Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Maybe it was, for it burned like a roaring bushfire down her throat. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to cough and sputter, because she’d never tasted anything like it.

  Fighting to recover, she swallowed hard and met the Lion’s gaze directly.

  “So…” he said, returning to the sideboard to pick up the third glass he’d poured. “Darach tells me you got into a little scuffle with some Redcoats not far from here.”

  Larena glanced over her shoulder again, realizing she now knew the dark Highlander’s name. Darach.

  “That’s not what happened,” she explained, facing forward again. “If you would permit me to relay the truth of the situation…”

  Angus raised his arm, as if he were about to conduct an orchestra. “Please, feel free.”

  Though, on the surface, his words and actions appeared to be cordial, he struck Larena as dangerously unpredictable, a man whose mood could turn in an instant. She imagined him handing her a drink one second and breaking her thumb the next.

  Drawing in a deep breath to steady her nerves, she tossed back the rest of the whisky in a single gulp and grimaced in agony. “That’s strong,” she croaked.

  “Aye, it’s Moncrieffe Whisky, the very best the Highlands has to offer.”

  Still working to recuperate, she allowed Angus to take the empty glass from her trembling hand and lead her by the elbow to a chair.

  “Why don’t you sit down, lass?” he said. “You look a little pasty.”

  Aye. She certainly felt pasty. Not to mention dizzy from the bloodied lump on her head, the strong whisky, and fatigued and worried for her survival—as well as her father’s.

  Aware of Darach, following like a shadow beside her, she sat down on the wooden chair and watched Angus pull up a stool to sit down before her.

  “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded her head, but her heart still pounded heavily in her chest.

  “Now tell me everything,” Angus said in an encouraging tone that made her hope he might prove to be understanding.

  “It may surprise you to hear this,” she told him, “but I was not involved in the attack on the Redcoats. I don’t know who was responsible for that, for I was on the receiving end of it. You see…the British soldiers were acting as my escorts back to Leathan Castle.”

  “To deliver the King’s pardon that would save your father’s life?” Angus clarified.

  “Aye.”

  He studied her eyes intently. “Tell me more, Larena. How did this come to be?”

  She swallowed hard. “I had ridden all the way to Fort William to meet with His Majesty’s representative there…to plead for mercy on my father’s life. I was very fortunate that he awarded it to me, and for that reason I must leave here and return home as soon as possible.”

  “To save your father from the executioner,” Angus added.

  “That’s right.”

  “But why was your father sentenced to death?” he asked. “That is what I am most curious about, for I was under the impression that the Campbells of Leathan enjoyed kissing King George’s arse.”

  Perhaps another woman might have been shocked by the Lion’s coarse turn of phrase, but Larena had been raised with four older brothers who were crude in their youth. In fact, she was just as curious about—and confused by—her father’s motives when it came to his recent indiscretions.

  “It appears that my father did not entertain the same political views as our former chief.”

  She was keenly aware of Darach circling around to watch her more carefully. Her eyes lifted and she was immobilized by the intensity of his stare.

  “Are you referring to former Chief Ronald Campbell?” Angus asked. “He was a Hanoverian, from what I recall. Very loyal to King George.”

  “Aye,” she replied, “but as it turns out, after he died without any heirs, and my father took his place as chief, my father began a secret campaign to support the Jacobite cause and put the Stuart king back on the throne.” She lowered her gaze to her hands. “I believe he was taking steps to raise an army.”

  Both Angus and Darach frowned at her in bewilderment.

  Angus leaned forward. “You mean to tell me that your father, Fitzroy Campbell, is a Jacobite? Good Lord. Now I’ve heard everything.”

  Angus turned to look up at Darach who was standing beside him. “What do you make of that, Darach? Are you shocked?”

  “Aye,” he replied, gulping down a deep draft of his drink and wincing at the flavor. Or perhaps it was disgust at the information she’d just conveyed.

  Larena sighed heavily. “Believe me, I was as shocked as you are—even more so when the English soldiers broke down our gates to arrest my father. I swear I knew nothing of his plots against the King. That’s when I slipped out and rode to Fort William as fast as I could to plead for his life.”

  Darach’s head drew back in disbelief. “And they agreed to spare him? Why? How in God’s name did you convince the King’s representative in Scotland to offer your father a pardon?” He paused, then his eyes raked over her body. “Unless…”

  “No, it wasn’t that,” she firmly insisted. “And I am insulted by your insinuation, sir.”

  Angus slapped Darach’s arm. “Look what you’ve done, man. You’ve scandalized the poor Campbell lassie, and after everything she’s been through… Apologize to her at once.”

  “My apologies,” Darach said reluctantly, and took another swig of whisky.

  Larena sat up straighter in her chair. “If you must know, I have an old family connection with the King’s man, Lord Rutherford. I thought perhaps he might feel sentimental about Leathan Castle and agree to help me.”

  Angus inclined his head. “Why would Rutherford feel sentimental toward Leathan?”

  “It’s complicated. Please, if you would simply give me back the pardon and release me so that I may deliver it in time.”

  The two Highlanders stared at her in silence. Then Angus shook his head. “Sorry, lass. Complicated or not, I must know everything. Why did Lord Rutherford agree to spare your father’s life?”

  Seeing no way around it, Larena tried to explain things as plainly and efficiently as she could, because she needed to leave this place as soon as possible, before it was too late.

  “Because he sired a bastard son who is half Campbell,” she told them. “That son was raised by his mother at Leathan Castle until he was sixteen or so, but then she died. The boy and I were good friends…although I haven’t seen him in many years, not since I was a young girl, when Lord Rutherford came to collect him and raise him in London. I was only eleven at the time.”

  Darach strode closer and squatted down before her. She found herself distracted by the flecks of silver in the inky blackness of his eyes.

  “What is this bastard son’s name?” he asked.

  She lifted her chin and spoke proudly. “Colonel Gregory Chatham.”

  Darach’s eyebrows pulled together with dismay and she wondered if he knew the name.

  If he did, he revealed nothing.

  “I find it difficult to believe,” Darach said, “that mere sentiment would cause Lord Rutherford to spare the life of a Scottish traitor, just because his own bastard son had fond memories of his childhood in the Highlands.”

  There was something fierce and indomitable in Darach’s expression. It sent icy fingers of fear twisting around Larena’s heart. “You are correct,” she replied. “There is more to it than that.”

  Again, with a show of pride and defiance, she lifted her chin and folded her hands together on her lap.

  “Are you going to tell us, lass? Or keep us in suspense?” Angus asked, rising from the stool.

  Darach rose as well and she tried not to feel intimidated by their elevated statures before her.

  “Fine,” she replied. “In exchange for the pardon on my father’s life, I agreed to marry Lord Rutherford’s son.”

  “Marry him,” Darach said with a look of surprise.

  “Y
es. Evidently, those feelings of fondness his son, Chatham, had….” She paused and cleared her throat. “It was not a fondness for the Highlands, per se, but rather a fondness…for me.”

  Stunned, the MacDonald chief and his warrior scout stared down at her for what seemed like an eternity, then Darach abruptly turned away and strode to the windows where he looked out at what was left of the setting sun—a mere sliver of blinding fire over the horizon.

  Angus paced, as if considering the situation at great length. Larena noticed that he glanced often at Darach.

  Before long, her heart began to pound like a hammer. Had she made a terrible mistake just now? Perhaps she shouldn’t have revealed her marriage arrangement to these fighting MacDonalds. Perhaps they would view it as a threat to Scotland or themselves—to have a half-Campbell, half-English chief ruling at Leathan Castle.

  “Are you at all familiar with this man you are pledged to marry?” Angus asked, stopping in the center of the hall. “What do you know of his character today?”

  “As I told you,” she replied, “I haven’t seen him in years. I was only a child when he left Leathan.”

  “What sort of child was he?” Angus pressed.

  Larena thought back to those long ago days when she used to run and play with her brothers in the bailey, fighting each other with wooden swords, pretending to be warriors. She had taken part as well and it was with them that she had learned to shoot arrows with remarkable accuracy for a girl.

  Chatham had been nothing like her brothers.

  “He was intelligent,” she told them, “which was why I enjoyed his company. He was different from the others.”

  “How so?” Angus asked with a slight frown.

  “No one could read like Chatham could,” she replied. “No one had the interest. And he was quiet, I suppose. Sometimes the older boys bullied him.” She looked down at her hands on her lap. “My brothers included.”

  She had not been proud of how they treated Chatham. But her brothers were all gone now—fallen heroes at the Battle of Sheriffmuir, many years back. She was the only one left. Her father’s only child—the only hope left to carry on his legacy at Leathan.

  “At least this way,” she heard herself saying to Angus, “my father’s grandchildren will be lairds of Leathan one day. If I don’t marry Chatham, the castle will fall to the English as a garrison and the members of my clan will have no home.” She looked up. “For that reason, please, sir, I beg of you… I realize you do not owe me anything. I am a Campbell and we’ve always been at each other’s throats, but I pray that you will find it in your heart to let me go, so that I may deliver the pardon to save my father’s life and fulfill my promise to Lord Rutherford.”

  Angus considered her plea. “That was quite a speech, lass. No wonder Rutherford couldn’t resist your offer.”

  “It wasn’t my offer,” she said. “The marriage was his idea.”

  Angus’s golden eyebrow lifted.

  “So you’ll hand yourself over to an officer of the British army,” Darach asked, striding toward her, “to save your father’s life?”

  “Of course. What other choice do I have? Wouldn’t you do the same in my place?”

  “I can’t answer that, lass,” he replied. “My father’s dead.”

  Tension rolled into the room, but Larena kept her gaze fixed on his. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  He gave no reply, but his eyes were dark and insolent.

  “Well then,” Angus said, finishing his drink and striding to the sideboard to set down the glass. “I thank you for your candor, Larena Campbell. You’ve been most forthcoming. For that reason, I will honor your request and return your father’s pardon to you. I will also arrange an escort to deliver you safely to Leathan Castle immediately. I will send word to Rutherford at Fort William to inform him that his soldiers were attacked by a young band of MacDuff rebels, but that you are now safe under my protection. In return, you will explain to your future husband that Angus MacDonald of Kinloch desires peace between our clans and also with the English. Assure him that I have no interest in another rebellion. I wish only for the people of Kinloch to live with freedom from strife.”

  Larena stood up—surprised, relieved, and more grateful than ever. “Thank you, sir. You are most generous.”

  He turned to Darach. “And you will be the one to escort the lady home. Take your brother Logan as well.”

  Darach bristled noticeably, and Larena suspected she did the same, for the mere idea of traveling through the Highlands with this dark and menacing Highlander sent her heart into a spin.

  “That’s not necessary,” she blurted out. “I am perfectly capable of traveling on my own.”

  “I’ll hear no such thing,” Angus jauntily replied. “You are not yet recovered from your wounds. You must allow me to offer protection.”

  “I don’t need protection.”

  She was not surprised when Darach interjected. “Perhaps another clansman would be more suited to the task. Clearly the lass is not fond of me.”

  “I can see that, plain as day,” Angus said. “What did you do to her, Darach?”

  “Nothing,” he replied defensively. “I didn’t harm a single hair on her head, not even when she tried to brain me with a rock.”

  Angus faced her. “Is that true, lass? Did you try to brain my scout?”

  A sickening lump formed in Larena’s belly and she prayed he would not retract his earlier offer. “Aye,” she replied, “but only because I thought he was one of the attackers who killed the English soldiers. I had been unconscious. I didn’t know where he had come from.”

  “So it was self-defense, then,” Angus concluded, “and a misunderstanding. In that case, I see no reason why you cannot be friends.” He gave Darach a look. “I’ll hear no more arguments. Go and make preparations. You will leave tonight. Good-bye Larena Campbell. If we meet again, I hope it will be under improved circumstances.”

  “As do I. Thank you, sir.” She curtsied and walked out, but stopped for a moment outside the door to close her eyes and let out a deep breath of relief. Thank the Lord.

  She started off again and Darach followed. As soon as they reached the top of the curved staircase, she turned to face him. “Do you still have the pardon?”

  He patted his sporran. “Aye, it’s right here.”

  She held out her hand. “Then I will have it now, if you please.”

  A slow, intimidating grin curled the corner of his mouth, but he shook his head. “Nay, lass. I am assigned to protect you until we reach Leathan Castle. So I’ll protect this document as well.”

  “I am perfectly capable of guarding that document myself,” she told him.

  “Like you guarded it on the road with the Redcoats when musket balls started flying and your horse took off with it?”

  She lowered her hand to her side and thought of how Rupert had bolted. She had never seen him so terrorized. “Where did you find him?”

  “He found us,” Darach explained. “He was in a mighty hurry, too. It wasn’t easy to calm him. It took some careful finessing and a few soft words.”

  Larena scoffed. “Then it must have been your brother, Logan, who accomplished that feat.” She picked up her skirts and descended the stairs. “Because finesse doesn’t seem to be one of your finer qualities.”

  Darach followed her down. “I can be charming when I wish to be, lass. I just haven’t felt the inclination around you—not since I learned you were a Campbell.”

  Her feet tapped lightly down the stone steps. When she reached the bottom, she stopped and looked left and right. “Where are we going? I have no idea.”

  He took hold of her arm and led her down a vaulted stone corridor. “Back to your cell until it’s time to leave.”

  “Surely you don’t intend to lock me up again,” she said with exasperation, hurrying to keep up with his brisk, long-legged strides. “Your chief said you were to be my protector, not my jailor.”

  “That’s the thing, l
ass. I don’t trust you not to bash me over the head again to get your hands on this pardon, and I certainly can’t protect you if you ride off alone into the night.”

  “Would it really be so bad if I did?” she challenged. “Wouldn’t it spare you the unpleasantness of having to endure the next few days in my company? I am a Campbell, after all, and clearly you are not fond of the name.”

  They descended another set of stairs that led to a narrow, torch-lit corridor below ground level.

  “But then my chief would be displeased with me,” Darach replied, “and I cannot have that. I took an oath, lass. I owe him everything.”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, “I understand. You’re a MacDonald and loyal to your chief.”

  They arrived at her cell door, which had been left open. An armed clansman stood guard. Candles still burned inside, but Logan, the gentler one, was gone.

  Darach nudged her through the doorway. “I’ll be back to collect you in one hour,” he said. “I suggest you try and get some rest because the moon is full. We’ll be traveling until midnight at least.”

  “Will you give me back my own horse?” she asked, thinking of Rupert and feeling a rush of panic as Darach moved to close the door.

  “Aye, you can have him.” He began to back out.

  Feeling suddenly apprehensive and not wanting to be left alone, Larena took a quick step forward. “And you’re certain that Logan will come with us?”

  Darach paused with his hand on the latch. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because…” she paused. “He was kind to me. And you have been…less than kind.”

  Darach regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Logan has that way about him, especially when it comes to lassies in distress, but don’t expect him to be your nursemaid.”

  “I won’t. I’m only glad it won’t be just the two of us.”

  Darach inclined his head and grinned at her with devious amusement. “Ah…I see now. You’re afraid to be alone with me.”

  Her sense of pride reared up violently. “I most certainly am not. Why would I be?”

  “Because maybe you don’t trust yourself to resist the powers of my overwhelming masculine appeal.”

  Larena let out a laugh. “Hah! Go ahead and imagine that, Darach, if it makes you feel pleased with yourself.”