Highlander's Fallen Angel : A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

“Anyway, he says he’d just carried that Duke’s son off the field, and had gone back to… I dinnae know, give ye a kick for yer troubles, or chop ye up for the crows to peck at. He goes there and there’s nay body nay more. Catches sight of a shadow skulkin’ off the moor, but ye were too far away to chase, and tells his redcoat pals that ye were alive and need nabbin’ for killin’ his other pal. I’m speculatin’ now I ken it was ye, but that’s me guess.”

  Camdyn wanted to punch something. He had only just settled into life with Victoria, looking forward to how their affections would progress, and now everything was being thrown into disarray again. If anyone were to discover that a fine Sassenach lady was hiding him in her home, the English would show no mercy on either of them.

  And I’ll nae have her in harm’s way because of me. They’ll nae hurt her for bein’ kind and sweet, where others would’ve turned me from their door out of fright for their own selves.

  Did these redcoats not understand that men died in war, and Death did not care if they were the sons of whores or Dukes? Camdyn suspected there was more to this than the death of one man. They likely wanted to make an example of him, if such a story of his survival was circulating freely. Like the bygone hero of Scotland, William Wallace, the English despised a rebel who would not stay dead.

  “Have our people heard this tale about me, too?” Camdyn licked his dry lips, his heart shuddering with fear for Victoria. He did not care about himself. He knew how to slip away from the enemy. Even if he could not, he would make his death count. But her? It would be as good as throwing her to the wolves, if the redcoats found him at her house. She might have been a fierce woman, but they would make an example of her, too.

  Murdock nodded. “Aye. They dinnae know it’s ye, ye ken, but there’s a rumblin’ of hope that the cause is nae totally done with.”

  “Bonnie Prince Charlie is nae dead, then?” Camdyn realized he did not know what had happened to the man they wanted to crown, after the battle on Culloden Moor.

  “Nay lad, he got away, same as ye.” Murdock did not look too pleased by the admission. “The redcoats are itchin’ to get their hands on him, but nay-one knows where he is. Disappeared, same as ye. I reckon that’s why they’ve all gone addlepated about ye, ‘cause they’re smellin’ a new rebellion on the wind.”

  Camdyn ran a hand through his hair. “Do they think I’m still near Inverness?”

  “Couldn’ae say, lad, but they’ve got scouts crawlin’ all over the place,” Murdock replied solemnly, though his eyes widened a moment later. “Och, that’s it! That’s the bit I couldn’ae remember!”

  “What?” Camdyn pressed.

  “That’s why I dinnae think it could be ye, ye ken?” Murdock picked flour from underneath his fingernails as he spoke. “This lad who saw ye skewer the Duke’s son, he said he thought ye were Charlie’s right-hand man. Aye, that’s why they’re so keen to find ye. Och, this heed of mine is like a leakin’ roof. Last I heard, they’re callin’ ye the Devil of Culloden Moor.”

  Camdyn flinched. “And what are our people callin’ me?”

  “Charlie’s Last Hope.”

  Camdyn bit the meat on the inside of his cheek. “So, me friends and me enemies are doomin’ me to a fate I dinnae want? If the redcoats think I’m goin’ to spark a new rebellion, they’ll hang, draw, and quarter me on a public stage. If the Scots think I’m goin’ to do the same, they’ll pull me behind their horses when they find out the fight’s gone out of me and I’ve never spoken to Bonnie Prince Charlie in me life!”

  “I wish I had better news for ye,” Murdock said sadly. “Although, ye’ve got one thing goin’ for ye.”

  Victoria…

  Camdyn kept her precious name to himself. A secret was no longer a secret once outsiders knew about it, and he would not risk a single drip of knowledge about her leaking out of this bakery.

  “Aye, what’s that?” he replied instead.

  Murdock grinned. “If most folks are like me, they’ll think ye’re dead. They will nae know it’s ye, so they will nae be able to point the redcoats in the right direction.”

  It provided little consolation.

  “I just need to grab me things, then I’ll be away again.” Camdyn swallowed the nerves in his voice. “I know I dinnae need to say it, but ye should nae breathe a word of me bein’ here.”

  Murdock scoffed. “What do ye take me for? Ye’re family to me, Camdyn. I’d have ‘em string me up before I said aught about seein’ ye.”

  “Well, dinnae let that happen, neither,” Camdyn warned.

  Murdock smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “Aye, I’ll do me best.”

  With that, Camdyn vaulted over the counter and headed through a back door. He traipsed up a narrow, rickety set of stairs and walked along an equally unsteady landing, before reaching his old lodgings.

  As he pushed open the door, he expected to feel a wave of nostalgia, but all he felt was a bubbling urgency to collect his meagre belongings and get the hell out of there before he caused anyone any more trouble.

  Soon after, he had his worldly possessions bundled inside one of his spare shirts, the top gathered up and tied around a wooden pole he had once used to practice his sword-fighting. Slinging it over one shoulder, he returned to the bakery, where Murdock awaited him.

  “Take care of yerself, lad,” he said, pulling Camdyn in for another bear hug.

  Camdyn patted his old friend on the back and tried not to wince at the crushing embrace. “And ye, Murdock. Dinnae go buryin’ another loaf for me, eh? If I can get out of this alive, I will, and I’ll send ye word if I’m able.”

  “Ye’d best, lad.” Murdock released him, and a few moments later, he was back out in the hubbub of Inverness, no longer grateful for the fresh air in his lungs. He wanted to be back in his enclosed bubble with Victoria, for as long as possible, before the redcoats made it impossible for him to stay.

  Chapter 15

  Loud voices pierced the still air like firelock shots. At first, Victoria did not know if they were real. Since the sickness claimed her, her feverish mind had been full of peculiar dreams. Some pleasant, back in the fabricated lakeshore cabin. Some less palatable, upon the body-scattered field of Culloden Moor, where she watched crows peck at her dear Camdyn.

  She awoke in a slow daze, her mouth dry, to an empty bedchamber.

  How long have I been asleep?

  She glanced toward the window, where the sun had turned a vibrant, dying bronze, heralding the arrival of evening. Being springtime, she knew it could be any time between half-past five and seven o’clock. A moment later, her attention snapped to the bedchamber door, where those angry voices had started up again.

  Who is shouting? I do hope Genevieve is not giving the staff another dressing down for neglecting to cool the soup before bringing it to me.

  “You’re not to go in and disturb M’Lady. I won’t tell you again, but I will stand in front of this door until you retreat,” Genevieve barked. “There’s nothing so urgent that it can’t wait until tomorrow. Let her rest or, so help me, I will pour this tureen over your head.”

  “It is urgent, Genevieve, and it cannae wait,” Camdyn’s voice hissed back. “Would ye step aside, woman? Ye had nay qualms about me sittin’ at her bedside all day. Why should ye have a problem now, eh?”

  “Because she is finally sleeping peacefully, and the fever has broken,” Genevieve shot back. “If you go in there and wake her up, you will undo all of that good. And look at your eyes, man! You look as though you have seen a ghost. You will frighten her half to death.”

  Camdyn grunted. “There’s naught wrong with me eyes. Just let me in there, so I can speak with her in private.”

  “Out of the question!” Genevieve roared, as though he had asked to watch Victoria dress or something.

  Sensing she was the only one who would be able to negotiate peace between the two people she adored the most, Victoria pushed back the down quilt and the endless layers of blankets and scrambled to t
he end of the bed. On shaky legs, she got to her feet and shuffled over to the door, where Genevieve and Camdyn were going over the same argumentative ground.

  With a heavy breath, Victoria opened the door. “You may cease,” she said. “I have already been disturbed.”

  Genevieve stood directly in front of Victoria, with her back to the younger woman, while Camdyn leaned up against the opposite wall in a stance of frustration. It highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, his strong brow furrowed. Genevieve whirled around at the sound of her mistress’s voice, as Camdyn’s warm, worried eyes met Victoria’s and his stiff demeanor loosened.

  “You’re not supposed to be out of bed!” Genevieve cried, casting a scowl back at Camdyn. “You see, this is why I told you to leave her be until tomorrow. You have awoken her!”

  Camdyn snorted. “I think it was yer caterwaulin’ that woke her.” He pushed himself away from the wall and moved toward Victoria, though Genevieve maintained her blockade between them.

  Victoria rested a hand on her companion’s shoulder. “Genevieve, it is quite all right. If there is something urgent that Mr. McKay wishes to tell me, then I would hear it. If he has asked for privacy, then I see no reason to forbid it.” She paused, feeling slightly guilty for what she was about to say. “You may go downstairs and await me in the drawing room. I would not mind a glass of warm milk with some brandy in it, to aid in my convalescence.”

  “My Lady,” Genevieve gaped in abject horror, “it isn’t proper for you to be alone with a man, under any circumstances!”

  Victoria smiled. “When I was not yet wed, that would have been true. However, I was a married woman, and I am now a widow. I may have an innocent meeting with a man who has something to tell me if I choose to.” She sounded more confident than she felt. “Besides, it is not proper for me to behave as a physician, but I do.”

  “I don’t like this, My Lady. I don’t like it one bit,” Genevieve grumbled.

  You might not, but I must know what Camdyn wants to tell me.

  Victoria could not look at Camdyn, lest it gave away the reason behind this sudden urgency to have an audience with her. She knew there could be only one of two reasons why he wanted to speak to her while she was still recovering—he desired to confess the intensity of his feelings for her, now that their romance had progressed, or he wished to tell her that he no longer wanted it to continue. Both scared her.

  “Genevieve, please.” Victoria softened her tone. “Go downstairs and have that brandy and milk prepared, and I will come to you as soon as our discussion has ended. I would never want to give you an order, Genevieve, so I will simply request this of you.”

  The older woman’s nose turned up. “Fifteen minutes, and I will return with your milk and brandy, M’Lady.” She huffed at Camdyn. “And you can forget playing a game of cards with me this evening. It’ll take me at least a week to forgive you for this.”

  “He only wants to talk to me, Genevieve.” Victoria patted her friend on the arm.

  “I’m sure that’s true, but he’s got no concern for how it makes you look, M’Lady. I’ve had to scold the staff more times than I can count for whispering about Mr. McKay spending all day at your bedside and sitting in your study with you while you’re seeing to patients.” Genevieve shook her head. “It is beginning to draw attention.”

  Victoria frowned. “But they will not say anything to anyone, will they? They are loyal to this household.”

  Are they not?

  She had handpicked every single member of staff since her husband died, replacing the old roster with people she knew she could rely on to keep the secret of the healing she did in this house. Not a hint of her physic antics had reached anyone who might punish her for it, and no one had breathed a word of the Jacobite hiding in plain sight. If that was not proof that had pledged their fealty to her, she did not know what was.

  “No, I don’t imagine that they will, but that’s beside the point. The more secrets you have, the harder they become to keep,” Genevieve warned, with a glint of something like suspicion in her eyes. “And at this moment in time, healing a few sick people would get you nothing more than a slap on the wrist. But harboring a Jacobite… Well, I worry that you are taking too many risks.”

  Victoria’s expression hardened. “I know what I am doing, Genevieve. And I would rather harbor one hundred Jacobites under this roof than see them punished or executed for having different hopes and beliefs. I thought you felt the same.”

  “I do!” Genevieve protested, with a deep sigh. “But you must understand, M’Lady, that you are my priority. I worry for you. I will always worry for you, especially when you put your own neck on the chopping block for others.”

  Camdyn stepped in. “I’d never let aught happen to her, Genevieve. I’d… leave this house afore it came to that, and I’d swear blind to anyone that tried to accuse Victoria of bein’ a sympathizer, that I held her to sword-point, forcin’ her to harbor me here.”

  What? No… I would not allow you to do that.

  For the sake of not beginning another argument in the hallway, that the staff would be able to overhear, she kept that thought to herself. However, she knew that, if soldiers ever came to her door and discovered what she had done by helping Camdyn, she would not shy away from her part in it. She would not put her life above his, not when his survival meant so very much to her.

  Genevieve seemed to relax. “You would?”

  “Aye, I promise ye,” Camdyn replied. “Dinnae forget, Genevieve, I worry about her, too.”

  Genevieve harrumphed. “I hope I can trust your word, Mr. McKay.” She peered up at Victoria. “Well then, I’ll leave you to your fifteen minutes, but I’ll be up again, on the second, with your warm milk as soon as they’re done.”

  “I look forward to it,” Victoria said calmly, already anxious about what Camdyn was going to say. He looked his usual, breathtakingly handsome self, but there were more runnels in his forehead and around his eyes, as though he were straining under the weight of something that bore down on his mind. And his pillowy, kissable mouth was set in a pensive line, his teeth grazing his lower lip every so often, like he was mulling something over.

  I wish I could kiss your concerns away, Camdyn. Perhaps I shall, once Genevieve has gone…

  She resisted the urge to smile at him, though he had not taken his eyes off her since she had emerged from her bedchamber. Instead, she gave a slight head tilt, akin to a nod, and gestured for him to enter the room. Her breath hitched as he moved past her, his firm thigh brushing against her hip as he slipped by, deliberately too close. At least, she hoped it was deliberate.

  “Those two will be the death of me, you mark my words. I feel as if I’ve aged fifty years since he dropped like a sack of potatoes at our gate,” she heard Genevieve mutter, as the older woman stalked away, evidently irked by her defeat.

  I apologize, Genevieve. I know this has not been easy for you, but… I will not let him go, now that I have him, and he has me.

  There were far greater things than soldiers and authorities to worry about in this world, and one of them was a life without love. That had been Victoria’s fate, but it was not now.

  However, as she stepped back into her bedchamber, fully expecting to find Camdyn waiting nearby to sweep her into his arms, she found that, instead, he stood on the opposite side of the room, right by the window. He had his back to her, his shoulders taut, his neck bowed, his arms behind him, as though he were standing at a graveside.

  Have you come to tell me that it is your affection for me that has died?

  Steeling herself, she forced her sickness-weakened legs to walk toward him. She had just passed the last post of her bed, when he spoke in a firm, sad voice.

  “Ye should sit down, lass.”

  “Why?” she replied thickly.

  He turned over his shoulder. “Because ye’re nae well, and I dinnae want ye keelin’ over.”

  She gripped the bedpost for purchase and leaned against it. “J
ust say whatever it is you have to say, and I shall worry about the state of my balance.” She heard the fear in her voice, and saw his face flinch for a second, letting her know that he had also heard it. “You have decided you no longer desire me, haven’t you?”

  His expression transformed into one of outrage. “What? Nay, lass, that is nae it! Did ye think I’d be so eager to get in here, just to break yer heart? If I wanted to leave ye, I’d write some pretty-worded letter and slide it under yer door and be away afore ye knew I’d gone. Cowardly, aye, but best for everyone in the long run.” He turned around properly. “But that is nae what I’ve got to say, lass. I’m still mad about ye. Crazed, in fact. I cannae think of aught but ye.”

  “Oh…” Victoria bowed her head, flushing with pleasure at his reassuring words. Her joy did not last, however, for if his feelings for her had not changed, then why did he look so anguished?