CEDRIC had watched with growing fury when Kimbra and the Scot were brought in.
For weeks, he’d suspected the man was not what he seemed. He had tried to convince the Charlton. Now Geordie would receive a reward instead of himself.
And Kimbra?
The Charlton had made it known lately that he would not give Kimbra to him, because Kimbra was against the match. A woman should have no say.
The decision had spurred his own pursuit of riches. He had deserved Kimbra. By the devil, he wanted her. He had to have her. Or, if not, make sure no one else had her.
Her rejection made his lust even greater. He wanted to teach her who was master. He wanted her to cringe under him.
And so once he learned of the raid, he had ridden to the Armstrongs while he was to be looking for escaped Scots. And he had made the devil’s own bargain.
His life would be forfeit if his treachery was discovered. He also knew the Armstrongs would sell that information for a piece of gold if they thought him of no further use. He had to leave, but he was not going to leave alone.
He kept close to Jock. He was within hearing distance when Jock dispatched two men to take a message to Rory Maclean at the Armstrongs.
Maclean. So the Scot was a Maclean. Apparently the Charlton was going to defy the king and ask for ransom.
Cedric weighed his options. He could ride hard to the retreating English and report the Scot. But then he may not receive a monetary reward, and all the Charltons would learn of his perfidy. He would never be able to return.
The second option was to take the place of the messengers and take the ransom. It would be a handsome one, given the fact that Maclean was a powerful family. His brother Garrick would help.
He opted for the last. He and Garrick would kill the guards, deliver the note, then take the money to ransom the Maclean. When the money was not paid, the Charlton would be forced to turn over the Scot to the English. The family would demand it.
He would be wealthy. Kimbra and her daughter would be alone. He could hire men to take them.
The more he considered the plan, the more he applauded his own intelligence. The Macleans would have to give him the money because after their own ambush days ago they would fear retaliation by the Charltons.
Satisfied with himself and his plans, he found his brother, explained the plan. Garrick, as always, readily agreed.
He hurried to his chamber and retrieved his weapons. His bow, pike, and dagger. Then he hurried out to the stable.
He told the stable lad they were going hunting, not unusual, since both of them were expert with a bow and arrow and were among the family’s best hunters. He knew the perfect place to ambush the two messengers, both trusted lieutenants of the Charlton.
They rode hard to a pass that linked England to Scotland. It was but one of many raiding routes. It was also the shortest. And less used for that specific reason. Raids required more secrecy and surprise. But surprise was not required on this mission, and the direct route was likely.
They found a place atop the pass. It was still English land, and the two Charltons would not be as wary as they would be once across the border.
He tied up his horse and took a position among the gorse and stretched out alongside his brother. His bow was in his hands, several arrows at his side.
No one was better with a bow than he, not even Garrick.
Two arrows should take them down. Then if they were not dead, he would kill them.
The Armstrongs would be blamed.
He smiled to himself as he waited.
Chapter 23
Inverleith
“Are you sure?” Felicia Campbell Maclean asked.
“Aye,” Janet Campbell replied. “And it is not as if you do not have enough help here.” She grinned happily. “It will give me good experience when my own bairn comes.”
Janet had appeared at Inverleith in the afternoon with a message from her husband. She had blushed when reading it. Or at least a part of it.
“He is well and he says they cannot find Lachlan’s body, but that someone had seen the crest he wore. Someone knows something about him. They still hope to find him alive.”
“I want to go,” Felicia had said. “But the children . . .”
Janet’s eyes had brightened. “I can stay with them. I would love it.”
Anticipation bubbled up inside Felicia. She had been going mad not knowing about Lachlan. He had been her first friend here at Inverleith when she’d been kidnapped and feared the worst. He had been her comfort then, and later her protector. He’d almost died to see that she and Rory could wed and end the century-long feud between the Campbells and Macleans. He was as dear to her as her husband and children.
She’d felt guilty every moment she’d sat here while Rory and Jamie were trying to find both Lachlan and Hector. She wanted to be with them. She might be able to go places they could not. She had played the role of spy before.
She went into the nursery. She went to little Patrick first. He was two now and was waking up from a nap. He held out his hands to be picked up.
She hugged him for a long time, then sat down next to him on the small bed. “I love you,” she said. “I have to go away for a little while.”
“Go?”
“Aye, but no’ for long.”
His dark eyes, so much like Rory’s, had the same inquisitive look. She was not sure how much he understood.
“Pater?” he asked.
“He will be home soon.”
Patrick gave her a wide grin. He worshiped his father as much as his father doted on him.
“Be a good lad,” she said.
“A’ways good lad,” he said.
“Aye, you are. Take good care of your sister.”
Another huge smile.
She gave him a big kiss and went to the cradle where Maggie was sleeping. She leaned down and touched her face. She was a beautiful baby with her red hair and green eyes. And a joy. Where Patrick had often been restless and fretful, Maggie slept and ate and smiled.
She had a wet nurse because Felicia did not have enough milk. Maggie would be fine for a few days.
She had never left them before. Not either of them.
Second thoughts assailed her. Would she be doing the right thing?
Then she thought of all the risks Lachlan had taken on her behalf. Rory had taken some money, but mayhap more would be needed. She would take her jewels. The Maclean jewels. It would be an excuse to give Rory, anyway.
Her husband would not be pleased.
She kissed Maggie, then turned to Janet who was standing in the door, a smile on her face. Her friend had so wanted to be a mother, but two years had passed without conceiving. Now she glowed with the knowledge she would be a mother.
In another hour Felicia was ready. Duncan, who captained the guard, had prepared an escort of four to go with her. She had protested at first, then realized the jewels were too valuable not to have a guard. The journey, she judged, would take two and a half days if they rode hard.
“Go to the Armstrongs,” Duncan said. “Rory should be there.” He looked up at her. “Are ye sure ye want to go? They may be on their way back.”
“And they may not,” she retorted.
Duncan merely nodded. They’d engaged in battles of will since he had been involved in her kidnapping years ago.
She tied her bundle to her horse. It included a second gown as well as a lad’s clothing. The gown she wore now was a simple one that would not attract attention. Over it she wore a plain cloak.
She urged the horse ahead. She’d expected to feel the smallest bit of exhilaration. She didn’t. She missed the children from the moment she left the courtyard.
Felicia gathered the cloak around her. The jewels were sewn into its hem. Pray God they would help.
Pray God Lachlan still lived.
The Border
Kimbra nursed Bear and sang to Audra. Her daughter wanted to go to the Scot. She wanted to, as well, but she
could not say that to her daughter. Instead, she prayed that the Charlton remembered Lachlan had saved his life.
“He is not bad, is he?”
“Nay,” she said.
“But a Scot killed my father.”
“Your father killed Scots as well,” she tried to explain. “And it was not the Maclean that shot that arrow.”
Audra’s eyes cleared, then hurried on to another question. “Does he have children?”
“I do not know. He did not, either. He could not remember.”
“How can that be?”
“He was hurt very badly.”
“I am sorry for what I said.”
“I do not think he blames you.”
“Can I see him?”
“I will have to ask the Charlton.”
“Will you?” Audra’s eyes were pleading.
“Aye.”
A knock came at the door, then it opened.
Jock stood there. “The Charlton wishes to see ye.”
She leaned down and kissed Audra. “Take care of Bear. I will be back soon.” She hoped she could fulfill that promise.
She followed him to the Charlton’s room.
Once inside, she stood silent as Thomas Charlton speared her with his eyes. “Did ye know he was a Scot?”
She had considered the answer to the question she knew was coming. She had heard the Scot’s explanation. She had her daughter to protect. Yet she found she could not lie. There had already been too many lies. “Aye,” she said softly.
“Then he lied to me again.”
“He wants to protect me. Surely there is honor in that.”
“You lied to me before.”
“I did not know who he was. He had a head wound. He remembered nothing. ’Twas my fault that he was at the cottage.”
“Why did ye take him? Ye must have heard all Scots were to be killed.”
“I thought at first of ransom.” She took a deep breath. “I feared you would force me to marry Cedric. Or someone else. Mayhap if I brought you a prize . . .”
“But ye did not bring him to me.”
“Nay. After I cared for him, I heard that there were to be no ransoms. I did not want him to die.”
He looked at her sharply. “Ye love him?”
“Do I have the right to love someone of my choosing?”
The Charlton breathed heavily for a moment, then said, “Ye remind me too much of my first wife. Outspoken and stubborn.” There was a softness in his voice, though.
“Will ye let him live?”
“If a fat ransom is paid,” he replied. “I do not want a rebellion of my family, and rebel they will, if we get nothing for our trouble.”
She did not remind him that it had been mostly her trouble. “Did he say whether someone would pay one?”
“He is the brother of the Maclean laird. I suspect a ransom will be paid. Someone has been seeking information about a Lachlan Maclean.”
Brother of the Maclean laird. Not just a Maclean but the chief’s family. He would be safe now. “And myself and Audra?”
“I want you wed because ye need the protection.” His eyes searched hers. “Ye did not answer my question. Do ye love the Scot?”
“Nay,” she lied. It was over in any event. He would leave for his own home, his family. Most likely a wife. “I just saw so much death, and felt I had to try to save one. English or Scot.”
“Ye are too soft for the border, Kimbra.”
“Nay. I love the border.”
“Ye do not care to see him then?”
She hesitated a moment too long.
A gleam came into his eyes. “Ye and Audra can have a few moments.”
“I would like to see him alone first. I . . . there’s something I need to tell him.”
He nodded. “Do not lie to me again, Kimbra. I will not be so soft next time. If he had not saved my life, I would turn him over to the crown, ransom or not.”
She backed away before he changed his mind.
In minutes she was outside the room the Scot had previously occupied. There was no dungeon in the tower. No cells. But it would be impossible for one to leave.
The door opened, and Jock, who had brought her, stepped away as she entered. The door closed behind her.
The Scot was standing. She imagined he had probably been pacing the floor. His eyes were difficult to read. There was no ready smile.
She had not expected one. It had been terrible of her to keep his brooch from him. He had lost days when he might have remembered. Remembered and escaped.
She wanted him to take her in his arms again. She wanted to lean against him and forget everything that had happened since they’d made love next to the stream.
“The Charlton said he will ransom you,” she said.
“My brother will pay it.”
“He is the Maclean?”
“Aye, unless my older brother returns. But he has been away more than seven years now.”
“And your wife?”
“There is no wife,” he said with a hint of a smile.
Relief flooded her, though she had no right to it. She had no right to him. “You . . . mentioned a brown-haired girl?”
“My brother’s wife. She died a long time ago.”
Something in his eyes changed. She had been more than his brother’s wife.
“It is all back then? Your memory?”
“Not all. Not the moments during the battle. I do not know what happened to my king or to my best friend or the man who was a second father to me.” His voice broke slightly.
“But you will go home.”
“Aye for a while. I canna’ stay here, not as a Scot. Having a Scot in residence might try my host’s hospitality.” There was a ghost of a smile on his lips.
They were talking like strangers. It was the first time since he’d discovered the crest. There had been, of course, those few moments after the wolf attack, but that had been pure emotion. Now he’d had time to think about what she’d done, how she’d kept away something that might have helped him piece back his life. Now he knew what she was.
She shivered.
He touched her shoulder then. “Will you go with me?”
She looked up into his face. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted that. But how could she—an English reiver’s widow—be accepted into his life, into his family? She was not only an enemy but a thief who robbed the dead.
She knew only too well that the Charlton had disowned his daughter for marrying a Scot of equal class. How would Lachlan’s family view this liaison, even marriage, with a reiver’s widow? An enemy and a thief.
She could not do that to him, even though her heart was breaking. She looked up at him. “My home is here. I am an Englishwoman.”
“I thought you feared staying here.”
“The Charlton has assured me I can marry who I wish,” she countered, fighting back tears.
“Then wed me. I have no wife.”
“You are a Scot, and I am English. You are of a fine family. I am a reiver’s woman. The Charlton disowned his daughter when she married a Scot. Your family will disown you. I could not bear that.” She hesitated, then added, “You are grateful now, and I am grateful that you saved Audra. But gratitude is not enough for a marriage.”
“Is that all you believe it is? Gratitude?”
“We are . . . drawn to each other. But that does not last. If you lose everything else, you will come to hate us.”
He leaned down, and his lips touched hers, softly at first, then demanding as she responded. She stood on tiptoes as his arms tightened around her until she thought she could no longer breathe.
She could feel the blaze where their bodies touched, their lips met, and their eyes caressed in such intimate ways. She knew she should tear herself away, but she wanted this last kiss. This would not last, but for the moment she would embrace it. Never to know again the singing in her heart, the flight of that part of her soul that so craved him.
The kiss became frant
ic, a greedy fire needing fuel. A terrible thirst demanding relief. Their kiss turned searing, full of need, and she knew an ache so deep in her body, she wondered how it could ever be relieved. She memorized every second, and never wanted to let go.
He was the one who drew back, his blue eyes searching hers. “Drawn? Lass, I think it is far more than that.”
She was numb, yet she knew what she had to do. No matter the intensity of their need for each other, it could not last.
He touched her face. “Do you not know I could never hate you? I could do naught but love you.”
“It is impossible.” She heard the words but didn’t know who was speaking them. Mayhap someone bleeding from the heart. But she had to be wise for all of them. She could not destroy three lives. Possibly more.
His eyes grew still. “My family will love you,” he said. “My brother would not care if you are English or Scot.”
“How could they not?” she said in a voice that was all pain. She moved back from his touch. “All the Scots dead at Flodden.”
She opened the door and almost knocked down Jock in the process. She saw his startled look, then her eyes glazed over and she almost stumbled.
Jock caught her. “If he hurt ye . . .”
“Nay.” Then she fled back to her room.
LACHLAN watched the door open and then close behind her. She did not look back.
He wanted to go after her, but he could not. Even if he had not heard the key turning in the lock, he could not. His body still thrummed from the passion that erupted in him. But she had no faith in him. And the two—or three—of them.
Mayhap she had reason. The circumstances of her birth had made her wary. But he had hoped she would come to believe in him.
He picked up the brooch from the table where he had laid it. He had meant to give it to her when he saw her. He’d had no chance. He looked at it now and thought about the doors it had opened in his mind. It had once meant everything to him. Now it meant nothing.
The sun suddenly hit the crest, and it seemed a live thing in his fingers.
He remembered the day Rory had given it to him.
They had returned to Inverleith after exposing a traitor to the crown, and Rory had won the right to marry a Campbell.
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