A Highlander for Christmas (11 page)

Time to start acting like one.

She stood up. “Ruck, what weapons have you?”

Ruck stood, a puzzled frown on his face. “This pistol and a knife. Why? Juliet, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking we have been hiding long enough. I’ll not put us in any unnecessary danger, but we have to go back and see what is happening. They are outnumbered and they may need us.”

“MacLeon will have my head if I let you do this.” Ruck dug in his heels, scowling.

“We won’t be fighting with Iain, just assessing the situation.”

“Well, all right.” The gleam of adventure had come into his eyes and Juliet knew he couldn’t help but be excited to see what action might be occurring.

They hurried back to the campsite, the cold light of the moon helping them see the path. As they neared, they spotted a good place where they could look down and see without being seen, and crouched down behind the tall brush.

“It’s so quiet,” Ruck commented.

Indeed it was, deathly so. Juliet made a motion with her hand and crept even closer to the next group of bushes. She peeked around the edge of the brush, seeing a small, dying fire and the tents, some fallen, glowing under the eerie light. There were three bodies on the ground. Juliet’s pulse raced in her ears as she searched for Iain.

A scream suddenly split through the air.

Juliet stiffened, every nerve humming with shock. “Look!” She pointed to several dark, moving forms across the way, back up on the hillside where the road toward home lay. “Come on.”

Ruck was already on his feet in a hunched position and moving closer. Juliet picked up her skirts and kept pace with him. They got close enough where they could start to make out voices.

“Let us go and she lives.”

Juliet strained to see. There was Iain; she knew his form instantly. He was standing with several men on one side while Lord Malcolm and his men were on the other side. She blinked, wondering if her eyes were playing tricks on her as she stared at Lord Malcolm. He was holding a woman against his chest, just as he had with Ruck at the blacksmith’s shop. The woman turned her head and Juliet almost moaned aloud. Her heart dropped.

“It’s Mother.” Ruck gasped. “What is she doing here?”

Juliet didn’t know, but it couldn’t be good.

“Come now, Lord Malcolm,” one of the men on Iain’s side was saying, his gun pointed toward the pair of them, “you’ll not want another murder on your hands, now, will ya?”

“Self-defense. Any law in the land of England will back me against a Scottish tradesman,” Lord Malcolm sneered.

“Aye, perhaps, but against a lady? Your own betrothed’s mother? I ken that would be another story.”

“Shut up.” He looked at Iain. “I’ve gotten what I wanted from Juliet, and no longer have any use for her. She isn’t the alliance I require. If you repay the debt I paid for Lord Lindsay and the cost of Eden you may have her, damaged goods that she is, free and clear. You’ve killed five of my men; let us end this and go unmolested.”

Juliet clenched her jaw, anger filling her at what Lord Malcolm insinuated. He was playing some dark game. She hoped Iain wouldn’t fall for any tricks.

“And their mother? She can return home unharmed?” Iain’s deep, calm voice made Juliet’s breath ease. He had a plan. He knew what he was doing.
Have faith. Have faith.

“I will drop her off on my way. You have my word,” Lord Malcolm stated.

Her mother twisted against him. “He lies! It’s burned to the ground. Everything! There is no more Eden—”

Lord Malcolm cut off her words by choking her with his arm.

Ruck started to get up, but Juliet pulled him back. “Wait,” she whispered.

“We have to save her!” Ruck’s face was chiseled with misery in the strange light.

“Wait.” Juliet nodded to him, silently reminding him to have faith as well.

“Leave her with us and you may go,” Iain stated with authority, holding out his hand toward their mother. “Now.”

Lord Malcolm hesitated and then pushed Lady Lindsay over toward him. She gasped for air but rushed to his side. Iain pushed her behind him, his pistol and the pistols of the sheriff and his men pointing at Lord Malcolm’s men as they turned and mounted the few horses they must have been able to round up. She watched in disbelief as they turned their horses to leave. Was he really going to get away with murdering the blacksmith? Would he really leave them alone if Iain paid off the debt? She doubted it.

Juliet had started to rise when a shot rang out.

Ruck pulled her back behind the bush, but not before she saw Lord Malcolm slump in his saddle and slide off his horse to the ground.

Iain looked around and saw the sheriff standing with his legs braced apart, a smoking pistol in his hands. He looked over at Iain and winked. “Self-defense.”

Iain gaze snapped to Malcolm’s men, expecting returning fire, but saw that they were galloping away, obviously not concerned about the state of their master.

He stood there in some shock at the turn of events. The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m thanking the good Laird for the moonlight this eventide.” He grinned. “I’d nae have gotten the shot without it.”

Iain shook his head. “It would have been better to go to trial…see justice done.”

“Aye, it would ’ave. But the man was right. He would ’ave gotten off had it even seen a trial. The law favors the rich and the nobles. ’Tis a shame, but ’tis the way o’ things.”

Iain took a long breath, agreeing.

“We’ll see to the body. You go and fetch your bride.” He stopped and turned his head suddenly toward Iain. “Why, you haven’t even made it official yet, have you, MacLeon?”

Juliet was thankful for the shadows that concealed the rush of warmth that filled her face.

“Gretna Hall, that’s where you’ll take her. Her ladyship and Lord Ruck can stay with my wife and me for a few days until you decide what to do.”

“’Tis kind of you,” Iain acknowledged.

Lady Lindsay huffed. “I’ll not be staying with strangers. Where is my son?”

“Here!” Ruck stood up suddenly and waved, yelling. He started up the hill toward them. With a little sound, Juliet hurried after him.

Iain met her halfway and took her into his arms. “What are you doing here?” He looked pleased and angry at the same time. “I told you to stay with Ruck.”

“Ruck is here.”

“’Tis not what I meant.” He looked as if he was deciding to kiss her or strangle her. She decided to make the choice for him, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. “I know. I’m sorry. I-I had to see if you were okay.” Her lips parted as she moved closer.

His lips crashed down over hers, taking his frustration into the devouring movement of his mouth against her mouth. Juliet’s senses spun, making her lightheaded and breathless. She forgot where they were, who might be watching—everything except the man that was her husband.

He broke away, his breathing ragged. “You’ll not disobey again?”

“Not today,” she promised with breathless sincerity, grinning up at him.

He broke into a loud laugh. “You’ll be the death of me, lass.”

“Nay.” She shook her head, her eyes brimming with happiness. “I’ll be the life of you.”

His eyes turned soft and filled with love. “Aye. That you will, wife. That you will.”

Epilogue

E
ilean Donan Castle, Christmas Day

A fortnight of travel.

After a fortnight of helping her mother and Ruck clean up the devastation of Eden Place and see to the beginnings of their new home, Iain sending letters and notes of credit and stretching their coin as far as it would go. Sheep. That was what he kept saying. They needed more sheep. Everywhere, sheep! And Ruck was Iain’s shadow, gleaning everything from her husband that he could and preparing to be the man of the house and set up his sheep farm and new house. Her mother had become surprisingly acquiescent to them all. She seemed happy for the first time that Juliet could remember; she and Claire planning some fittings and furnishings for the new house, all the while staying without complaint in the gardener’s house, who had gladly moved in with a friend so that the young lord and ladies of the house would have somewhere to lay their heads while the construction took place. They should be in the first part of the house within a month—not too long to endure a stone cottage.

Juliet smiled, so tired on her mount that she was a bit silly-happy, thinking of the first time she saw Iain with a sheep. Goodness, he loved them. One would think they were gold bars—which they were, according to her husband.

Husband.

Three fortnights of marriage. Fortnights of discovery and hidden moments between the exhaustion of all the tasks they had before them. She took a sudden inhale, thinking of their tangled covers, his strong back under her hands…exploring, his hands…exploring…those long, deep kisses…

Fie! She mustn’t think such thoughts in the daylight. She looked away and took another long breath and then looked over at him, just ahead of her on his horse.

As if he felt her gaze, he turned and looked at her, snatching her breath again, the sun shining just so on his hair, making it alive with light, his eyes merry and eager. They were almost there. To Eilean Donan, his castle, his clan, his life.

“The bridge! Do you see it?” He pointed, and Juliet peered through the mist to see a long stone bridge, arches underneath reaching deep into the water. Eilean Donan sat on an island where three great lochs met—Loch Long, Lock Duich and Lock Alsh. Surrounded by wood and braced by the steep inclines of hills covered in every shade of green, it was as if she had ridden into a fairy place, a place that was more heaven than earth. Even more beautiful than where she’d first met this man, her husband, Iain MacLeon, with her cousin in Glencoe. This was Glencoe with lochs and a castle and mist that undulated across the middle of the mountains like a sash of smoke.

Iain had slowed to match her horse’s stride. “Do you like it?”

Her throat was so tight she couldn’t yet speak, so she only nodded and held back tears.

They came around a small bend and she saw the castle in the distance. Made of dark stone and massive against the mountain, it took up the landscape like a giant refuge. A fortification for the nearby villages in times of trouble and a guardian of the lochs, standing firm against any who might come to invade the land that was Scotland.

“You don’t like it.” His voice was dry.

She looked over at him with tears in her eyes. “Nay, I love it. It’s just that…I’m afraid.”

“Afraid?” He tilted his chin toward her. “What’s to be afraid of, wife?”

“It’s all so grand.” She shook her head, unable to explain it. “The land, your land, it makes me want to weep, ’tis so beautiful.” She dashed away the tears, embarrassed.

“Aye! It makes me want to weep, so thin is the soil. ’Tis why we’ll have sheep.” He grinned at her and she laughed. The sheep again!

“Will your mother accept me?” It was the question in the darkest, deepest part of her heart…and it felt better to get it into the light.

Iain nodded, his eyes serious. “I’ve sent word ahead so it shouldnae be a shock. They’ve had time to get used to the idea.” He reached out and grasped for her hand, giving her an intense look. “It may take a bit…but once they know you, they will love what I love.”

She nodded, deciding to believe him.

It was a new skill, this faith—trust in a husband and putting faith into what he said and believed. But it felt strong inside her and somehow she knew, instinctively and deep in her being, that together their faith could be impenetrable, not in harsh and overbearing way, never that, in a strong and compassionate way. There may be fiery darts ahead, but together they could conquer anything that was to come.

The horses clattered over the stone bridge and her heart began a drumming march, a singing inside her as the dusk settled around them, the last day of their long journey home.

A sound reached them. A long blast of a horn. And then, the sound of bagpipes and fiddle and fife filled the air. They came to the castle gate, decorated with holly and red ribbon. A man yelled out, “The chieftain of the Clan MacLeon has returned!”

There were cheers coming from everywhere. Juliet looked up and saw rows of people on parapets, on stone stairs, on the lawn of the island that sat at the glistening lochs’ convergence. Everywhere was holly and red ribbon and boughs of evergreen—all decked out for Christmas like nothing she’d ever seen.

“And his bride!” the man with the bellowing voice continued. “The Lady MacLeon…Juliet!”

The cheers were just as strong, stronger even, as they resounded against the stone and hillside and mountain and deep of the water in the dusk. Tears rushed down her cheeks. She turned to her husband and asked with trembling joy, “What have you written them?”

Iain dismounted, came to her and pulled her from her horse and into his arms.

He held her close and whispered into her hair. “Only our story. Merry Christmas, my love.”