“Avert them from what?” Jamie asked suspiciously.
“Moors. Many Moors.”
“God’s blood. You’ve been invaded by Moorish pirates?” Jamie’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger.
The only thing that could be worse was if Patrick returned to Inverleith at this moment.
Chapter 21
PATRICK approached the great gate with both antic-ipation and reluctance. He’d never before thought the two could go together.
The ride had become a morning ritual. His time to think. And slowly come to life again. After being locked in the dark, crowded oarsmen’s deck for six years and a dungeon before that, he relished every breath of the cool air scented by heather. He had forgotten how heady it was.
The rides became longer as they all waited for the Felicia to arrive. Since his . . . encounter with Juliana several nights earlier, he’d made it his practice to explore the Maclean land and meet the crofters. He also went for a morning swim in a nearby loch. It was deep and freezing, and its color as blue as the evening sky.
It was the freezing he needed.
Unfortunately, the swim did not cool the lust that continued to roar through him every time he saw Juliana. And it seemed that the more he tried to avoid her, the more he saw her. She was everywhere.
She was even in Lachlan’s library reading a book to Denny last eve.
She’d looked startled when she saw him, then ducked her head as color suffused her cheeks.
God’s blood but she seemed to grow more beautiful every day.
How could that be?
He was grateful to Kimbra, who had taken swiftly to Denny. He had learned from Rory that his sister-in-law was a healer of sorts, that she had nursed Lachlan back to health. Denny had taken to her immediately, and he often saw Denny, Kimbra and Juliana huddled together in the library.
When he saw Juliana tending to Denny, he wanted her all the more.
He suspected he was not fooling Rory when he said he wanted to ride over Maclean lands and meet the families who worked it. It was Rory who suggested swims in the loch. “I know something about that,” his brother had said with amusement in his eyes.
Patrick was just now piecing together the tales of his brothers’ romantic mishaps. He could—would—be stronger than they. He could rein in his feelings.
Thus the solitary rides.
But as he rode through the gate of Inverleith, his hair still damp, he saw his brother talking to a tall stranger, one who matched his own height. The man wore a plaid that differed slightly from those worn by Macleans.
But he recognized the dyes in the plaid and the face. His stomach clenched.
The newcomer’s eyes opened wider as recognition dawned in his face. Campbells are no longer my enemy. His brain told him that but his instincts said something else. Instincts honed by his father for many years.
“Patrick? Patrick Maclean?”
“Aye,” he said coldly. The Campbell might be Rory’s friend and Lachlan’s. He was not his.
“Where in the devil have you been?”
Anger rose in him. Who was the Campbell to question him in his own courtyard? And what was he doing here?
“Your business?” he said sharply.
“I thought there could be danger. One of my people saw a strange ship . . .”
“There is no ship,” Rory interrupted.
“I noticed that,” the Campbell replied. “I will put my worries to rest.”
Jamie turned to Rory. “Will you not offer me a drink after a long ride?”
Patrick thought of the Moors. The others as well. Even with Scot clothing, they stood out from the others.
His gaze met Rory’s, who raised an eyebrow.
“The hall is currently crowded,” Patrick said stiffly. “I brought some men back from France to sail the ship Rory wishes to purchase.”’Twas a weak explanation but all he could devise so quickly. The devil take it, but he had depended on Inverleith’s isolation. When he was a lad, there were few, if any, visitors.
The Campbell’s gaze did not leave Patrick’s face. “I did not realize you and Rory had been in contact with each other. I was under the impression you were missing. Believed dead.”
“A captain of a Maclean ship was in Paris,” Patrick lied. “I had just arrived from a trip to the far east. There were pirates and . . .” He stopped and shrugged. “I am sure you do not have time for this.”
“Oh, but I do,” Jamie said. “I would like to hear every detail of such an adventure.”
“Later,” Patrick said curtly. “I have a horse to groom.”
“I have time,” Jamie said easily. “I want to see Cousin Felicia and the bairns.”
There was something about the way he made that announcement that riled Patrick. He suspected the Campbell was enjoying his discomfort. Patrick remembered the last time they had met during games held in Edinburgh. They were an afternoon match, and it had continued a very long time. They fought to a draw, to a point neither could rise again. It had been the first time Patrick had not won. It was said it was the first time Jamie Campbell had not won.
“Your hair is wet,” Rory observed with that damned amusement of his. “You apparently took my advice.” It was obvious he was trying to break the tension.
Blasted brother. Patrick did not reply as he turned and walked his mount toward the stable. Devil take it, but this was the last thing he needed at the moment. A Campbell.
JULIANA sat in the small drawing room carved out of the massive stone wall with Denny and Kimbra. The room was designated as Lachlan’s because he kept his books there.
Kimbra had taken her there shortly after her arrival. “It is Lachlan’s room,” she said proudly. “He purchases a book whenever he can find one he does not already possess.”
Juliana had haunted the sanctuary since her arrival, though there was always a Maclean at guard.
Then two days ago, Kimbra found her there and asked if she would like to help her with Denny. Patrick had explained, she said, that Denny had not said a word since he had first been brought to the Sofia, and they knew not where he belonged, or whether he had a family. Kimbra had helped heal Lachlan. Mayhap she could do the same with Denny.
Of the two sisters-in-law, Juliana had warmed to Kimbra first. Felicia was often busy with her children and although she was always gracious and full of life, there was something especially kind and thoughtful about Kimbra. Juliana remembered Denny from the aftermath of the revolt. He was often the silent shadow of Patrick Maclean.
“Patrick says he has not spoken, though he appears to understand English,” Kimbra said. “Patrick seems to think that I might be able to talk to him in some way, find out where he belongs. Lachlan told him I am a healer, but I am not. I just know herbs, and I do not think herbs will help Denny.”
“What can I do?” Juliana asked.
“I have been reading to him, but I am not . . . good.” She lowered her head. “I’m still learning . . .”
The words trailed away as if she were uncertain whether Juliana would agree to help Denny.
But she did, eagerly. After that magical hour with Patrick Maclean, he had avoided her, often leaving the keep early in the morning and not returning until late. On the few occasions their eyes had met, she’d felt his gaze consume her. The heat puddled in her stomach, and she felt a yearning so compelling she thought she would die from it.
She welcomed the distraction of Denny. Not only did she need to keep herself occupied but it was a way to appease her own guilt. She still shivered when she remembered the sounds and smells from the rowing deck, the scars she had seen on so many of the oarsmen, and Manuel as well.
“I think Denny might have lost his memory, and speech, because of a blow. There’s a scar on the side of his head. Lachlan lost his memory when he was wounded on the head,” Kimbra said.
“For how long?”
“Weeks.”
“How long has Denny been like this?”
“Patrick said a yea
r, mayhap more. Ever since he was brought to the galley.”
Juliana’s stomach clenched. No one seemed to blame her for the horrors of her uncle’s ship, but she did. She felt tainted by it. How could anyone not blame her? Her family was responsible for Patrick’s suffering. For the suffering of so many more.
“Is it the same as Lachlan then?” she asked.
“Lachlan was always able to speak. He just could not remember. I know nothing about wounds to the head. But Denny’s eyes take in everything. I am sure he understands our conversations. Patrick said he fought well when they overtook the ship and had undoubtedly been trained. If only we could get him to speak.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He can stay here. Patrick has made that clear, but even if he hadn’t, neither Rory or Lachlan would turn him away.”
“You love Lachlan?”
“Aye. With all my heart. He is gentle yet brave. He loves my Audra as much as if she were his. I hope to give him another child soon.”
“You are not afraid?”
“The curse, you mean?”
“Si.”
“I do not believe in curses,” Kimbra said. “Even if I did, I would still take every day I could with Lachlan.”
Juliana swallowed a lump in her throat. Until coming to Inverleith, she had not known that love really existed between a man and woman. It certainly had not between her mother and father, nor had she seen it elsewhere. She had never expected any in her life, certainly not with Viscount Kingsley. The best she’d expected was that he would not be like her father.
“Patrick cares for you,” Kimbra said unexpectedly.
“No. He just does not know what to do with me,” she replied.
“He looks at you as Lachlan looked at me when . . .” Kimbra blushed then, and Juliana thought how pretty she was. And kind.
It was the kindness that prompted the statement. Patrick Maclean had ignored her these last few days. Ever since the kiss that turned her world upside down.
Even the thought of it sent heat coursing through her and took her breath away.
She tried to thrust it aside by reading to Denny. In the small drawing room, she would read something from the Bible, then hand it to Denny. She saw Denny’s eyes scan the words, even mouth them, but nothing came from his lips. He had never frightened her on the ship as the others had. Despite his scars and the fact he had been as bloody as the others immediately after the revolt, she’d not seen the hate and fury in his eyes that had been in the others’.
“I wish you could tell me where you are from,” she told Denny.
Kimbra rose suddenly. “Rory has maps. If we spread one in front of him and pointed out places, perhaps he could point to where he is from.”
Kimbra’s enthusiasm spurred her own. At last. Something to do. Something worthwhile.
“I will find him,” Kimbra offered.
“No, you stay with Denny,” Juliana said. Denny responded to Kimbra more than anyone. Juliana suspected it was because Kimbra had no connection with the ship.
She left the room and passed the great hall, then stopped suddenly.
A stranger stood with Rory. He was as tall as Patrick, and he was glorious. His hair shone like spun gold and his eyes were as blue as the Spanish sea. His bearing made it clear he was a person of authority, of rank.
His gaze focused on her, and his eyes widened in surprise as he studied her, open curiosity on his face.
Patrick emerged from the stable. His steps hastened as he saw her and he joined the two men. His back was stiff, his expression wary if not hostile. It was obvious he did not consider the man standing with his brother a friend. More like an enemy.
The newcomer said something to Rory, but she was too far away to hear. She knew, though, that it concerned her.
Patrick replied, again beyond her hearing.
This might be her chance. Her opportunity. She could fall on his mercy, tell him she had been kidnapped.
And the stranger might die.
Even if not, she knew she could not do it. Too many lives were involved. Would Rory fight for his brother? Would the newcomer die? Would the oarsmen, including Manuel and Denny and the Spaniard, pay with their lives?
Then the golden-haired man walked toward her. Patrick moved to step in front of him but he adroitly sidestepped him. He bowed and gave her a smile that was blinding. “Jamie Campbell at your service,” he said.
Then waited for an introduction.
And waited.
Rory finally said, “This is Anna, a friend of Kimbra’s, who is staying with us for a while.”
“Anna? A bonny name.” He looked at Patrick, who had been standing silent, a deepening scowl on his face. “She returned with you?”
“Nay,” he said shortly without explaining further.
The Campbell’s gaze returned to her. “You will have to visit my wife, Janet, and me at Dunstaffnage.”
“I do not believe she will have time,” Patrick said.
“Mayhap the lady should make that decision.”
“I have vowed to keep her safe,” Patrick replied, the insult not very subtle.
Jamie Campbell raised an eyebrow but let it go. “Believe it or not, it is good to have you back, Patrick,” he said mildly. “Your brothers have missed you, and I want nothing but peace with you.”
“They said you . . . saved their lives. I am in your debt.” Patrick’s voice told Juliana how difficult it was for him to make that admission.
“Nay, because they’d have done the same. Things have changed, Patrick, and both our clans are better for it.”
Juliana felt the tension in the air. She had heard the tale of Felicia’s and Rory’s romance, about the bitterness and hatred that plagued the two clans for a hundred years.
Rory broke in. “Tell us about Court. How is Queen Margaret, and who is her favorite now?”
“Not I, I fear,” the Campbell said. “She is getting too close to England. She will lose the support of most of the Highland clans. Or what is left of them.”
“And Spain?” Rory said. “Do you hear aught of their troublemaking?”
“They are seeking stronger ties with England. Advisors to Henry VIII are disappointed that Catherine of Aragon has not produced a male heir, and, since England’s treaty with France, he seems to be moving closer to King Louis.
There are even rumors that he may marry his sister to the French king.”
“God’s blood,” Patrick blurted out. “That would leave Scotland standing alone.”
“Aye, and the queen knows it,” the Campbell replied. “The clans know it as well. I cannot stomach Margaret’s new overtures to England myself.”
Juliana listened with growing apprehension. Her father seldom talked of politics in front of her. It was, he always said, the business of men.
“Spain is worried as well,” Jamie continued. “There is talk of more marriages, the need to bring more Spanish blood to the English court.”
Now she understood why her father and uncle wanted the marriage so badly. It was not only their business interests, but there was also a need to bind two nations closer together. Her father was a very distant cousin of the Spanish king, but he was a relation. He had royal blood, and therefore so did she, even diluted as it may be. Her father had only a minor claim to a title.
But it was an important connection if the Spanish king made it so. She froze. Was the marriage more important than she’d thought? If so, the danger to Patrick was far greater than either of them believed.
She should not care. She should care only about her mother. About those she had left in Spain. She should care about her uncle’s brutal death.
“We are boring the lass,” Jamie said, obviously mistaking her expression for tedium. She thanked the Holy Mother such was so.
She turned to Rory and tried to explain why she had intruded. “I . . . Kimbra and I are looking for a map to help . . .” She stopped suddenly.
“Help who?” Jamie Campbell asked, cu
riosity very plain in his face.
“Her daughter,” she quickly said. “We are teaching her about the world.”
“Young Audra?” Jamie said. “She is a wee charmer.”
“Aye,” Juliana said. It had been an easy word to adopt. “But the map . . .”
“I will find you one,” Patrick interrupted.
He nodded briefly to his brother, ignored Jamie and turned toward the great door of the keep, obviously expecting her to follow.
She did. Questions and emotions were bubbling inside her.
He led her up to her bedchamber. Carmita was gone, probably to the kitchen to help.
He closed the door behind him. “Your marriage?” he said. “It was part of a larger scheme?”
She did not pretend that she did not know what he meant. She had been as startled—and alarmed—by the conversation as he apparently was. Until the Campbell had mentioned Spain’s apparent interest, she had not considered her marriage any more than a business arrangement. “My father said nothing about the marriage other than the fact that he wanted stronger financial ties with the Earl of Chadwick. There was already a connection between our families. My mother was a distant cousin.” She hesitated, then added, “My father did say King Ferdinand approved of the match.”
“Why would he need to approve?” His question was harsh.
“I do not know, except . . .”
“Except?” he urged her.
“My father . . . is . . . he has blood ties to Ferdinand.”
A muscle leapt along his tightened jaw.
“But I cannot believe it was that important. We rarely saw him. It was a very distant connection.”
“Your father did not say your marriage was arranged at Ferdinand’s request?” His voice was tight.
“I thought it was my father bragging. He always talked about his connection with the crown, but we saw little benefit from it.”
“You did not tell me.”
“You did not ask. And I did not understand until . . . now.”
He turned away from her and went to the window and looked down. She followed him.
Rory and his friend were gone. Inside somewhere?
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