Heaven and the Heather (31 page)

“But she is your queen as well, mistress. She did not levy the order. She has the power to—”

“To what, lass? Take back what has already been done? Bring my husband and firstborn back from their graves? Even your Queen with all manner of good intentions couldnae do that.”

“Your bitterness, mistress, is justified. But if Her Majesty can be convinced to take back this law against your people, then the lives of your clan will be spared, is that not true? And, your second born, your Niall, is the man to sway the queen to do that very thing. Yet, he would be in too much danger if he tried.”

Mistress MacGregor offered her a small smile, a grin so like that of her son. “Ye will be by his side when he attempts this folly, lass? Is that what ye’ve a mind?”

Sabine could not answer to the bluntness of the Scot’s question right away. She swallowed and gripped her
sac
, for the ball inside. Instead she grabbed a fistful of the papers through the soft leather. They crinkled.

“What have ye there?” Mistress MacGregor asked.

“Niall is very close to restoring the name MacGregor.” Sabine removed the proof of Campbell’s treason from the
sac
.

“’Tis a great problem, Mistress MacGregor. One, I fear, may take Niall to his death…and I foolishly brought it to him.”

“A problem?”

“The undeniable evidence that Lord Campbell wishes the queen murdered.”

Sabine offered the paper for her to see but, Mistress MacGregor waved it away. “’Twould do no good, lass. For I cannae read.”

“Shall I tell you what it says. It is your native tongue, but I can recount what Niall told—”

“’Tis proof of Campbell’s treason against our new queen, ye say. And my son has seen this?”

“
Oui
, he has.”

“And what plans does he have regarding it?”

“To show it to the queen…at the proper time…soon, I fear.”

“Yer feelings mirror my own.” Mistress MacGregor leaned forward, bones creaking a little. She took both of Sabine’s hands in her own, pressing the paper between them. “Have ye another plan…one my son doesnae know about?”

“
Oui
,” Sabine said, tipping her chin up a little. “I will go to my queen without him.”

“Will Campbell let ye near her? I hear he is her council on Highland matters.”

“That is where I need Niall’s help. I wish him to safely escort me back to Holyrood.”

“Does he know this?”

Sabine shook her head. “He does not. That is why, I guess, he is at this gathering of men, his warriors, plotting a siege upon Campbell to get him out from between Clan Gregor and the queen. Battle cannot be the way. ’Twill need subtlety.”

“No’ a trait many men possess,” Mistress MacGregor quipped. “Especially my son.”

She released her hold of Sabine’s hands, the paper between her fingers. Sabine caught a glimpse of the drawing on the other side. Mistress MacGregor caught far more than a glimpse as she unfolded the paper before her eyes. “This sketch I dinnae have to ken how to read to understand it.”

Sabine bowed her head. “I…I did not mean for—”

“Dinnae apologize, lass. ’Tis a good likeness of my son, a
very
good likeness. Did he pose for ye?”

Sabine could only reply with unflinching honesty. “
Oui
, mistress, he did.”

“Well,” she said with a sharp breath over her lips, “I shall return this to your care. Keep it well hidden, lass, for my son needs it.”

“I will, Mistress.”

The old Scot glanced off into the hearth certain to take up her spoon and stir the soup. But she remained firmly in her chair.

“Mistress, is there something else you wish to tell me?”

“Niall’s father wished him happiness. Wanted him to have the best wife, one of fortunate birth, one who could strengthen the clan by bringing more people to it. Our numbers are far fewer than most clans.”

“Quality does not lie in numbers,” Sabine said.

“But strength does, lass. Before his father set off for Edinburgh, Niall made him a promise…one I must tell ye now…one I am compelled to tell ye for no other reason than to spare ye from giving yer heart away.”

“My heart is already Niall’s willing prisoner,” Sabine said quickly.

Mistress MacGregor took her right hand, rubbing her spotted, knobby fingers over it. “Take back yer heart, lass. This ye must do.”

Heat built behind Sabine’s eyes. “Why, Mistress?”

“Because Niall is betrothed to another.”

“No, mistress,” Sabine breathed.

The world suddenly slipped out from under her into a void as deep and forbidding as the pits of hell.

“No one kens this, not even his future bride’s brother…Lord Campbell. ’Twas the only way my husband saw to bring peace between our clans, by marriage.”

Sabine grabbed hold of herself enough to ask a question. “Lord Campbell does not have a sister. I have not seen her in his castle.”

“Lord Campbell does have a sister, one he is estranged from, one he would wish was dead. But her blood runs strong to his clan, and her marriage to Niall will bring support from some, if not all, of Campbell’s people to us. They will have our land, we will have theirs. ’Tis an arrangement my husband thought best for Clan Gregor, best for Niall, our second son—”

“Who is she, Mistress!” Sabine demanded, the tears swelling in her eyes.

“Agnes.”

And the world turned to darkness as Sabine rushed from the cottage into the night to find Niall and, she prayed, find proof that his mother had told her one horrible enormous lie.

chapter 17

Two Betrayals

N
iall gave his warriors, seven dozen strong, a hearty, assuring wave as he turned from them. He felt their stares on his back
as he departed the small clearing in the woods a quarter-league from the cottages. He had left them with a promise that after first light, on the morrow, victory would be Clan Gregor’s. Campbell would fall, and the queen would be saved. He did not bother to tell them that all of these things hinged on the desire of one beautiful, spirited Frenchwoman to give him the proof against his enemy.

He decided long ago that she would not accompany him when he took the proof to the queen and brought Campbell down. Of course he had yet to tell her this. The prospect loomed more frightening than facing down Campbell. He did not wish to lose Sabine. She would be safe and well inside his glen. This he had to convince her.

“Not an easy task,” he murmured.

Nothing that would happen from this time until dawn would be easy. It was a comforting and familiar feeling. He quickened his pace back to the cottages, then he broke into a run along the narrow path. The trees were more of a hindrance than the darkness of night. He knew this path well, the direction of it. He wacked branches out of his way with his arm and continued onward to the cottages. Rory had departed the Gathering shortly before, to attend to business of a highly personal nature. Niall would join him soon, and they would ride through the night to Glen Fuil and await the clansmen.

Sabine had to give him the proof bearing Campbell’s seal beneath such a harsh missive to Her Majesty. They had no knowledge of the identity of the man she saw in Campbell’s chamber, the paper would have to suffice.

A sudden figure emerged from the darker than dark cover of the trees.

Niall did not miss a breath as he cleanly unsheathed the claymore that rode on his back and brought it forward with one smooth sweep over his shoulder.

“Who are ye?” he demanded.

The figure raised one hand.

“’Tis Agnes.”

Niall stopped and lowered his sword.

“What are ye doing here?” he asked. “
Spying?
”

She huffed. “Ye would think so,” she said. “Ye, who still see me sidled with a brother,
my
brother, who banished me from my own home.”

“I cannae deny your name is Campbell,” he said. “While I’m chief of Clan Gregor he willnae get away with the things he did when my father was head of this clan.”

Agnes smiled. “Of course, ye willnae. But ye’ve been a stupid lad nonetheless.”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “Ye best stand aside. I’ve still my claymore in hand.”

Agnes stepped forward, facing him. “Ye bring that Frenchwoman into this glen and think all will be well. She is betrothed to my brother, and yet ye’ve coupled with her. Is that how ye do better than yer da?”

“Ye know nothing,” Niall snarled.

“I know from the look in her eyes, the same look I had the day yer father and mine agreed that we should wed…the very same day I gave my maiden’s head to yer brother, Colin.”

Niall stared at her, not knowing whether to feel relief that she would not pursue marriage to him, or whether to feel betrayal that Colin took his brother’s betrothed to his bed“Colin is dead,” Agnes said. “I want ye to avenge his death as well as ye do. Bring my brother down for casting me out after Father died.”

“I will,” Niall replied. “For that reason and many more.”

Agnes smiled, then began to laugh. Niall winced. She cackled like a hag. No wonder Campbell tossed her out. Who would want a witch in his midst?

Then, suddenly, as if she could read his thoughts, or, more likely, the look of disdain that he could not conceal, Agnes shoved Niall hard. He stumbled backward, his claymore landing on the ground before he did. When Niall hit hard, on the side of the path, he felt as if he had fallen into a nest of angry hornets.

Worse, he knew. He had fallen into nettles.

“I
s this how ye show your gratitude?” he asked, feeling the sting of tiny thorns and the cool night air against the bared skin of his buttocks.

“Ye gave me the same look my brother did before he banished me. I’m no’ a witch. Of did ye look at me so in the knowing that I have never loved you,” Agnes said from behind and above him. “I always loved Colin. Is that what made ye look at me so?”

“It’s a bloody relief that ye loved Colin,” Niall said through gritted teeth. “I couldnae be more happy.”

He rested the side of his face on a carpet of damp moss. His body was spread out under Agnes, his kilt was flapped up his back giving leave for the chilly night air to cultivate row upon row of gooseflesh upon his bare arse. The moss felt soft under his body. It was the only comforting thing about this night, in addition to the fact his clansmen had listened to him and agreed to lay siege upon Castle Campbell. He would join them, aye, but not with an arse full of nettles. He could not ride in such a state.

“My bloody triumph awaits me,” he said. “If I can ever get there.”

“Hold still,” Agnes scolded.

“Ye have me where ye want me,” he said. “Dinnae take advantage.”

“Of what? Yer wee arse? Such treasure is best given to fine French lassies. ’Tis the only way ye’ll win her heart,” she teased, giving him a playful whack on the backside. A fiery sting bloomed from where she struck him.

“Ow! To it! I’ve things to do…important things.”

“Are ye gonnae ask the French
outeral
to be yer wife, now that we have gracefully stepped from yer promise to yer father and mine to unite our clans?”

“That’s not been on my mind. Besides she’s betrothed to your brother, remember.”

“A farce, ye ken that as well as I. My brother’s tastes dinnae go for the lassies, never have. If I ken him, and I do even though I havenae seen him in the year since our father died, he has used the lass for his own means.”

“He did, used her, blamed her for trying to murder Her Majesty, when it was his archer who all along shot the arrow intended for the queen.”

“What archer?” Agnes placed a cool poultice on his backside.

Niall flinched a little. “I wish I knew.”

The undergrowth a few feet from where he lay rustled. Niall did not reach for his claymore. He knew who was pushing aside enough bracken and shrubbery for three men. Thank God his friend had chosen to do his personal business well off the path. Rory stepped out of the forest, almost on top of Niall.

“Oy! Watch yer step, ye gad!” he shouted.

“Don’t move!” Agnes scolded.

“What’re ye doing on the bloody ground?” Rory asked.

“Getting a good shagging,” Niall snapped. “What does it bloody look like!”

“Betrayal,” came the reply with a French accent.

“Oh, shite,” was all Niall could say.

S
abine clenched her right hand into a tight ball.

It was not difficult for her to ignore the pain that radiated up her arm and struck her heart. She was too occupied searching for her strength. She needed it now more than she ever had. Her heart was breaking. It would take strong hands to mend it.

“
Bâtard Écossais,
” she hissed.

“Now, wait, Sabine,” Niall protested trying to raise up from the ground. Agnes straddled him, her hands on his bare buttocks, massaging him there.

“You ‘now wait’,” she said. “I know about you and this
sorcière
. Your mother, she told me everything!”