Stuart, Elizabeth (55 page)

When
scarcely a dozen yards separated the two parties, Francis signaled a halt.
Glenkennon walked his mount forward to meet them. His cold gaze turned to
surprise when it reached Anne. "I wasn't aware you'd chosen to add a
second charge of kidnapping to the list of your other crimes, MacLean. Not that
it matters," he added. "One charge of treason is enough to have you
drawn and quartered like the black traitor you are."

"Only
if James agrees. Or have you dispensed with the need to request his majesty's
permission?" Francis asked dryly.

Glenkennon's
thin lips curled upward in a malicious grin. "I have full sanction to
destroy you, along with the rest of this nest of traitors. But if I needed
further cause, you've given it to me. No man will fault me for rescuing my
daughter from the clutches of an outlaw."

Francis
raised a questioning eyebrow. "Can it be you've not heard the happy news,
m'lord? Several days past, Anne MacKinnon formally wed Francis MacLean before
the eyes of the Kirk and several hundred witnesses. The bride's cousin gave
permission for the wedding. You see, her stepfather wasn't invited. I'm afraid
this is one marriage you won't be able to keep a secret, Randall."

If
Glenkennon was surprised, he covered it quickly with a look of pitying amusement.
"Anne, my dear, you were a fool to run to him. I suppose he's given you
some trumped up tale, but I assure you it's false. You're my daughter and your
place is at Ranleigh until I say otherwise."

Anne
glared at him, swallowing back the hot words that sprang to her lips. She had
best hold her tongue, lest she make matters worse for Francis.

"What?
Nothing to say?" Glenkennon shook his head. "I suppose an annulment
of this misbegotten marriage is out of the question now, but you'll make a
lovely widow. Black is such a becoming shade to women of your complexion."

"Did
it become my mother?" Anne asked with biting scorn. "Did she wear
black after you murdered my father?" She met his gaze evenly. "I
shall wear crimson when they lay you away—crimson, a glorious shade of
rejoicing!"

"Such
spirit," Glenkennon said with a cold smile. "I'm afraid poor Percy
deplored it almost as much as I. And what of you, MacLean?" he asked,
turning to Francis. "Were you surprised when you took your virgin bride to
your bed? Did she come willingly... or were you forced to use a bit of
persuasion?"

Conall's
hand grasped the curving butt of his pistol, but Francis halted him with a
glance. "What do you want, Randall?" he asked, coolly ignoring the
earl's goading.

"Why,
your death, MacLean. I make no secret of it."

"And
how do you propose to accomplish it?" Francis inquired in a hard voice.

"Oh,
there are many ways, but I've decided on taking the pleasure personally."

Francis
looked pointedly over the hillside behind Glenkennon. "I see no force of
men backing up your brave talk."

"I've
no doubt you know to a certainty how many men I have and exactly what their
position is. But you see, now I've no need of them," Glenkennon said with
a triumphant smile. "I've but to raise my finger and there will be seven
pistols trained on your lovely wife. Unless you wish her death, you'll meet me
now... alone."

"I'm
happy to oblige you," Francis replied curtly. "You can have no
objection to my sending the lady from the field. I'll not have her watch."

"None
at all," Glenkennon replied affably. "However, if anyone comes over
that hill from the direction of Camereigh, I shall give my men orders to shoot
you and as many of your men as possible..." he smiled mirthlessly,
"before they shoot us." He turned to Anne. "I shall come for you
later, my dear. We've much to discuss." With a mocking bow in her
direction, Glenkennon turned his horse and rode back to his men.

Anne
watched him ride away with a feeling of despair. He had some trick up his
sleeve, she was sure. She turned. "Francis, you can't—"

"There's
no time for it, lass," he said, abruptly cutting her off. Swinging down
from Leven's broad back, he lifted her from her mount. He grasped her
shoulders, his eyes boring into hers. "Listen to me, Anne. I'm sending
Conall back to Camereigh with you. Go with him and obey his every word, even if
you don't understand. Time may be of the utmost importance. If he says move,
you move! Understand?"

She
shook her head. "I'll not go anywhere without you, Francis. Besides, you
need Conall here. Glenkennon won't fight fair! Don't you know that by
now?"

His
hands tightened on her arms and he shook her in exasperation. "There's no
time to explain it, Anne, but you must go! Trust me... I'll join you as soon as
possible."

Donald
stepped forward. "Go now, lass," he said curtly. "Every moment
you're here puts the lad in more danger. He'll fight the better knowin' you're
safe."

Anne
stared at Donald, knowing his words were true. Glenkennon would use her to
destroy Francis if he got the chance. "You're right," she whispered
around the growing lump in her throat. "I... I'll go if you say I must,
Francis."

He
caught her chin, tilting her face toward him. "Don't fret, lass. I'll join
you at Camereigh shortly." His hands dropped to her shoulders and he drew
her roughly into his arms. "I love you, Anne MacLean," he whispered.
"No matter what happens, remember that." He bent his head, his mouth
slanting across hers as if he sought to possess all of her in the brief moment
left them.

She
clung to him desperately. Dear God, what if he never held her so again?

Francis
released her and stepped back. "Conall, I'll put her on Leven. Make sure
the devil doesn't break her neck." Catching her about the waist, he lifted
her onto the stallion's back. "Nothing Glenkennon has can catch Lancer or
this brute. Take them if need be... and God speed."

Conall
nodded grimly. "Look to your back, my friend."

Anne
clutched the reins Francis thrust into her hands. He lifted her hand,
wordlessly pressing her fingers to his lips. Releasing her, he stepped away.
"Get her out of here, Conall," he said harshly, bringing his hand
down hard upon the stallion's powerful satiny hindquarters.

The
horses were away like a shot across the hillside. They had almost reached the
crest of the hill when the first clash of steel rang out in the eerie silence.
Anne sawed violently on the reins, swinging the plunging stallion about. She
watched in horrified fascination as Francis and Glenkennon came together with a
lunge that sent the harsh sound of grating steel echoing across the moor again.

With
an oath, Conall grabbed the reins from her hands, drawing her mount along with
his as they sped toward Camereigh. They thundered into the gates to the
surprise of the men on watch. Conall flung himself from his horse and
immediately began barking out orders.

Sliding
from her mount, Anne stumbled toward the door, unable to forget that terrifying
glimpse of savagery on the hillside. The image of Francis lying dead at
Glenkennon's feet filled her mind. The earl had been sure of himself, oh, so
sure! Dear God, what devilish plot had he hatched now?

She
scarcely noticed Conall as he grabbed her arm and forced her up the stairs.
Tripping clumsily, she grazed her knee, the pain suddenly focusing her attention
on the present.

Conall
lifted her to her feet, dragging her up the last few steps. "Get into the
trews and shirt you wore here, Anne," he bit out. "Tell Kate she's to
bring me the bag she's packed. She'll know what I mean. Hurry now!"

His
curt words struck through her. "I'm not going anywhere, Conall! Don't you
know Glenkennon's planned some trick?" She grasped his arm desperately.
"I'd think you, of all people, would stand by Francis now!"

"Christ,
Anne! Do you think I want to leave?" He ran his hands through his hair
distractedly. "I'd be back there now if I'd not promised to see you safe
to France. Don't you understand?" he asked, gazing at her purposefully.
"If Glenkennon gets his hands on you, everything Francis has done will be
for naught."

"You
can't mean to leave now! You can't think that Francis won't... won't..."

She
choked on the words, the hot tears held in check so long suddenly springing to
her eyes.

With
a groan, Conall drew her into his arms and they clung to each other in
frightened misery. "No... no I don't," he whispered. "And Donald
will see Glenkennon plays no tricks. Francis'll probably come riding into
Camereigh by the time you've changed, and he'll have nothing but a laugh for
the fear he's caused us."

Anne
could not answer. The hollow ache in her throat had spread to her chest,
cutting off her breath.

"Now
run, change... and be quick, cousin," Conall murmured. "I'll be
waiting in the courtyard."

She
nodded, feeling the harsh rub of his shirt against her damp cheek. "I'll
hurry," she whispered.

It
took only a moment to make the change. Hurrying downstairs, Anne raced across
the courtyard where a small crowd was gathering before the open gates. At sight
of her, Janet started forward, putting an arm around her and drawing her close.

Anne
squinted across the soggy meadow into the misty treeline. "Shouldn't they
be returning by now?"

"Aye.
But they'd have fought like ten demons," Conall said grimly.

Anne
strained her eyes for any hint of movement across the meadow. Francis would
defeat Glenkennon. He had to—it couldn't end like this, she thought fiercely.
Dear God, please let him come back to her! Nothing else mattered if only he
were alive!

Something
moved in the misty bank of trees. She took a step forward, attempting to see.
Beside her Conall groaned and caught her shoulder as Donald rode slowly into
the open leading her gray mare. A body was slung across the saddle, the laird's
cloak wrapped carefully around it. "Dear God... no," she whispered,
flinging off Conall's hand and stumbling forward. "No, please no."

Lifting
tear-filled eyes from her mare's grim burden, she watched the remaining
clansmen follow Donald from the wood. She blinked once, twice, trying
desperately to clear her vision. One unusually tall, dark clansman raised his
sword weakly, waving it in a sign of victory.

There
was a triumphant shout from the guards on the wall above. With a cry, Anne
began to run. Out the gates and down the hill toward the riders she flew, tears
streaming unchecked down her face.

Francis
spurred his horse forward, jerking it to a halt as he drew even with Anne. He
slid from the saddle, leaving the reins to trail along the ground as the animal
bounded toward Camereigh.

She
had a hasty glimpse of a torn, bloodstained shirt, then she was caught up in a
crushing embrace that swept her from the ground. For a moment she knew no more.
She returned Francis's fiery kiss with a fine disregard for Donald and the
grinning clansmen who rode slowly past them.

"You're
hurt," she said when Francis finally released her. She pushed away and
gazed at him in dismay. His shirt was rent in a dozen places, the fine white
linen a disreputable combination of blood, sweat, and dirt. A makeshift bandage
of torn cloth covered his left shoulder, but dark red blood oozed sluggishly
through the pad. He reached for her again. "For God's sake, Francis, stop
it!" she snapped. "You'll bleed to death if we don't get you
inside!"

"It's
no' so bad as it looks, love. Above half of it is Glenkennon's," he said
with a wry smile. "I've nothing but a few scratches, and this," he
said, indicating his shoulder. He brushed a tear from her cheek with a gentle
finger. "You didn't think you'd seen the last of me, did you, lass? I've
told you before—I'm no' so easy to be rid of."

She
could not return his smile, not when his life's blood still spilled from his
body. She took his arm and together they started toward the gates.

Francis
kept his right arm around her, holding her firmly by his side as his family and
clansmen swarmed around them. He was leaning against her heavily now. He must
have been more sorely hurt than he would admit, she thought fearfully.
"Conall! Donald! Help me get him inside before he bleeds to death!"

Francis
winced as Conall caught his arm. "Gently lad," Donald murmured.
"He took a nasty thrust."

They
started toward the hall, but Francis hesitated, glancing back over his
shoulder. "Walter."

The
young clansman holding Anne's gray mare came to attention.

"Get
the earl's body inside. Tell Kate he's to be laid out in the chapel as befits
his rank. And send a rider after Charles Dorton. We'll need a churchman to
speak over him."

Donald
spat disgustedly on the cobbles. "If you ask me, the man doesna deserve
it." His eyes moved slowly around the group. "His lordship had a suit
of linked steel beneath his jack. No doubt, he thought Francis couldna touch
him."

A
low growl of anger rumbled from the men. Anne stared at Glenkennon's body in
disgust. He lay so still, his blood trickling down the mare's leg to puddle in
the grooves between the cobbles. She could scarcely believe that he no longer
had the power to harm her, that she and those she loved were beyond his reach
for ever. It could so easily have been Francis. Her hold tightened on Francis's
arm.