As High as the Heavens (29 page)

"And how is my bonny lassie?"

Robert squeezed her tightly, then released Heather
and stepped back to survey her. As his gaze scanned her,
a tiny frown formed between his brows.

"Ye appear well enough, though ye look as if ye've
spent entirely too much time out of doors and"-his
gaze slid down her body-"wherever did ye get that plain
gown? It's such a drab wool and not fine at all."

"It's verra practical and warm, though, Father," Heather
hastened to say, afraid Fiona, who had hobbled outside
to join them, would overhear. "Duncan's mither wove it
for me on her loom." She took him by the arm. "I need
to talk with ye, Father."

"Do ye now?" he asked with an arch of his brow. "And
I with ye, but first I've a need to see that strutting young
cock ye've been tutoring these past months. See and
speak with him, to determine if he's ready or not."

"Och, he's ready, and no mistake." Heather's gaze skittered to the doorway where Duncan now stood,
clothed again in his shirt and plaid. "First, though, I
must speak with ye privately. It's verra important."

Across the expanse that separated them, Robert met
Duncan's shuttered glance in his direction with a hardeyed one of his own. "Verra important, ye say?" he muttered, never breaking gaze with the big Highlander. "And
would this matter ye speak of have aught to do with
Duncan Mackenzie?"

Somehow, Heather doubted her father's thoughts ran
anywhere in the same direction as hers. "Aye, it has
to do with Duncan. Will ye come away with me now?
Please, Father?"

Reluctantly, Robert Gordon did so, allowing himself
to be led to a large oak growing about fifty feet from the
cottage. Well out of earshot of the others, yet still able
to observe if any approached, Heather finally drew to
a halt.

"Father," she immediately began, "I think it'd be
best-"

"Has that lout made any untoward advances to ye?"
Cutting her off, he cast a seething glance over Heather's
shoulder. "If he has, the queen's plight or not, I'll have
him flogged then thrown into Angus Mackenzie's dungeon, there to rot for the rest of his days!"

"Och, Father, it isn't that at all." Heather sighed in
exasperation. "Duncan has always treated me with the
utmost respect."

"Has he now?"

She returned his piercing look with a calm, steady one
of her own. What her father might consider respectful most likely didn't include Duncan holding and kissing
her, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Besides,
Duncan's conduct with her wasn't the issue. His true
paternity was.

"Aye, he has," she replied, a bit more brusquely than
she had intended. "Now, if ye don't mind, I've another
matter I wish to discuss."

When she paused, awaiting his acquiescence, Robert made an impatient motion. "Aye? What is it then,
lass?"

"Malcolm was killed by reivers three weeks ago."

"I know. It was the first thing Angus told me when I
arrived at his tower house yestereve. What of it?"

He was singularly callous when it came to the loss of a
life, Heather thought. True, he hadn't been as intimately
involved with Duncan's father as she had been, but some
pretense at compassion wouldn't have cost him much. It
disturbed her-her father's coldness-even as Heather
realized belatedly that he had never shown much concern or sorrow for anyone else's plight, no matter how
close he was to them.

Not even for the wife and daughter he had lost ...

The realization was heart wrenching and rose from
some hitherto tightly guarded place, but Heather struggled past it. What mattered now was Duncan, not a reality that had been there all along if she had ever cared-or
dared-to face it.

Lifting her chin, Heather stared her father straight in
the eye. "What of it?" she repeated softly. "Well, for one
thing, the night before he was fatally injured, Malcolm
informed Duncan that he wasn't his birth father. And, for the other, Duncan now suspects I know far more than
I've been willing to share about his true heritage."

Turning, Robert pounded his fist against the oak's thick
trunk. "Of all the times for this to happen! Curse that old
fool! Why now? Why was it of such import for Malcolm
to tell Duncan now?"

"I don't know, Father."

Heather shot a sidling glance back to the cottage. Duncan stood there, talking with Angus Mackenzie. Every
so often, though, he looked in her direction.

"It doesn't matter at any rate. What's done is done.
But it's past time Duncan know the truth. No further
purpose is served keeping it from him."

"And since when have I appointed ye to make my
decisions for me?"

Heather's head snapped back in surprise. "I-I didn't
mean it like that," she stammered, cut to the quick by his
blistering look and hard words. "It's just that I've spent
the past months getting to know Duncan and thought
my insights and advice, leastwise where he's concerned,
might be of some value."

"Indeed?" Robert's mouth twisted grimly. "And when
did his interests suddenly become of more import than
mine? When did his feelings become of more consequence than the welfare of our queen? When, I ask ye?
When?"

"Never, Father." Stunned, bewildered, Heather took
a step back. "But why should telling Duncan the truth
endanger Mary or compromise yer needs?"

"Why?" He took her by the arm and pulled her back
to him. "Because he's a lying, simpering, arrogant young cock, and I don't trust him to do the honorable thing.
Ye're naive, lass, if ye imagine his kind would serve us
a moment more if and when he discovered his true parentage. Pray, allow me to jog yer memory. The Stewarts
are loyal to Moray, not the queen."

"That doesn't mean Duncan would turn against Mary.
Ye can't know that for certain."

"Mayhap," her father conceded, "but are ye willing to
risk it this close to the day of Mary's rescue?"

"Duncan's a decent, honorable man!" Heather cast a
nervous glance toward the cottage. Luckily, Duncan was,
even then, following Angus up the steps and through the
front door. "He won't-"

Her father's grip on her arm tightened painfully. "Ye've
fallen in love with him, haven't ye? Och, I should've
known this would happen." He leaned down until his
face was only inches from hers. "Has the bastard bedded
ye, then? And have ye so quickly forgotten yer betrothed?
Have ye?"

"Nay, Father, I haven't," Heather whispered in a paintautened voice. "And Duncan is far from a bastard, no
matter how dearly ye wish it were so."

Suddenly, she couldn't bear to be near him. She
wrenched free of his clasp.

"His conduct toward me has always been most noble
and gentlemanly. Yer unfair words and crude accusations, however, leave much to be desired."

"Mayhap," Robert conceded harshly, "but ye've changed
since last we were together. It disturbs me. Where does
yer loyalty now lay, lass? With me and the queen, or with
that pretty-faced young rascal?"

"My loyalties, and my conscience, haven't changed. I
just don't see why-"

His mouth went hard and tight. "I forbid ye to tell him
aught. Do ye hear me, lass? Do ye?"

"A-aye, Father. I hear ye."

Even as she spoke the words, Heather edged back.
A fearful confusion filled her. She felt as if she were
being torn asunder. Where did her true loyalties and
conscience lie? No matter how much she owed her father, it wasn't right to manipulate Duncan so cruelly. It
had never been right, but now, atop it all, her heart was
involved as well.

There was more, besides, to consider. If she withheld
the truth from him much longer, Duncan might never
forgive her. Was that oft-regretted promise made to her
father worth the potential loss of Duncan's respect and
love? On the other hand, did she dare risk compromising,
if not sabotaging, the success of the queen's impending
rescue? And why, oh why, must it all finally rest on her
shoulders?

Suddenly, it was too much to bear-that look of anger
and suspicion on her father's face, the consideration
of what Duncan would think and do when he finally
discovered her complicity in the plot to hide the truth
from him. With a choking sob, Heather turned and ran
down the path leading to the pond.

"How has it been for ye, Duncan, my lad?" Angus inquired as his host poured out two cups of whiskey. Before
the younger man could even reply, the Mackenzie laird quickly downed the contents of his cup, then shoved it
back across the dining table for Duncan to refill. "These
weeks since yer father died, I mean."

Duncan glanced up briefly, then poured out another
dram for Angus. "It's a difficult time for all concerned."
He corked the flask of whiskey and set it aside, then
took the seat opposite the black-haired man. "Mither
isn't doing well, what with the worsening of her dropsy
and her deep and abiding grief over Father. I tell ye true,
Angus. I fear for her health while I'm away attempting
to save the queen."

"It won't be that long." Angus finished his whiskey
in one gulp. "A week or so and ye'll be back, safe and
snug in the Highlands. Then life can go on as it always
has before."

"Can it, Angus?" Duncan worried his cup, considering
how to broach the sensitive subject of his newly discovered identity with his laird. Finally, he threw all tact and
caution to the winds.

"A few days before he died, my father-Malcolmshared a secret with me," he forced himself to say. "A
secret that ye, and ye alone, know fully. He told me-"

The front door swung open, and a florid-faced Robert
Gordon stalked in. One glance at Duncan and anger
flashed in his eyes.

Duncan's grip about his cup tightened. The man was
spoiling for a fight, and no mistake. For Heather's sake
and her sake only, though, he'd try and not allow his
personal disdain for the man to influence him.

"Sit and rest yerself, m'lord." Duncan rose and gestured to one of the other chairs drawn up at the table. "Would ye care for a cup or two of our fine Highland
whiskey? After such a long journey, it would surely help
to ease yer parched throat."

Perhaps Robert Gordon was undone by the congenial greeting, or perhaps Duncan's friendly if forced grin
bemused him. He managed to clamp his mouth tightly
shut, rendering his host nothing more than a curt nod
of acquiescence before taking his seat. Duncan poured
out yet another cup of whiskey, slid it over to Robert,
then refilled both his and Angus's cups.

"To the success of Queen Mary's rescue," he then said,
lifting his cup in a toast, "and to the restoration of her
good and glorious reign."

Robert shot him a disgruntled glance and lifted his
cup in salute. After quickly gulping down his whiskey,
he shoved the cup across the table for Duncan to refill.
Best to humor the man, Duncan thought as he poured
out more whiskey, and hope the liquor will at least mellow him.

"Ye don't seem all that changed from the man ye were,"
Robert observed snidely over his cup, "if ye'll forgive
my blunt words. I must trust my daughter's judgment,
though, I suppose, considering time is short. Not much
more can be done with ye at any rate."

From the corner of his eye, Duncan saw Angus shoot
him a nervous, uncertain glance. He smiled grimly. No
Highlander with any mettle tolerated any form of insult to his pride or honor, and Gordon had just stepped
perilously close to impugning both. It would take more
than Robert Gordon's inept efforts, however, to provoke
him to anger.

"Though I've learned much of the ways of noblemen
in the past months-enough, I'd wager, easily to pass
for one," Duncan replied smoothly, "such behavior is far
too affected to inflict on family and friends. I'd prefer, if
ye don't mind, m'lord, to reserve such posturing when,
and only when, it's needed."

Once more, Robert Gordon flushed with anger. "And
I'd wager my daughter also taught ye it was acceptable
to put on airs, too, didn't she?"

At mention of Heather, Duncan suddenly realized that
she had yet to come inside. Unease filled him.

"And speaking of Heather, m'lord," he said, choosing
to ignore the older man's barb, "where is she? It isn't like
her to hide away when such illustrious guests, such as
yerself and my laird, are present."

"The lass took it into her head to take a stroll," her
father said with a disdainful shrug. "Dinna fash yerself.
She'll be along shortly."

Duncan rose from his chair. "No offense intended,
m'lord, but I think it's past time to fetch her. It's not
wise to wander too far afield in these parts, and Heather
can ofttimes forget to observe even the most minimal
of precautions."

"Can she now?" A knowing smirk on his face, Robert
stared up at him. "Or mayhap she but wished to keep
some predetermined assignation with ye, instead?" He
cocked his head. "Mayhap it's the true reason ye've suddenly grown so concerned for her welfare?"

"Foul-minded swine!" Duncan shoved back his chair
with enough force to topple it over backward, leaped
to his feet, and glared down at Robert Gordon. "Have a care for that filthy tongue of yers. It's one thing to
push and prod at me. It's quite another to besmirch yer
daughter's honor."