from here."

"Och, lad, lad," the Mackenzie laird chided, taking first
one of Duncan's wrist shackles and unlocking it, then
the other, "in the end, Gordon had little say in this. Once
I finally discovered where ye were, I was determined
naught would stand in my way. Besides, with a wee bit
of persuasion, whatever his reasons for keeping ye here,
they easily disappeared."

Duncan shoved to a sitting position, tossed the shackles aside, and leaned forward, cradling his suddenly
throbbing head in his hands. Whatever his reasons ...
The words reverberated in his head. When I finally free
ye, if I choose ever to do so, it'll be too late. Too late ... for
ye to interfere in Heather's wedding to Charles Seton.

He looked up, meeting Angus's worried gaze. "What
day is this?"

"Thursday."

"And the date," Duncan demanded hoarsely. "I beg ye,
Angus. What's the date?"

"June. June fifteenth," Angus replied, eyeing him
warily.

"Six weeks. I've been here almost six weeks." Duncan
clutched at his head, grinding his fists into his eyes. "Ah,
curse Robert Gordon. He has done exactly what he'd
always planned. He has won."

"I don't understand, lad." Angus gripped Duncan's
shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. "Ye're speaking
gibberish. Explain yerself. Tell me what ye mean. I can't
help ye if I don't understand what ye need of me."

"Ye can't help, no matter if ye understand or not,"
Duncan groaned. "It's too late. Heather wed Seton over
a month ago. There's naught anyone can do now."

"If she wed the lad, then so be it. She wasn't worthy
of ye."

A frustrated rage scorched through Duncan. "Don't
lay the fault at Heather's feet," he said through gritted
teeth, glaring up at the older man. "I didn't come for her
and, after how we last parted ... well, suffice it to say I
can't blame her for turning from me."

"Then what will ye do? Ye're free. Will ye come back
with me to the Highlands?"

The Highlands. Though he couldn't claim true kinship
with Angus or any other Mackenzie ever again, Duncan
knew he'd still be welcomed, still be accepted there. And,
Stewart though he truly was, he didn't care if he ever claimed his birthright or saw his dissolute brother again.
Indeed, he never wanted anything to do with anything
remotely related to the nobility.

"Aye," Duncan said, suddenly eager to be gone from
here, "I'll come back with ye to the Highlands. It was
always my destiny. And I've found the good sense to
admit it at last."

Heather stood by the library's deep, stone-cut window, gazing down the birch-lined road leading up to
Dunscroft Castle. Sunlight glinted off the wind-rattled
leaves, touching them with a sparkling radiance. The
rolling hills shone like so many huge, emerald green
gems in the aftermath of the recent rain, and the distant
mountains beyond stood tall and strong, majestic in
their mighty splendor.

"How beautiful this place is," she murmured, "yet still
it pales to the beauty of the Highlands."

But then, she added wistfully, everything pales in comparison. Everything ... and all because of one ruggedly
handsome and most compelling of men.

"Ye must forget him, m'lady," Beth said as she intently
stitched the hem of her own wedding dress. "If he can't
dredge up aught of forgiveness or understanding, he
isn't worthy of ye."