Highland Heat (6 page)

A sharp whistle broke through her attention. The soldier at the front of their party was pointing at a weathered sign hanging in front of a large building. There were long rails set outside it to tie horses to, but the sign advertised stable-boarding services as well as rooms for rent.

Her escort stopped, smiles appearing on the faces of the men. Deirdre sighed, the tension that had plagued her most of the day doubling as the patrons of the establishment peered at her intently. It was an effort to hold her chin steady, as if she were accustomed to wearing gold and velvet upon the road.

Only Englishwomen did such a thing, and that was a fact. No Scottish noble rode the Highland roads in his court clothing. One of the soldiers offered his hand to her. Deirdre realized she’d been lost in thought and was still sitting on top of her mare. Her cheeks colored, but she was grateful for the lapse of attention, because it made her look more like the queen. Joan would have waited for one of her escort to help her down.

But it seemed so wasteful of the strength Deirdre had in her own body. She placed her hand in the one offered and slid from the back of the mare. She reached up to pat the animal on the neck, without thinking, and the appreciative gesture gained her a frown from the soldier who had assisted her.

Deirdre continued to stroke the neck of the mare. She might have agreed to wear the queen’s clothing, but she would not be so arrogant as to deny a horse that had carried her all day a kind touch.

“This way, Majes—madam.”

The soldiers stumbled over the word “
madam
,” his tone loud enough to drift to those watching them enter the inn. Deirdre stepped up and through the doorway while whispers rose around her. They died away when she appeared, the patrons staring at her over their wooden bowls of stew and broken rounds of bread.

The soldiers directed her to a large table, and two men who sat too near were sent to another table with a harsh look from the captain. A serving girl quickly appeared to sweep a cleaning rag across the surface of the chair before Deirdre sat on it.

“Ye must be cold and hungry. I’ll fetch ye up a serving of me mother’s supper. It’s the tastiest in the area.”

Deirdre opened her mouth but closed it when the captain interrupted her.

“That will be good. Thank you.” His words were clipped and the girl hurried away. He sent a hard look toward Deirdre, clearly attempting to remind her to remain silent. The man nodded to her, but there was no mistaking the glint in his eye.

Deirdre stared straight back at him, refusing to lower her chin. She was posing as a queen, after all, and she doubted Joan Beaufort would allow a member of her escort to put her in her place. The soldier frowned but ducked his head after a moment.

“Straight off the fire, mistress.”

The serving girl returned with a tray that contained a steaming bowl. Her face was flushed from how fast she was moving, but her eyes glittered with anticipation of earning some additional coin for her troubles.

Deirdre lowered her eyelashes to veil the shame that entered her eyes. For the first time, she was ashamed of the fact that she was deceiving her own countrymen in the effort to gain what she wanted.

The stew smelled delicious, though, and when it was placed in front of her, she couldn’t think of anything except tasting it. She burned her tongue because it was too hot, but that didn’t keep her from smiling.

“I told ye it was tasty. The bread is warm too, and I brought ye some sweet-cream butter me sister churned from this morning’s milk.”

Deirdre looked up, but the captain answered for her.

“Our mistress is well pleased with your offerings. We would have your best room for the night.”

He flipped a silver coin onto the tabletop that made the serving girl smile wide enough to show off her teeth. She scooped the silver off the table almost before the sound of it hitting the wooden surface faded.

“I’ll get me sister to seeing to the room.” She was gone in a moment, on her way back to the kitchen, where an older woman with fabric wrapped tightly around her hair to keep it out of the fire looked back toward her with excitement. The girl held up the coin, and the woman took it, nodding before she snapped her fingers at someone else in the kitchen.

“That was a great deal of silver.”

The captain leaned toward her to keep their words from drifting to the others eating nearby.

“We needs inspire talk, madam. Let them think we have so much money that we never bother to count it.”

“As if there is such a person alive.”

He shrugged. “You’ll discover there is, if we achieve our goal.”

Deirdre heard hope in his words, but he turned his back on her, leaving her to eat alone. The moment she was finished, the serving girl appeared to lead her abovestairs. The room the girl took her to was small but clean. It was certainly larger than the cot she had slept on for the last few months at the abbey.

The captain followed her in, sending the girl away with another silver coin.

“Should we stay here?”

The man grunted. “I believe so. It will get the locals talking about you and leave the queen unnoticed.” He scanned the room. “My men and I will be below, but you need to stay here, or no one will think you are anyone important.”

He left while Deirdre was considering his words. She scoffed at the closed door, but that gave her little comfort. Her pride stung, but worse than that, she knew she had no right to be offended, because she wasn’t anyone of importance.

It shouldn’t bother her, and still it did. She sat down on the bed and felt fatigue wrap around her.

Well, there was no reason to waste a good bed. She lay down and closed her eyes, silently praying her fortune might be brighter tomorrow.

***

Fate wasn’t so kind.

Her dreams were filled with dark suspicions. She twisted and opened her eyes, feeling unrested. The room was dark, and the seam where the shutters closed over the window was still black too. But her heart was beating faster than it should have been, and her fingers were curled into the bedding like talons. Her mind was trying to decide why she was so ill at ease, and a moment later she heard the sound of steps on the stairs.

They were soft footfalls, but she sat up, rigid with the knowledge that whoever had been searching for the queen was coming.

Maybe she was panicking, but that didn’t stop her from finding the little slipper shoes where she had left them on the floor. A creak of wood announced that whoever was climbing the steps was closer now. Deirdre felt her heart accelerating, and it became impossible to remain sitting on the bed. She looked around the room, her attention settling on the window. For the first time, she was grateful for the delicate shoes, because they made no noise as she crossed over to the window. She found the latch in the darkness and pushed one side open.

The door to her room began to open, sending panic rushing through her. Deirdre didn’t stop to think about what the queen would have done. She shoved the other shutter out of her way and swung one leg over the opening. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the kilts worn by the men coming through the doorway.

“Stop right there.”

Deirdre didn’t listen. She sent her body over the edge of the window, controlling her drop to the ground with a hard grip on the windowsill. Her robe fluttered free around her legs, and the crisp night air chilled her, but she didn’t hang there for long. A head appeared above her, and warm hands covered hers.

“Are ye daft, woman?”

Maybe she was, but Deirdre let go, and her fingers slid easily out from beneath the ones that attempted to hold her. She hit the ground, and pain surged through her legs. Her knees failed to hold her, and she crumbled into a ball, rolling over several times. She gasped, dragging huge breaths into her lungs while shiny spots swirled past her eyes.

“Get down there after her, lads!”

Deirdre shook off the pain and scrambled to her feet, but the overlong robes tangled beneath her feet. She stumbled and fell to her knees again. Pain slashed through her once again; this time a moan escaped her lips because she couldn’t stop it.

Such stupid clothing…

She struggled to kick it aside but was suddenly lifted off her knees and set on her feet by two men.

“Here now. Enough of this, lady.”

A lantern was shoved close to her face, the yellow light from the flame sending a tiny pain through her eyes as her night vision died. She could only see things within the circle of light cast by the lantern, but she shivered when she looked about her.

“Is she the right one?”

Highlanders surrounded her. There was no mistaking their height or wide shoulders. Each of them had a sword strapped to his back with the pommel rising above his left shoulder so they might pull the weapon with their right hand.

“She’s wearing gold and velvet.”

“But is she Joan Beaufort?”

The man in front of her considered her from his greater height. His hands were propped on his hips as he stared at the signet crown circling her forehead.

“It’s the truth I never expected a noblewoman to go out a window, but I never thought to be tracking any Englishwoman through the Highlands either.”

The men surrounding her chuckled. Deirdre stumbled back a step, only to turn around, because they ringed her completely. There was no sign of her English escort either.

“Here now. There is no need to frighten the woman.”

The one who spoke reached out and turned her back to face him with a firm grip on her bicep. Deirdre gasped and jerked her arm away from his touch.

“Forgive me, ma’am. I meant no disrespect toward yer ladyship, but me laird is looking to meet ye, and I’m charged with the duty of taking ye to him.”

Deirdre forced herself to take a deep breath before answering him. She ordered her thoughts to stop racing and focus on the task of concealing who she truly was. She lifted one hand and covered her lips with it to muffle her voice even more. “And who sent you after me?”

“The Earl of Liddell.”

The proprietor of the inn suddenly appeared on the steps of his business. “Why are ye Camerons causing trouble with me paying customers?”

The man carried a torch that lit the area far more effectively. A crazy jolt of hope tore through her, but it was quashed by the number of Cameron retainers the torch showed her. There were three dozen of them at least, standing back from the circle surrounding her.

“We’re about the earl’s doings.” The retainer in front of her dug in his pouch and produced two silver coins. He tossed them to the innkeeper.

“And he sends his appreciation for yer understanding.”

The coins landed at the proprietor’s feet. The woman who had been in the kitchen appeared beside him in nothing but her underrobe. She bent down to pick up the money. She tossed the coins a few times before nodding with satisfaction over their weight. She looked toward Deirdre, concern wrinkling the skin around her eyes, but she scanned the number of Highlanders in front of her and shook her head before closing her fist around the silver.

“The Camerons are always welcome here.” She turned around and went back into the inn. Her husband looked at Deirdre, but a moment later he followed his wife, taking the torch with him.

Desolation bit into her. For the first time in her life, she understood how it felt to be scorned simply because you had been born in another country. It was a harsh truth Deirdre realized she’d not had enough pity for.

“I’m Coalan, ma’am, one of Quinton Cameron’s captains, and ye have me word ye’ll come to no harm while I escort ye to him.” His voice lowered, hardening with intent. “But ye will be going with me, so no more of yer escape attempts.”

Coalan reached out and hooked his hand around her bicep again. This time the grip was hard, and even when she shrugged, she did not gain her freedom. He pulled her along with him toward horses standing nearby.

“This must be her mare. I’ve never seen gold used on a saddle before.”

Coalan grunted. “Aye, I’ve never had enough to use it as a decoration meself.”

His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her up with only a tiny grunt. Deirdre landed on the saddle sideways and had to fight to throw her leg over the side of the mare before the slippery-smooth velvet saw her landing in a heap at Coalan’s feet.

“Are no’ ye going to tie her hands, Captain?”

Coalan chuckled as he mounted a larger horse and looked across at her. “Tell me, lady. Are ye going to behave, or shall I take the advice of Dirk there and bind yer hands to keep ye from running off into the night?”

His arrogant grin informed her he didn’t think she could give him any worry even with her hands free. Her temper simmered, and she lifted her chin and clamped her lips shut, refusing to answer him. She was grateful it was still night, or the brute would have seen her temper glittering in her eyes.

Coalan scoffed at her. “I’ve a mind to see Drumdeer before sunset, lads. Let’s take Laird Cameron what he wants.”

The name Drumdeer sent fear through her. The castle was well-known, even if she’d never laid eyes upon it. It was built along a ridge, which was where it got its name of drum, which meant
ridge
in Gaelic. There were plenty of stories of how strong the castle was, and more than one army had learned that lesson through defeat. Once inside, she wouldn’t be leaving until Quinton Cameron said she might.

Coalan reached across and took the reins from her fingers with a quick snap. “Do nae be giving me any cause to regret my choice to leave ye free, lady, for I tell ye I can be a mean bastard if ye come between me and what my laird expects of me. That’s a promise. I swear it.”

The mare followed Coalan’s stallion, and the Highlander took to the night with every bit of skill Deirdre expected of any man she might call by that name. The English feared the Highlanders with good cause. Not every Scot was a Highlander, but Coalan was one. It was in the way he faced the night with confidence. The man wasn’t shivering as he guided them into the forest. There was no hint of unease many would have felt while challenging the shadows the old wives claimed were haunted with specters or demons.