Kathleen Harrington (44 page)

She placed her gloved hands on his cheeks and gazed into his glowing eyes. “I’m so glad Torquil made you wait.”

“Are you, darling?” he asked, his words deep and husky. “So am I.”

L
achlan’s family and friends came for the christening in June. The weather was glorious and his loved ones arrived in high spirits.

Rory and his petite, red-haired wife, Lady Joanna, along with their two children, Jamie and Chrissy, came in first. His cousin, Fearchar MacLean, who’d lost an eye in battle, and his wife, Maude, were with the happy family.

When Keir escorted Lady Emma’s brother, Duncan Stewart, into the Great Hall, the halflins bounded toward the them.

Keir swung Jamie, who was five, up on his broad shoulders, while Duncan lifted the three-year-old lassie into his arms.

“Well, where are they?” Joanna demanded with her usual impatience. “Let’s see the babies!”

At that moment, Lady Nina and her daughter, Raine, came into Kinrathcairn’s Great Hall, followed by Laird Alex Cameron.

“Aye,” Lady Nina instantly agreed, “we came to see the wee miracles.”

Lady Raine smiled serenely as Lachlan drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I’ve no doubt you’ve seen my bairns in a vision long before now,” he said.

“I have,” she confessed, “when I first met Lady Francine at Lamberton Kirk. She was already
enceinte
, but neither of you knew it. I wanted to save the real surprise for their birth.”

Setting Jamie on his feet and giving him a gentle swat on his behind, Keir snorted derisively. “What daft loon actually believes in the second sight? ’Tis a foolish Highland superstition, like faeries and elves. One might as well believe in sorcery and witchcraft.”

Raine favored him with a look of pure disdain. At nineteen, she’d grown from a shy, skinny adolescent into a tall, elegant young woman. Her thick black hair, once worn in two long braids, now fell straight down her back to her hips.

“Oh, hush,” Lady Emma told her mule-headed youngest son. “Whether or not you believe Raine is a seer is immaterial to today’s celebration.”

“I certainly believe it,” Rory said with a teasing grin. He pulled his wife to him, turned her so she faced the others, and wrapped his arms around her waist possessively. “If it weren’t for Lady Raine, I would never have found my wife hidden away at Castle Dhòmhuill. And without the help of Raine’s secret charm, Joanna might never have fallen in love with me.”

“Do you mean the one embroidered with roses that you hid under my pillow every night?” Joanna said with a pert shrug. “’Twas hardly a secret.”

When Rory bent his head and nipped her earlobe, she gave a happy shriek.

The family joined in the laughter.

“Shh, be quiet,” Lachlan warned his rowdy family. “The last I looked, Francie was nursing and Signora Grazioli was changing swaddling clothes. You’ll have to be patient a little while longer.”

“And where is Angelica?” Lady Emma asked.

“She’s sitting on the bed beside her mother at the moment,” Lachlan replied. “The lassie’s nearly transfixed with happiness at the arrival of her new brother and sisters. She can’t keep her eyes off them.” He grinned. “Just like their father.”

A servant poured glasses of whisky for the men and claret for the ladies. Walter and Colin came into the Great Hall to join them.

Rory raised his glass. “While we’re waiting, let’s raise a toast to my clever brother.”

“Here, here,” Keir said. “To Lachlan!”

“And to the babies,” Lady Nina added.

“And to their mother,” Lady Emma said, “who made it all possible.”

Everyone lifted their glasses. “To Lady Francine.”

While they waited for the arrival of the babies, the men gathered in front of the enormous fireplace.

“What news of the isles?” Lachlan asked. “I’ve been rather distracted of late.”

Rory shook his head. “Bad news. Now that winter is over, Donald Dubh Macdonald is inciting the other chiefs of the Macdonald clans to rebellion.”

“And his grandfather will use the ensuing chaos to grab everything he can,” Keir said with a disparaging grimace. “Argyll is unscrupulous.”

“May God protect us from the greed of the Campbells,” Duncan said, repeating an old Highland prayer.

“I feel certain that Archibald Campbell was involved in the plot to sabotage the Treaty of Perpetual Peace,” Lachlan told them. “I noticed him and Northumberland talking together quietly several times at the royal wedding in Edinburgh. But without proof, there’s nothing we can do, except watch and wait.”

“I’m doing more than that,” Keir said. “I’m setting sail on the
Black Raven
in two weeks. King James has asked me to lead his fleet this summer and suppress the uprising in the isles.”

“I’d like to join you,” Colin said. “I could use some excitement.”

The men paused for the space of a moment, unsure what to say.

Lachlan’s red-haired cousin had sent Lady Diana Pembroke back to England with her husband. Though she’d pleaded for Colin to take her with him to the Highlands, he’d refused. If he hadn’t, the outcome would have been inevitable. The English courts would have insisted on her return, for a wife was considered a man’s property, and Colin would have been found guilty of theft. The force of the treaty between the two countries would have prevailed in the end.

“You may captain the
Sea Hawk
,” Lachlan told Colin. “Just make sure you don’t run it aground.”

“Fearchar will be sailing the
Sea Dragon
, as well,” Rory said. “Keir will have plenty of help.”

“Aye, he will that,” Fearchar agreed, as he lifted his glass.

Lachlan looked over to catch Lady Raine listening intently to their conversation. “Have you had a vision about the rebellion?” he asked her with an encouraging smile.

Her black eyes somber, she walked over to the group of men. “I was merely curious about the news of the Isles,” she replied. “Nothing more.”

At that moment, their attention was diverted by the arrival of the infants.

Fearchar’s wife, Maude, came in first, carrying a bundle. She placed the infant in the crook of Lachlan’s right arm. “Here is your son, Laird MacRath.”

Signora Grazioli entered next, holding another swaddled infant. She placed the baby in the crook of Lachlan’s left arm. “Here is your daughter, milord,” she said, her black eyes shining with joy.

Lady Francine entered last, holding still another bundle, with Angelica clasping her hand. “And here are your other daughters, Lachlan,” she said.

Swelling with pride, Lachlan addressed his family and friends. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you my son, Tor, and my daughters, Cecilia, Fiona, and Angelica.”

As though on cue, everyone began applauding.

“Shh,” Angelica told them, placing her index finger in front of her lips. “You’ll wake my brother and sisters, and if you do, we won’t get any sleep again tonight!”

E
PILOGUE

A
week following the baptisms, all the guests were departing. Lady Emma would return to Castle Stalcaire with her brother, Duncan, and son Keir.

Before she left that morning, Lachlan’s mother encouraged Francine to sit for a while with her in the garden.

“The babies are sleeping soundly,” Lady Emma said, “and Signora Grazioli is watching over them.”

Francine sighed. “And Angelica is visiting the new foal in the stables with Lachlan. Perhaps we can sit down for a few moments before you have to go.”

Lachlan’s mother patted Francine’s knee. “I’m so happy for my son,” she said. “You have brought so much love into Lachlan’s life. I was once afraid he would never know such joy.”

At her words, Francine looked away. She could feel herself flush with guilt. She had never told Lachlan that she loved him. She wasn’t certain that she did. Not of her own free will.

“We’ll come to visit you at Stalcaire when the babies are a bit older,” she said.

How could Francine explain to Lady Emma that she suspected her son was a sorcerer? That he’d enchanted his wife with a love spell? Yet who else but a sorcerer could have fathered triplets?

Even more astonishing, Lachlan had been present at their birth. He’d calmly delivered the three babies with his mother and Lucia in attendance. Such an unbelievable thing must surely be proof of his magical powers.

After the births, Lady Emma and Lucia had wrapped Francine’s abdomen tightly in strips of binding, after first rubbing in Lachlan’s specially concocted ointment. Francine knew that without their help, she would never have recovered her figure so quickly. “Thank you for everything, Mother,” she said.

Lady Emma smiled with beatific serenity. “Now that the wee bairns are baptized, you’ll want to inscribe their names in the MacRath family’s ancient record. The manuscript goes back many generations. Lachlan keeps it under lock and key to protect it from the ravages of time.”

Francine’s breath caught in her throat. “Under lock and key?”

“Mm, hm,” Lady Emma said. “In the library here at Kinrathcairn.” She pressed a key in Francine’s palm. “Lachlan entrusted it to me before he left for England. Best put it safely in the purse hanging on your girdle,” she advised. “You wouldn’t want to lose it.”

For the rest of the day, Francine had been too busy to even think about the key. But that evening, after the babies were fast asleep, she took a candle and hurried quietly into the library. Going to the wooden cupboard, she turned the key with shaking hands.

Though her pronunciation of the Gaelic still made everyone laugh, she had learned to read the language with a fair degree of accuracy.

She steeled herself for disappointment. Perhaps the only manuscript she’d find was the family record of births and deaths.

Trembling, she lifted down a volume that looked at least one hundred years old and read the title written in gold-leaf on the cover:
A Sorcerer’s Book of Spells.

Her heart pounding erratically, Francine laid the dusty tome on the library table in the circle of candlelight and carefully turned the fragile pages, until she came to the one titled
A Love Spell
. Her gaze flew to the bottom of the page. She could scarcely believe her eyes.

There it was!

The counterspell.

Fingus Mackay had been right all along. She had the power, at last, to release herself from Lachlan’s bond of enchantment.

Francine put her shaking hands to her face and covered her eyes. Her entire body trembled as she debated her fate.

In her mind, she heard the last words the falcon keeper had said to her: “Some spells are nae meant to be broken, Lady Francie.”

She closed the book without reading the words to the counterspell. Taking a deep breath, she replaced the ancient volume in the cupboard and locked it. Dropping the key back in her purse, she turned to go.

Lachlan stood at the open doorway. He smiled and held out his hand. “There you are, darling. I’ve been looking for you. ’Tis time for bed.”

Francine blew out the candle. She went to her husband and slipped her arm about his waist. Looking up to meet his deep green eyes, she returned his smile. “Have I told you how very much I love you, Laird Kinrath?”

He bent his head, his lips hovering above hers. “’Tis about time, Lady Kinrath. ’Tis about time.”

Can’t get enough of Kathleen Harrington’s Highland warriors?

Read on for an excerpt from the first book in her classic
Highland Lairds Trilogy
:

THE M
AC
LEAN GROOM

Available now from Avon Books.

An Excerpt from

THE M
AC
LEAN GROOM

P
ROLOGUE

September 1496

Finlagan Castle, Isle of Islay

Inner Hebrides, Scotland

R
ory MacLean stood on the quarterdeck of the
Sea Dragon
and watched the flames leaping from saw-toothed holes in the walls of Finlagan Castle. His gaze followed the billowing smoke that drifted lazily across the cerulean sky, then returned to the scorched, blackened stones with satisfaction.

It had taken a week of steady pounding from their long-range cannons before they’d breached Finlagan’s barbican. Once inside the outer bailey, they’d stormed the island fortress, cutting down the rebels with great two-handed claymores like wheat before the scythe.

Rory turned from the sight of the smoldering wreckage to glance indifferently at the captives who stood nearby, watching their stronghold burn. Then he met the pale blue eyes of his chief mate. Unlike his cousin, Rory’s own eyes were a deep, dark green. And while Fearchar came close to seven feet in height, Rory stood a mere four inches above the six-foot mark. Though not a giant like his kinsman, he still looked down on most men. And his strength in combat had been proven many times over.

“’Tis done, what we came to do,” Rory said. “Let’s return to Edinburgh and make our report to the king.”

Fearchar MacLean grinned, the wide gap between his front teeth giving him a boyish air despite his sharp, battle-scarred features, fearsome black eye patch, and huge frame. “’Tis done, Captain,” he echoed jubilantly. “And we wouldn’t want these treacherous whoresons to be late for their own hangings, would we?”

The clank of heavy chains brought Rory’s attention back to the two prisoners about to be taken below. Iain Mor, known to the English as Sir John Macdonald, would be turned over to the Prosecutor for the Scottish Crown and tried for treason. His kinsman, Somerled Macdonald, the notorious Red Wolf of Glencoe, would be executed for murder.

Rory met Iain Mor’s gaze, untroubled by the hatred burning in his bleary, deep-set eyes. With a snarl of disgust, the laird of Finlagan Castle spat on the deck. “The King’s Avenger! Pah! May your merciless soul be damned for what you did in this place.”

Neither the sobriquet given him by the Scots people nor Iain Mor’s contempt marred Rory’s sense of accomplishment. He and his half-brothers, Lachlan MacRath and Keir MacNeil, had crushed the rebellion in the South Isles with the ease of a mailed fist smashing a slug.