by Lily Baldwin
Rory nodded. “We may have saved his neck in the end.”
“I wish ye hadn’t,” Rosie blurted, dabbing at the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I wish ye’d let that Nick fellow slit his throat.”
“Rosie,” Alex exclaimed, surprised by her maid’s blood lust.
“What? ‘Tis the truth!”
Rory reached over and patted Rosie’s leg. “One day, I’ve no doubt someone with looser morals than Scotland’s agents will slay Richard. But yer lady is no killer, nor am I.”
Mary straightened in her seat and squeezed Alex’s hand. “We are Christian women, first and foremost. Blood should not be spilled. But I do not understand why ye must leave. Luthmore will stand against anyone who threatens ye.”
Alex scooted to the edge of her seat and turned to face her cousin. “Luthmore did not agree to my actions. I have been thieving and secreting messages that many would have killed to read, putting myself in dangerous situation after dangerous situation. I must answer for my actions, not Luthmore. Despite our hope that he will not return to England, vengeance alone may bring him back.”
Rory nodded. “If he returns, he will do so with the name Lady Alexandria MacKenzie on his lips, but he cannot make anyone believe him if by all accounts she took to her sickbed during the heist and died soon after.”
Alex took a deep breath. “There is no other way. If I flee, then I will look guilty. If I remain, then it is only my word against Richard’s—the word of a Scotswoman.”
“Who else can know the truth?” Mary asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alex turned to her and took her hands. “Only William and Michael, and, of course Abbot Matthew. If ye remember in his letter he promised to journey here in thirty days’ time. That is only a few days away. He will be able to help us make arrangements.”
“Ye mean, he’ll be able to help us plan yer funeral,” Rosie huffed.
“I’m afraid so, Rosie,” Alex said softly.
“’Tis too much to bear,” Mary cried. “How will the clan survive without its lady?”
Alex leaned closer and cupped Mary’s cheeks, but her cousin’s eyes remained downcast. “Look at me,” Alex said softly. “Our clan will thrive as it always has because of ye, Mary. Ye are now Lady of Luthmore.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Alex pulled the tapestry away from her casement just enough to peer down into the garden below where Mary sat on the stone bench, her elegant back straight and long. She was a picture of gentility and grace. Adam sat beside her, but only as close as propriety truly allowed. Alex held her breath as she watched Adam lean across the bench to whisper in Mary’s ear. Soft pink highlighted her cousin’s cheeks. Then Adam sat back and looked at her with gentle expectancy. Mary’s blush deepened but she turned, shifting her body toward Adam before she nodded. A nervous smile tugged at Adam’s lips. His hand rested on his thigh, then shifted to grab the bench, then his thigh once more. Finally, he clasped his hands together and leaned forward. Mary slowly did the same. Both sets of eyes closed and lips touched, tentatively at first, a whispered caress, then deeper, more tenderly. Moments later they pulled away, each to their respective sides of the bench.
Alex released a wistful breath before turning away from the window. She had just witnessed Mary and Adam’s first kiss—perhaps Mary’s first kiss ever. Then she thought about her first kiss with Rory. She had grabbed him, boldly pressing her lips to his.
“How different I am from Mary,” she said, joining Michael who sat beside the hearth, staring pensively into the small fire. “She possesses what some might argue are my greatest strengths and none of my flaws. She is the better lady to watch over Luthmore.”
Michael shook his head, still watching the flames. “Neither of ye is better or worse than the other, just different.”
Alex arched a brow at him. “Yer sentiment over me leaving is making a liar out of ye.”
Michael sat up straight in his seat and reached across the divide between their chairs and covered her hand with his. “If I could take back every rebuke, every scolding word I would.”
Her throat thickened with tears. “Stop all that. Ye’re going to make me cry again. And I spent all morning in tears comforting William. Ye ken I do not wish to go, but ye now know my deeds.” She swiped a hand at her tears. “And I would not undo what has been done, not even if I could,” she said resolutely. “I have been proud to take up Scotland’s sword.”
Michael’s white brows drew together, his face haggard. “’Tis just that I’ll miss ye, lass.”
Her heart twisted harder, squeezing out her tears. “Me too, old friend. But remember, we do not part ways forever. When ‘tis safe, ye can journey to wherever I end up, and until that time, ye’ll be so busy instructing Mary in her duties as lady of the keep, ye won’t even notice my absence.”
“Ye’re wrong there,” Michael said, a sad smile lifting his frown. “Mary will need little instruction.”
A soft laugh interrupted her dripping tears. “I ken,” she said, hiccupping. Then she sighed. “If ye consider the future of our clan with yer head alone, ye’ll see that Mary is the better choice. My disregard for convention would likely have been seen as a weakness by other clan leaders, but Mary is goodness and virtue; whereas, I am a Scottish rebel with a taste for rugged outlaws.”
“’Tis true, my love,” Rory said from his seat on her bed. She smiled, meeting his sky-blue eyes.
“Trouble, ye are,” he said. “Trouble through and through, but don’t worry, Michael. I’ll make sure she never changes.”
A gentle rapping drew their attention. Rory stood and crossed to stand in front of Alex, then motioned for Rosie to open the door. She opened it just enough to peek into the hallway, then with a gasp, she threw the door wide.
Alex leaned to look past Rory and met crinkled warm, brown eyes. “Abbot Matthew,” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
He opened his slim arms in preparation for the assault of her hug. “Ye’re quite fit for someone who will soon succumb to the pox.”
“Nick and Paul told ye everything then?” she said, pulling back to look at his kind face.
The abbot smiled sadly and nodded. “The solution set in place is, I’m afraid and dumbfounded to admit, our best course, especially considering where ye’ve chosen to place yer heart.” The abbot turned and looked sharply at Rory. “I should have known better than to send ye along in the first place.” His face softened, and he took hold of their hands. “But given both yer temperaments, yer difficulty following even simple instructions, yer knack for finding danger, and yer overall complete disregard for propriety—I should have known ye’d fall in love at first sight.” Then looking at Alex, he said, “In the letter I sent promoting the attributes of Adam, Robert, and Timothy, I should not have cautioned ye against Rory. In doing so, I fear I turned him into forbidden fruit. I should have recommended him above the others, given ye my blessing, and told ye he was a perfect, law-abiding gentleman. Then ye would’ve stayed clear of him.”
Alex smiled at the abbot, then gazed up into Rory’s deep-set, heavily lashed eyes. A rakish smile curved his full lips. His black hair fell in careless waves to his broad, thickly muscled shoulders. Keeping his promise to her, the Mackenzie plaid slashed across his bare chest and bunched dangerously low at his waist. He continued to wear his tall, black leather boots. “Honestly, Abbot,” she said, never taking her eyes from Rory’s. “Do ye think I would have believed ye if ye had?”
The abbot chuckled. “Never.”
“With all due respect, Abbot,” Rosie chimed in, “’tis too late for all that, anyway.”
“Which brings us back to the real matter at hand,” Michael said, his sensible reminder drawing everyone’s gaze.
“Right ye both are,” Abbot Matthew said. Then he cleared his throat and looked at Alex. “The day grows old. We still have yer death to feign and yer funeral to plan.”
Alex pressed her lips together in a grim line.
&nbs
p; “Well, those aren’t phrases ye hear every day,” Rosie said, swiping at the tears wetting her pink cheeks.
The abbot crossed the room and put a comforting arm around Rosie’s shoulders. “True,” he said. “But then ‘tis not every day someone robs the king’s palace.”
Feeling a renewed sense of pride, Alex lifted her chin and locked eyes with the abbot. “Alba gu bràth.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rory left the keep in the dead of night and made his way on foot to the base of Torna Doon where Michael had tethered a horse for him to ride into Luthmore at first light. He walked the horse in circles to make good his pretense of having traveled through the night, returning for the first time to the castle—at least as far as the rest of the clan was concerned. Having spent the past three days concealed within Alex’s chambers, it was, indeed, his first time entering the courtyard. Straightaway, he was struck by the stillness. Sunrise usually sparked a whirl of activity, castle servants going about their morning duties, children playing, warriors readying to train. But the usual din was silenced in the wake of the news Rory knew they would have already received; their lady’s health was failing. The grim weather mirrored the apprehension and sadness on the unsmiling faces that looked up to note his return. Gloomy clouds hung heavy with rain that fell in big, cool droplets. No sooner had his booted foot hit the sodden earth when a broad-shouldered man ducked beneath the stable doors.
“Rory,” Gavin called before starting across the courtyard with Adam falling in line beside him. Both men appeared weary, their expressions as joyless as their surroundings.
Feigning a look of confusion, Rory’s brows came together while he hastened to meet them. “What is it?” Rory said. Then he gestured to the encompassing misery. “What has happened?”
“Alex is ill, gravely so,” Gavin said.
Rory raised his brows in a moment of forced surprise an instant before he turned on his heel and headed toward the keep.
“Where are you going?” Adam called after him.
“To the keep. I must see her,” he called over his shoulder.
“She will not see you,” Adam shouted.
Rory froze, then turned back around. “What do ye mean?”
Adam lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “No one has been permitted to see her. Only my Mary—I mean to say—only Lady Mary and Rosie have been permitted into her chamber. They’ve hardly left her side since ye left.”
“That was the case until two days ago,” Gavin corrected. “But now, Michael and William have been called to her side.” Gavin’s voice cracked. “She’s taken a turn for the worse. They do not think she is long for this world.”
Rory put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Let us out of this rain,” he said, steering the men toward the kitchens.
Stepping through the archway, he heard soft sobs combined with the din of chopping and pots clanging. Rory’s heart broke when he saw Jean’s puffy eyes and trembling lips.
“I can’t even bring her a tray like I used to when she was just a sweet, wee lass,” she cried while adding chunks of meat to broth nigh brimming out of a bread bowl. “They make me leave it outside her door.” Her sobs continued as she lifted the tray in her trembling hands, the broth sloshing over the crusted edges. “They say ‘tis a pox.”
Rory’s stomach twisted with guilt. More than anything, he wanted to bring Alex’s kinfolk relief. He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that their lady was still as vibrant, bold and brave as ever. But then flashes of memory from the Berwick massacre stole his breath. Mass graves filled with the bodies of innocents: men, women, and children. King Edward’s heart held no mercy. If he knew Alex had a hand in robbing him, the might of his hammer would demolish Luthmore castle. Unbidden, the images of the villagers in the courtyard, slowly milling about, fretting and grieving over their lady’s health were suddenly slain, their bodies broken and strewn across the courtyard. Rory shook the images from his mind. That was exactly what he and Alex were trying to prevent with her feigned demise. Now, if Richard Ash were to return to England and gain Edward’s ear and force an inquiry—Edward would learn that the Lady of Luthmore had taken ill before the heist occurred and died from her illness.
Rory opened his arms to Jean. She turned her plump face into his chest and sobbed out her grief. He held his silence, steeling his heart against her sorrow and that of the servants crying soft tears around him. Their lives would be spared, and, in time, their broken hearts would heal.
Very soon it would all be over. He knew when night arrived, Alex would bid goodbye to her family.
~ * ~
Alex choked back her tears. “I love ye, Will.” She swiped at the tears streaming down her brother’s freckled face. “Look after Mary for me, and keep doing the rounds with her.” His sobs tested her resolve. She took a deep breath. “Hush now, sweetling,” she crooned. Then she cupped his cheeks. “Look at me, Will MacKenzie. I’m not really dead.”
Will nodded and buried his face in her neck. “I ken,” he cried. “I just love ye ‘tis all. And I’m going to miss ye.”
She took a deep breath, reminding herself this was not goodbye forever. Then she reminded Will, “When ‘tis safe, ye and Michael will come and visit me. All right?”
Wiping his sleeve across his nose, he nodded. “All right.” Then a smile suddenly stretched his face wide. “I’ve never left Luthmore before.”
She chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Ye see, ‘tis the makings of a fine adventure.” Wiping his nose again, he kissed Alex once more, then crossed the room to stand by Rosie.
“Take care of him,” Alex said to Rosie.
Michael stepped forward. “I knew ye weren’t just going to visit Abbott Matthew. Although of all the foolhardy things I imagined, what ye really were doing—being part of a secret rebel movement—was not one of them.”
She smiled. “This is when ye soften the sting of yer words by saying ye wouldn’t have me any other way.”
A sad smile crinkled his eyes. “But ye’re very much mistaken, because I would rather have ye here. Still, I am proud of ye, and yer father and mother would be proud of ye, and Robin for that matter. And I suppose Scotland needs every brave soul she can find—even if that brave soul is ye.”
The door opened just a crack and the abbot squeezed into the room. “I’ve given the bad news to Father Kenneth, and he agreed to lay yer body to rest in hallowed ground rather than yer family’s tomb, to prevent the spreading of the pox.” He crossed to where Alex stood and clasped her hands. “’Tis time, my child. Soon Father Kenneth will ring the bell, and Gavin will come for the coffin.” He turned then and looked at Michael. “Did ye weigh it down?” he asked.
“We did,” Michael confirmed. “And nailed it shut.”
The abbot nodded and turned to Alex. “We must be on our way. Rory will have made his excuses by now and will meet us on top of Torna Doon. I shall take ye that far before I return to assist Father Kenneth with yer funeral.”
She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I am nearly ready to go.” She turned to Mary and pulled her cousin into a fierce hug. “Give our people every comfort, especially Helen. Tell her I died peacefully.” Then she pulled away just enough to remove her necklace. “This is yers now,” she said, placing the chain Rory had mended over Mary’s head.
Eyes wide, Mary clasped the trinity knot. “But yer mother gave ye this.”
Alex wiped the tear she felt course down her cheek. “My mother gave it to me so that I would remember that the wellbeing of the people comes first. Remember her words, Mary, but also remember mine—yer life matters too. Make yerself happy.” Then she stepped away. “I love ye all,” she said while she swept her cloak around her shoulders. Then, grabbing the satchel she’d packed, she lifted the trap door. The abbot handed her a torch. She took it and looked at her family. “This is not goodbye,” she said once more, her chin quivering before she began her descent—taking the first steps toward her new life.
Chapter Twe
nty-Three
Rory stood at the top of Torna Doon, waiting, watching. The August sky would not truly blacken until closer to the midnight hour, lengthening the purple glow of twilight. When he first glimpsed her shadowy form, he hurried forward and swept her into his arms and kissed her with all his love, all his longing. He wanted to soothe away her pain with promises of happiness together.
He pulled away and cupped her cheeks, staring deep into her eyes. “I love ye, Alex. I will always love ye.”
The abbot chimed in behind them. “Rory, ye ken they’ll be no more women or reckless chances now. ‘Tis the end of the road for ye.”
Rory smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. “Nay,” he whispered, stroking her cheek. “’Tis only the beginning.” Then he fell to his knees. “Be my wife.”
Laughing, she bent at the waist and threw her arms around his neck. “Ye know I will.”
Smiling so wide his face hurt, Rory stood and wrapped his arm around her waist, presenting himself and Alex to the abbot.
“Ye heard her, Abbot. Say the vows before she changes her mind.”
The abbot chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve told ye before, Rory, I’m not a priest. I cannot marry ye properly, although I can give ye a blessing. Join hands.”
Rory turned to face Alex. He clasped her hands, turning them over. His thumbs stroked her calloused palms. Then he bent his head and kissed her.
“Ahem,” the abbot said.
Rory stood straight and smiled, meeting Alex’s adoring gaze. “I love ye,” she whispered and rose up on her tip-toes, kissing him again.
“Ahem,” the abbot repeated.
“Sorry, Abbot,” Alex said, smiling.
“Shall I begin?”
Rory nodded, resisting the need to crush Alex to his chest and kiss her until her legs gave way.
“Never forget how ye first met,” the abbot said, his voice rich with solemnity, but then he shifted his body to the side and winked at Alex. “In yer case, this should be easily done.” Clearing his throat, he resumed his reverent posture. “Hold fast to the wonder now in yer hearts, and bring that wonder to every word shared and every deed done, however small or big. Do this and yer love shall flourish. For God is love, and He resides in both of ye, binding ye to one another.” He stepped back and bowed his head. “I humbly bless this union in His name.”
