Heaven and the Heather (16 page)

Thunder sounded in the distance. It echoed the wild beating of her heart. She tasted him, and wrapped her fingers through his hair. She pulled him closer and kissed him deeper. This kiss was without compare. It was her first and, she vowed, would remain her secret.

A small moan escaped her throat. Niall moaned as well, a guttural, wild sound. He kissed her with far more passion than he had at first. He ran his hands confidently up her confining bodice. His fingers dug eagerly into the stiff fabric covering her back. Niall’s exquisite touch sent shivers up and down her spine. Maddened sensation rang through her. She craved more of him, wanted to hoard these new feelings.

She pulled away. Was it to draw breath or to study the lively blue of his eyes, the sharp corners of his mouth, the furrows on either side of it, and the cleft in his chin? More details for her memory.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, beat the demon of denial back into the dark recess of her mind, and kissed Niall anew. The thunder grew louder. The frantic beating of her heart threatened to give her away to him forever. It drummed louder and louder—

Non!

Sabine broke the kiss.

Niall held her, his lips brushing hers, his breath hot and moist fueling her need again when he must not.

“What is it….?” His question trailed away. He must have known as well as she that the distant thunder was the Queen retinue returning to the castle.

This moment had to end. “I must go,” she said.

“Ye said the queen is going on a hunt?” he asked.

Sabine searched her memory. Had she mentioned a hunt before? She could not remember.

“
Oui
,” she stammered. “I will be there as well.”

“Will the hunt be the place Campbell would choose to murder the queen?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” she said. “I have to warn my queen. I have to get her alone, which is near impossible, and tell her. She looked at Niall. “Why are you smiling? Sweet Saint Giles, you are insane!”

“Ye’re not gonnae be on the hunt alone, Sabine,” he said. “I will be there. I will protect Her Majesty from Campbell. She will send him to the Danes.”

“Is that bad?” she asked.

“The worst sort of bad,” he replied. “The Danes know how to do things to a man far worse than Satan himself. Campbell will pray for death, but they will show him no mercy. Rest easy, Sabine, I will protect the queen.”

She could not find the words right away, then she looked into his eyes. “You are placing yourself in danger for a queen who has sent her guards after you, had run you from the palace.”

“Mary’s
our
queen. I hope she will see my protecting her as a sign of fealty. It would be to the benefit of my clan anyway.” He grinned.

A smile tugged at the corners of Sabine’s mouth. Niall’s grin was as infectious as his kiss. For one moment she thought things were not so bleak as they seemed.

Sabine glanced down at his strong fingers, at the lines of sinew on his hands under skin roughened by hard work. She looked up at his face and memorized every feature. This night, while the castle slept, she would put his image on one of the paper she had found. Then she would tuck it away, and no one would ever see it. And every time she dared look at the sketch, for a brief instant, her life would be free. Niall would be with her always, a free man of the Scottish Highlands!

“We havenae proof, beyond what ye heard, that Campbell means to threaten the queen’s life.”

“Proof?”

“A paper, an order to another party,” Niall said. “Campbell would not be the one to do the deed, but he surely would be the one to plan it.”

“Proof,” Sabine said. “’Twould be difficult for me to get. But I will try.”

“Who said anything about ye finding it?” he asked. He seized her. “Dinnae do anything daft, Sabine.”

“I will do what I must.”

“Then I willnae let ye go to do this foolish thing.”

She wrenched away from him and crawled quickly up the bank. He snatched at her hem, tugged her back a little, but she was too fast and escaped his hold. On top of the bank, she turned and glanced down at him. Niall glared at her.

“I let ye go,” he said. “But I trust ye’ll not do anything to bring harm to yerself.”

When she did not reply right away, he scrambled up the bank and grabbed her hand. “Sabine, promise me ye’ll not do anything foolish.”

After a pause, she said, “I promise.”

She breathed deep, pulled from his hold, and turned toward the castle. She ran up the path, away from the bridge, and the afternoon, that suddenly, seemed so long ago, and the Highland MacGregor was nothing more than a dream.

She raced past the crossroad, breathing hard, gown flapping about her legs, breaths exploding within her. Sabine did not pause until she reached the drawbridge into Campbell’s castle. Her Majesty needed her more than ever. Sabine had to prove so with more than words repeated from eavesdropping on Lord Campbell. It was a dream as absurd as the one she had just lived in the arms and kisses of Niall MacGregor, Highland king.

W
ith Rory at his side, Niall looked through the thin stand of trees up the slope to Castle Campbell Dubh. The last rays of the setting sun stained the western face crimson. From this distance, the castle looked no larger than his hand. He held it in front of his face and made Campbell’s lair disappear. Soon, darkness would do the job for him.

“Why are ye doing this mad thing?” Rory asked. “’Tis just putting yerself into the lion’s mouth.”

With a sigh, Niall slipped down from his horse and handed Rory the reins. “If Campbell is spoiling for the throne by means of laying threats to the queen…this I must know.”

“Why should ye?” his friend asked over a sigh. “What proof could ye get? And why in hell are ye the one to go get this thing that doesnae exist?”

“D’ye wish to go?” he asked.

Rory raised his hands. “Unh uhh, no’ me! Ye’re the one with ‘a promise to keep’…ye’re the bloody chief of this clan—”

“Now ye’re getting it,” Niall said. He unhooked a coil of rope from the back of his horse’s saddle and spread it on the ground.

“Och, and ye’ll just take these things ye may hear to Her Majesty and tell her ye’ve come to save her from Campbell, the head of a clan who has remained shoulder to shoulder with the Stuart Monarchy since for-bloody-ever?” Rory continued.

“If it’ll result in restoring the good name of Clan Gregor then it will be well worth my trouble,” Niall said. He began picking up sticks of dead wood and dropped them on the center of the rope, his back to his friend.

“Well, good luck to ye then. Keep yer claymore in hand, especially with
her
. I’ve heard ye’re quite skilled, ken.”

“Daft bastard.”

Images of Sabine suddenly flashed across his mind. He hoped with all of his heart that she was safe. He would make it part of his mission to see to it that she was.

He dropped more sticks into the growing pile until it was large enough for his purposes. He knelt on the ground and wrapped the rope around the bundle several times then tied a knot, cinching the sticks tightly together. Niall lifted the bundle with one hand and stood upright.

“I’m away.”

“Aye,” Rory replied with a sloppy nod. “See ye return.”

“I’ll see ye back in the glen before last light on the ’morrow.”

Niall used his free hand to slide his claymore from the sheath beneath his cloak. He slipped the weapon cleanly into the bundle of sticks, concealing it quite well.

“I’ve got to ask, finally,” Rory said. “What’s with the fardel?”

Niall hefted the bundle to his back and hooked his arm through one of the loops in the rope. “’Tis my admission into the castle.”

“Oh, aye,” his friend mused. “That’s as bloody clear as muck.”

Niall sighed. “Did ye not learn a damn thing from our experience at Holyrood? This is a disguise, ye tosser. See?” He dropped his hood onto his head and hunched over just a bit. “What do I look like?”

“Some git with a fardel on his back,” Rory smirked. “Aye, aye, I get it. Ye’re a farmer bringing his crops of dead wood to yer lord, am I right?”

“As right as ye’re able. D’ye remember what they were burning in the sconces at Holyrood?” Niall did not wait for a reply. “Wood! Not peat. Heaven help us if the queen had to breathe in peat smoke. I’m just making a delivery.”

Rory nodded. “Aye….”

“All I need do is bluff my way into the castle…” He adjusted the bundle on his back and grinned. “Who’d have believed it?”

“Believed what?” Rory asked.

“That I’d learn a few things from that Frenchman, Le Canard.”

He would have to tell Sabine that very thing when he saw her in the castle.

She may find it amusing. Perhaps as much as his presence. She would be the only one in that castle to think so.

S
itting up in her bed, Sabine stared down at the strip of plaid wrapped around her right hand. She remembered how Niall had carefully wound the wool from his Highland garment around her hand, under her twisted fingers, keeping them free. A more careless person would have just bound them together, not taken the time to slip the wool between fingertips and palm. Nothing about Niall was careless.

Sabine stared down at the colors that practically sang out from the wool about her hand, hues as bold as the Highland landscape leapt out at her: green, found in the moss that blanketed the ground, and that darkest of blue, of the midnight sky, honored the humble woolen warp and weft. This piece of fabric was as much a part of this wilderness as was Niall. The colors were subtle yet so strong! So much like these Highlands.

A chilling night wind blew in through the open window, banging the glass against the deep stone sash. But there was another sound, one subtle, menacing. The door to her chamber opened inward. Then the hinges squealed in protest. Sabine looked up. She instinctively thrust her hand under the covers, slipped the plaid from her hand and hid it there just as Lord Campbell stepped inside. His stride did not falter as he cut a direct path to her bed.

Sabine sat up, trying desperately not to cower from her intended. The way he stared at her gave her a nasty chill. Now, and all during supper, it was as if he knew her thoughts. Did he know what she had heard that day?

The curtains shuddered with the promise of more rain as thunder rumbled near enough to rattle the water carafe on the table beside her bed.

Campbell gave her a small bow.

“I looked for you this afternoon, before the evening meal. The guards said you left in a hurry.”

Sabine sat up a little higher. “I wanted to see more of this beautiful country…I needed fresh air.”

“You should not leave the castle without escort,” Campbell said. The hearthlight cast stark shadows against the hollows of his face.

“I did not want to disturb you, m’Lord,” she managed to lie.

“You should’ve waited until I was available to show you the grounds.”

“And if I had waited, m’Lord, for your guest to leave, you would’ve shown me the grounds in the rain.”

Campbell blinked. “Guest? My only guest is the queen, and she was falconing for the afternoon.”

Sabine forced herself to contain the contempt for this man growing inside her.

“I assumed a man of such a magnificent castle and land would have many guests. ’Twas a guess, ’tis all, m’Lord.” She swallowed. “Of course, I would’ve preferred you to escort me. But I cannot have everything I want, can I?”

Campbell stood beside her bed, his question still thick in the dank air. “Well,” he said, “be that as it may, I made report of your absence to Her Majesty moments ago.”

Sabine silently tipped her chin higher and stared hard at Campbell, defiant.

He moved closer. The light from the chamber’s hearth slashed across his face. “You are an arrogant girl who needs discipline. After we are wed—”

“
Non,
” Sabine whispered, bile rising in her throat, “t’will never be.”

“Your queen commands it to be so. Her Royal Highness commands you to remain under my watch as long as you’re in my castle. She says you wish to get to know me better.”

“She must be mistaken.” Sabine bit her bottom lip. She should never have spoken against Mary aloud.

“I only follow Her Majesty’s wishes,” he said, taking a few steps back from the bed. “You should rejoice in doing the same. She wishes you to remain in the castle unless escorted beyond. I gave her my word that I would see to it that your wings are clipped.”

“How can you do that, exactly,…m’Lord?” Sabine dared ask.

Without a word, Campbell turned, walked away from the bed, and out of the chamber. He took the massive door latch in his fist, and slammed the great wooden door with a heavy blow. The noise rang in Sabine’s ears almost deafening her from the clank of the key in the lock. She sat stunned by Campbell who had made very good on his word. The devil.

“I knew this place would be my gaol,” Sabine said, with a heavy sigh.

The curtains blew inward. Rain leapt in through a break in the dark wool, dampening the foot of the large posted bed and the moldering crimson velvet bed drapery.