Stuart, Elizabeth (56 page)

"Leave
it be, Donald," Francis said wearily. "It's over now."

With
Conall's help, Anne got Francis installed as comfortably as possible on the
settle in the private hall. She quickly removed what was left of his shirt,
while Donald and Janet fetched bandages and salves. Setting to work at once,
she washed the blood from his wounds, giddy with relief none were as deep as
she had feared.

When
Donald returned, he knelt beside Francis, gingerly removing the blood-soaked
rags he had hastily bound against Francis's shoulder. As the cloth came away,
Anne barely stifled a gasp. Glenkennon's sword had laid the flesh open to the
bone. She bit her lip. It was a bad wound. What if the bleeding could not be
staunched?

As
if reading her thoughts, Francis glanced up and smiled thinly. "'Twas
meant for my heart, lass. Be thankful Randall's aim was off." He winced
and drew his breath in sharply while Donald packed the wound tightly to stop
the fresh bleeding. He recovered himself as the wave of racking pain subsided.
"Where's Ian?" he asked, twisting his head in an attempt to see
around Donald.

Ian
stepped forward. "Here, Francis."

"Are
your MacDonnells armed and ready to march?"

"Aye,
and hot to avenge Glenkennon's trickery!"

"As
you see, this shoulder may tie me by the heels a few days," Francis said,
leaning forward. "Take Robbie and his men and as many MacLeods and Grants
as can march on the moment and move south to scatter Glenkennon's troops."

"Jamie."
He turned to his brother-in-law. "You bring the Camerons and the
MacGregors up a league or so to the rear in support. And mind, I want no
fighting unless it's forced on you. To now, no one's raised steel against the
crown save myself, and I'd as soon keep it that way. Glenkennon's men should
scatter and make a run for it at first sight of your force, but you never
know," he added grimly. "There's no telling what fool is leading them
now. They might decide to turn and make a fight of it."

He
leaned against the settle back and closed his eyes, lines of pain and weariness
etched deeply about his mouth. Anne slipped a pillow beneath his arm, wishing
she could do something more to give him ease.

The
room cleared quickly as men hurried to do the chief's bidding. Francis tried to
settle his shoulder more comfortably, but nothing seemed to lessen its fiery
ache. He glanced at William Cameron, still hovering nearby. "Pour me a
drink, Will. This shoulder's plaguing me like the devil."

Will
nodded, hurrying to pour a stiff whiskey from the side-table.

Francis
accepted the glass gratefully, draining it in two long draughts that quickly
dulled the throbbing pain in his arm. Sagging back against the pillows, he
closed his eyes, letting a numbing weariness take over.

"How'd
you do it, sir?" Will asked softly.

A
grim smile twisted Francis's lips. "You mean Glenkennon?"

"Aye."

Francis
opened his eyes. "I learned quick enough I couldn't pierce steel, so I had
to bide my time, waiting for a chance at his head or heart. I thought my time
was up, Will—he almost had me more times than I care to remember. God's blood,
but the man was a swordsman!"

There
was a long pause as he stared into his empty glass. "I let him swing at my
shoulder," he said at last. "With his sword buried in me, we were
close enough I could get my blade through the arm hole of his mail. I must have
pierced his heart, for he was dead by the time I got him to the ground."

"And
what of his men?"

"One
drew a pistol, but Donald was watching for the like," Francis replied.
"He winged the fool and the rest scattered for the woods like frightened
rabbits."

"Mother
of God, I wish I'd been there!"

"You
could have had my place for the asking," Francis said dryly.

Anne's
blood ran cold at the story. Glenkennon had come so close to triumph.
"That's enough talking now, Francis," she said, putting a hand on his
forehead to stroke the tangled curls back from his brow. "You must
rest."

He
caught her hand and pressed his lips against her wrist. "And you should
change, madam wife," he responded, looking her up and down. "You've
enough of my blood covering you to make me wonder I've any left."

She
glanced down at her bloodstained clothing and nodded in agreement. "Will,
can you sit with him, while I go upstairs to change? Mind you don't let him get
up."

"I'd
like to see this runt keep me down if I choose to get up."

Will
grinned at her. "Don't worry. I can manage."

Anne
bent and kissed Francis's brow, then turned and went out the door toward the
stair. Relaxing with a satisfied smile, Francis closed his eyes.

For
several minutes silence reigned in the room. Then the stillness was broken abruptly
by a woman's high-pitched scream and the noise of shattering glass from above.

For
a split second the two men stared at each other in amazement. Then Francis was
up and across the room, grabbing up his freshly cleaned sword. He took the
stairs two at a time, Will following close on his heels. Kicking open the door
to his chamber, he flung himself into the room, sword at the ready.

The
sight across the floor checked him on the thresh- old. On the far side of the
room, Anne stood motionless amid the wreckage of an overturned table and the
shattered decanter and glasses that had stood upon it. Behind her stood Edmund
Blake, calmly clasping a knife to her throat.

Anne
fought down the urge to scream again as Francis lurched into the room. He swayed,
then leaned weakly against the door facing for support. Above the sound of her
own breathing, she heard the noise of running feet below. Help was on the way!
She strained against Blake's hold, but the man was surprisingly strong. She
couldn't break his grip.

"Francis!
Thank God it's you," Blake breathed, lowering his blade.

"What's
the meaning of this, Edmund?" Francis snapped, gesturing toward them with
his sword.

Blake
loosened his grip. Taking advantage of his slack hold, Anne flung herself out of
his arms and across the floor to Francis's side. Without her as a hostage, the
MacLeans could easily handle Blake.

"I'd
no wish to frighten the girl," Blake began apologetically, "but she
screamed when she saw me, and I knew your men would be on me in a trice. I'd no
desire to be run through by some fool of a clansman who'd not think to ask
questions till after he'd put a hole in my chest."

Francis
nodded curtly, then turned to Anne. "I'm sorry you've been frightened,
lass. It's all right—Edmund Blake is a friend."

"Francis,
no! Have you forgotten I heard him planning your death?" She clutched his
arm. "I don't know how he's tricked you, but he's no friend to us!"

By
this time a dozen angry clansmen had gathered in the corridor, weapons in hand.
Francis shifted so all could see him. "There's naught amiss, lads... just
a misunderstanding. We've played Glenkennon for a fool. Edmund's been my
informant at Ranleigh for years." He turned to Will. "Take these men
downstairs and see if you can calm things down."

Will
glanced hesitantly from Blake to his uncle. "I'll stay with you," he
said stubbornly.

Francis
shook his head. "I'll call if I need you. Now be gone. I've private
matters to talk over with Edmund."

Will
nodded doubtfully. Ignoring Anne's imploring look, he closed the door softly
behind him. Worried Macleans clustered around him at once. "Find Donald
and Conall," he ordered. "They may know more of this. Naill, you and
Murray remain by the door. If you hear anything unusual, break it in!"

Inside
the spacious bedchamber, Francis moved across the floor, carefully avoiding the
scattered fragments of broken glass. He held out his right hand. "It's
good to see you, Edmund, though you chose a hell of a way to announce yourself
into my household."

Edmund
clasped Francis's hand firmly. "Young Bruce managed to smuggle me inside.
Once within I found it easy enough to make my way to your door. I thought it
best to await you here, thinking no one would see me." He lifted one pale
eyebrow. "I should have known you'd have someone sharing your chamber by
now."

Francis
glanced at Anne. She had not moved from her place beside the wall. "Anne
and I were married three days ago," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you
missed the celebration."

"So
am I." Blake studied Anne with the unnerving gaze she remembered.
"From the looks of the child, she still thinks I mean to harm you."
He chuckled mirthlessly. "I doubt even you can convince her I'm not the
devil himself come up from hell."

Francis
did not smile. "I don't envy you those years in Glenkennon's
service," he said. Turning to Anne he held out his hand. "Come here,
lass. You must meet another of your kinsmen. James Edmund MacKinnon—the man
you've known as Edmund Blake."

Anne
stared at Blake in surprise. "No, Francis," she said, shaking her
head, "this is a trick. Blake's been with Glenkennon for years! I remember
his name from my childhood when Glenkennon spoke of Ranleigh." She moved
to stand protectively beside Francis. "Sir, do you deny you schemed with
my fa... with Glenkennon to murder Francis?"

"No,
child, I don't deny it," Blake stated in his composed voice. "I
schemed with Glenkennon to murder your husband on several occasions, but I made
sure Francis knew the plots as well." His crooked smile twisted his face.
"That evening we three met at the loch, you'd stumbled upon a meeting
between us."

She
stared at him silently, remembering that evening clearly enough. Could it be
that Francis had gone there to meet him?

Francis
put an arm about her. "It's true, Anne. Edmund kept me informed of
everything at Ranleigh. Through him I knew Glenkennon's plans as soon as he
made them. How do you think I slipped in and out of Ranleigh so easily? I know
no witchcraft." His gaze shifted back to Blake. "I owe Edmund my life
many times over."

Anne
studied Blake's pale, expressionless face. Suddenly, the pieces of the puzzle
shifted into place—things Francis had hinted at, Blake's own behavior when he
had kept her away from Percy that last evening at Ranleigh. It seemed
incredible, but it had to be true.

"You
must forgive me," she said, meeting the man's penetrating gaze evenly.
"I've been used to thinking you the enemy so long, it will take time
before I'm comfortable with you in this light. I'd not wish you to think me
ungrateful... especially after all your help."

He
smiled. It was the same twisted smile that had used to make her go cold with
dread, yet now it spread to his eyes, warming their wintry bleakness. "I
understand your feelings, madam. Few would be so truthful. I often wished to
tell you you'd a friend at Ranleigh, but I knew it'd not be wise. You'd not
have believed me, and besides... it amused Glenkennon to see your fear. He
trusted me the more because all others despised me."

There
was no hint of self-pity in his voice, yet his words touched her as nothing
else might have. She had feared him, as had everyone else at Ranleigh. He had
borne loneliness all these years in order to destroy Glenkennon. "You're a
MacKinnon?" she asked uncertainly.

"Aye.
I was naught but a lad in my teens when Glenkennon murdered your father. Save
for a lucky chance that had me in France at the time, I, too, would have met my
death." He gazed at Francis. "I've waited a long time to see
Glenkennon meet his end, but thanks to you, it's happened." Scowling, he
touched the bandage on Francis's shoulder. "We'd best get you to a
chair—you're bleeding."

Francis
glanced down at the fresh red stain, but shrugged Edmund's hand away
impatiently. "It's only begun after that dash up the stairs. It'll cease
if I sit quietly."

"Francis,
for God's sake, sit down!" Anne exclaimed. "You've lost so much blood
already you can scarcely stand." She sent Edmund a look of entreaty.
"Help me make him rest, sir. The two of you can talk as well sitting down,
I should think."

Francis
grinned. "We'll have no peace if we don't do as she says, Edmund. Come,
I've glasses and whiskey down the hall and much to say to you."

Anne
saw Francis established comfortably in the laird's room before reluctantly
leaving the two men to their conversation. Though she accepted Edmund's story,
she could not shake off a nagging fear when she thought of him alone with her
weakened husband. She would find Conall; surely he'd know if the man could be
trusted.

***

"Tell
me, Edmund, why was Randall at Camereigh this morning with his army still
several days' march to the south?" Francis asked, settling wearily into a
chair.

"Hoping
for an encounter with you. He was running out of money and time, and his troops
were rebellious and growing worse by the hour. Glenkennon knew he'd never hold
them for a siege, especially after learning you'd burned off your lands and
there'd be no forage for men or animals."