The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  “I have always loved you, lass,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

  Her heart almost broke then.

  Her hands pulled him to her and neither for his sake or her own could she deny the deep aching need to be with him, to feel his heart next to hers, to have him join with her, regardless of the consequences.

  His arms went around hers and he held her tight, resting his head against hers. “This is so unwise,” he said in a broken voice.

  “I do not care,” she whispered. “We will worry about tomorrow later, and I want tonight.”

  “What is left of it,” he said wryly, but there was a rough emotion to his voice. His lips caught hers again, and her mouth opened. Swirling eddies of desire enveloped them both, tumbling them along in a flood that eclipsed everyone and everything except each other.

  A whisper in the back of her mind warned her. But it was as a willow in the wind, unsubstantial compared to the power of her feelings, to the need that battered her very soul. It was not physical need as much as the need to bring a smile to his face, to light those eyes that were so filled with anguish.

  She felt the tension in his body, the barely restrained passion in his hands, which moved seductively now at the small of her back. Their touch sent sensations shooting through her.

  Janet leaned back in his arms, seeking a respite from the emotions battering her, emotions that overruled every sensible part of her. More … intimacy was only going to make it more difficult to lose him, and she knew she would lose him. He had made that clear.

  He pushed a curl back from her face. “I will not leave my seed in you, Janet.”

  She did not care. Whatever will she had, he destroyed with a touch. Her heart thudded so hard she thought he must hear it. She felt his need and any doubts dissolved into immense longing.

  His mouth melded to her and her hands tightened on the linen shirt that molded to his body as he leaned toward her. Then her thoughts faded as his kiss deepened, his tongue roaming and stroking and seducing as shudder after shudder flooded her body.

  His hands lifted her shift over her body then caressed her breasts, which she felt swell and tingle and ache. It was a courting of her body, and it responded in magical ways she never knew possible. Her husband had taken his rights. He had never prepared her, nor caressed her, nor touched her with any love.

  She had never known that a man could make her body sing. Every touch was like a bow across the strings of a fiddle. It hummed and responded to his slightest touch, each stroke of his fingers leading toward a crescendo.

  Her fingers unlaced his breeches. He gave her a small smile and he leaned down, pulling off his boots, then shrugged off his breeches. She saw the still raw ugly scar from the bullet wound, and her fingers ran over it. His body shivered slightly as she did so and she drew them back.

  “Nay, lass. It is not pain that made me react.” He caught her fingers and brought them to his mouth, nibbling lightly on them. Then he released them and his fingers went to her face, then her hair. “I … dreamed of this,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  She leaned against him, feeling the strength beneath the shirt, the hard muscles of his chest. She could even hear the beating of his heart. She had never felt as close to another human being, had never known that this kind of intimacy existed, had never realized the splendor of it.

  His hands guided her down on the bed, then stroked her until she felt as if she would explode with need. She looked up at him, and the same tumultuous excitement glittered in his eyes. His mouth moved to her breasts, first one, then the other, his tongue teasing and leaving hot wakes in its path. Then his fingers moved to the most intimate part of her, caressing, arousing until her body was alive with sizzling fires.

  He moved next to her. He angled himself above her and she felt his manhood reach out to her, pulsing with need. Her body trembled with expectation, with wanting, and the core of her was a pool of warmth.

  When at last he entered her, he did so with a slow magic. He moved deliberately, teasing every sense, going deeper until the sensations became so thunderous, so fiery, so full of splendor that nothing mattered except this one moment in time. And then the universe exploded; pieces of stars floated down to earth.…

  He left her then, quickly, pulling away and spilling his seed on a blanket. He then stood and went to the window, keeping his eyes averted, but she saw his clenched fists. Dear God, she wanted to go to him. He looked so alone, standing there. And she felt alone now that he had left her.

  His self-control told her he would not change his mind.

  He turned around. His face was granite again. He came over to her and sat down, taking her hand. The muscle in his cheek rippled.

  “I do not care about your mother,” she said.

  “I do,” he said. “I knew what it was like as a child. I would not subject your son to that.”

  “You do not know anything for sure,” she argued.

  “I know enough, lass.”

  Her heart screamed at the hopelessness in his eyes, the gathering sense of loss in herself.

  He brushed away a curl from her face, just as he had done earlier, but now there was a resignation about him.

  “I had best go and let you get some sleep.”

  “Stay with me tonight,” she pleaded. She did not care about pride now, about regrets. She only wanted the warmth of him next to her for a few hours. He would leave tomorrow to do something very dangerous on her behalf and that of her brother. She could not let him leave like this.

  His lips turned into a half smile. “I am not sure I can keep away from you.”

  “I hope not.”

  “You are a wanton lass,” he said as his fingers tightened around hers.

  “Aye.”

  His gaze met hers. Then he nodded.

  He went to the candle and blew it out, then lowered himself into the bed beside her. She moved into his arms and he held her there.

  Neither moved the rest of the night.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Neil rode hard the next day. He did so because he had much to do. He also hurried because he needed to throw the devil off his back. Neil imagined he sat there, leering at him.

  Janet was on her way back to Braemoor, accompanied by two men he’d hired and a fat palomino pony he’d found the morning before they had left Edinburgh.

  He had taken great care in selecting the bodyguards. Both were Scotsmen who had come highly recommended by the innkeeper. He had then checked on them through other sources, and made sure they would receive no money until they arrived safely at Braemoor.

  He had not wanted to do it, but he’d had no choice. If he had taken Janet back, he would have lost at least four days. From what his informant told him, there would be a delivery of French goods on the coast this week. He had to be there.

  And he could not take Janet with him. She had bairns that needed her far more than he, or Alex, did. It had nearly shattered what composure he had left to let her go alone. He had seen the look in her eyes, the knowledge that last night would be the only one they would have. She had stretched up and kissed him, slowly and wistfully and lovingly.

  It was a memory he would always have. He carried it with him now.

  He dug his heels into his mount.

  He knew he had a day of hard riding to reach Alex’s mountain lair and explain what was needed from him. Then two days to the coast. Finally, three more days to ride back to Braemoor. He could only hope that Cumberland would delay any action on Janet until then. He was almost convinced that the small seeds he’d planted might make him hesitate.

  If only Alex could accomplish his part.

  He stopped only long enough to rest and water his mount, then traveled on, only too aware of his weariness. He’d had little sleep in the past few days and nearly none at all last night. And he had dropped enough information to Cumberland that the duke might well have sent out patrols. Neil knew he had to skirt roads and be cautious.

  As he climbe
d up into the Highlands, he felt more alive than at any other time in his life. The grass was greener, the sun brighter, the air fresher. If he could not have Janet, at least she had given him something he had never had before. He had known love.

  He had wanted to improve his properties, and the lot of people on those properties, but there had been a distance between them and him. He had eyed it as an intellectual problem. It was part of the wall he had built around himself.

  But since he’d been with Janet, watched her gentle ways with her children and with servants, and watched them bloom under that care, he knew he would never see people as an intellectual problem again.

  He slept briefly when clouds cloaked the moon and he could no longer ride safely. But it was a restless sleep, plagued by images, by the many things he must do, and do right unless lives were to be lost. It was a burden he had not wanted, and yet …

  He was riding again at daybreak, and reached Alex’s lair by noon. He whistled as he drew near, then waited. He whistled again, and in minutes he heard an answer. He dismounted and led his weary mount.

  Alex and one of the young lads met him.

  “Braemoor?” Alex acknowledged.

  “I have some news,” Neil said.

  Alex turned to the boy, a gangly youth of approximately thirteen years. “Go inside and tell the others it is a friend.”

  Friend. The word sounded very good to Neil. Now that he thought about it, he had never had one. That was a sad admission for anyone.

  When the lad disappeared through the trees, Alex turned to him, questions in his eyes.

  Neil did not know how to be indirect or to soften the blow. “The Campbell family has gone to Cumberland with accusations that Janet murdered her husband. His Grace did not say whether he believed them or not but I suspect he is under pressure by the Campbell family.” He paused, then added, “Reginald is from one of the lesser branches of the family, but he can still call on them.”

  Alex’s lips tightened in a grim line. “I will kill Campbell.”

  “That would not help Janet. It would only convince Cumberland that Reginald was right.”

  Fury clouded Alex’s eyes.

  “There is something you can do.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow in question.

  “You can become the Black Knave.”

  “You said he was dead.”

  “I want to resurrect him.”

  “Why?”

  “I told Cumberland I was wounded by the Black Knave, that I was sure that there was a connection to Reginald. He will have patrols east of here. I told him that was where I was attacked.”

  “Go on,” Alex said, an edge in his voice.

  “The Black Knave must strike near Lochaene. He must steal. He must leave cards. He must somehow drop Reginald’s name.”

  “I do not look anything like Reginald.”

  “It doesna matter. The Black Knave takes many different forms. There have been so many differing descriptions, I am sure Cumberland believes he has associates. The goal is to throw so much suspicion on Reginald that any charges he might make would never be considered.”

  “He’s a Campbell. No one would suspect him of being the Knave.”

  Neil hesitated. This was not his secret to tell. Rory had staged his own death to protect Braemoor. But Neil expected Alex to trust him, so he would have to trust Alex in return. He’d never done that before. Just as he’d never had a friend. The knowledge felt like a damnation.

  “Neither did anyone suspect Forbes of being the Knave,” Neil said.

  Alex’s brows arched upward. “You said …”

  “I did not lie. I said I was not the Knave. My cousin was.”

  Alex’s brows knitted together. “I heard of him, even met him once. He was a fool.”

  “Was he?” Neil asked. “I thought so, too. I had nothing but contempt for him. I thought he had run from Culloden because he was a coward. He turned out to be the bravest man I’ve ever known.”

  Alex’s gaze locked on his. “Where is he now?”

  “Safe somewhere. I do not know where. I only know he went to great effort to make everyone believe he was killed by the Knave. He wanted to protect the people at Braemoor.” He hesitated, then added, “You are the only man in Scotland other than myself who now knows.”

  Alex nodded his understanding.

  “I also know a French ship is smuggling brandy to the coast. It should be there this week. I plan to meet the captain and try to make arrangements for your passage. You will have only three or four weeks to bring the Knave back to life.”

  Alex shook his head. “You do not waste time.”

  “I never saw a reason to do so,” Neil said. “Every moment you stay in Scotland you are a threat to Janet.”

  “Why do you care so much?” Alex asked.

  Neil drew in a deep breath. “I … admire her.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That is all there ever can be,” he said with as much finality as he could put into his voice.

  Alex studied him for a long moment.

  “There is something else,” Neil said. “Janet knows you are alive.”

  Dark blue eyes so like Janet’s glared at him. “You gave me your promise.”

  Neil nodded. “Aye, I did. And I meant to keep it. But I told her I knew someone who needed to flee Scotland and might be able to imitate the Knave. She asked your name. I could not lie about something that important to her.” He hesitated, then continued. “She has children. She would do nothing to endanger them, not even to see you. But she told me to tell you she loves you. You canna know the joy the news gave her.”

  Alex’s hard face softened. “I have missed her. It was hell realizing she did not know. But I truly thought it better for her not to know until I escaped Scotland.”

  Neil did not reply. Alex had not seen his sister in several years, had not seen his sister since she’d become a mother. She had a mother lion’s protectiveness of her children.

  “I am going to do my best to see that you meet before you leave,” he said.

  Alex’s lips bent into a half smile. Because of the scar it would always be a half smile. “I knew there was a reason I did not let Burke kill you. I had this strange feeling that I should not. If I was Irish, I would say it was the faeries.”

  “Then you will be the Knave?”

  “With pleasure, my lord.”

  “Where is Burke?”

  “Getting supplies, thanks to you.”

  “I asked you before whether or no’ you could trust him.”

  “Aye, and my answer is the same. But I will not tell him about your cousin.”

  “Send him to Braemoor. There are some items there that you might be able to use. Janet can show him where they are. And you might well use a mask.”

  “I would like to go myself.”

  “’Tis too dangerous for both of you,” Neil replied. “If you were caught anywhere around Braemoor she would be the one to pay. And the children. Reginald would most certainly have her tried.”

  A visible shudder ran through Alex’s body. “That bastard.”

  “He will pay,” Neil said. “In a way he will not expect.”

  Alex stared at him for a moment. “You fought at Culloden?”

  “Aye. With Cumberland,” Neil said evenly.

  “And you saw the error of your ways?”

  “I ran into the Leslies,” Neil said simply.

  Alex held out his hand. “I thank you for everything you are doing.”

  Neil extended his hand while discomfort roiled around inside him. He did not want thanks. He did not even want to be here. He was a fraud. One that was stumbling around with little idea of whether anything was going to succeed. He might well be readying the hangman’s noose for them all.

  But Alex’s grip was strong and he found himself returning it, their eyes meeting.

  Neil released it. “Do you have some food for both myself and the horse? And I need a few hours’ sleep. Then I am bound for t
he coast.”

  “Aye,” Alex said and led Neil inside the cave. It was dark and damp, but a small smoky fire burned toward the back. Although Neil had been in the cave briefly on his last visit, the children had melted into its back recesses, and he had really seen very little of them. Now they seemed assured that he was, indeed, a friend.

  Still, too-large eyes in too-small faces regarded him warily. Only God knew what had happened to them in the year since Culloden. He remembered the young lass who had washed his face on his first visit here. And the oldest lad. He must be the one wanted by Cumberland. The others ranged in age from eight to about thirteen.

  He was given a bowl of oatmeal, several hard biscuits and a cup of bad ale.

  “We have no meat,” Alex said.

  “I do not need it,” Neil said.

  The wee lass who had tried so solemnly to nurse him weeks ago came over to him. “Alex said you were going to help us.” Her lips quivered.

  “I hope so,” he said. “What is your name, lass?”

  “Sophie McSparren,” she said.

  He wanted to ask what had happened to her family, but that was not a question one asked these days. Not of a child.

  The child sat next to him but she said nothing else. She just watched him as if judging. He wanted to reach out and hug her. He had no right. He might well have killed her father. Damn it all to hell.

  He finished as quickly as he could. Alex showed him a corner in the back where he could sleep, and he led the girl away. Neil watched the outlaw get down on one knee and talk to her. There was a gentleness in the gesture. Gentleness in a man who had cold-bloodedly intended to kill him.

  Neil closed his eyes. Damn, but he was tired, and he had a long ride ahead of him tonight.

  With mixed emotions, Janet approached Braemoor. The escorts Neil had hired in Edinburgh had been respectful and polite. She had stopped at the same inn where she and Neil had stayed a few day earlier. She kept remembering the companionship of that ride, even at the pace Neil had set.

  She missed him with every step her mount took. She missed stealing glances at him. She missed his hands, which reached out to catch her as she dismounted. And his face, as he had told her about his mother, haunted her.