Beloved Warrior

by Patricia Potter

  He now knew the true meaning of temptation.

  Patrick knew he had to control it. He looked down over the sound below the walls.

  When would Lachlan return?

  Even if it was on the morn, which he fervently hoped, he still had not found a solution to Juliana. He blinked as he saw distant sails on the sound. He continued to watch as they neared. He heard the shout from the walls, a collective cheer from those fellow oarsmen who had preferred the courtyard to the great hall to sleep.

  Patrick understood their immediate reaction. They wanted to go home. The Moors, he knew, were not used to the cold Scottish nights and frequent mists. The Spaniards were worried about being discovered here, and the others merely wanted to return to their own countries and disappear.

  Relief surged through him as well. It had been dangerous having them here. A visitor would have been disastrous. After the Campbell’s unexpected arrival, he and Rory had decided to meet any other visitor with the information that there was fever inside.

  But by tonight, he hoped all would be aboard and sailing east. The only danger then would be an interception on the seas, but Rory had assured him that the ship—the Felicia—had a fine captain.

  Mixed with relief, though, was the realization he would miss some of the oarsmen. They had suffered together, fought together, triumphed together, then shared the harrowing voyage to Inverleith. He would not easily forget many of them.

  Would the Spaniard go with them? He had made himself at home at Inverleith. Despite his nationality, Patrick saw that the clansmen had taken to him. Diego had, in fact, instructed several in the art of swordsmanship. Manuel had already indicated he wished to stay with Juliana and Carmita, and Patrick trusted Manuel. He already had, with his life. He was still not as sure about Diego. Still, he would not force him to leave. And then there was Denny, who had no place to go.

  Much to do today, and decisions must be made. He ran his fingers through his hair, splashed some water on his face and left his room.

  He went past the stone steps and stopped at Juliana’s chamber. He rapped on the door, but there was no answer. He entered to find it empty. A lingering smell of roses remained, though.

  Reluctantly, he left and went to the great hall, where platters of food were arranged on the table, but he had no hunger. His stomach had become used to very little.

  Though the table was filled with his fellow oarsmen, Juliana was not there. Then he saw Carmita, who frowned darkly at him.

  “Where is Juliana?” he asked.

  “She is in Lachlan’s room,” Carmita said with obvious reluctance. Accusation was in her eyes.

  “My thanks,” he said softly.

  “I do not need your thanks,” Carmita said sharply. “My senorita and I are your prisoners.”

  Her words startled him. She had always seemed meek. She was a bonny little thing with the dark hair and eyes of Spain, but she was young and had been obviously frightened. More than frightened. Terrified.

  Now, however, she was evidently ready to do battle on behalf of her mistress. Juliana would need that kind of friend.

  “DENNY, this is London. It is one of the largest cities in the world,” Juliana said.

  She and Kimbra and Denny sat at a table with the map she’d obtained from Rory spread across the table’s surface. This morning she had gone to Rory, explaining exactly why she needed it.

  “Tell me if something looks familiar,” she said. “Just nod your head.”

  His eyes told her he understood. How much, she was not sure, but at times she thought he was far more aware of events than anyone knew.

  He seemed to have an almost fanatical devotion to Patrick. He obviously worried when Patrick was away from the keep. It appeared that Patrick was the only one Denny trusted.

  Almost as if summoned by her thoughts, Patrick appeared in the doorway.

  Her heart leapt, but his eyes were cool, and his gaze rested on her only briefly before settling on the map. But he could not hide a sudden tightening of his mouth. Regret?

  “A map?” he asked.

  “Si. Rory gave it to us, Kimbra and myself,” she hurried on. “Kimbra thought it might help bring back Denny’s memory.”

  “It is kind of you,” he said, but she heard an ironic note in his voice. For a moment, the air became thick with tension. She was aware of Kimbra’s thoughtful glance, even Denny’s suddenly interested one. She could not move, but her heart beat faster. Her chest ached almost unbearably as she remembered his hands touching her yesterday, awakening sensations.

  Would it always be thus? Did he feel anything?

  “The ship has arrived,” he said.

  The announcement was like a splash of icy water. She looked down at her right hand on the table. It had balled into a tight fist.

  He turned his attention to Denny.

  “A ship is here,” he said. “Most of the . . . oarsmen are going to Spain or Morocco.”

  Juliana watched Denny carefully. Panic flashed in his eyes.

  He shook his head.

  He’d understood completely.

  Patrick obviously saw it, too. He reached out and placed a hand on Denny’s shoulder. “You do not have to leave, but I thought you should have the choice.” He hesitated, then added, “It could be dangerous for you here. If we are discovered . . .”

  Denny shook his head, his eyes pleading with words he could not say.

  “Would you like to stay?” Patrick questioned.

  Denny nodded his head, gratitude filling his eyes.

  “Then stay you will. You have a home here,” Patrick said. “My brother agrees.”

  There was a gentleness in Patrick when he spoke to Denny despite the fact he thought Denny English. Juliana was very aware that the Macleans did not care much for the English, and to Patrick her half-English blood was not much preferable to her Spanish. Yet it was that gentleness with Denny, the patience he had with someone he once thought an enemy, that melted her heart. He did not hurry Denny, merely waited until he understood exactly what was being asked of him.

  Patrick’s eyes fell on her.

  “Do I have a choice as well?” she asked.

  “Nay,” he said. “Not at the moment.”

  “If I swear not to say what happened?”

  “You want to leave, lass?”

  No! She hoped he did not see the denial in her face. “Aye,” she lied. “I dislike being a prisoner.”

  “Even an honored one?” His gaze penetrated hers.

  “A bird wishes to escape even the most exquisite cage,” she retorted, angry at the coolness in his eyes when she felt anything but cool.

  He continued to study her for a moment, then left without another word. She turned back to the map and tried to hide her disappointment. “This is Northumberland,” she said in a voice that nearly broke. “And here is London ...”

  Kimbra broke in. “The sea, Denny. Do you remember the sea? Cliffs. Rocks. Or a city? A village.”

  “What about family?” Juliana said, regaining her composure. “Mother? Father? Brother?”

  A second of emotion swept across his eyes, and then it was gone. But she would have sworn it was pain. Pain so deep that it silenced her.

  PATRICK left her, guilt weighing on him like the chains he’d so recently worn. He went to the stable. Rory was already saddling a horse. The young stable lad was saddling several more.

  “By God, I thought I would have to send someone to rouse you, Patrick. The Felicia has arrived and should now be anchored. A horse is being saddled for you and another to bring Lachlan back here.”

  “Aye, I saw it through the window. She’s a bonny ship.”

  “More than bonny. She has twelve guns. She can defend herself well. She was built in Glasgow to my plans. She usually sails from Edinburgh, but was in Glasgow for some repairs.”

  “And the captain?”

  “Amos MacDowell. A good, steady man. You can trust him.”

  “What will the crew be told?”

/>   “That these men were shipwrecked not far from us. We will also spread word among the isles that a ship foundered near Inverleith, since there is no way to completely stop rumors about strangers here.”

  “An unlikely tale, but possible,” Patrick said as he prepared to mount.

  “Felicia’s idea,” Rory explained. “She can be very inventive.”

  “It’s probably just as well your wife is leaving,” Patrick said wryly. “I think Juliana has some of those same qualities.”

  Rory paused before mounting. “Juliana came to me this morning and asked for a map of England. She said Kimbra thought it might bring some reaction from that silent Sassenach of yours.”

  “I believe you might want it back,” Patrick replied.

  “You think she might try to leave?”

  “Would you, were you held against your will?”

  “I am not convinced it is against her will,” Rory said.

  Patrick did not reply. Instead he mounted the horse, taking the reins of the extra horse, and led the way out of the gate, turning to watch as it closed behind him. In a few hours, if all went well, his guests would be gone, sailing away to new lives. By now he knew which would probably make good use of the funds they would have and which would probably die at the end of a hangman’s rope, or worse. He had hopes for Felix and the men he’d recruited to help him trim the sails and work the sheets. He had less for others who, on their release from chains, thought first of opening the barrels of wine. As for the Moors, they had kept to themselves, but several had thanked him for their release.

  He increased the pace. The ship would have anchored in the natural harbor. He wanted to be there when Lachlan and the captain arrived on land. The sooner his collection of nationalities was gone, the safer Inverleith and his Macleans would be. The problem of Juliana and her maid would remain, however. He could not send them with the Felicia. Yet neither could he keep them here indefinitely. The sight of Juliana sitting with Denny this morning remained with him, especially the flash of anger—and hurt—in her eyes.

  Had she really wanted the maps for Denny or for herself? He still could not exclude the possibility that she would try to leave and return home. Yet he would wager much that there was no pretense in her effort to help Denny. The image of the two bent over the map was branded in his mind.

  They reached the harbor and Lachlan and a man Patrick had never seen were waiting on the beach. He was struck again by Lachlan’s confidence.

  Lachlan stood as they approached. “What kept you?” he asked with a roguish smile.

  “Patrick slept late,” Rory replied. “I am not sure he wants our guests to leave.”

  Patrick tensed, then relaxed. It would take time to get used to brotherly rivalry again, even that of an obviously affectionate nature. Affectionate. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered his bitter thoughts in the galley. God’s blood, but he had been wrong.

  And yet it had been part of what kept him alive.

  The man with Lachlan approached and held out his hand. “MacDowell,” he said, introducing himself. “Lachlan said you wanted us to leave immediately and you had nearly a hundred passengers.”

  “Aye.”

  “We are provisioned and can take on your passengers now.” He paused. “He said some would be dropped off on the Spanish coast and the others off the Moorish coast.”

  Rory nodded. “Do you have any other cargo?”

  “Nay, not this time, but I can stop in France on the return. Pick up some cargo there.”

  Lachlan looked at Patrick. “It would be wise to have a purpose for this voyage.”

  It was a question, and Patrick understood the courtesy being extended. He had nothing to do with the trading part of the Maclean business, but Lachlan was making it clear to MacDowell that Patrick was now laird and head of the family. The decisions would be his.

  He nodded, again wondering at the open acceptance and generosity of his brothers. Even the Campbell, who was putting himself at risk. It astounded him. Befuddled him. Devil’s pitchfork, but it humbled him far more than the chains ever had.

  “We will start to load, then,” MacDowell said.

  “Your crew?” Patrick asked. “Some of the passengers may become a wee greedy.”

  “Lachlan explained that. I brought extra crew. I do not think it will be a problem.”

  “There are also several who might make good additions.”

  MacDowell nodded. “We can always use good hands.”

  “My thanks,” Patrick said. “We will start bringing them here as soon as we return. Expect the first arrivals in an hour.”

  “We will be ready.”

  AFTER Patrick left them, Denny rose as well and went into the courtyard. He always looked lost when Patrick was gone.

  Juliana’s heart ached for him, but she turned and smiled as Kimbra’s daughter, Audra, appeared with Bear. Bear always made her smile. The dog was huge with a big tongue that lolled around his mouth, but was delicately careful with Audra.

  “You do not want to be around Bear when someone threatens her,” Kimbra said. “He almost died attacking a pack of wolves that threatened Audra.”

  Juliana leaned over and scratched the dog’s ear, and Bear rumbled with pleasure.

  “He likes you,” Audra said in the serious manner she had. “He doesn’t like many people.”

  “Like Magnus, your mother’s horse?”

  “Aye,” she said with grin.

  Juliana returned the smile. She enjoyed those moments with Audra, and she was reluctant to take her leave. But she had things to discuss with the other sister-in-law. With Felicia, who had once been in the same position that she was. Who might be able to tell her how to escape and travel to England.

  PATRICK wanted to avoid a long line of oddly mis-placed men, just in the remote event that a stranger happened to ride by. Felicia’s explanation might work if not too closely examined, but the mixture of Moors among Europeans would, no doubt, raise more questions than he wanted to answer.

  So when he returned to Inverleith, he separated the oarsmen into groups. They boarded wagons while trusted Maclean sentries watched the road. As soon as one group was delivered, the wagon started back for another. Several others who said they could ride were given horses.

  Before each group left Inverleith, Patrick talked to them, stressing the importance of silence. That all their lives were at stake, every last man jack of them. They all swore to silence, but he knew too many cups of spirits might end that. He could only hope that no one would believe them then.

  He had thought about when to give them their portion of the money. Before or after they sailed? But he feared they may not believe it would be forthcoming and might revolt once more. So he had pouches of gold for each of them.

  Their eyes told him they had hoped for, but not really expected, the money. Too many disappointments in their lives already. One kissed him to the laughter of others, while several others made the sign of the cross and the Moors bowed to him.

  Juliana appeared at his side as he watched the last oarsman mount the wagon. He would ride with them. He wanted to be there when they left. He had never thought himself a sentimental man. His father had called sentiment a weakness. But he’d shared too much with those men not to feel a catch in his throat.

  “May I ride with you?” she asked.

  He started to refuse, then saw the plea in her eyes. He had stolen her life. It was little enough to allow her to say good-bye. She had come to know some of the oarsmen well.

  “Aye.”

  Diego also wanted to go. There was no request from Denny or Carmita or Manuel. He suspected they all wanted to end the horrors they’d undergone.

  He helped her mount. A mistake. He knew it the moment he touched her. Mayhap he’d known it beforehand but could not resist. Or wanted to know whether he could.

  But as she put her foot in his locked hands and he lifted her into the saddle, something cracked inside him and he knew he had failed the test
he’d created for himself. She should despise him for what he’d cost her. He’d seen the disappointment in them earlier, but now her eyes sparkled with anticipation for an outing. As she took the reins from his fingers, their hands touched and burned as if lightning had struck them both.

  “Gracias,” she said in the voice that was pure music.

  He simply nodded and decided to mount his horse while his legs had enough strength to do so.

  The Spaniard spurred his horse to walk on the other side of Juliana, chattering in Spanish about beautiful days and even more beautiful women and said something Patrick didn’t hear but which made her laugh.

  When last had he made her laugh? Or had he ever?

  Patrick would have happily challenged Diego to combat that moment, but that would create even more notice.

  Instead, he spurred his horse and raced ahead, wondering exactly when he’d lost the last of his senses.

  Chapter 26

  JULIANA watched the ship set sail with mixed feel-ings. It had been her one way to return to Spain. She did not move until the Felicia was no longer in sight.

  “Do you wish you were on it?” Diego asked, moving to her side as they started back to Inverleith.

  She looked around. Patrick was riding with Rory and their conversation was low and intense.

  She did not answer Diego because truly she did not know. She still feared for her mother, but as for herself she knew her father would merely send her to England on another ship. And truth be told she did not want to leave Inverleith. And Patrick.

  At the same time she wearied of being a pawn, being moved first by her father and uncle, and now by the Macleans. As she had told Patrick earlier, a prisoner in a gilded cage is still a prisoner.

  No one had considered her. She supposed Patrick believed he was protecting her, but it was by his standards and what he thought best for her, not considering for a moment what she wanted, or needed, for herself.

  She wanted him. Unfortunately she seemed more a problem to be solved than someone with needs and feelings.