Stuart, Elizabeth (37 page)

"I'm
grateful for this unusual interest, m'lord, but in spite
of your
insistence, I must hold by my original plan. I'll see to the leg myself."
Francis lifted one dark brow challengingly. "I know you'll not wish to
press me further."

Glenkennon's
eyes narrowed, but he smiled his most gracious smile. "Very well, MacLean,
if you feel so strongly about it, you must certainly see to your mount. I'm
sure we'll hunt together again soon.

"Douglas,"
he snapped, turning to the waiting man. "Take two men and accompany our
friend. See he receives whatever help is necessary." He nodded coldly
toward Francis, then spurred his horse impatiently away toward the sound of the
distant hounds.

Anne
released her breath slowly. Francis could take care of himself, and Nigel would
see that nothing happened in the short distance to Ranleigh. Perhaps Francis
and Conall would make their escape then while most everyone was away with the
hunt.

***

As
the last of the riders disappeared over the rise, Francis set out, leading his
hobbling animal. Conall rode ahead to ready the mud packs they would need,
leaving Francis with Nigel Douglas and the two English soldiers.

Dismounting,
Nigel waved Glenkennon's men on ahead. He walked beside Francis in silence the
length of the first field. "You know your life's not worth a damn here,
MacLean," he said at last. "You'd best be gone while you have the
chance."

Francis
shot him a penetrating look. "Are you attempting to frighten me, sir, or
uncover my plans for your employer?"

"Neither.
I just hate to see a good man killed for no reason. And to set the record
straight, I'm Jamie Stuart's man," Nigel said bluntly. "I'd not work
for the likes of Robert of Glenkennon!"

Francis
laughed outright. "I take it Glenkennon doesn't suspect you of any
willingness to aid the enemy or he'd have ordered a guard upon us both. As it
happens, I'm fully aware of the danger, but I've not yet concluded my business
here."

"I
confess I haven't a clue as to your business, and neither does
Glenkennon," Nigel said slowly. His shrewd brown eyes probed Francis's
face. "I trust it's nothing to do with treason."

"Rest
easy, man. Not even the most fanatical of Jamie's supporters could catch a
whiff of treason in my current pursuit."

Frowning,
Nigel considered Francis's words carefully. "I've spent a great deal of
time since my arrival in Scotland attempting to discover where your loyalties
lie, MacLean. I was much disposed to brand you traitor at the start. The tales
we hear at court are most unfavorable."

"I'm
flattered by your interest, Douglas. Need I hazard a guess as to who supplies
Jamie and his counselors with those accounts?"

Nigel
smiled grimly. "Aye, you've the right of it there. Glenkennon's complained
long and loudly against all you Highlanders. In all fairness though, you must
admit you're not a pillar of support for the Union of the Crowns."

Francis
stopped abruptly and leaned down to inspect the chestnut's injured leg.
Straightening, he turned to Nigel. "As a lad, I swore my loyalty to Jamie
Stuart as king of Scotland, though I personally despised him as a coward and a
dupe of the English. When the two kingdoms made this unholy alliance and he won
an English throne, I repeated that vow." His level gaze held the
Englishman. "I've told you once, Douglas—we Highlanders take our word
seriously."

"'Tis
a difficult line to walk between loyalty to the king and disobedience to his
representatives," Nigel said slowly. "I'd not like to face you across
that line, MacLean."

"I've
no quarrel with the king or his policies," Francis put in, "and if he
called on me tomorrow, I'd be there with my clan. But I'm a man, Douglas, and
I'll not stand by and watch my family beaten and murdered and see my lands go
to feed the greed of a bastard who claims to speak in the king's name. If that
makes me guilty of treason in your eyes, then so be it!"

"I
understand your sentiments. Damn it man, I even agree! But others may brand you
traitor if you don't take care."

Francis
pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'll be careful, Douglas. I've even less
desire now than most men to end up on a traitor's tree."

They
continued in thoughtful silence until they reached the stable where Conall
waited anxiously with a stable hand and a bucket of slimy mud. Francis handed
the reins to his friend, then turned to Douglas. "I've no idea why you've
come out on my side, Douglas, but I thank you for the warning. And I'd give you
back your own advice," he said softly. "Be careful... I'm not a
popular man to champion."

"You
don't rate me of much account, do you, Mac-Lean?" Nigel inquired. His dark
eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Should the time come, I think you'll find I'm
a man who can take care of himself. And I choose my fights carefully... for an
Englishman."

Francis
grinned. "Let's just say you've yet to show your mettle, Douglas." He
nodded and turned aside into the stable while Nigel moved away toward
Ranleigh's entrance.

Neither
man noticed the slight movement of a curtain at a window across the courtyard,
where Edmund Blake had stood just moments before—watching them.

It
was the end of another incredibly long and agonizing day for Anne—a day in
which the minutes of each hour multiplied a hundredfold and the hours were as
long as days. It was a day in which her body and mind separated, the one smiling
and talking with her guests while the other raced back through the woodlands
with Francis, wondering frantically if he might not lie stretched out beside
the trail, a victim of her father's uncanny ability to succeed despite her
meddling.

The
knowledge of her duplicity taxed her taut nerves to the breaking point, for she
was certain Glenkennon's cold gaze fell upon her more often and more
suspiciously than usual. He'd not yet spoken to her concerning her meeting with
Francis, yet Blake must have told him of it. Would he link the meeting with his
foiled plot to murder the Highlander? Perhaps Blake had even seen her in the
darkness of the corridor.

She'd
not been much relieved when the hunt returned and she saw Francis about the
hall. Why hadn't he escaped while he had the chance? Did he intend to lurk
about making her miserable forever? She almost wished her father had succeeded
in his plans!

Supper
and the brief spate of dancing that followed had held little pleasure.
Throughout the evening she had found herself searching the crowded room for a
glimpse of Francis's tall figure, so easily visible since he stood a head above
the other gentlemen. Yet when he approached her, she had snapped at him so
rudely that Lord and Lady Galbraith had gazed at her in surprise. He had not
attempted to approach her again.

Now
the evening was over, and she stood alone in her bedchamber. She struggled to
unfasten the tiny jet buttons running down the back of her gown, pettishly
wishing she had refused Bess's request to tend a sick cousin. The maid's
soothing words and gentle touch would have been welcome.

But
even in her absence, Bess made her comforting presence felt. She had left word
with another servant to have water heated for her mistress's bath, and now the
tub steamed in warm invitation behind the curtained alcove.

Finally
succeeding in releasing the last button, Anne dropped the gown over her hips,
dragging her heavy silk petticoats after it. The air in the room was chill,
raising gooseflesh along her arms. She paused only long enough to hang the gown
in the press instead of leaving it on the floor as she was half tempted to do.
Shivering in her nakedness, she hurried around the comer into the steaming tub.

Anne
eased herself into the warm, scented waters, leaning against the rim of the
tub, eyes closed, seeking to still her tumultuous thoughts. But even in the
privacy of her bath, Francis haunted her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?
He did not want her for himself, yet he could not be content unless he could
whistle her back to heel. Perhaps his tremendous self-esteem demanded that he
prove himself irresistible to her again.

Anne
splashed the water angrily, remembering the confident way he had kissed her
beside the loch. He obviously thought she would fall back into his arms anytime
he was ready. Damnation! She had been forced to admit that she still loved him,
but she would take care that he never knew. She'd not be made a fool of
twice
by the same man!

Despite
Anne's brave thoughts, a bitter anguish welled inside her as she remembered her
own response to Francis's most recent advances. Perhaps he had good reason to
believe she would be an easy conquest.

She
thought of his embrace, recalling the feel of his lips upon hers, his arms
holding her fast against his heart. Even now her treacherous body betrayed her
with a powerful yearning she could not suppress. She would just have to keep
away from Francis until he left Ranleigh, she told herself firmly.

It
was well past the time she should have been abed when she finally stepped from
the tepid water. Reaching for the towel, she draped it around her shivering
form, looking uncertainly about for her nightwear. She had not brought it with
her; she must have left it on the bed in her hurry.

Rounding
the curtains in search of her robe, she halted in surprise. Francis was
lounging coolly at his ease on her large bed, looking as if his presence there
were the most natural thing in the world. She stood frozen, unable to move or
speak or even to think as she gazed at him in disbelief.

"Good
evening, lass. I trust you enjoyed your bath. You certainly took the devil's
own time about it," he remarked, smiling that lazy, calculating smile she
remembered so well as his eyes traveled appraisingly over her scantily clad
form. "Had you lingered longer, I'd have joined you."

"Francis...
get out of here!" she hissed, finding her voice. She clutched the towel
more tightly to her breasts. "If you're not out by the count of five, I'm
going to start screaming and not stop till the guards drag you away. One...
two—"

"Scream
if you like," he interrupted calmly, "but I'm not leaving until I've
said what I came to say."

She
was tempted to shout for help. He did not believe she would do it...

He
watched her wordlessly, still lounging against the pillows.

"Say
your peace then and be gone," she snapped. "I'll not have any man
dead because of me... not even you."

He
caught up her robe and held it out. "Then oblige me by putting this on,
lass. Clothed as you are, you make it damned difficult for a man to keep his
wits."

She
jerked it from his hands, then stood uncertainly, refusing to drop the towel to
slide into her robe.

"Shall
I turn my back as I did one cold morning not so long ago?" he suggested.
His warm gaze traveled the length of her long legs, caressing the shapely
contours revealed by the damp, clinging towel. His eyes lifted to hers and he
grinned mischievously. "God's blood, had I known what a comely sight I was
missing, I'd have peeked at least once!"

"Close
your insolent mouth... and turn all the way around," she ordered, watching
to see he did as she commanded. She dropped the towel, slipping quickly into
the robe and wrapping it tightly around her. "I don't even want to know
how you managed to get in here, but you're a fool, Francis MacLean! Someone
could walk in at any moment and you'd be a dead man."

"Were
you expecting a lover? He'll get a surprise... I locked the door."

"You
said you had something important to discuss," she said pointedly.
"Say it, and be gone. I'm tired of your prattle."

He
turned around. "I'd not have chanced this had there been any other way,
lass." He leaned forward, suddenly serious. "Glenkennon's watchdogs
have made it nigh impossible to speak to you privately, but I had to see you
again... to tell you what happened last spring."

His
eyes were dark, compelling, binding her gaze to his. The old need to touch him
rose up in her as a throbbing ache. She turned abruptly away. "I don't
want to know. It's over and done with, Francis. Leave it be."

"Damn
it, Anne! You'll hear me out if I have to tie you in that chair," he
exploded, coming halfway off the bed. "Now sit down!"

For
a moment their eyes clashed angrily. How dare he order her about like one of
his clansmen!

Francis
settled back onto the bed. His voice dropped. "Please, lass..."

Her
fingers traced the carved oak of the chair back uncertainly. "Very well,
then." She eased into the chair. "If you promise you'll leave
Ranleigh afterward."

"About
last spring," he began softly, "it wasn't as I said that day at all.
Everything between us was real, lass, but the MacKenzies brought news that
changed all my plans. Glenkennon had petitioned the king for a writ of treason
against me, and there was a good chance I was to be put to the horn."

Anne's
eyes flew to his in stunned disbelief. Camereigh —he would lose Camereigh.
"Was it... granted?" she asked, holding her breath.