My Fierce Highlander (36 page)

“Oh.” Shock and disbelief froze her to the
spot. Gwyneth could not even imagine the ramifications. Would Rory
lose his opportunity to inherit a title or property? Had he ever
had the opportunity to begin with or had that all been Southwick’s
grand delusion? Either way, thank heavens, they were safe from
Southwick and she would not have to marry the viper. “I thank
you.”

“You’re welcome.” Alasdair surprised her by
kissing her. Though the kiss was brief, it was warm, potent and
delicious. It made her recall with vivid clarity all the things she
loved about him. He then picked Rory up. “Are you all right,
lad?”

“Aye.” Rory grinned ear to ear. “I wanted to
see you in a real sword fight, but Ma wouldn’t let me.”

“She had to keep you safe. Come, let’s go.”
He headed toward the door.

“Wait! I must dress.” Wearing only a smock,
Gwyneth grabbed her armload of clothing and ran behind a screen.
“Where will we go?”

“Back to the inn until Southwick is captured.
You and Rory are not safe until he is. In the morn, Lachlan and I
shall meet with the king.”

***

Gwyneth was in the midst of telling her son a
story when a fist pounded on her door at the inn in London the next
day. Maybe Alasdair and Lachlan were back from Whitehall
Palace.

Though the meeting with the king concerned
Rory’s future, Alasdair had not allowed her to attend. It was
common knowledge King James did not look favorably upon women,
especially ones of questionable morals and character which, though
she hated to admit it, described her reputation.

She rushed to the door but didn’t open it.
“Who is it?”

“There is someone here to see you, m’lady,”
Angus called from the passage. Alasdair had left the five clansmen
to guard her and Rory until Southwick, Maxwell Huntley, could be
captured.

Well, who was it? She unlocked the heavy door
and yanked it open.

Her gaze fell upon her mother’s face.
Heaven help me!
Gwyneth clutched at the door for support,
her vision blurring with tears.

“Mother?” she whispered, almost afraid the
dear woman was an illusion.

“Gwyneth.” Her mother smiled, came forward
and tugged her into an embrace. “Oh, child, how I have missed
you.”

Gwyneth squeezed her mother, though not
enough to hurt her fragile frame. For six years she had feared she
would never see her mother again. “Thanks be to God for this
blessing.”

Her mother pulled back and placed a palm
against Gwyneth’s cheek. “Indeed. I’m so glad you have come
home.”

“You are?” Gwyneth’s throat tightened when
she noticed her mother’s hair had turned gray and wrinkles creased
her face.

“Of course. I never wanted you to leave.”

“None of us did,” another female voice
said.

Gwyneth glanced over her mother’s shoulder
and found three of her sisters standing in the passage,
smiling.

“Margaret, Elizabeth, Katherine!” She hugged
each of them in turn.

Two small boys ran past Gwyneth, almost
tripping over her skirts.

“Boys!” Margaret scolded.

“It’s fine. Come in.” Gwyneth backed up and
allowed them all to enter. Angus entered also, obviously still
guarding, and closed the door.

“This is my son, Rory.”
Please God, let
them accept him and love him as I do.

Gwyneth’s mother knelt and touched Rory’s
hair. “Hello, Rory. You are such a handsome young man. He favors
you, Gwyneth.”

A ray of hope shone through her fear. “Rory,
this is your grandmother.”

He frowned at her and she realized he didn’t
know what a grandmother was.

Gwyneth swallowed back the constriction in
her throat. “She’s my mother and that makes her your
grandmother.”

“Oh.” He smiled and hugged her. Gwyneth
introduced everyone else, and each of her sisters complimented Rory
and seemed sincere in their acceptance of him.

“Your father is an imbecile and we have shown
him the error of his ways,” her mother said. “We’ve made him
promise to beg your forgiveness.”

Father will never do such a thing.

“And we heard Maxwell Huntley, Lord Southwick
has been arrested,” Katherine said.

“He has?” A spurt of gladness shot through
her.

Her sisters nodded. Another knock sounded on
the door. Angus opened it. Alasdair waited in the corridor. His
gaze flew past his cousin and scanned the people in her room.

“Laird MacGrath, please meet some members of
my family,” Gwyneth said.

He entered and she introduced everyone.
Alasdair employed his most genteel manners in greeting them.

“We have heard Southwick was captured,”
Gwyneth said.

“Aye, not three hours past. Pray pardon,
m’ladies.” He bowed. “I’m needing to speak with Lady Gwyneth about
a matter of much import.”

She turned to her family. “Will you watch
Rory for me? I’ll return forthwith.”

They nodded, their wide eyes curious.

Alasdair left Padraig and Angus guarding
Rory.

Once inside his room, Alasdair turned to her.
“’Tis a surprise to see your mother and sisters here.”

Gwyneth smiled. “A very pleasant surprise. I
never thought I would see them again.”

“I have news. Indeed, Maxwell Huntley has
been arrested as a traitor to the crown and his titles and property
stripped from him. Therefore, he is no longer marquess of Southwick
and the title is forfeit. As a reward to us for uncovering the
conspiracy, King James is creating a new title for Rory, that of
Viscount Mackem, and granting him the former Southwick’s estate in
the north of England.”

Gwyneth felt suspended, as if the floor had
disappeared from beneath her feet. “Surely you jest.”

“Nay. ’Tis true.” Alasdair grinned. “His
Majesty was feeling rather generous and created another lesser
title for me as well, for my future heir.”

“In faith! Are you saying this estate in the
north is Rory’s now?”

“Aye, though His Majesty will watch over it
until Rory is old enough to manage it himself. It is a working
estate with a steward and full staff to run it. And income.”

“I cannot believe it.” Chills coursed over
her skin. “So, if I choose, Rory and I can live on the estate?”

Studying her for a long moment, Alasdair
stiffened, his expression darkening. “Aye, if you so choose.” He
paused. “But you need not if you don’t wish it. They will be his
even if you both come back to Kintalon with me.”

Oh, good lord! Now the terrible choice
confronted her. She had only thought she was in a quandary when
faced with the possibility of having to marry Southwick. Now she
had to choose between what she’d wanted most for six years, to take
Rory from the Highlands…or to marry a man like no other. A man she
had fallen in love with so effortlessly and deeply, she’d had no
defense against it.

Guilt assailed her when she realized how
selfish her love for him was. If she chose him, surely she would be
punished for her greed, for wallowing in the sensual pleasures of
him. She must not think of herself. She must do the right
thing—what was best for Rory.

Her sacrifice would rip her heart out.
“Alasdair.” She swallowed hard, then forced the words to form on
her tongue. “I pray you will forgive me. Since Rory was born, I
wished to take him out of the violent Highlands, and you have
allowed me to do that. I can never thank you enough.”

“You wish to stay in England?” His tone
deepened, just shy of a growl.

“I don’t want to; I have to. Rory will be
much safer here.”

He regarded her as if she were his worst
enemy. Though Alasdair had never struck her, other men had. She
backed up a step, then two.

“For Rory. Not for myself. You have allowed
him to have everything I could’ve ever hoped for and more. I never
dreamed he would have property. And now all this—a title, an
estate. It all astounds me. But to be an English lord one day, he
will need to live here, in England. My family has been kind enough
to welcome me back. And your clan could never be safe from Donald
if I were there. He might burn the village again, or worse, in an
effort to retaliate against me.”

“Don’t worry about Donald. He will be taken
care of in due time.” More controlled anger seeped into Alasdair’s
tone. Her words had caused him to transform into the fierce warrior
she had only glimpsed on a few occasions. “Gwyneth, I’ve told you
before, and I’ll tell you one more time—I love you. And I wish to
marry you. You are most likely carrying my bairn. Possibly my heir!
Are you thinking I’ll just go back to Kintalon and forget about all
that?”

She could not look him in the eye when he
glared with such rage. It was almost impossible to believe he was
the same man who had looked at her with kind regard in the past.
“No. I don’t know. I must think of Rory right now. Do you think I
like making this decision? No. You and I…we are adults. We must
learn to deal with the sacrifices.”

His eyes narrowed. “I ken all about
sacrifices, m’lady! But I won’t allow my heir to grow up in
England.”

“If I am with child, which has not been
proven yet, it could be a girl. And if that is the case, she would
not be your heir. Unless you imagine a female can be chief of your
clan.”

“I don’t care if the bairn is a lad or a
lass. I won’t have him or her grow up in godforsaken England!”

“You are the same as Southwick!”

“Nay! How can you speak thus? I would never
abandon you.”

“You would take our child away from me. Or
force me to marry you in order to stay with him or her.”

“But there is one major difference.” He
pointed a threatening finger at her. “I love you. And I was
thinking you might feel the same, but ’tis evident you don’t give a
damn about me.”

“Alasdair, yes, I do care for you but—”

“Hold your tongue. I don’t want to hear how
you
care
for me. I care for everyone in my clan, but I don’t
want to bed them or marry them. You have deceived yourself. You
think Rory and his future prevents you from being with me. ’Tis not
true, so stop blaming him.”

“He will be an English lord! And for him to
be well-respected, he must learn the English way of life.”

“Because the Highland way of life is inferior
and barbaric, aye?”

“No. Just different. Violent.”

“Don’t lie to me. I ken well what you’re
thinking. You’re like the rest of these damned Sassenachs. All you
care about are luxuries and respect. You must impress the other
lords and ladies. The murdering fiend, Baigh Shaw was good enough
for you to marry, but I am not. Tell me, m’lady, what is wrong with
me?”

She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes.
He was perfection to her. When she looked at him, no other man
existed in the world.
God, why must I make this
decision?

“Alasdair, you are a far, far better man than
Baigh was. You must know I realize that. As for marrying him, I did
what I had to do to survive. It was not my choice. Please believe
me when I say I do care about you.”

“Nay! I don’t want to hear of your bland,
mediocre regard for me,” he said with disgust.

“Oh, dear God, Alasdair, it is not bland! I
love you!”

“Nay, you don’t. You don’t ken what love is.
If you feel anything for me, ’tis not love. ’Haps you enjoyed lying
with me, but in truth, you have no heart.”

Rage and denial lit within her. “Don’t tell
me I don’t have a heart! You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.
And you don’t know anything about me.”

“Nay, I don’t ken you at all.”

“I love you, but I cannot be selfish right
now.”

“’Haps for you ’tis selfish. But not for me.
Is it selfish to want air to breathe? That is what you are to
me.”

He ripped her heart from her body with that.
She covered her eyes and the tears burst forth. She had never
imagined such fierce passion existed. And indeed, she felt the same
for him. That’s why it hurt so much. But just as the pelican would
sacrifice her own blood to feed her starving chicks, so must
Gwyneth sacrifice her heart for her son.

Alasdair stood in silence and did not make a
move toward her. Once she had calmed herself, he asked, “Is that
your final answer, then?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry.
Alasdair, please understand.”

“Very well.” Pain glinted in his eyes before
a wall of ice went up between them. “Southwick and his cohorts are
imprisoned, so you are safe. You are to take Rory and appear before
the king tomorrow. I’m sure he will have someone assist you with
whatever arrangements you need to make. As for me, I am needed at
Kintalon. Fare thee well.” He bowed.

She moved toward him. “I’m sorry, Alasdair.
I—”

He held up his hand and backed away. “I’m
thinking you’ve said enough.”

Chapter Eighteen

Three weeks later, Alasdair stood in Leitha’s
flower garden. The hard stone wall of the castle behind his back
was cool and rough. The sunset glowed orange and pink over the
rugged Highlands. This was the first time he’d allowed himself to
come here since his return to Kintalon. Though this was Leitha’s
flower garden, the place brought Gwyneth full into his mind,
especially when he smelled the strong scent of roses here in the
garden, as he had when he first kissed her.

He’d tried to numb himself against her
rejection. But still, the memories mocked him and stabbed at
him.

Gwyneth loved England more than she loved
him. Nay, she did not love him at all. Only cared for him a wee
bit. Such minuscule feelings were without doubt snuffed out by now.
If not for his bairn, she likely wouldn’t remember him at all. He
prayed each night she did carry his son. ’Twould be his last tie to
her. A tie he would never let go. Whether she liked it or not.

Instead of clearing the way for Gwyneth to
marry him, all he’d done by helping uncover Maxwell Huntley’s
conspiracies was help her attain a grand home in England where she
might live. She no longer needed Alasdair. And it was beyond clear
she didn’t want him or love him.