Return of the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Just give me a moment. It won’t take me long.”

  He closed the door behind him to wait while she reached for the gown on the bed. Without modesty—for they’d been travelling together for many days—she stepped into the skirt, tied the ribbons, and donned the bodice. “How late is it?” she asked.

  She realized he had turned his back while she was dressing and he was now facing the wall. “It’s almost ten. It’s full dark now so we should be able to gain some distance by midnight. Angus is giving us two of his best horses.”

  She finished fastening the ties on her bodice and crossed the room to sit on a chair and pull on her shoes. “That was good of him. How long will it take us to reach Moncrieffe Castle?”

  “It’s a two-day ride.”

  “You can turn around now.” She stood up and reached for her cloak.

  He faced her and his broad shoulders rose and fell with a resigned sigh.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “You look pretty, lass.”

  “Pretty?” she replied with astonishment. “I just woke up.”

  “Aye, and your hair is tousled, your cheeks are flushed. Good thing it’s dark outside, otherwise you’d be a terrible distraction. I might ride straight into a tree.”

  She couldn’t help but warm to his words and the friendly, open tone of his voice. She responded in kind. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that flattery will get you nowhere?”

  “I’m only speaking the truth. And a man can always dream.” He turned to the door and put his hand on the latch, waiting for her to follow. “We must leave the castle quickly,” he said. “Don’t stop to talk to anyone. The horses are saddled and waiting for us just outside the gate. We’ll head for the western forest.” He paused before he opened the door. “But I must ask you again, lass. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  “I’m afraid my answer hasn’t changed,” she replied. “I’m still not sure of anything.”

  Darach accepted that and opened the door, but he drew back at a most alarming sight.

  Gregory Chatham stood in the corridor with his fist in the air, as if he were just about to knock. His eyes grew wide. “You….” he said, frowning at Darach.

  In a lightning flash of movement, both men drew their swords. Gregory was a split second faster.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Whipping his slender blade through the air, Gregory came crashing into the room. Larena scrambled to get out of the way while Darach backed away defensively, blocking blow after blow as they traveled across the floor.

  Another soldier in a red uniform entered behind Gregory and also drew his sword, but Gregory shouted at him. “Stay out of this, Roberts! He’s mine!”

  Gregory’s quick and nimble technique took Larena by surprise. He was a lean and feisty swordsman. Though Darach was bigger and stronger, his weapon was twice the width of Gregory’s, which was not an advantage when he was still recovering from his wounds. It slowed him down considerably.

  Darach knocked over a small table and threw it between them to deflect Gregory’s forward motion. Gregory leaped over it.

  “Shut the door, Roberts!” Gregory commanded while he lunged forward and sliced Darach across the upper arm. “I don’t wish to be interrupted by some other meddlesome Scot!”

  Darach winced in pain.

  “Stop, Gregory!” Larena pleaded. “You’ll kill him!”

  “With any luck!” Gregory replied, slicing Darach across the chest and drawing more blood. “Though it appears luck has nothing to do with this. Clearly I am the superior man.”

  Darach swung his heavy claymore through the air, missed Gregory and struck the bedpost. The oak splintered into bits that flew onto the bed. Gregory lunged at him again and struck fast, forcing Darach to retreat around the upholstered chairs in front of the fire. Darach fell over one of them and landed on his back with a roar of pain.

  Gregory kicked the claymore from his hand and stood over him with the point of his sword at his throat. “Do you see this, Larena?” Gregory asked. “I have subjugated him. What do you say to that, Darach Campbell? How does it feel to be humiliated in front of the woman you love?”

  “Stop, Gregory,” Larena pleaded, moving closer. “Don’t do this. You have caught us. Is that not enough? Arrest us if you must, but please put your sword down.”

  “And give this prisoner a chance to escape again?” Gregory replied, his eyes flashing with bloodlust as he glanced across at her. Then his eyes narrowed and his thin lips tightened. Returning his attention to Darach, he pushed the point of his sword into Darach’s neck until blood began to seep from the puncture point. “I cannot decide whether I should kill you now or save you for the guards at the Tolbooth. Maybe I should just break your leg, or cut off your thumbs.”

  At some point, the guard named Roberts had drawn his pistol and moved closer to aim it at Darach’s head.

  Larena took a step forward but Roberts immediately turned his pistol on her. “Stay where you are, miss.”

  She halted and raised her hands in the air.

  No one moved. The silence was suffocating. A slow, diabolical smile spread across Gregory’s lips. Then suddenly Darach swiveled and kicked Gregory’s legs out from under him. Gregory dropped like a heavy stone.

  Roberts fired the pistol at Darach—but missed. The ball pierced a hole in the window glass. He fumbled to reload and dropped his sword.

  A flashing second later, Darach stood over Gregory with his boot pressed hard upon Gregory’s wrist, his claymore pointed at his heart.

  Darach withdrew the pistol from his own belt and tossed it across the room to Larena. She caught it and aimed it at Roberts.

  “Hands in the air, soldier,” Darach said to him.

  Gregory squeezed his eyes shut and put his hand in front of his face, defensively. “Please don’t kill me. I beg of you. If you let me live, I will let you both go. I promise, I can make all of this go away.”

  Darach’s pressed the sword harder upon his chest. “You expect me to trust your word on that? I suspect as soon as I lower my weapon, you’ll call in your men and put me back in irons. Lord knows what you’ll do to Larena.”

  “I won’t do anything,” he replied, curling into a squirming position. “I’ll tell them you were never here, that we didn’t find you. Just please, don’t kill me!”

  A muscle twitched at Darach’s jaw. He glared down at Gregory with dangerous malice and raised the point of his sword to Gregory’s throat.

  Gregory cried out. “Please!” He began to weep, which only served to add fuel to the fire of Darach’s wrath.

  Larena’s heart raced with fear. Only once had she seen such a look of fury in Darach’s eyes—on the night he rescued her from Logan, just before he broke Logan’s arm. But this man was not Darach’s brother. He was his enemy.

  Darach squeezed the handle of his sword until his fist turned white.

  “Darach,” Larena said. “Please don’t do this. You mustn’t.”

  His dark eyes turned slowly to her and he regarded her with a mixture of dismay and derision. “What did you say?”

  “Don’t kill him. I can’t let you. I won’t.” She pointed the pistol at him. Her hands trembled.

  Darach’s eyes narrowed with dark, calculating resolve. “You disappoint me, lass.” Then he turned his attention toward Roberts, whose hands were still in the air. “Did you hear what your colonel just said about letting us go?”

  Roberts quickly nodded.

  “Colonel Chatham, you will release Larena from your betrothal,” Darach added, “unless of course she wishes otherwise. Tell everyone that she was my victim. All this was my doing, alone. I wanted revenge against Fitzroy Campbell and I used her as a pawn for that purpose.”

  “Yes,” Gregory replied.

  Darach removed his boot from Gregory’s wrist and re-sheathed his sword. “Then it is as you say. I was never here tonight. Do not come after me and I give you my word that you will ne
ver see me again.”

  Larena stared at Darach in shock while Gregory rose shakily to his feet, picked up his sword, and hurried out.

  “That was too easy,” Larena said. “I don’t trust him not to come after us.”

  “Nor do I,” Darach replied, shutting the door behind them. “Which is why I’ll not be staying here. I still plan to ride to Moncrieffe,” he whispered. “You can do whatever you please, lass. You’re free of me now.”

  A sudden coldness hit her core. “What?”

  Darach moved about the room, righting the furniture and setting it back in place. Then he faced her and shook his head. “Did you really think I was going to kill him?”

  She stammered. “I-I don’t know.”

  “Like I killed your father, I suppose. In cold blood. For revenge. Or maybe you think I simply can’t control myself, that I’m a bully, or an animal at heart.”

  “No, I don’t think that,” Larena replied, feeling baffled and confused as he approached her, took the pistol from her hand, and shoved it back into his belt.

  “You could at least try to sound convincing.” He turned away and looked around the room, spotted the damage to the bedpost and moved closer to run a finger over it. He peeled off a splinter of wood and tossed it into the fireplace. “Gwendolen won’t be happy about that,” he said.

  Larena’s stomach rolled with nausea. After everything that had just occurred, her head was spinning. “What did you mean when you said I’m free of you? Do you intend to leave me here?”

  “I think that’s best. Don’t you? You’ll be fine here at Kinloch. You’re an innocent victim, remember?”

  “But we’re both supposed to go to Moncrieffe territory.”

  “That was before.”

  “Before what?”

  He faced her squarely. “Before I realized how little you truly think of me.” He started for the door.

  Larena followed. “Wait…Darach, you cannot blame me for that. You killed my father.”

  “Aye, and I’ll never be able to live that down. Nor can I change it. You will always see me as your father’s murderer. And we cannot change the past.” He stopped, turned and strode purposefully, ominously toward her until she backed up in fright and hit the bed. “But you need to know one thing, lass.”

  “What is it?”

  He hesitated briefly while his eyes focused on her lips. She felt the heat of his breath and was overcome by the sheer force of his presence before her.

  “Over the past few days,” he finally said, “I’ve been as sensitive as I could possibly be because I care for you and I know how much you loved your father, but the truth is….” Darach inhaled deeply. “He deserved what he got. He was an imprudent fool to attack me that morning. I had no choice but to defend myself. And yes, I do believe he killed my father during that hunt, beyond any shadow of a doubt, and I am not sorry your father is dead. There, I’ve said it.” He paused. “Though I didn’t intend to, I’m glad I killed him because he confessed to killing my father and he bloody well had it coming.” Darach backed away. “So now you finally know who I truly am.”

  He picked up the saddle bags, raised his tartan over his head like a hood, and opened the door. “Good-bye, lass. And good luck to you.”

  Shocked and horrified by what had just passed between them, Larena followed him into the corridor. “Wait…please….”

  But before she could voice a protest, he was gone, vanished down the staircase like a ghost.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  One month later

  Darach checked one last time to make sure the cellar door was locked, then he strode up the narrow stone staircase to the main hall of the distillery where the office was located.

  It wasn’t a bad appointment. As warehouse master for the most famous whisky distillery in Scotland—the duke’s very own brand—Darach had been living onsite for the past four weeks. He kept an eye on the casks and stills during the night and mostly slept during the days. It was a lonely occupation at times, but it allowed him to stay hidden, undetected, until the scandal of Fitzroy Campbell’s escape and subsequent death blew over. How long that would take, Darach had no idea. Not much longer, he hoped, for he was beginning to grow impatient and restless.

  There were days he longed desperately for his old life as a scout for Angus the Lion, free to roam the Highland forests and glens on horseback with his brother.

  His brother….

  There was still no word from Logan, which left Darach deeply concerned and beleaguered by guilt. He was beginning to believe that he might never see his brother again—if Logan was even alive. No one seemed to know anything, and every day, with no news, Darach struggled more and more to resist the urge to return to Campbell territory and search every cave and croft himself.

  This wasn’t an easy life. Darach had lost his brother, his home, and the woman he loved. And what was it all for? He’d never imagined a woman would come between him and Logan. Despite their differences and many arguments over what was right and wrong, they’d always been as loyal to each other as two brothers could be, but now Darach was alone. He had no brother, nor did he have Larena.

  Did he even want her? After all that had happened? She was the daughter of the villain who had killed his own father years ago and tried to kill Darach as well. She blamed Darach for everything and saw him as a bully and a murderer. He should despise her with every last breath in his body.

  And yet….

  Surely there must be something wrong with him because he continued to wake each day with her image emblazoned on his brain, her womanly scent fresh and clear in his mind, as if she were lying next to him, naked in his bed.

  Heaven help him, he did love her—still—even though she did not see him as the man he truly was. She could not have loved him the same way he loved her, or things would have turned out differently.

  The sun was just coming up to brighten the pre-dawn sky, so he sat down at the desk in the office to await the day manager’s arrival. He would then retire to his own bedchamber and sleep for the day—and he would try not to think of her again.

  * * *

  Darach woke with a start when the manager arrived. He lifted his head off the desk and realized he had fallen asleep in the chair.

  He’d had the dream again. This time, the hawk was flying out over the water, swooping freely down just above the waves, then back up again. The last time he’d dreamed of the hawk, it had turned out to be a premonition regarding his return to Leathan Castle, and later, of his escape. Sadly, his home had turned out to be nothing that it once was. The Leathan he knew as a boy was all gone now, taken over by the English. There was no one left to return to.

  After handing the keys off to the manager, Darach crossed the courtyard to the south building where his room was located on the second floor. He climbed the outdoor steps and laid a hand on the knob, but hesitated to push it open when he noticed the door was ajar.

  Half expecting to find a Redcoat inside rifling through his belongings, he reached for his sword, quietly withdrew it from the scabbard, and gently pushed the door open with the toe of his boot.

  The room appeared to be empty, but he moved silently nevertheless. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he tiptoed across the floor.

  He sucked in a breath and lowered his sword when a woman popped into view, rising to her feet from the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

  Larena….

  “Oh. You’re here,” she said with surprise, smoothing out her skirts.

  “Yes,” he flatly replied, though on the inside, he was bursting open with a sudden rush of exhilaration. “I live here.”

  What was she doing in his apartments? And dear God, she was more beautiful than he remembered. He couldn’t breathe. It was a miracle he didn’t collapse.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she explained. “His Grace let me in. I dropped my earring just now.” She gestured toward the floor.

  “The duke was here?” Darach asked. “In thi
s room?”

  Darach had only met the duke once—on the day he’d arrived with Angus’s letter of introduction. The duke had immediately assigned Darach to this position in the distillery on the outskirts of the village to guard over his whisky. Darach had not set foot on the castle grounds since.

  “Yes,” Larena replied while Darach re-sheathed his sword. “And Gwendolen was absolutely right. He is a charming man and his duchess is stunningly beautiful. Did you meet her?”

  “No.” Confused by all of this, Darach closed the door but remained just inside the threshold. “How long have you been here, Larena?”

  “I arrived yesterday afternoon with Angus and Gwendolen. They brought their children as well. We had dinner with the duke and duchess last night. What an experience that was.”

  “How nice for you,” Darach said with a frown, not entirely sure what her purpose was in coming here. He certainly hadn’t invited her. He had been working so hard to forget….

  “It was indeed,” she replied, moving around the foot of the bed. “I feel very blessed to have met them, but that is not why I came, Darach. I have traveled here for quite another reason.”

  The closer she came, the faster Darach’s pulse pounded beneath the surface of his skin. She was everything he remembered from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her in the ravine, when she’d sat up and struck him on the head with a big rock.

  Perhaps it was time he simply got down on his knees, surrendered completely, and allowed her to finish him off.

  “I owe you an apology,” she said, and all at once, Darach’s passions ignited into a flurry of conflicting emotions, for he could not forget why he’d left her at Kinloch a month earlier—because she had not trusted him enough to believe that he would never use her for revenge. She had not understood that he’d loved her. She had not loved him enough, in return, to see the truth.

  “Yes, you do,” he coolly said.

  She appeared startled by the iciness in his tone, but proceeded nonetheless.

  “I was wrong to treat you the way I did,” she softly said, gazing up at him with clear, determined eyes. “You are a good man and I’m sorry I didn’t believe you before about what happened.”