Stuart, Elizabeth (32 page)

Sir
Evan MacCue smiled briefly, but his dark eyes were troubled. "Why did you
come, lad? I could scarce believe my eyes when I saw you standing there
grinning like the devil hisself. Don't you ken Randall would like nothing
better than to see you dead—and that in as miserable a way as possible?"

"Aye,
but I've no plans to oblige him," Francis said dryly. "With men like
you and Stewart and Galbraith about, the earl won't move unlawfully. And I've a
few tricks of my own should the occasion warrant."

Another
guest wandered up to speak to Sir Evan, and Francis moved away toward a corner
table set with pitchers of ale and trays of empty tankards. Conall joined him,
and the two drank deeply of the bitter brew.

"Well,"
Conall said, wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand,
"we've made it in alive, and so far things have gone as you planned. But I
can't help wondering what our next move should be." He grinned at Francis
over his mug. "I was watching Mistress Randall when she saw you. To my
mind, the lass didn't look overjoyed."

Francis
laughed. "She's laboring under a slight misapprehension concerning my
character. I've but to convince her I'm no' so bad as she believes."

"Faith,
it should be an interesting week then," Conall said in amused
exasperation. "We've but to make the lass agreeable, avoid any number of
men who'll be trying to slit our gullets, and escape from a well-guarded
stronghold. 'Tis easy enough when all's said and done."

"Leave
any time you like, Conall."

Conall
shook his head. "Nay, lad. I've waited too long for the chance to bring
Randall low, and I'd not miss any opportunity to annoy the bastard. And
besides," he added with an impudent smile, "now I've seen the lass,
I'm not above trying to cut you out."

"You
concentrate on keeping the knives from our backs and how we're to walk through
these walls at the end of the week. I'll see what I can do to make the lass
change her mind," Francis said, lifting his tankard to drain the last of
the ale.

"You'd
best get in line, then." Conall jerked his head toward the cluster of
gentlemen around Anne. "It may take her the better part of the week to get
round to your suit."

"We'll
see," Francis rejoined softly. Placing his empty mug on the table, he
headed toward the group. The music was beginning again, and a dance with Anne
might be the best chance he would have for private conversation. He pushed
through the half-dozen men making up her court. "Your pardon, gentlemen,
but I've a promise of the lady's hand."

Anne
smiled sweetly, but the look she sent Francis spoke of a very different
emotion. "I'm sorry, sir, but my hand is promised to Walter Murray for
this dance."

"Aye,
MacLean. You'll have to wait your turn like the rest of us," a male voice
piped up.

"I'm
afraid it's you, Murray, who'll be waitin' your turn. I've the promise of the
lady's hand from her father. I'm sure none of you will be wanting to annoy the
earl in his own household. I know I'd never dream of it."

"I
fear you're mistaken, m'lord," Anne repeated firmly. "My hand is
already promised for the rest of the evening." She raised one delicately
arched brow and met his gaze coolly. "But let me introduce you to any fair
lady of your choice. I'd be delighted to find you a partner."

Francis's
eyes gleamed in amusement. "I'll take advantage of your offer later, but
Glenkennon promised you to me this dance." He held out his hand.
"Come, lass. We'll be late joining the set."

Anne
stared at his strong, brown hand, remembering the shameful pleasure he had
brought her that last evening on the beach. Her face burned at the memory.
"I don't believe you spoke to my father at all," she breathed, her
eyes glittering dangerously. "I doubt he even knows you're here!"

"Shall
we ask Glenkennon then, lass?"

"You
wouldn't dare."

Francis
did not hesitate. Swinging about, he raised his voice above the din in the room.
"My lord Glenkennon, we've need of you here!"

The
laughing voices about them suddenly hushed. The earl glanced up in surprise,
his eyes shifting from the stormy face of his daughter to that of the grinning
MacLean Chief. He moved deliberately across the floor toward them. "What
seems to be the trouble?"

"My
lord Glenkennon, I hesitate to trouble you, but we've a slight misunderstanding
here," Francis said gravely. "Mistress Randall is under the
impression you take no pleasure in my company. Being such a dutiful lass, she
refuses to dance with any man of whom her father disapproves." He sent
Glenkennon a challenging look. "But perhaps I was mistaken in your own
warm welcome. Conall and I can be on our way on the moment—we've no wish to
remain where we're not wanted."

Glenkennon
studied MacLean thoughtfully. The man was taking a perverse pleasure in forcing
the issue, yet it would be best to keep him happy for now. If the Highlander
tried to leave, he would be forced to seize him, and he did not want to show
his hand just yet—not until he could talk to Blake and determine how best to
use this to their advantage.

"My
dear Anne," he said softly, "I fear you're being rude to one of our
guests—and after I expressly promised him all the entertainments Ranleigh had
to offer. Please make him welcome at once. I'm sure these gentlemen will
understand if you dance with him now."

Anne
swallowed hard, choking down the hot words of refusal that sprang to her
tongue. Lowering her eyes, she dropped into a respectful curtsy. "Of
course, Father. I meant no offense to your guest." She turned to young
Murray. "Pray hold me excused, sir. I shall hope to dance with you
later."

Francis
extended his left arm graciously. "If you'll allow me, mistress."

Inwardly
seething, Anne placed the tips of her fingers on his muscular arm, allowing him
to lead her onto the floor.

"What
a dutiful daughter. Do you always obey your father so readily?" Francis
inquired, covering her cold fingers with his own.

"Do
you think I've any other choice?"

His
clasp on her hand tightened and a look of quick sympathy crossed his face.
"Has it been hard for you, lass?"

She
ignored the caressing note in his voice and stared at a point beyond his
shoulder. Her father might have forced her to dance with Francis, but by God
she'd not be used again! She was done being a pawn in this twisted game between
them. "That's none of your concern," she said coldly.

The
movement of the dance separated them, and Francis silently cursed this
ill-conceived attempt at private conversation in a room filled with upward of
two score dancers. He needed to see Anne alone if he was to successfully
explain his actions in the spring.

"Janet
sends her best wishes," he tried again as they once more moved together.
"And Donald and Kate bade me give you their regards."

She
nodded. "I've missed them. They were so kind last spring, I..."
Flushing again, she broke off, cursing herself for bringing up that painful
time.

If
Francis noticed her confusion, he ignored it. "You're seldom seen outside
the gates, lass. I hope you've not been ill."

She
dared a slanted glance upward. He was gazing at her with such tender concern
her heart missed several beats. "I've been well," she said shortly.
Damn the man! Damn him for his black heart and the charm he used so ruthlessly.

But
how did he know she had been shut up inside Ranleigh? He must have spies in
their very household! The thought reminded her of his encounter with Charles,
the memory successfully destroying any last possibility of a truce between
them.

For
as long as she lived, she would not forget that terrible scene when Charles and
his band of bloody, exhausted men had slunk through the gates of Ranleigh.
Charles had stood quietly, blanching before Glenkennon's rage as he recounted
his tale, trembling with fatigue and loss of blood, yet stubborn in his
assertion that his men had been wrong. Glenkennon had stormed out in disgust,
leaving Charles to stumble up the stairs with his sister's support. Raging
aloud against Francis while she worked, until Charles tiredly commanded her
silence, she had tended the ugly wounds, finding none so bad as they had looked
beneath the mixture of blood and dirt.

"I'm
afraid my brother hasn't been so fortunate though," she said, throwing
back her head to meet his gaze accusingly. "His health has caused me grave
concern."

"Your
brother is lucky to be alive."

"So
you don't deny you attempted to murder him."

"I
made no attempt to kill the lad—else he'd be dead," Francis replied
bluntly.

"Sir
Francis, the merciful..." She laughed bitterly. "Come my lord, I'm no
longer so naive. If you let him go, I'm certain it was for your own benefit.
You're bold enough in taking advantage of women and helpless boys..." She
smiled mockingly. "Could it be you're afraid of my father, despite all your
brave claims?"

"We
can both attest to the fact I don't take advantage of women, be they ever so
willing," Francis said, stung by her words, "and anyone less like a
helpless boy I've yet to see. Charles has the best arm I've come up with
against in a twelvemonth."

His
harsh expression softened and his voice lowered caressingly. "I may have
hurt Charles's pride, but I didn't harm the lad unduly. I made you a promise
I'd minimize any hurt to you and your brother, lass, and I've kept my word. The
fact that Charles is alive after ambushing my men should tell you something, if
you would care to look beyond your own wounded pride."

Her
face flamed, but Anne ignored his painful probing at the root of their
argument. "Charles wasn't involved in that ambush and you know it!"

"Any
leader is responsible for the actions of his men, even if he isn't personally
involved," Francis explained patiently. "Charles understands that,
though you aren't reasonable enough to do so. One of my men almost lost his
life, Anne. As it is he'll be long recovering. You might remember the
lad," he added. "'Twas Naill MacLean your brother's men nearly
murdered."

Anne
bit her lip and looked away. She remembered Naill well. The laughing young
clansman had strummed the lute and sung for her on several rainy afternoons at
Camereigh.

"I'll
not stand by and see my people murdered, even for you," Francis said
softly, "but I didn't let Charles go because I've any fear of
Glenkennon..."

"Then
you're a fool," she interrupted. "Father thinks you're behind those
raids. If he has his way, you'll not leave here alive!"

"And
would you be so indifferent to that as you pretend, lass?" Francis asked
unwisely.

Anne
sucked in her breath. The man's arrogance was unbounded—he obviously thought he
still had her under his spell. "Indifferent?" she repeated.
"Why, no, m'lord. I'd consider the day's work well done to rid the world
of a lying rogue like you!"

The
music had stopped, but neither Francis nor Anne was aware that they had stopped
dancing long before its end. For a moment, they glared at each other, then
Francis turned on his heel and stalked away.

Edmund
Blake stepped from the shadows along the wall, his eyes following MacLean as
the Highlander strode angrily across the room. His sinister smile flashed once as
he moved to join Glenkennon. "A most interesting development, my
lord," he said softly. He took a glass of wine from a passing servant,
then waited until the man moved away. "What think you of our uninvited
guests?"

Glenkennon
laughed aloud. "Here I've been wondering how to get into MacLean's
impregnable fortress, and what happens but he shows up in my own. God's blood,
but the luck is with us tonight!" he exclaimed gleefully. "Christ!
Has the lamb ever come more willingly to the slaughter?"

"I've
already ordered the guard doubled and have chosen a room where our two young
friends may stay."

"Yes,
that's good. We must keep them happy until we can come up with something that
isn't too obvious."

"Perhaps
you'd best speak to your daughter then, my lord," Blake remarked, glancing
back at Anne. "From the look of things just now, she's in no mood to humor
the man."

"Anne
will humor any man I tell her to, no matter her mood," Glenkennon
responded carelessly. "The girl's even more manageable than her mother
was."

"Do
you wish me to continue to watch her then, my lord?"

"Yes...
and be sure to let me know if she's discourteous to our friend."
Glenkennon smiled darkly. "Perhaps my lovely daughter can make the
condemned man's last week a trifle more pleasant."

***

Francis's
anger scarcely lasted as long as it took him to cross the room. After all, what
had he expected from Anne? The girl had every right to hate him after his words
at Camereigh. He wished now more than ever that he could have explained, but
the truth would have served no purpose at that moment and might have been
dangerous for Anne. As it was, their best protection from Glenkennon lay in her
apparent dislike of him.