Stuart, Elizabeth (28 page)

"I've
no time for women now," Francis said brusquely. "I'm taking the fight
to Glenkennon, Jamie. I'm going to meet him on my own terms."

"Francis,
no!" Janet exclaimed. "Don't be a fool."

"I'll
not sit waiting for Glenkennon to make his move. Why, I could wait in readiness
all year only to get a knife in my back in some shadowy street in Edinburgh or
Dundee," Francis said disgustedly. "No, thanks. I'll turn the tables
on him, and let him wonder where and when the next strike will come."

"Is
that wise at this time?" Jamie asked, his emphasis on the last two words
reminding Francis of the charge he might be facing.

He
shrugged his shoulders. "A small group of hand-picked men wearing no
identifying markings, trained to strike silently in the darkness and disappear
without a trace... we could inflict a great deal of damage on our wily friend.
At the very least we'll make him angrier than a wingless bee when he finds he
can lay no name to the raiders."

"Even
a wingless bee can sting," Jamie said dryly, "and it's the odd raid
that goes off without a hitch."

"Would
you wait mewed up on your lands if the man meant to have you?" Francis
asked, gazing steadily into his friend's worried face. After a moment of
silence Francis smiled. "I thought not."

"May
I ride with you, sir?" Will asked, moving eagerly to stand before Francis.

"No,
lad, not this time."

"Is
it because you think I'm too young, or am I just not good enough?" Will
asked bitterly.

"You're
old enough to be going on raids lad, and your skill is superior to most your
age. I'll take you raiding with me this fall if your father permits, but these
raids will be different from a friendly skirmish among the clans. There'll be
no rules of barter and ransom should a man fall during a foray. If anything
goes wrong, we'll be killed to the man and no questions asked."

Francis
put his hand on Will's shoulder, remembering when he had stood on the brink of
manhood, begging his father to take him along on a dangerous raid. "I've
no sons, lad, no heir save you. If I don't return, the responsibility for my
clan will rest on your shoulders." His grip tightened. "Do you
understand now? I dare not take you with me."

Will
stared up at him, eyes wide with disbelief. "But nothing will happen to
you," he said in a tight voice. "It couldn't."

"Oh,
but it could lad, and I'll not leave Camereigh without a man of MacLean blood
to carry on."

Will
swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat, disconcerted by the
thought of a world in which no Francis MacLean lived and laughed and ruled
supreme at Camereigh.

The
morning's driving rain had slowed to a steady drizzle that glanced off the
outbuildings below Anne's window and collected in dingy puddles in the
courtyard. Anne threw open the window, gratefully taking in a breath of the
cool, damp air that rushed into the room.

The
weather had turned inclement shortly after her father's departure for Dundee,
making the castle dark and stale with the smell of a place too long closed
against sunshine and wind. For days, Anne had thought of little but the urge to
be quit of the place, to breathe fresh air and walk beside the loch without
dozens of pairs of eyes watching her every move. If only her father had not
forbidden her to go outside Ranleigh while he was away.

Her
face flushed with embarrassment as she remembered the humiliating scene before
Nigel Douglas and Captain Kincaid. "You're not to go outside the gates for
any reason," her father had said coldly. "Not even if Charles returns
from the south and offers to escort you. We'll most likely be entertaining
guests on my return, and I can't afford to have you disappear again."

His
eyes wandered over her dispassionately. "I'd see you in some new gowns,
too. Something a bit more, ah... womanly." He raised an eyebrow. "No
gray or black, mind you, and none of these high, starched ruffs you seem to have
such a passion for. There's not a man alive who likes the things."

He
smiled thinly, as if enjoying her discomfiture. "I've given the seamstress
an idea of what I want, and there are trunks of material and trim upstairs.
I'll expect to see you suitably dressed on my return."

Anne
bit her lip painfully, recalling the cold way he had left her. And worst of
all, he had set Edmund Blake to spy on her in his absence.

The
thought of Blake sent a shudder of revulsion along her backbone. The man was
everywhere about Ranleigh —most often when he was least expected. His
disturbing gray eyes peered into every corner of the castle and into the lives
of all its inhabitants. Of late she had felt she could not move without coming
under his cold stare. But Blake had said he would be busy that afternoon
updating the estate ledgers...

She
sucked in her breath as a daring thought reared its head. If Blake were busy,
no one would notice if she slipped out for an hour or so. After all, what harm
could it do? Despite an uneasy qualm, she turned from the window, already
planning her escape.

A
short time later, Anne fled the cheerless confines of Ranleigh garbed in the
rough cloak and brogues of a serving woman. Approaching the outer gate, she
drew the frayed hood over her face, as if seeking protection from the inclement
weather. The uninterested guards glanced her way briefly but did not comment as
she passed.

It
was a dismal day to be abroad, but she relished the scent of rain-washed
countryside after nearly two weeks of being pent up inside. Head high, she
followed a rocky track leading from the road down to the loch. The damp stones
were slippery and forced her to step carefully along the water's edge as she
made her way toward a large jumble of boulders at one end of the loch. The dark
pile of granite was cold and uninviting, but she welcomed its protection from
prying eyes.

She
half walked, half slid down the rocky incline to the shore. Passing between two
great boulders, she clambered atop a large, flat stone, polished to smoothness
by the rains of a thousand years. Free—she was free at last, if only for an
hour or so.

A
cold breath of wind stirred a damp tendril of her hair and sighed brokenly
across the loch, while from closer at hand the desolate wail of a curlew
sounded from out of the mist. Her feeling of lonely isolation slowly grew,
sending her thoughts slipping back to Camereigh.

What
was happening there on that cool, damp afternoon? Were the inhabitants gathered
snugly about a cheerful fire, laughing and telling tales? A sudden longing to
be a part of it washed over her, and she pictured Francis as he had looked on
such occasions, laughing down at her with blue eyes twinkling or those same
eyes gone dark and tender with... with what?

"I
don't believe it. I don't believe he didn't care," she whispered aloud.
Unbidden, thoughts of the many tender moments between them came back to plague
her. Why would he have lied to her, used her, pretending emotions he had never
felt? Was it only to beguile the boredom of a few spring days?

She
had been over it again and again, only to end with the same unanswered
questions. Perhaps Francis had cared for her, but the feeling had been
short-lived. Or perhaps he had cared but had determined the consequences of
angering her powerful father more than he wished to bring upon his clan. He
might well have sent her away for such a reason. Or perhaps—perhaps it had been
just as he had said that last unforgettable morning.

She
stared down at the muddy-brown water lapping at the rocks beneath her feet.
Whatever Francis's motives, the results were the same. That happy time was
over. Any day now her father would be returning, and a round of entertaining
would begin that would soon see her wed to some wealthy lord of his choosing-
She must put away the memories of a moonlit beach and the way it felt to lie in
a man's arms and count the world well lost. She must try to meet halfway the
man her father would choose, and perhaps in time the images would fade.

She
closed her eyes tightly, swallowing back the bitterness of shattered hopes and
betrayal. Why had she been granted that one glimpse of freedom, that one taste
of life as it was meant to be lived? It was as if a bird, raised in captivity
from birth, had been allowed to soar across the heavens, to marvel at the sensation
of flight and freedom for a few days, only to be brought down once again, have
its wings clipped, and be put back into its cage. Anne's taste of the sweetness
of life had been so short. Empty days stretched endlessly ahead of her, and she
marveled that life could go on when all that made it worth living had ended.

The
wind picked up, groaning restlessly around the great stone slabs lying stark
and upended against the lonely water's edge. She clutched her cloak tightly
about her as the fine mist changed again to a mizzling rain. It was time to be
getting back.

Moving
quickly up the path, she slipped into the postern door without incident,
creeping stealthily down the dim corridor toward the western stair. She had
almost reached her destination when a cold voice sounded from the gloom above
the stairway. "Well, mistress, I trust you enjoyed your walk. I should
hardly think the weather auspicious for such activity... but then, I'm certain
you had your reasons."

Anne
stood rooted to the spot, one foot upon the stairs as Edmund Blake's pale face
materialized above her. He had watched her—he had been spying on her all the
time!

She
drew herself up as proudly as she could in light of her clumsy shoes and
tattered cloak. "Yes, thank you. I enjoyed my walk well enough. There's
something invigorating about the wind and mist, don't you agree?"

Blake
blocked her path at the top of the stairs. "Do you really think it wise to
invite your father's displeasure, mistress?" he asked softly. "There
are many who could have seen you out this afternoon."

She
halted one step below him. Their heads were almost on a level, his unusual gray
eyes riveting hers. "But no one did, save you," she returned,
"though I'm sure you'll enjoy recounting the tale to my father at the
first opportunity."

"Perhaps...
and then again, perhaps not," he replied smoothly. His pale, lashless eyes
flickered with an emotion she could not read. "I might just manage to...
forget your activities this afternoon."

His
words and the twisted smile that went with them made her go cold with dread.
Holding her breath, she pushed past him without reply. Blake would expect
something in return for his silence, and she'd no wish to bargain with a man of
his ilk. Better her father's displeasure, terrifying as that was. Forcing
herself to walk calmly down the hall, she ignored the cold weight of Blake's
gaze upon her back.

***

The
earl of Glenkennon arrived with his men on the following afternoon. From the
gateway, Anne peered down the road, shading her eyes from the slanting rays of
the afternoon sun as she tried to make out the identity of the approaching
riders. A dark, bearded man rode beside her father. Even from this distance she
could tell he was a gentleman of importance by the luxury of his dress and the
blooded bay he rode.

All
was confusion as the riders entered the courtyard teeming with servants,
children, and barking dogs. Anne hung back until the worst of the chaos
subsided, then stepped forward dutifully to greet her father and the stranger
at his side.

"Anne,
my dear, you can see I've brought guests," Glenkennon said, turning his
attention upon her. "Sir Percy Campbell and his men will be staying with
us several days. Campbell, I'd like you to meet my daughter Anne."

She
cast a quick look at the man before dropping into a curtsy. She had a fleeting
impression of dark hair and eyes, and a well-trimmed beard with a moustache
curling above thin lips. He had been handsome once, she thought, though lines
of dissipation were already beginning to ravage his narrow, pointed face.

"I'm
pleased to meet you, mistress," Campbell said smoothly. "I've been
looking forward to a visit to Ranleigh, but now I'm doubly glad I've
come." He took her hand and lifted it to his lips before training his dark
gaze upon her again. "Your father may have great difficulty driving me
away... now."

The
brush of his beard against her skin was unpleasant, and Anne barely restrained
the impulse to jerk her fingers from his grasp. She did not like the flare of
interest in his eyes or the way his bold gaze lingered along the curves of her
body.

"We
shall be pleased to have you as long as you wish to stay, my lord," she
replied. "The honor will be ours."

Drawing
her hand firmly from his, she turned to her father with a forced smile.
"You must be hot and thirsty after your ride, Father. I've refreshments
waiting in the hall. You may rest there while I see rooms are made ready for
our guests."

She
led the men into the hall, then slipped away to her room to change for dinner.
Sir Percy Campbell—she recalled the name. Glenkennon desired closer ties with
the powerful Campbell clan.

Her
father needed her for a marriage alliance and gold —cold, hard gold, Francis
had said. The memory of his words sent a shudder down her spine. She would be
sold to the man now drinking below if he thought her desirable enough to meet
her father's price. Such transactions occurred every day. Marriages were made
for wealth and power—and nothing more.