Beloved Warrior (35 page)

“Many things. I fought with the French for several years. Then I was ill for a long time.”

“You favor an alliance with France then?”

“I have no opinion on that,” Patrick said. “I have been gone too long to judge whether England or France is the better ally, but I would always be wary of our neighbor to the south. He is close and greedy.”

“He is my brother.”

“That does not mean he is not greedy.”

He heard the sharp inhale of the man next to him, then a movement behind him. He turned around.

Kingsley, dressed in popinjay purple, was striding toward them. “You call my king ‘greedy’?” he said angrily, unwisely ignoring Margaret.

“Being your king does not make him immune to greed,” Patrick replied mildly.

“The Maclean is right,” Margaret said, a twinkle in her eyes. “I know my brother. He is exceedingly greedy.”

Patrick thought Kingsley would burst of apoplexy, then quite abruptly he remembered where he was and bowed deeply. “I did not intend to interrupt you, madam, but I have been called home. I have come to tell you I will leave on the morrow.”

“An illness?” she asked, concern clouding her eyes. There was real feeling in her face. So Kingsley had been making progress with the queen.

“Nay, but it is time to leave. The ship carrying my bride should have arrived by now, and I have already lingered too long.”

“Aye, the Spanish connection,” Margaret said with irritation. “My brother seems determined to ally himself with every major country through marriage.”

“And isolate Scotland,” Patrick said, apparently idly.

Margaret held up her hand. “No more politics. I welcome you, Patrick Maclean, to my court, and I wish you, Viscount Kingsley, happiness in your upcoming marriage. I look forward to meeting your wife.”

She stood then, dismissing all of them, and they bowed and backed out of the room.

Kingsley stuttered with rage once the door closed behind them. “I will remember your words,” he said, then strode away.

Jamie sighed. “You believe in making an impression.”

“You and Rory were the ones who wanted me to be presented and take my place as laird of the Macleans,” Patrick said.

“You made a favorable impression, I think. Despite her dismissal, she admires those who state their opinions.”

“We will see,” Patrick said. “I have never been one to back away from a fight.”

“I noticed,” Jamie said dryly.

Patrick looked around for Denny. He found him in the shadows, his face pale, his hands shaking, his brow beaded with sweat.

“Denny?”

Denny’s eyes darted around, seemingly looking for someone.

The only person around, other than the queen’s guards, had been Kingsley. “The Viscount Kingsley?” he asked.

Something flickered through Denny’s eyes.

“You have seen him before?” Patrick said.

Denny looked confused, but his body was still stiff. The sight of Kingsley apparently stirred some reaction, but what?

“He is Viscount Kingsley,” Patrick said. “The son of the Earl of Chadwick. The man Juliana was to marry.”

“What do you remember, man?” Jamie prompted.

Patrick saw something flicker in Denny’s eyes, then blankness again. And frustration. Denny bowed his head in defeat.

Whatever had been there was gone.

THE day was full of promise as Juliana rode with Kimbra and Audra. Bear ran aside them, and the guard stayed well behind. The chill in the air justified wearing her cloak with both the jewels and coins sewn into it.

Kimbra chatted as they rode, telling her about the Macleans and about her own family on the English border. “’Tis far prettier here,” she said. “The loch is beautiful. Rory used to take Felicia here.”

She pulled her mare to a halt at the edge of a lake that shimmered with sunlight. It was, as Kimbra said, breath-takingly blue against the heather-covered hills.

So different from the gray of the past days.

She looked around. No sign of another human. Had Diego been able to lose his own guard?

They dismounted and tied the reins of their mounts to bushes. The guard also dismounted and sat on a rock not far from them, but apart. Juliana helped spread out a blanket, then the food that had been prepared. There was roasted chicken, cheese, fresh bread and fruit. Wine for them and milk for Audra, who started chasing Bear.

“It is lovely here,” Juliana said, sitting down on a stone.

“When it does not rain,” Kimbra said ruefully.

“What is it like on the border?” she asked. The man she was to marry had estates not far from the border.

“Bogs and rocks and mountains. Not very good for growing things. Or cattle. So all the families turned to reiving.”

“Reiving.”

“Stealing,” Kimbra said frankly. “Stealing cattle. Raiding homes. Robbing travelers.”

Juliana did not know what to say then. Instead, she took a bite of chicken. She did not want it, but she knew it might be a long time before she had food again.

If
Diego appeared. Had she had been a fool to trust him?

Perhaps he had not been able to wander away.

Audra ran back to them, Bear behind her. She sat down and took a leg. She looked loved and happy. Juliana’s heart ached at the prospect of robbing that smile from her, even for a moment.

They ate then, soaking in the rays of the sun after so many days of rain. Audra dozed off, Bear beside her. Kimbra asked in a low voice about Juliana’s home in Spain. “Audra and I sailed with Lachlan several times, and I hoped to go there, but we passed through one storm that was terrifying. I never wanted Audra to experience another one.”

Juliana remembered the fierceness of the storm the
Sofia
had sailed through and understood. It had been bad enough for her, but she remembered the terror and fear in Carmita’s eyes. How much worse to feel another’s fear, especially one’s own child.

She was facing the guard while Kimbra was staring out at the loch. Juliana caught sight of Diego as he quickly and silently approached the guard from behind. It was as if he appeared out of nowhere. He struck the guard, who slumped silently. Then Diego lowered him to the ground and bound the Maclean. Thank Mary in heaven he had not killed him.

Diego moved toward them and Kimbra turned around, as if she instinctively felt his presence.

Diego stood there, bowed as Kimbra sprung to her feet. Bear also rose, but he was familiar with Diego and made no threatening movement.

There were questions in Kimbra’s face. Then the realization of what Juliana and Diego intended. She put her arms around Audra.

“I am afraid we will have to take your horses,” Diego said in a low voice, “but I will leave them where you can find them.”

“I am sorry,” Juliana said. “You have been good to me, but I cannot stay. It can only bring grief to the Macleans, and I have my family to consider as well.”

“Wait until Patrick returns,” Kimbra urged.

“If I do, I will never leave,” Juliana said softly.

Kimbra hugged Juliana. “Patrick loves you. It is clear. He will come after you.”

“No,” she said softly. “He will not. And you must convince him that I want to leave. This is a good marriage. I will make sure that no blame comes to anyone here.”

“Juliana?” Diego’s voice interrupted. “We must go.”

She stepped away from Kimbra, and it was one of the hardest things she had ever done. She went over to the horses with Diego, and he helped her onto the mare she’d been riding. He mounted the guard’s gelding, then gathered the reins of the other three horses. He handed off one set of reins to Juliana, and held the other two. It would be a long walk back for the guard, but it could not be helped. Someone would return for Kimbra and her daughter.

Without looking back, Juliana urged the mare forward at a trot.

PATRICK had accomplished what he wanted. There was no reason to linger in Edinburgh.

He’d had his audience with the queen and established his place as the Maclean heir. He’d met Kingsley and confirmed to himself that the man was not fit for marriage to Juliana. Even the thought of her made him want to race back home.

Home.
It was the first time he’d really considered Inverleith that since his return. But now it was home, and he was eager to return. Especially with Juliana there. His reaction to Kingsley had been bone-deep dislike. There was no way he would allow the marriage. To do so would doom Juliana to a miserable life with a miserable man. Nor did he want to live without her, he realized. He’d seen enough of Rory and Felicia, and Lachlan and Kimbra, to know he craved the same kind of love. God help them both, but he intended to ask her to wed. They would simply have to invent some plausible story to explain her presence.

Patrick said his farewell to Jamie. God’s blood, but he found he really did like the man. Like a Campbell?

Denny touched his shoulder in question. They had been sitting in Patrick’s room of the inn, each quiet, lost in thought.

“We will be leaving soon.”

Relief flooded Denny’s eyes. He had been restless since seeing Kingsley. Patrick understood that something had seemed familiar—and terrifying—to Denny, but he could not put it in words. Was there someone like Kingsley in Denny’s past? Someone who appeared to be brutal and vicious? Then again, mayhap Denny did not even know why.

Patrick hoped that Kimbra and Juliana might unlock some of those answers. He picked up his saddlebags, eager now to leave. A loud knock came at the door, and it was pushed open before he reached it.

A travel-stained Rory and a grim-faced Jamie entered. “She’s gone,” Rory said simply. “She and that bloody Spaniard.”

It took a few seconds for Patrick to understand. “How?”

“They went for a picnic. Kimbra, Audra and Juliana. Damn my soul. I trusted her.” Rory paused. “Even so, I sent a guard with them. Apparently the Spaniard went hunting with some of our men and slipped away from them. He surprised the guard with Juliana and took her and all the horses. By the time the guard ran back to Inverleith, Juliana and the Spaniard had disappeared.”

A stunning emptiness settled in Patrick’s chest. “They planned it?”

“Aye. They had to. I sent out men to search. We found the horses tied to bushes not far from the beach where there were several fishing boats. One with sails is missing.” Rory paused. “The Spaniard is apparently quite canny in evading pursuit. They could have landed anywhere across the sound.”

With the gold Patrick had given Diego as his share of the
Sofia
’s cargo, the Spaniard could easily purchase fresh horses for them. The emptiness turned to cold anger. Diego no doubt expected a fine reward from the Earl of Chadwick.

“I’m sorry, Brother. I should have been more careful but I thought Juliana was content at Inverleith. Kimbra is consumed with guilt but she always thinks the best of everyone despite what happened on the border. We thought . . .”

His voice trailed off without saying what they thought, but Patrick did not need him to finish. They had thought there was something between the two of them, Patrick and Juliana. He had, too.

Looby.
He called himself every type of fool.
Hoddy peak! Cuckold.
He was aware his fingers tightened around the saddlebags.

“She left two letters,” Rory continued, his expression contrite and full of a sympathy Patrick could not bear. “One was to me, apologizing and thanking the Macleans for our hospitality.” His voice had turned ironic. He pulled out a piece of folded parchment from the purse hanging on his belt and handed it to Patrick.

He held it for a moment, then carefully unfolded the parchment and read.

 
The coolness of the message struck him to the core as his stomach roiled. No mention of what had passed between them.

And leaving with Diego of all men. Images sprang to his mind of the two of them together. All unwelcome. She felt she could go to the Spaniard. She hadn’t come to him. She trusted Diego. She had not trusted him.

He read it again. Each word of the letter was like a dagger into his heart. He feared for her. Nay, he was terrified for her. And he was furious. At both of them. Mayhap her intentions had been good. But to steal off like a thief in the night . . .

“I am going after them,” Patrick said.

“We do not know where they are going,” Jamie said.

“Middlesbrough,” Patrick said. “That’s the Chadwick seat.”

“They could not be far ahead,” Rory said. “They would have to cross Scotland, and I nearly killed two horses to get here.”

“Diego is resourceful,” Patrick replied, his throat thick. What if he had been wrong about Diego from the beginning? God’s blood, he
had
been wrong. His hands ached to kill the man.

“Aye, I have noticed that,” Rory agreed dryly.

“We need a map.”

“Mine is gone,” Rory admitted. “Juliana borrowed it.”

The sinking feeling went deeper. How long had she planned this? Since she’d first arrived? Or since he bedded her? The sense of betrayal deepened.