Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  She frowned up at him with dismay. “How can you say that when I just admitted that I loved another man?”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t love. How could it be after such a short period of time in his company? You didn’t know the real man. Surely you must see how you were misled and seduced.”

  She tried to make sense of it all, but couldn’t.

  “You and I have known each other all our lives,” he continued, brushing a finger across her cheek. “I have loved you devotedly for years and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I only hope that you can find it in your heart to remember why you agreed to this marriage in the first place. You knew it was the best thing for your clan, and for you. I will do anything to make you happy, Larena. Give this a chance and I will say no more about what happened between you and the Highlander.”

  “But…I don’t understand how you could forgive me. You don’t even know what happened.”

  “I don’t want to know,” he firmly told her.

  Larena swallowed hard. “But I am under arrest for aiding my father—a convicted criminal. The officer put me in irons and locked me up in the prison.”

  Gregory cradled her chin in his hand and cupped it, hard. “You were a victim in this, Larena, nothing more. You were practically abducted. Darach MacDonald—or Campbell, whatever you want to call him—was your enemy and that is what you must accept. In terms of your arrest, I have already wiped that slate clean.”

  She swallowed uneasily and looked up at him. “I should…thank you.”

  He laid both his hands on her shoulders and squeezed firmly. “No thanks are necessary. You are the love of my life and always will be. I will do whatever it takes to make you my wife.”

  Suddenly, he pressed his mouth to hers in a rigid, invasive kiss that caused her eyes to fly open in shock. He pulled her tight against him and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  Larena’s stomach exploded with revulsion. She pushed him away and wiped at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “What are you doing? My father just died.”

  Gregory blinked at her with confusion, then he squared his shoulders. “I suppose that was ill timed. Clumsy of me.”

  The intensity in his voice and the manner in which he wet his lips sent a shiver down the length of her spine. It was not the same sort of pleasurable shivers she’d experienced with Darach. This was something else entirely. She felt only anger and disgust, which was unfortunate, since Gregory seemed genuine in his affection for her and in his desire to ensure that she was safe and protected.

  But would she ever truly feel safe and protected? Could she love him? Did she want to marry him?

  No, most assuredly not, which left her in a difficult position indeed, for where else did she have to go? And what did she know about love anyway? Clearly nothing.

  According to her father, she had a duty to hold onto the castle for the good of the Campbell clan, despite the presence of the English army.

  But her father was gone now. Her clan had scattered.

  She had never felt so completely alone in all her life. She was surrounded by blackness.

  She curtsied respectfully to Gregory and walked out.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  In the dream, Darach was riding Miller bareback across a lush green valley. Miller galloped gracefully, almost as if they were flying. He was white in the dream.

  The scent of meat filled Darach’s nostrils and suddenly the dream changed. He found himself dashing through dark, stone corridors in an unfamiliar castle, rushing past flaming torches on the walls. For a moment he thought he was being pursued, then he realized he was the pursuer, chasing after that familiar hawk from other dreams. It had become trapped and was searching for a way out. Darach wanted to guide it, to free it from the castle interior, to thrust it upwards toward the sky.

  He woke with a start and sat up. He was in a dark room with a curtain over the door. It was nighttime.

  His back and shoulder throbbed with pain, so he lay back down on the pillow, fatigued by the sudden movement.

  Where was he? More importantly, where was Larena?

  Closing his eyes, he searched through his hazy mind for the last thing he could recall. Ah yes…. He’d been running for his sword in the glade while Larena tended to her father.

  Darach had stabbed him. He remembered all too clearly the shock in Fitzroy’s eyes when he realized the knife had stuck him in the belly.

  Then the soldiers had come….

  Larena?

  Darach tried agonizingly to sit up again. He glanced at the curtain across the door. There was a strip of light under it.

  He was in a cottage.

  Whose cottage? Where? Were these friends or enemies?

  Sitting all the way up, he carefully put his feet on the floor and took a moment to find his breath. He was just beginning to feel like he might be able to stand when the curtain swept open and he found himself staring into the eyes of a small, red-haired child. She stared at him in shock, then let the curtain fall closed and called out, “Ma! He’s awake!”

  The sound of voices and chair legs scrapping across a plank floor provided some warning that others would soon appear to gape at him. Sure enough, the curtain was thrown open again.

  It was a woman this time. She was small and plump with red hair like her daughter. She wore the Campbell tartan as a sash.

  A man stepped into view behind her. He was much taller, fair-haired, and lean. He also wore Campbell colors. “We weren’t sure you’d live,” he said.

  “I was shot,” Darach explained, “by English soldiers.”

  “We figured as much. We heard the musketfire from here. Then we saw the soldiers riding across the field with two prisoners, but they left you behind for some reason.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Darach replied, hunching forward as a fresh wave of pain erupted at his back. “I gather you brought me back here? How long have I been out? And did you see which way the soldiers were heading? Was it in the direction of Leathan Castle? Was there a woman with them?”

  The Campbell clansman held up a hand. “One question at a time, friend. Aye, they were heading in that direction, and aye, there was a woman, along with a bearded Highlander. They were a fair distance away so we couldn’t make out much else.”

  Darach tried to stand but felt woozy and sat back down.

  “You must stay put,” the woman scolded as she tied the curtain back to let more light into the room.

  “What day is it?” he asked. “How long have I been here?”

  “We picked you up this morning,” she told him. “I reckon you would have bled to death if we hadn’t found you when we did.”

  “My wife’s good with a needle and thread,” the clansman offered.

  “The ball was lodged in your shoulder blade,” she explained. “I had to dig it out. No doubt you’ll be sore for a while.”

  “Thank you,” Darach replied, nodding his head in gratitude.

  “You’re not out of the woods yet,” the woman said. “You need time to heal, and we must keep an eye on it. Pray it doesn’t fester.”

  Another wave of dizziness washed over Darach, so he lay back down on his side to take a few deep breaths and wait for the nausea to pass.

  “You’ll need something in your belly,” the woman said. “I’ve got a pot of soup simmering over the fire. I’ll fetch you some broth.”

  He wanted to thank her again but he felt so weak and dizzy, he couldn’t manage to get any words out.

  * * *

  “What are your names?” Darach asked a short while later when he was able to sit up again and take some broth. The little flame-haired lassie had crawled into the room and was now sitting on the floor behind her mother’s skirts.

  “I’m John Campbell,” the crofter said, “and this is my wife, Mary.”

  “It’s good to meet you. I’m Darach MacDonald. From Kinloch.” He ate a few more bites. “You must be seeing a lot of commotion around here lately, ever since th
e English invaded at Leathan.”

  “Aye,” John replied. “But the commotion began long before that, friend. It began the moment Ronald Campbell passed away and our new chief took his place. That was when we thought it best to leave Leathan. It’s a good thing we did, too.”

  “Why is that?”

  John shrugged, as if to make light of the situation. “Clan politics were changing. We didn’t wish to get involved.”

  “You must be referring to Fitzroy’s plot to raise a Jacobite army,” Darach suggested, curious to learn more.

  John’s eyebrows lifted and he shifted uncomfortably. “You heard about that?”

  “Aye. News travels fast throughout the Highlands when a Campbell chief is sentenced to death for acts of treason against the English Crown.” Darach thought he should probably keep his mouth shut about the whole situation, but these people had saved his life. Besides, he wanted to know what they knew. “That bearded Highlander you saw with the Redcoats this morning? That was him. Fitzroy Campbell.”

  “Are you sure?” John asked.

  “Aye, because I was trying to help him escape.” Darach dipped his spoon into the bowl. “Obviously that didn’t work out very well.”

  John and Mary regarded each other with apprehension. “You’re a friend to him, then? Are you a Jacobite?”

  Darach shook his head. “Nay, I’m nothing. I was just trying to help his daughter. I wanted her to come away with me.”

  “So it was true love, then,” John suggested, glancing knowingly at his wife. “Now that I understand. Nothing else in the world can make a man do more foolish things.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Darach replied, finishing his soup. “Which is why I need to leave here tonight. I have to return for her.”

  “Return where?” Mary asked. “To Leathan Castle? Are you mad? You just broke Fitzroy Campbell out of the prison. There will be a price on your head, to be sure.”

  “Not if they think I’m dead,” Darach argued, “which they must, otherwise they would never have left me behind.”

  He only wished he knew what was happening to Larena. He had to make sure she was all right and, God willing, get her back in his arms. At the very least, he needed to explain what happened in the glade. He needed her to understand that it had never been his intention to murder her father.

  Was Fitzroy even alive?

  “Maybe so,” Mary said, “but if they see you again, they’ll realize their mistake and arrest you.”

  “They won’t see me,” he assured them, setting the empty bowl on the bedside table and laboring to rise.

  “How will you manage that?” John asked. “Because you’re no ghost, Darach MacDonald. You’re true flesh and blood. Wounded, for that matter.”

  “You must at least wait another day,” Mary added. “You were shot in the back this morning. You’re not fit to travel.”

  Darach set his feet on the floor and tried again to stand. “Ach,” he whispered as a searing pain exploded in his shoulder blade. He winced and sat down again.

  “What did I tell you?” Mary scolded. “If you run out of here now—all fired up and wanting to rescue your beloved—you’ll open that wound and end up dead before you get anywhere near the castle walls.”

  Mary was right and Darach knew it. He had to heal before he could return, or he’d be no good to Larena at all.

  With a groan of pain and frustration, he lay back down on the bed and struggled to catch his breath.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Larena was grateful that Gregory had left her in peace after their meeting that morning and the disturbing kiss she had not enjoyed in the least. Keeping to his word, he arranged for a bath to be sent up to her room, after which she fell asleep for many hours. By nightfall, a supper tray arrived. She spent the rest of the evening lying in bed, blinking up at the ceiling, grieving for her father and reliving those last few moments in the glade just before the soldiers arrived.

  She couldn’t erase the images from her mind: Darach holding out the bloody knife, her father lying on the ground beneath him, bleeding from the stomach.

  It was an accident…

  Those were Darach’s final words, the last thing he’d said to her before the world exploded into a hellish firestorm of musket balls.

  He wanted me dead. The lad was full of vengeance. He accused me of murdering his father, her father claimed.

  She didn’t want to believe it, yet Gregory had suggested the same thing, and Darach’s brother Logan had made no secret of his own desires for vengeance.

  By midnight, Larena felt as if her heart and mind had frozen over with ice. Then she realized she hadn’t shed a single tear since her arrival through the castle gates that morning. All she could do was stare up at the ceiling in a daze.

  Maybe she didn’t want to believe what happened.

  Or maybe she truly was dead inside.

  Nevertheless, nightmarish images persisted to haunt her mind. She saw the Redcoats bursting through the trees on their horses. She smelled the gunpowder from the muskets, saw the blood staining her father’s shirt and the English soldier kicking Darach’s lifeless body and rolling him over onto his back.

  Oh, Lord…Darach. His remains had been left behind to rot. She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. Despite what he might have done, it was too ghastly to think of.

  Suddenly she found herself recalling the tender moments in his arms when he had gazed down at her in the candlelight—the feel of his warm, naked flesh pressed to hers, his thick firm muscles beneath the stroke of her hands.

  Sweet Mary and Joseph, how could all the pleasure and joy have been severed from her life so quickly and completely?

  And how could she be thinking of Darach’s tender touch when she felt so utterly betrayed?

  Was it true? Had he been using her all along to seek an opportunity to kill her father with his own bare hands? She didn’t want to believe it, not after everything they’d been through together. He had protected her from Logan, who confessed his own twisted need for vengeance. Darach had broken his brother’s arm and sent him away. Had he only done that so that he could seize that opportunity for himself?

  And what of the warmth and love she’d felt whenever Darach looked into her eyes or touched her?

  He would never touch her again.

  He was gone from this world.

  He no longer existed.

  Tears, at long last, spilled from her eyes and she curled up in a ball, hugging the pillow. If she could have had one wish that night, it would have been to turn back time. If only it were possible. If it were, she never would have broken her father out of the prison. What happened in the glade would never have occurred. She would not feel betrayed by Darach. She would not be wondering if what existed between them was real. He would be alive tonight, and her father would be alive, too.

  * * *

  Larena wasn’t sure what woke her, but it caused her to sit up straight in bed and hug the blankets to her chest. There was a noticeable chill in the air which caused the skin on the back of her neck to prickle. Her heart was racing and she was overcome with fear.

  “Hello?”

  She hadn’t felt a night terror like that since she was little girl. Back then, she would dash up the stairs to her brothers’ chambers and crawl into bed with one of them. They would always comfort her after a bad dream, but there was no one left at Leathan to comfort her now. Everyone was gone.

  Except for Gregory.

  But he could never comfort her. No matter how hard he tried or wanted to. The kiss that afternoon had been unpleasant and she was still inexplicably disturbed by it.

  The drapes fluttered in the dimly lit room and sent a burning rush of anxiety into her belly. Determined to set her mind at ease, she rose from the bed, wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, and padded cautiously across the floor to peer behind the curtains.

  There was nothing there of course—except for the moon, high in the sky outside the w
indow. Nevertheless, she felt a presence. Gooseflesh erupted across her skin. She felt restless and agitated.

  Perhaps it was Darach’s ghost. Perhaps he had come back to haunt her for allowing the soldiers to leave his body behind.

  She still couldn’t bear to think of his cold corpse lying on the ground in the forest.

  Someone had to give him a proper burial. Logan needed to be informed of what had happened.

  Pulling the blanket more snugly around her shoulders, she returned to bed. She remained sitting up against the pillows, however, feeling terribly unsettled as she hugged her knees to her chest and stared into the emptiness.

  A powerful yearning to see Darach again nearly smothered her with its power. She couldn’t keep herself from dreaming that he would come back, that he wasn’t dead after all. In her fantasy, he surprised her by sneaking up on her and speaking softly in her ear, just as he had done before, even when she’d believed he was gone forever.

  In the fantasy, he had not killed her father.

  All at once, she knew what she had to do.

  Rising from the bed, Larena hurried into her dressing room. Part of her knew it was morbid madness to feel such a need to return to where Darach was shot and see for herself that he was truly dead, but she couldn’t wait until morning to ask for Gregory’s permission to leave the castle. He would never allow it. He would convince her that she must leave it to the army. He would promise to arrange Darach’s burial and he would advise her to put it all behind her.

  But she needed to see Darach. If she didn’t, she would go out of her mind, always dreaming of his return, or feeling the presence of his spirit in the night, haunting her.

  A short while later, dressed in a simple dark skirt and bodice, she entered the storage closet beyond the surgery and pulled the heavy blocks out of the wall.

  * * *

  The sun was just coming up when Larena reached the shallow burn where they had walked in the water to cover their tracks. It was a miracle she’d found it, for everything looked vague and shadowy in the forest at night. But she knew these lands like the back of her hand, and she remembered which way they had gone.