Heaven and the Heather (5 page)

“Sweet Saint Giles,” she whispered, “I need your help. I need your strength.”

On another breath, she said, “Send that MacGregor to me.”

T
he night of the queen’s masque, Sabine walked through the moonlit gardens grateful to be alone again, aware that her solitude would be short-lived once Lord Campbell discovered her absent. She savored this time in the garden, inhaling the lavender scent thick in the night air. Tonight the queen’s court and all of her guests would know that Sabine was to wed Lord John Campbell. Banns would be posted. And in one day less than a fortnight, she would be wed.

Lord Campbell would have to find her first.

She wound her way through the plum and apricot grove, into the dapple moon shadows. She walked pensively among the spindly trees, laden with aromatic, sweet fruit. She stopped a dozen steps from the wall, a stone affair twice her height. Getting out was impossible. And where would she go if she did succeed? And with what means?

Sudden rustling, a thud, followed by a grunt, then again, the same noises repeated. Sabine froze under a plum tree, her gaze fixed at the base of the wall.

Someone wanted to get in when all she could think of was getting out. Who was this fool? She ducked behind the gnarled trunk of the tree, digging into the bark with bloodless fingers. Who would be so bold to try to break into the royal garden?

Sabine stared through the bluish patches of moonlight. She gasped. Not one bold person, but two had penetrated this royal sanctuary. She held her breath and gripped the tree harder, fascinated.

The figures, cloaked by the darkness and the garments they wore, moved steadily hugging the wall. The first intruder stopped and the other one ran into the back of him. The leader of this duo lowered the hood of his cloak.

Robbers! Savages!

Sabine could not breathe. Silhouetted in the moonlight, she saw the sharp profile, arrogant slope of nose, determined curl of lips, and waves of hair. She knew this intruder. She could not hold in her gasp.

He turned at the sound. Hoping he could not see her, Sabine sunk into the darkness as his penetrating blue eyes took in all corners of the shadowy grove. Savage creatures always surveyed their surroundings before attacking. She remained very still and deathly silent.

The Highlander swept off his cloak, revealing a broad expanse of linen back. A swath of the cross-hatched fabric draped across it and wrapped over his lean hips. Another item adorned the Highlander’s back. It was the longest sword Sabine had ever seen.

The other figure removed his cloak, exposing a confused mass of black curls and a grim mouth. This creature seemed not as bold as his leader as he removed the sword. A hint of moonlight touched the blade, glinted silver, and then was gone. The man swiftly stashed it against the base of the wall.

Sabine held her breath and tried to become one with the tree shadows. The savages were now walking toward her. She had two choices: fight or flee.

Gathering her skirts and her wits, she took the latter choice and raced toward the ruined abbey. It was so far away, across the expanse of grove and garden, where beyond its broken pillars and burned timbers a pair of guards stood vigilantly by one of several entrances to the palace. With each pounding step, sanctuary seemed to grow further away from her.

She tore through the grove, hoping to reach the lavender knot garden where the guards might hear her shouts from beyond the cover of the trees, when her feet suddenly left the ground. She landed fast and hard on the grassy path. Her breath left her in an undignified “whoosh!” The heavenly scent of the fruit and herbs was quickly masked by a heady, male smell, of soil and sweat. Sabine fought to get up, twisting her body around to face the Highland savage. He lay half on top of her, holding her captive in his arms and in his piercing gaze.

“Le MacGregor!”
she whispered.

“Ye honor me to remember my name,” he said pressing her closer.

“’Tis not my intention,” she said renewing her struggle. He held her tighter.

Their lips were so dangerously close, she could taste his spirit-tinged breath.

“Release me,” she said. “Or I shall scream for the guards.”

“To it,
Sabine
,” he said. “The guards are on the other side of the abbey and willnae hear ye. I checked that they were far from here before we bothered to come over the wall.”

 
“Do not call me familiar. And how is it that you know my name?” she said, then demanded. “
Let me go.
”

“I cannae do that, Mademoiselle,” he said. “Ye might run away.”

“You aren’t as much of an
imbecile
as you look, Savage.”

“The name’s MacGregor.
Niall
MacGregor,” he snarled, breath hot against her face.

“Well, MacGregor, Niall MacGregor, you’re crushing me.”

Still holding her wrist, he slipped off of her. He helped her to her feet, and they faced each other.

“Would you be so kind and release the rest of me?”

Surprisingly, he complied with her demand.

“How regal ye sound,” he said. “Tell me, did ye learn such ways of speech from Her Majesty, or do all of ye French lasses raise their chins so high?”

Sabine blinked. “As much as all Highlanders are savages…and
les voleurs
.”

He certainly would not know she has just called him a thief to his face.

“Does one who lives such a charmed life commonly disparages those she doesnae know? ’Tis a popular game of the royal court, aye, Sabine?”

“You pretend to know me in the moment we have been together, Niall MacGregor, do you not?”

“Perchance. Would ye like to get to know me? I can make it worth yer while.” He reached up and took a plum from the bough above his head.

Sabine blinked. This man spoke crazy gibberish. She abruptly turned right into the other Highlander, the one with the rat’s nest of black curls. She whirled angrily back to Niall MacGregor.

“I want an audience with the queen,” he said taking a bite of the plum. Juice exploded onto his chin, trickled into the cleft.

Sabine, taken aback by his bold demand, replied, “You’re an amusing man. Are you actually that stupid?”

He took another bite, and spoke, his mouth full of fruit, “Ye wish me to break ye in two now, or shall I wait a bit?” he asked.

“Don’t try to impress me with your strength. Unless, of course, it is your way of making amends for your puny brain.”

His companion snorted in what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Niall yanked her against the unyielding firmness of his broad chest. The juice on his lips and the hard contours of his body beneath the rough linen tunic tempted her to allow her lips a tiny taste.
Non!

She swallowed, withdrew her hand into a fold of her gown, and denied what stirred deep inside her. It was an ignorant beast and one best kept hidden. She tried to pull away. He held her so tightly. Damn him. He had stolen her hope, would he steal her body as well?

“’Tis a fight ye willnae win,” he said. “I see it in yer eyes that ye agree not to leave my embrace.”

“My eyes and every part of me agree that you’re a cretin.”

He held up the half-eaten plum. “Want a bite? Or are ye full from chewing my bloody head off?”

She reached up with her right hand, grasped at the fruit, then took it. She squeezed it. Juice trickled down her cramped fingers to her palm. She gave the MacGregor a challenging stare as she tossed the fruit over her shoulder before the juice made its way to her silk sleeve. No more games. Instinct told her that hope was alive, but for how long?

“Oww! Bloody hell!” came the harsh whisper.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder at the MacGregor’s friend, who wiped one eye with a grimy sleeve of his tunic.

Niall grabbed her wrist. He pulled her right hand to his lips and licked the juice from the back of it. Sabine froze, not breathing. His blue eyes stared steadily into her as he wrapped his tongue around each gnarled finger, sending thousands of tiny bolts of sensation through her entire body. If he was not holding her tight with his other strong arm, she would surely have fainted right to the damp grass.

“I know yer secret,
mademoiselle
.”

He could not possibly. “Beast,” she breathed. “
Animal.
”

“Insults will get ye nowhere,” he whispered. “I have a key to the palace, thanks to ye.”

Sabine blinked. He was insane as well. “You have nothing.”

But my only hope for leaving the prospect of a life as horrid as the one I left.

He moved his free hand down, never taking his stare from her and reached into his own skirt-like garment. In a blink, he dangled her
sac
before her eyes. She did not know whether to scream in joy for seeing it again or to scratch his eyes out for stealing it from her.

He nodded, eyes flashing in the moonlight. “I thought that would wake ye up.”

She snatched her good hand forward to the bag, and only grasped air. “’Tis mine!” Her tone was far too desperate.

He held it over his head, taunting her. Heat flared behind Sabine’s eyes. She saw her father standing over her, his fist full of her drawings, crumpling them, before he tossed them like dead leaves. The heat built behind her eyes. It rivaled that of the fire in her father’s enormous hearth, the fire that had turned her work to ashes. She stared hard into this Highlander’s eyes as he tormented her with her own property, with her hope, and with his mere presence. How dare he!

With one mighty kick, she sent her slippered foot into the softness between his thighs, making contact like she did to many a French noble who came too close in the royal court. Like she planned to do to Lord Campbell on their wedding night.

Niall MacGregor slumped to the ground. He landed on one knee, the purse clenched in his fist. His mouth pushed out a surprised “whompf” of air. Sabine reached down, as swift as a cat and grasped one of the braided gut strings that cinched the top of the
sac
. She tugged, but the MacGregor would not relent.

He looked up at her and flashed that grin. “Good thing me mum wauked my plaid extra thick, or I would have to forgo having any weans.”

“Let go, mongrel,” Sabine said. “It is mine.”

“Enough,” he whispered from the ground. His eyes searched the far end of the garden, in the direction of the palace. “Enough.”

Arms grabbed Sabine around her waist. She did not have to look around to know his friend had her in his noxious embrace. He would do well to visit one of dozens of
parfumeries
in Paris.

Niall MacGregor rose before her. Once again he held her
sac
aloft before her pleading eyes.

“I looked inside,” he said. “There’s much value within as well as yer secrets.” He gave her a wink. Sabine knew to what secret he referred. The heat built behind her eyes again. He had invaded her person by stealing her purse, and he had invaded her soul by looking at her sketches.

Her father had said the same thing, well, almost. He had called the drawing an “atrocity”. Niall had smiled and called them “secrets”.

“Only a crude person like yourself would dare say such a thing. You have looked at my private works.”

“Aye,” he replied, “I have taken more than a keek at them.”

Sabine narrowed her gaze.

He grinned anew. “They’re quite lovely. Captivating in fact. I’ve not seen anything like them.”

No insults shuttled down from her brain to her tongue. No one had described her art in such nice words, no one except
Le maître
, her beloved teacher.

“We will make a trade,” he said. “Your purse, and
all
its contents, for—”

“I do not bargain for what’s rightfully mine with a thief,” she hissed. She squirmed out of the other Highlander’s arms. She squared her shoulders at Niall MacGregor, her stance as stiff and defiant as the marble water bearers on the
Fontaine des Innocents
in the courtyard of the
Palais Royal
.

“Ye will take me to the queen,” he said.

“You are but a fool,” she replied. “I love my queen and would not see her harmed by the likes of you.”

Brows knitted, eyes flashing, he jerked closer to his body, as if that were possible. His masculine scent enveloped her. “Ye’re no different from Campbell by thinking ye know me and mine.”

“You know Lord Campbell?” she asked, surprised.

“I know he’s an unholy bastard who would do anything to have more power and more land. He has lied against my clan because he wants our land. He has murdered twice that I know of to get closer to it. These things I will tell the queen. She must know who she has allowed into her court, she must take away the edict against my clan.”

His gaze grew more fierce with his every word.

Sabine stared hard into his eyes. He knew much of her intended, or convincingly pretended to.

“How do I know you are not telling me lies?” she asked.

He held her so tight, the weight of her
sac
dangled from his hand and rested against the small of her back.

“Marry Campbell,” he said, his tone a dare. “I know ’tis ye he has as his intended, dinnae deny it. Marry him and find the true mettle of the man for yourself. Decide for yourself whether or I lie or not.”