Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  A few minutes later, as Darach was leading the way across the narrow valley toward the forested hill on the other side, Larena stopped.

  “Darach,” she said, “just because I am going with you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what happened. I feel as if I don’t know you at all.”

  He stared at her a moment and realized with despair that no matter how badly he wanted to be with her and protect her, he’d never be able to erase what happened in the glade or shield her from the pain of all she had lost.

  Not yet ready to give up, he glanced around to scan the horizon for Redcoats. “I understand that, lass, but I hope that one day, you will.”

  She looked down at the grass and followed him across the glen.

  * * *

  When Larena did not respond to Gregory’s dinner invitation that evening, he grew concerned and went himself to the South Tower where her rooms were located.

  Climbing the curved staircase, he worried that she might have become inconsolable over the death of her father and not risen from bed all day. She had no one to talk to, after all, here in the garrison. Most members of her clan had chosen to leave, even though he’d invited any and all loyal British subjects to remain. Perhaps they feared guilt by association?

  Either way, he would need to remedy that situation when Larena became his wife. What he wanted was for the loyal subjects to return and discover him to be a generous and benevolent laird. Some soldiers would have to remain for a time, of course, but eventually, as the Jacobite cause was stamped out, the gates could open up again. Life, as it was, could resume and become similar to what it had been like when he lived here as a boy.

  He reached the top of the stairs and found Larena’s door closed. He knocked firmly upon it.

  No answer came so he knocked a second time.

  Then a third.

  “Larena? It’s Gregory. May I come in?”

  Still, no answer came, so he took the liberty of opening the door and peering inside.

  The bed was in shambles with the covers strewn about. A strange feeling of foreboding tingled down his spine as he slowly moved closer and walked to the window, which looked out over the bailey below.

  The room was silent as a grave, and he wondered with increasing unease where Larena had gone.

  Striding out of the room with purpose, he ran down the stairs, entered the hall where the officers were eating supper, and approached the long table upon the dais. “Has anyone seen Larena Campbell today?”

  All the men stood. “No colonel,” the highest ranking officer replied.

  “You haven’t seen her at all…heading to the stables or the kitchen? The gallery perhaps?”

  “No, sir.”

  He strode quickly out of the hall and descended to the kitchen—the one place in the castle where a few Campbell women still presided. “Has anyone seen Larena?” he asked.

  The clanswoman who was kneading bread dough at the worktable looked up and wiped her brow with her forearm. “Not since yesterday, Colonel Chatham, when we sent up her supper tray.”

  “She didn’t have any breakfast?”

  The clanswoman hollered over her shoulder. “Did any of you lassies take breakfast to Larena’s chamber this morning?”

  “No, ma’am,” they each replied.

  Gregory walked out and returned to his private chambers. He went straight to the drink tray and poured himself a brandy. He tossed it back in a single gulp, then poured another.

  “Roberts! Come in here!”

  The young lieutenant hurried into the room. “Yes, colonel?”

  “Larena Campbell has gone missing. Was the gate lifted today?”

  “A few times, when the men were coming and going.”

  “Did she leave? Did anyone see her?”

  “I haven’t heard, but I can enquire about it.”

  “See that you do, and report back to me immediately. Then I want you to assemble a few men and search every nook and cranny of this castle.”

  “Are we to search for the lady, colonel?”

  “Yes, and if you find her, you will politely and persuasively invite her to join me for supper in my chambers. She will not refuse you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Roberts walked out and left Gregory alone to obsess about that dirty Highland imposter whom he’d presumed to be dead. Gregory imagined for a moment that Darach might not be dead after all and might have returned for Larena. He could have snuck in somehow when the soldiers were coming and going.

  If that is what occurred—and Larena left with him willingly—Gregory wasn’t certain if he’d be able to forgive her. Especially when he had done everything possible to show her patience and kindness.

  What had she given him in return?

  An appalling betrayal. A shocking lack of respect.

  There would have to be consequences.

  He downed the rest of the brandy and moved to sit in the chair in front of the fire. While he envisioned what the appropriate consequences might be, he noticed a long-legged spider on the floor and considered crushing it with his boot, but instead he gently scooped it up onto his palm and watched it crawl toward the tips of his fingers. Eventually, he couldn’t resist plucking off one leg at a time until there were none left. He then tossed what was left of the spider into the fire and returned to his thoughts about consequences. What he did to Larena would all depend, he supposed, on whether or not there was still going to be a wedding.

  He hoped to God there would be. Surely there was still hope.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “We’ll stop here for the night,” Darach said, dropping the food sack on the ground and sinking to his knees on the forest floor.

  “Dear Lord, are you all right?” Larena rushed to his side. “It’s nowhere near nightfall. You must be at death’s door if you want to stop now.”

  “I’m fine. We just need to rest awhile.”

  “But you’re white as a sheet,” Larena said with concern and a heated rush of dread. She may have been angry over what happened, but she didn’t want him to die. “Let me check your wound.”

  Heaven help them both if it was festering.

  She tugged at his shirt and pulled it out from under the belt at his kilt. Rolling it up, she found the bloody bandage, which was wrapped diagonally across his back, and gently lifted it. The wound was raw and had been sewn closed, but it did not appear to be blighted.

  “My word, how did you ever survive such a shot? You should be dead, Darach—or at least in bed, not crossing half the Highlands on foot.”

  “I didn’t see that we had much choice, lass. And the soft ground will serve just fine as a bed for this evening.”

  She glanced up at the angry sky beyond the canopy of leaves overhead. “Normally I would agree with you, but it looks like rain. We need to find shelter for the night.” She lowered his shirt and patted him on the arm. “Stay here while I go and see what I can find for us.”

  “Do not get lost,” he replied as she walked away. “And tread lightly. Keep your eyes and ears open for Redcoats.”

  “I will say the same to you.” With that, she ventured out on her own.

  * * *

  When Larena returned a short time later, she found Darach asleep on the ground, lying on his side. Kneeling over him, she laid a hand on his shoulder. He startled awake, sat up with wild eyes, and grabbed her by the throat.

  Searing adrenalin sparked in her blood as he glared at her with murderous eyes. Gasping for air, she slapped at his hand. Within seconds, he realized she was not his enemy and released her. Larena fell back onto her hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he quickly said, sitting up and taking hold of her by the shoulders. “Are you all right? I was dreaming.”

  “About what?”

  “About Chatham coming after us. He had me in irons and was beating me to a pulp with a horsewhip while you watched.”

  She shook her head at him. “It was just a dream.”

  “I know that
now, lass. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Larena rose to her feet. “I’m fine,” she said, but she was not fine. She couldn’t help but wonder if that was how Darach had looked at her father in the glade—with those same murderous eyes just before he lost control of his senses and struck out with the knife.

  Heaven help her. What was she doing here? She was still so uncertain of Darach and his true intentions. Why had she thought this was a good idea?

  Pushing those thoughts aside, for there was nothing she could do about it now, she started off. “I found a place for us to set up camp for the night. We should go now, before the rain comes.”

  Darach rose to his feet as well and followed her through a patch of trees and down a gradual slope to a wide, slow-moving river. “There’s a large weeping willow up ahead,” she said. “It’s not far. We can hide underneath it.”

  A fat raindrop struck her nose, followed by a few more upon her cheeks. “Hurry.” She ran ahead, found the tree, and passed through the drooping foliage into a tent-like shelter beneath.

  Darach was much slower to arrive. She had to wait for him. Clearly he was in pain.

  “This will do nicely,” he said as he finally entered behind her.

  Rain began to patter heavily on the leaves. They sat down, huddled close to the wide trunk and she dug into the pack to find something for them to eat.

  * * *

  “Do you think, by now, he’s noticed that I’m gone?” Larena asked much later as they lay down to go to sleep.

  “Probably,” Darach replied. “And when they don’t find my body where it’s supposed to be, they’ll search for us. We’ll need to keep to the forests and stay off the main roads.”

  Fighting an onerous wave of apprehension, Larena hugged her arms around herself. “Will we even be able to reach Kinloch? It seems impossible from here.”

  “Aye, lass, we’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “And you’re sure Angus will help us? What if Logan has already returned and told him what you did?”

  “I trust Angus to see that I was fulfilling my oath to him, no matter what the cost, even if it meant I had to snap my brother’s arm in two.”

  She thought about that for a moment—the violence of him breaking his brother’s arm—then shook that thought from her head, like all the others. “But Angus might not be quite so pleased to learn that we helped my father escape from the English prison. He may resent you for causing trouble and raising the ire of the English, and bringing his own clan into the fray.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, lass.”

  “If you say so.” She lay back down and struggled to find a comfortable position on the uneven ground. Saying nothing more, she tried to sleep, but it wasn’t easy when she felt as if her whole world and everything she’d ever loved had been ripped away from her in the most tragic way.

  * * *

  Not long after he fell asleep, Darach woke to the sound of a sniffle. He opened his eyes and saw Larena sitting against the trunk of the tree, hugging her knees to her chest, weeping quietly.

  He leaned up on an elbow. “What is it, lass?” he gently asked.

  She shook her head and wiped under her nose. “I was just thinking about my father, remembering happier times.”

  Darach sat up. “He was a good father to you. I’ll give him that.”

  She wiped a tear from her cheek. “How can you say that when you believe he murdered yours?”

  Darach paused. “Whether he did or didn’t, all I know is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carrying a grudge against any man—especially one you care for so deeply.”

  She rested her chin on her knees and seemed to be taking time to consider his words.

  The nearness of her in the darkness caused a painful shot of longing deep in his core. His heart began to beat fast and he hungered to move closer, to touch her, to take her into his arms and comfort her.

  “Would you like me to lie beside you?” he carefully asked. “I could hold you and keep you warm.”

  “No, Darach,” she somberly replied. “Your touch is what got us into all this trouble to begin with. I should never have lain with you.”

  The cold, sharp edge of her tone and the harshness of her words caused a throbbing ache to begin inside his chest, for she spoke as if she loathed him with every inch of her being. It broke him in two, and he feared that she would never forgive him for what happened.

  God help him, he had murdered the love that existed between them in that moment her father fell upon his knife.

  “Don’t say that,” Darach said. “You cannot regret it. I touched you because I loved you, and you loved me back. I know you did. What happened to your father was no one’s fault. It was an accident.”

  At least he thought it was. Maybe Fitzroy had done it on purpose just to spite Darach and prevent Larena from ever surrendering her heart to him.

  If that had been his plan, it appeared to be working. As far as Darach was concerned, there could be no worse torture, no worse punishment than what was happening here. It was the ultimate revenge, even from beyond the grave.

  “Do not presume that I loved you,” Larena said. “I don’t know what it was. Lust, perhaps. But it couldn’t have been love.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I hardly knew you. I still don’t.”

  “Yes, you do,” he replied. “You’re just angry.”

  It was too dark to see her expression, but he heard the soft sound of her frustration. “Go back to sleep,” she said, lying back down on the ground. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’m fine now.”

  But she wasn’t fine and he wished he could ease her pain, yet he knew that he couldn’t. All he could do was stay by her side and give her enough space to nurse her anger and blame him for what happened. If that’s what she needed to do, so be it. He blamed himself, in many ways, but he prayed there would come a day when she would be ready to go on living and forgive him for what happened.

  Because he had no intention of never touching her again. He loved her and desired her. His was a passionate, bone-deep need and he would do whatever it took to help her remember what they’d shared in those intimate moments when she had given herself to him completely.

  He would do everything in his power to make her see the man he truly was—and realize that she loved him.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Gregory Chatham sat down at his desk and listened to the faint rattle of the chains lifting the heavy iron portcullis at the main gate. Setting down his quill pen, he pinched the bridge of his nose, for he suspected that Larena had not been found. It had been three days since her unexplained disappearance, and every night, a battalion of soldiers returned to the castle with no news of her.

  It was becoming increasingly vexing. If Gregory didn’t find her soon, he might go mad. And it was not simply jealousy that rankled him—although that was more than half of it.

  There was also the additional problem of reporting these awkward circumstances to his father, who was not a forgiving man by nature. Gregory had already sent word to him that Fitzroy Campbell had escaped from a locked prison cell while under Gregory’s command, and had died shortly thereafter in an alleged knife fight.

  His father would not be pleased. Evidently, elaborate plans had been made for the Scottish laird’s arrival at the Tolbooth in Edinburgh. Fitzroy was to be used as an example for other traitorous rebels in Scotland, and it was intended to be a gruesome and memorable spectacle for the people of Scotland.

  But because of Gregory’s failure to keep the Campbell laird imprisoned, the pageantry would have to be called off, which would shine a very poor light on Gregory as a commander. He was a colonel in the British army, yet he had no control over the prisoners under his watch, or his future bride.

  In light of that, how the devil was he to send a second report to his father and explain that his fiancée had also escaped his grasp? He didn’t even know if it was her choice to leave the gar
rison, or if that dirty Scottish rebel had returned, scaled the walls somehow, and abducted her against her will. Truth be told, Gregory didn’t even know if the man was dead or alive for his body had gone missing.

  Either way it was an embarrassment.

  And Gregory suspected the abduction theory was just wishful thinking. Larena had admitted openly that she had become infatuated with Darach during her journey from Fort William to Leathan.

  There was a sudden pounding in Gregory’s ears as he thought about that. What exactly had happened between them? Had that despicable savage touched her? Defiled her? Had she welcomed it?

  Fire burned in Gregory’s guts, and he wanted to smash something. Damn! How witless could he have been?

  He’d foolishly presumed that if he didn’t push Larena too hard—if he was patient, gentle and understanding—she would appreciate his kindness and eventually forget about Darach and accept her position here in the garrison as First Lady of Leathan.

  Gregory pounded his fist on the desktop, stood up, and with a bellowing roar, swept all the papers, the crystal wine glass, and inkwell onto the floor with a resounding crash.

  Bloody hell. He had not been aggressive enough. He should have bedded her right then and there after dinner that first night. He shouldn’t have allowed her to push him away when he kissed her. He should have staked his claim. Branded her as his own.

  It was a constant battle, to become the sort of man his father wanted him to be. His polite decorum had always been his greatest shortcoming.

  He had to get her back, and he had to deal with Darach—if he lived. Gregory had to prove to everyone—his father as well as every last member of the Campbell clan—that he was not to be underestimated and that he was fit to rule over them. They needed to know that he was not the timid boy he used to be. He had grown into a man deserving of their fear.

  A knock sounded at the door just then. “Is everything all right, colonel?”

  Gregory strode to the door and opened it. “What news is there?”