Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Roberts took one look at the papers and shattered glass on the floor and swallowed uneasily. “The men are back, sir. They found nothing.”

  Gregory winced. “She couldn’t have disappeared into the clouds.” He turned his gaze toward the fireplace. “If that wretched Highlander is alive and has taken Larena with him, there is only one place they would go. One place where they would seek refuge.”

  “Kinloch?” Roberts suggested.

  “That’s right.” Gregory returned to his desk. “As it happens, the famous laird of Kinloch, Angus the Lion, is the son of a Jacobite traitor himself, and if he is sheltering the man who broke a known criminal out of an English prison, he must face the consequences. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Make the necessary arrangements and we will squeeze that Lion around the neck until he squeals. I’ll need at least twenty good men and we will ride out first thing in the morning. If we couldn’t make an example out of Fitzroy Campbell, I will bloody well capture a few other prestigious Scots and provide an even better show. I want both Darach and Angus the Lion, and needless to say, my fiancée needs to be rescued from their clutches.”

  Roberts bowed and hurried out while Gregory strode with purpose to the fireplace.

  There now. That is how it must be done. I only wish I hadn’t waited so long. This time I won’t be gentle. This time I will force my hand, and Larena will finally see that I am a man to be respected and feared.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “I didn’t expect to ever return here,” Larena said to Darach as they crossed the drawbridge and rode through the castle gates at Kinloch on the spirited gelding they had acquired along the way.

  It had been a trying journey, for she had spent most of it grieving over the death of her father, while at the same time struggling to make sense of her feelings for Darach.

  She had asked him on that first night to keep away from her, not to touch her. She had told him she wished they’d never lain together, and she had recognized the hurt in his eyes every moment since.

  He’d been correct when he’d accused her of being angry. She was most certainly that. There were times she wanted to physically lash out at him with her fists and pummel his chest repeatedly. She suspected that if she tried, he would let her. He would simply stand there and take it.

  Other times, when he wasn’t looking, she found herself watching him, studying the handsome, chiseled lines of his face and those dark eyes that communicated so much and yet so little. Whenever he gazed at her, she felt as if she meant a great deal to him and that he wanted her to know it.

  Yet at the same time he was circumspect about the events surrounding her father’s death. He did not push her to talk about it or to forgive him. He did not try again to explain his actions or defend himself. Most of the time, it felt as if there were a giant wall between them.

  Nevertheless, her body could not forget the passion they had shared. Whenever he lay down across from her at night and drew his tartan about his shoulders, she longed for the comfort of his arms. Her mind turned to memories of their lovemaking. Desire fluttered through her belly and her flesh grew warm as she recalled the pleasures of his touch.

  She was lonely and heartsick over the loss of her father, but also from the lost intimacies with Darach, which at one time she had imagined would last forever. But that was all gone now. Shaken apart by violence, death, and loss.

  Darach reined the horse to a halt in front of the stables.

  An older groom approached. “Darach! Good to have you back, laddie!” He took hold of the gelding’s bridle. “Where’s Logan?”

  Darach stroked the gelding’s smooth muscled neck. “I thought Logan would have returned by now. He’s not here?”

  “No, sir. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of either one of you since you left.” He glanced curiously at Larena in the saddle.

  Darach dismounted and helped her down as well, then Haggis led the gelding toward an empty stall.

  “Haggis…?” Darach followed and spoke to him in hushed tones for a moment. When he returned, he led Larena toward the entrance to the Great Hall. “I told him not to mention to anyone that we’ve returned. We need to see Angus right away.”

  An attractive, dark-haired woman appeared under the archway to the Great Hall and regarded them both with concern. “Darach, welcome home.” Darach approached her and she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re not alone, I see.” She turned to Larena and studied her up and down, from head to foot.

  “May I present Larena Campbell of Leathan Castle,” Darach said. “This is Gwendolen MacDonald, Mistress of Kinloch.”

  The Lion’s wife. Larena dipped into a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, madam.”

  “And you as well,” Gwendolen replied. They all stood in awkward silence for a few seconds. “Well, then. You both look as if you’ve been through a war, and I suspect that’s not far from the truth. Won’t you come in? Angus will want to see you immediately.”

  Immediately? As Larena followed Gwendolen into the Great Hall—an impressive room with high arched ceilings, tapestries hung on the walls, and heraldry carved into the stones in the hearth—she sensed that the Lion and his Lioness already knew what was afoot, and they were not pleased.

  Gwendolen walked quickly ahead of them, her heels clicking purposefully across the stone slabs on the floor. Perhaps she resented the fact that they had come here as fugitives and would put her husband in a difficult predicament and perhaps even risk the safety of the clan. If the English decided to exact vengeance upon the MacDonalds for harboring two criminals, it could be a dark day for those at Kinloch, especially their laird.

  Larena followed the Lioness through the vaulted stone passageways and up curved tower steps to the same room where she had met Angus the first time, which seemed a hundred years ago now. So much had occurred since she woke up in this fortress with a bump on her head and was forced to beg for her freedom and the chance to return to Leathan to save her father’s life.

  The Lion had been merciful that day. She prayed he would be equally so today.

  They reached the top of the stairs and entered the solar, which was brightly lit, but empty.

  Gwendolen gestured toward the center of the large room. “Please wait here. He will see you shortly.” With that, she walked out.

  Larena’s heart began to race. She turned toward Darach, and he regarded her with a look of unease.

  * * *

  There were no chairs to sit upon in the massive, open space, so Larena strolled to the window to look out over the moat and meadow beyond. Further in the distance, she could make out a village with a market square and numerous cottages spread out over the landscape.

  “We shouldn’t have come here,” she said, remembering that she was a Campbell, a longstanding enemy of the MacDonalds. “You should have left me behind. It’s not right that I am putting all of you in danger.”

  She felt a hand come to rest upon her shoulder and realized that Darach had followed her to the window, quiet as a whisper. Her body tingled with awareness, for it was the first time he had touched her since she’d told him to keep away. He had respected her wishes over the past few days and kept his distance, to the point where she’d almost regretted ever asking for that.

  “I couldn’t leave you behind, lass,” he whispered. “No matter what you think of me, I’ll be devoted to you until I draw my last breath.”

  His words touched something deep inside her and she turned around to face him. “I can’t imagine why. I’ve told you I am aggrieved, that I cannot pledge my heart to you. Not after what happened. I am still grieving for the father I realize I never truly knew. I am a lost soul, Darach. You shouldn’t have brought me here. You should have left me to find my own way.”

  He laid a hand on her cheek. “Now you’re just speaking nonsense, lass, because I’ll never give you up.”

  She was shocked by his declaration, for she’d thought she’d made herself clear
that night under the willow tree. She had told him she regretted ever loving him, yet now her eyes were drawn to his soft, full lips and she felt the same stirring of attraction she’d felt the first moment they’d met. Did he know it? Could he feel it?

  She didn’t want him to feel it. She needed him to stay away because how could she ever love the man, or accept love from a man who had struck her father down and ended his life? Darach claimed it was an accident, that he had not been seeking vengeance all along, but how would she ever know the truth?

  The sound of heavy footfalls up the tower steps caused them both to turn. Larena stepped back. Her belly careened with nervous dread, for the Lion’s reputation alone was enough to intimidate anyone.

  Angus walked in and strode menacingly to the center of the room, where he paused before them with his big hand on the hilt of his sword. His golden hair appeared windblown, as if he’d just returned from a brisk ride, and there was mud on his boots. His pale blue eyes narrowed in on them. Larena gulped.

  “I heard what happened,” he said. “They tell me you broke Fitzroy Campbell out of the English prison, and for some reason I cannot comprehend, you decided to dirk him in the woods the next day.” His gaze slid to meet Larena’s. He tossed a look toward Darach, beside her. “You’re still speaking to him?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.”

  “I see,” he replied with a strangely disturbing nod that did not relax her in the slightest.

  Slowly, Angus strode closer until the light from the window illuminated his face and reflected in the wintry blue of his eyes. “What happened to Logan?” he asked Darach. “I sent the two of you out of here to escort the lady home to Leathan, then all hell breaks loose and only one of you returns.”

  “I don’t know where he is,” Darach replied. “We had a disagreement along the way.”

  “You didn’t dirk him, too, I hope.”

  “Nay,” Darach said. “But I did break his arm.”

  Angus shook his head and paced around in a circle. “Let me guess. It had something to do with this bonnie Campbell lass. I should have known better than to send the two of you together. And I should have sent a maid along as well. What was I thinking?”

  Angus turned away and strode to the far end of the room where he stood with his back to them, gazing up at a large tapestry on the wall. It was a peaceful, rustic scene of a stone bridge over a river which led to a small hamlet in the distance. He stared at it for a long moment, then he turned.

  “But here we are.” He spread his arms wide. “All of us in a difficult position because without a doubt, a certain half-English colonel will be wondering what became of his fiancée. And I expect he’ll want to beat you to a pulp, Darach, for what you did.”

  “I suspect so, too,” Darach replied. “Which is why we’ve come. We need your help.”

  “To do what?” Angus coolly asked.

  “To stay hidden.”

  Angus scoffed. “You hardly need my help to do that. If anyone is an expert in that area, it’s you.”

  Darach shook his head, as if he didn’t understand the implication.

  Angus raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t know that you’re a Campbell?”

  Darach’s head drew back in surprise. It took a moment to find words. “How long have you known?”

  “Since the day my father took you in, you bloody fool.”

  “But if he knew we were Campbells, why did he treat us like his own sons? Why did he let us pretend?”

  Angus shrugged. “I often wonder that myself. I suspect he intended to use you as pawns initially, but then he grew fond of you and enjoyed knowing that you deserted your clan, knowing that you preferred us over them. He always hated the Campbells, except for the two of you.” Angus regarded Larena. “No disrespect to you or your clan, lass, but you must know how things are.”

  “I do,” Larena replied. “And I hold no grudge against you for it. My clan has no love for yours either.”

  Angus turned to Darach and inclined his head. “She has a good sense of perspective, this one.”

  With that he turned away and strode to the window where he looked out over his lands, as if contemplating what to do.

  Darach slowly approached him. “I’ll understand if you do not wish to help us. We will go if that is your command.”

  Angus faced him. “Where, Darach? Where would you go?”

  Darach shrugged. “I don’t know. We’d figure something out.”

  Larena waited uneasily in the center of the room, watching them both consider the situation. With his hand still on the hilt of his sword, Angus paced.

  “The obvious choice would be to head north,” he said. “I did that once myself—traveled as far as the Western Isles and spent two years in exile. But it’s a hard life, Darach. If you would prefer to stay close, I could arrange for you to be absorbed into the MacLean clan, under the protection of the Duke of Moncrieffe. He is like a brother to me and he knows what you did for my son. His land and property holdings are vast. He could find a place for you—but I will not ask him to arrange for your pardon. The way I see it, you’re guilty as sin for helping Fitzroy escape.”

  “I am,” Darach agreed. “I won’t deny it. And that sounds like a generous offer that we should accept.”

  Angus faced him. “Very well then. I will send you both to Moncrieffe with a letter of introduction, explaining things. I will provide you with supplies for the journey and whatever else you might need. You will leave tonight, after dark. But if I do this for you, Darach, we are square, you and I. Once you leave here, you cannot ever return. Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  They shook hands, then backed away from each other. The Lion turned to address Larena. “Gwendolen is preparing rooms for you both in the East Tower. You must remain there until dusk. Do not go roaming about the castle. No one must know of your presence here. Now go and get yourselves cleaned up. I wish you luck.”

  “We are indebted to you,” Larena replied, dipping into a curtsey. As she rose, she took one final lingering look at Angus the Lion, then turned and walked out with Darach.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Darach asked.

  She considered it carefully as she descended the stairs. “I have no idea what I want, Darach, and I’m not certain this is the best path. The future feels like a dark hole to me.”

  “Then I suppose you’ll just have to trust me to shine some light into it,” he replied. “I will fetch you at dusk.”

  She sighed with resignation and followed him to the East Tower.

  * * *

  A short while later, a party of maids arrived in Larena’s chamber with a copper tub and buckets of hot water.

  She felt much better after she’d bathed.

  Gwendolen also paid her a visit to deliver a clean gown for her travels that night—as well as something appropriate for an introduction to an illustrious Scottish duke in two days’ time.

  “Moncrieffe is a charming and honorable man,” Gwendolen said about him. “He will do his best to secure your safety, and his duchess is the most enchanting Englishwoman you could ever dream to meet. There is no need to be nervous. They will treat you well.”

  “Thank you, Gwendolen,” Larena replied, turning the gown over in her hands, feeling rather absentminded as she looked down at the fine, dark blue fabric. “How can I ever repay you for your kindness?”

  “No need.” Gwendolen nodded somberly. “I was very sorry to hear about your father. I cannot imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

  “It has indeed been difficult,” Larena agreed, letting out a deep breath.

  “But at least you have Darach,” Gwendolen added. “He appears to be very protective of you.”

  Larena turned away and laid the gown on the bed. “Yes, he is doing all he can to assure me of that. I am not sure if it’s because he feels guilty over what happened, or if there is still a chance he might be entertaining some secret agenda to gain control over me
. Everyone has been warning me about that relentlessly.”

  Gwendolen shook her head with bewilderment. “Why would he wish to do that?”

  “Because he despised my father. Darach believes that my father stole Leathan from his after murdering him during a hunt. Darach’s father was our former chief.”

  “I know who he was.” Gwendolen approached Larena and took hold of her hand. “My dear. You haven’t known Darach very long, but I can assure you that he would never try to use you or anyone else as a pawn in some elaborate revenge scheme. He is one of the kindest men I know and I owe him everything. His brother, on the other hand….” She paused. “Logan was always an ambitious lad, rather broody if you ask me. I didn’t know him as well. But Darach was protective of Logan all his life and protective of others as well—especially those who were younger, smaller, and weaker. My son was one of those people.”

  “That’s strange to hear,” Larena replied. “Gregory Chatham described him as quite the opposite. He said Darach was a terrible bully in his youth.”

  “Perhaps he was, as a boy. I didn’t know him then. But he is not that way now.” She turned to go. “You should get some rest, Larena. I suspect it will be a long night for you.”

  Larena thanked her and waited until she was gone before she climbed onto the bed to lay for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Eventually her eyes fell closed and she drifted off.

  It seemed like only a few moments had passed when a knock sounded at the door. She sat up with a jolt and shook herself awake, then noticed the windows were dark. She must have been sleeping for quite some time. “Yes?”

  “It’s me,” said the voice on the other side of the door, which she recognized as Darach’s.

  “Come in.” Dressed only in her shift, she tossed the covers aside and stood.

  The door swung open and he walked in wearing a clean white shirt and his familiar MacDonald tartan. He stood at the threshold with saddlebags slung over his shoulder and a new weapon belt that housed a claymore, a pistol and powder horn, and the knife John Campbell had given him. “You’re not ready,” he said.