Beloved Warrior

by Patricia Potter

“Lachlan decided to ride to Glasgow, to make sure the ship arrives here as quickly as possible.”

  “How far?”

  “The way Lachlan rides, two days,” Felicia replied.

  “Which way is it?”

  The two wives exchanged glances.

  “West.”

  “You are surrounded by water?”

  Again an exchange of glances as if they weighed what to say.

  But then Felicia pointed out at the water. The Sofia was just ahead.

  Juliana saw a tall man in plaid jump from the fishing boat as it approached the shore and help pull it up. She felt a sudden warmth pooling inside.

  Part of her wanted to kick her heels in the side of her mare and run. She knew it would be useless. Duchess had a fine gait, but Juliana knew it was nothing compared to the other horses with them. By purpose.

  Instead, she waited for the Maclean’s reaction to seeing her there.

  IT neared late afternoon of the second day before the last barrel of wine was lowered to a fishing boat and rowed to shore. The crew grew surly, uncertain whether Patrick would indeed pay them for the cargo. He had resisted doing it until the entire contents had been unloaded for fear that once the gold was in hand, some might try to sail off.

  But now it was time. He had left a few barrels of wine on board. Once the crew was paid, they would break out the barrels in celebration. Then when the oarsmen were happy, the Macleans would take them ashore and scuttle the ship. Rory had said the great hall had already been prepared with fresh rushes for the oarsmen until the Maclean ship arrived from Glasgow.

  A very dangerous week.

  He watched as the last barrel left the ship.

  MacDonald appeared at his side. “We are done.”

  “I am in your debt,” Patrick said. “I know you wanted to go home three days ago.”

  “Aye. I have a wife who does not know I still live. But I know not what I’ll find there, and the gold may help.”

  “If you ever need anything, I hope you will turn to me.”

  “You say you are in my debt, but I would still be chained on that bench if ye did not start the revolt. So I make the same offer to ye. If ye ever need my assistance . . .”

  Patrick nodded.

  “I will stay until you return, then I would be grateful for a fast mount.”

  “You will have it. I would have you meet my brothers first, though, and have supper. You can leave at first light.”

  MacDonald hesitated, then nodded his assent. “How much will each man’s share be?”

  “I thought seventy pounds each. That would be a total of nearly seven thousand pounds. Rory says we have that sum on hand.”

  “It is generous. Most of these men have never held more than a pound in their hands.”

  “I worry about that. I do not want them gambling or killing each other.”

  “I will tell them what they will receive,” MacDonald said, “but ye should wait to distribute it until your ship takes them to Morocco.”

  “I will give them several pounds immediately, with a promise of the rest,” Patrick replied. He did not want any taking it into their minds to head toward Edinburgh. He needed them all out of Scotland.

  “I will see this last load to Inverleith,” Patrick said, “and bring back some funds.”

  He went over the railing and quickly climbed down the rope, dropping into the fishing boat.

  Once the boat was ashore, he jumped out. Eight Macleans approached to unload the last of the cargo while one remained with the horses. Patrick lifted a barrel and carried it to the wagon, relishing an effort that would bring him closer to ending this ordeal.

  He wiped sweat from his face and looked up. Five riders approached.

  One was Rory. Another was young Audra. The other three were women, including—bloody hell!—the graceful figure that had haunted him far too frequently, the one he had tried to avoid these past three days by staying aboard.

  And, God help him, she looked more enchanting than he remembered.

  THE Scot looked startled when he saw her. That was one consolation. She suspected he wasn’t usually surprised.

  He came over to her, his gaze lingering on her face.

  “You are being treated well?”

  “Si, except that I cannot go where I wish to go.”

  He turned his cool stare toward his brother. “I did not say she could leave Inverleith.”

  “We have not left Inverleith,” Felicia replied tartly.

  He wanted to say something else. Juliana knew it from the look on his face, but he shrugged. “I will ride back with you.”

  Then he turned to Audra. His eyes seemed to soften. For a moment he looked almost paternal. “Audra,” he acknowledged, then glanced up at Kimbra. “She has the look of you,” Patrick said and bowed slightly. “Miss Audra, you ride very well.”

  “Thank you,” Audra said solemnly as she looked from Rory to Patrick and back again. “I am pleased you returned,” she said in that solemn voice that charmed Juliana.

  Patrick actually smiled. “I am pleased as well, lass.” Then he turned an admiring eye toward Kimbra’s mount. “He is a fine horse. I saw him in the stables and asked to take him but was told he belonged to you.”

  Kimbra’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes grew anxious.

  “Do not worry,” Patrick Maclean said softly. “I usually do not take what is not mine.”

  Then his eyes returned to Juliana, and she nearly melted under his gaze. She tried to compare this man who spoke so gently to a child and reassuringly to a woman he barely knew with the nearly naked man covered with blood. He was all warrior then. Now . . .

  But when his eyes met hers, she saw the curtain drop over them once again. His gaze dropped to the awkward way she held the reins. “You do not ride often?”

  “Nay,” she said, but something warned her that he suspected her pretense.

  He turned suddenly to his brother. “Where is the Spaniard?” he asked.

  “Prowling through Lachlan’s books.”

  “Does anyone watch him?”

  “Aye. And the gates are locked. He will not be leaving without permission.”

  Patrick nodded. “We have some business to transact now that you have seen all the goods.”

  “There will be no problem selling them,” Rory said. “Not in Morocco, but on the English border.”

  Patrick raised an eyebrow.

  “We have reliable buyers there,” Rory said.

  “Scots?”

  “And English,” Rory replied.

  “You have become more adventurous since I left.”

  “We needed the money. Fa stopped caring about anything but his wine, and our people were being raided weekly by Campbells. More and more were leaving.’Twas the trading that saved us.”

  Patrick nodded. “I will require some money for the crew, then bring them back to Inverleith until the ship sails. I want some Macleans inside as well.”

  “You think there might be problems?”

  “Nay, but many have not been home for years or do not have a home to go to. They’ve never had five pounds in their pockets, and they’ve gone through hell. I think sprinkling a few pieces of gold will assure their faith in me.”

  Rory nodded.

  “I need a horse.”

  “Ride with Miss Mendoza,” Rory said. “She is light enough that it won’t overburden the mare.”

  Juliana saw the reluctance in Patrick’s eyes. And why not? She was still the niece of the man who had caused him such misery. But before she could back away, Patrick Maclean nodded. “Move up in the saddle,” he ordered.

  That was the last thing she wanted to do. She already had far too strong a reaction to him. Before she could protest, he swung up behind her, settling in the saddle and taking the reins from her hands.

  So much for trying to run away. She tried to think of escape as her body slid against his. She felt his warmth, the muscles carved into his body, the strong thighs touching hers.
>
  She found herself leaning against him, her body heating at the abrasion of two bodies pressed against each other.

  Her body also instinctively moved with the horse, and her fingers wrapped around the animal’s mane as he urged the mare into a faster pace. Then they were racing along the crest of the cliff.

  She thought she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. She felt his exhilaration in the movement of his arms and felt some of her own. She had raced her own horse on the beaches at home, but there was something about the cold, foaming sea below and the wind that whipped her hair. She heard laughter, only to realize it was her own.

  For a moment, there were only the two of them and the mare, and they were racing against the wind and the demons—both her own and his.

  The gates of Inverleith opened as they raced forward and he did not slow until they reached the courtyard. She found herself leaning back against him, relishing the strength she felt there.

  Then he dismounted, and lifted her down.

  “You are a good rider, senorita.”

  All the excitement suddenly faded.

  He’d known she was a fraud. He had made her show it by riding with her. Without words, without accusation, he had exposed her ruse.

  He hadn’t felt the same sensations, the few moments of what had seemed perfect unity.

  She was furious with him and furious with herself. More importantly she was tired of being a pawn, first of her father, now of Patrick Maclean.

  Juliana took control the only way she could manage. She hit him as hard as she could.

  Chapter 18

  HE’D been struck many times in the past few years, and he’d sworn that no one would ever touch him again.

  But then he’d never thought that person would be a woman.

  It had been no womanly slap, but a full fledged blow to his chest, and so unexpected that it stunned him.

  She looked as surprised as he felt.

  He forced himself to look up at the other riders who’d reached them. His brother could scarcely control a smile. Felicia had a grin on her face. An evil one, he thought.

  God’s blood but he was still reeling from the unwise ride to Inverleith. For a moment, he had forgotten everything but the pleasure of a woman’s body against his. He remembered how clumsy Juliana had looked when she’d approached the ship on horseback, but the moment the horse quickened his pace, he knew she was a natural rider and far more experienced than she wanted anyone to know.

  He admired the spirit, the fact that she didn’t surrender. He was also appalled at his own behavior, that he had given in to that momentary need to race the short distance from the natural harbor to the point Inverleith dominated. That he had reveled in the sensation of her body against his. The self-disgust had caused him to step back quickly. Physically. Mentally.

  He was only too aware that everyone in the courtyard still looked on, each trying to guess his next action. It would, he knew, dictate the future, whether he could take his place as laird.

  If he even wanted it.

  “Well delivered, lass,” he said. Then he added in a tone laced with humor, “There are a few better places if you wish to do damage.”

  The tense moment dissolved into laughter.

  Her face flushed, but her voice was controlled as she replied readily, “Gracias. I will remember that.”

  “I fear that you might,” he returned.

  Obviously trying to keep her dignity intact, she walked to the doors of the keep, Kimbra following her. Kimbra glared at Patrick, then went after her.

  Rory dismounted and the two men headed toward the small alcove that served as an office.

  Once there, they sat. “You have seen the cargo now,” Patrick said. “You agree then seventy pounds per man is fair?”

  “Aye, but I am thinking you are missing the greatest treasure in that cargo,” Rory said.

  Patrick understood only too well. “Now I know there are reasons other than the bloody curse to avoid marriage.”

  “There are recompenses,” Rory retorted, the gleam in his eyes making his meaning clear.

  “We have business,” Patrick replied shortly, cutting off any more talk of women and their frustrating ways.

  Rory sighed. “The sum I suggested earlier is reasonable, and one we can afford. We have been hoarding gold to purchase another ship. We paid some as ransom for Lachlan but most has been replaced.”

  “And that new ship you planned to purchase?”

  “Once we sell the cargo, we will have enough to purchase it. Just a delay for mayhap a year.”

  Patrick paced the office. He did not care for the fact that his brothers were not only risking money for him, but also their lives. He had not truly expected it. He had, in truth, thought to find resentment and obstacles. He still looked for both.

  Betrayal could still happen. He’d had no say in Lachlan’s journey to Glasgow. His brother had simply left, and Patrick had only Rory’s word that he went to expedite the arrival of a ship. What if there had been another purpose?

  “I want to take part of it and distribute it to the men before bringing them here. I want them to see it exists. They grow restless.”

  “I thought as much.” Rory went to a closet built into the wall and unlocked it, then took out an iron box. He set it down on the table. A second key unlocked it, and Patrick saw piles of gold coins. Rory counted out a number and placed them in a leather pouch.

  Then, unexpectedly, he handed the key to Patrick. “By rights, it should be yours.”

  Patrick felt as if he had been hit again. For years, he had simply dreamt of freedom and secondly, of leading his clan back to glory. Of paying back the Campbells in blood for years of pain. Of exacting a price from his brothers for not paying a ransom and sentencing him to what should have been death.

  Now he was being offered everything he thought he wanted, and he was no longer sure it was what he wanted. Despite his brothers’ welcome,’twas obvious he had no place here. The crofts appeared prosperous, the families healthy and happy and the cattle and sheep fat. Apparently peace had finally come to Inverleith. He could barely accept the truce with the Campbells, at least not yet, and after what he’d heard about Flodden Field, how could he do otherwise?

  He should never have returned. He would only bring disaster down upon the Macleans.

  He had come too far now, though. The Sofia must disappear in the middle of the sound where it could never be found and he must fulfill his promise to the men who helped him escape. Then he could disappear.

  But what of Juliana Mendoza? As long as she lived, his entire clan would be endangered, as would the lives of the oarsmen.

  He damned himself for ever coming here.

  “Patrick?”

  His attention went back to his brother. “I should never have involved you in this,” Patrick said.

  “We involved ourselves,” Rory said. “It was a decision Lachlan and I would have made even were you not heir.”

  “I am laird only if the clan approves,” Patrick said. “I am risking all their lives.”

  “There is not a man who does not welcome you. They know the risks, but we have been a merchant clan a long time and often smugglers. The law means little to us. Bonny little Kimbra is a member of an English borderer family that robs as a way of life. Lachlan raided himself as he was healing from wounds.” He paused. “They remember you well, Patrick. Archibald told them of the fights you had with father on their behalf. It was a sad day when you left. I have been a substitute. I prefer trading to the land, and so does Lachlan. You are more part of these men than we can ever be.”

  Patrick shook his head. “A good reason to leave. They would be giving loyalty to a shell.”

  “A shell does not organize a revolt, Patrick, and God knows Queen Margaret and her wee son need men who can fight and advise her. Too many are using her for their own purposes. One group of advisors want peace with England. Another wants to continue a war, even though most of our bravest died at Flo
dden Field.”

  “I do not like politics.”

  “Neither did I. But I am good at it. If you stay, you can take care of Inverleith while I tend to politics at court.”

  “And the lass.”

  Rory shrugged. “Marry her.”

  Patrick could only stare at him in disbelief.

  “My wife tells me your Spanish lass was not happy about her forthcoming marriage. She is uncommonly bonny. Marry her.”

  “As you probably noticed, she is not fond of me, even if I were to ever wed. I am not convinced, as you are, that the curse is gone. It has been only a few years.”

  “The deaths always came within two years. Felicia and I have been together five.”

  “I will not marry, Rory, particularly now that you and Lachlan have children and can continue the bloodline. So if that is your plan, I might as well disappear again and save you trouble.”

  “I never believed you a coward,” Rory said softly.

  “She would not have me, even if I were willing. She heard me kill her uncle.”

  “Enough of this talk. Tonight we celebrate your return. Unfortunately, Lachlan will not be here to play his lute. In the morning we will bring your . . . crew to Inverleith until the Felicia arrives.”

  “I remember that lute. It infuriated father.”

  “It did until the day he died. He never understood nor appreciated Lachlan. To my shame, I did not, either. Not until I returned and discovered Lachlan probably had more courage than any of us. His were moral choices, not just a question of physical bravery. It took me a long time to understand that.”

  “It is too dangerous,” Patrick said. “If anyone connects me with the Sofia . . .”

  “Why would they?”

  “’Tis possible.”

  “You should make your case to Queen Margaret,” Rory said. “She should know that Spain is enslaving Scots. It would be far better than if she learned of it later.”

  “I cannot risk that. You have already said she has those in court who wish better relations with England. My head would make a fine offering for the Chadwick family.”

  “I have come to know the queen. She has honor.”

  “But do those around her?”

  “I will say naught of the ship, but she should know you are back,” Rory said. “We will invent some tale for now.” He paused, then added, “I think you should go with me.”