Highland Surrender

by Tracy Brogan

  “I’ll not be caught,” John said, his voice loud and strong. He stood up. “To all the world, we have the might of the Campbell clan protecting us. Their arrogance makes them believe we are glad for it, that we cower at their superiority. They have no idea we use them like a cloak to hide our true purpose. Nor will the king until his foot lands upon our shores and his feeble army meets our swords. Even without the help of Douglas, we would succeed, for we have surprise on our side, and the king’s forces will be weakened after weeks upon the water. But with Douglas’s aid, there is nothing that can stop us.”

  The men thumped their hands against the table and harrumphed their agreement, spurred on by John’s careful enthusiasm. They were like sheep bleating for their supper, for his words had reached the target. He hit upon their own conceit, their certainty that they were the most deserving.

  Simon smiled, raising his tankard to salute him.

  John felt the faintest tapping of remorse knocking on his soul. He was Judas in Gethsemane, betraying one he loved. But he’d do this wicked thing for the most righteous of reasons and pray that history and all who knew him as a son of Hugh Sinclair would understand. And so that Fiona had not been sacrificed in vain.

  CHAPTER 29

  “LET ME SEE if I quite understand you, brother.” Robert Campbell’s dimples deepened in his cheeks. “You did that damage to your face...with a chair?”

  Myles flexed his arm and raised a wooden sword toward his brother’s chest. He and several of his men had joined Robert in the bailey to train. A good long bout of thrusting jabs at his brother was just what Myles needed to clear the cobwebs from his mind.

  “I told you, the room was dark,” he said.

  Robert leaned forward, examining the bruise with greater scrutiny. “Well, ’tis impressive, to be sure. Next time I’m off to battle, I shall leave my sword at home and take a chair instead. Although, without your bride to wield it, I’m not sure I could do such harm.”

  “She didn’t wield it. ’Twas merely left in my path.”

  His brother grinned. “On purpose?”

  “No.” He swung his sword and clipped Robert in the shoulder. The day was bright and the air smelled fresh with blossoms, but he’d passed a restless night and his head ached from lack of sleep and too much unquenched desire. He’d stuck his foot in it with that thoughtless comment about the necklace. But the lass had overreacted. Tonight, he’d try again. He would kiss her and cajole her and be as honest as a bishop about his intentions. With luck and patience, his self-imposed celibacy would end.

  His brother returned a blow with his own wooden sword, and so they went, thrust and dodge, jab and block. The yard was alive with activity, with the men training and carts coming in laden with stores for the castle. The sound of women’s laughter floated from the laundry as a few came out with baskets full of wet garments to hang on the line.

  “Tavish told me of Fiona’s antics during your travels. She sounds a handful.” His brother’s voice was relaxed as he easily deflected each stab.

  “She can be. Or tame as a kitten,” Myles lied.

  “Things between you seem harmonious.”

  Robert swung wide, but Myles dipped low to miss the hit.

  “Harmonious enough.”

  “Your words are as evasive as your footwork, brother. Answer me straight, how does it feel to be a husband?”

  It felt like being stuffed into a pickling cask and left for days on end. “Fine.”

  Robert’s laughter caught the attention of the other training men, but Myles cast a glare their way, and quickly, they turned back to their own sparring.

  “Fine?” Robert said. “Hardly glowing words from a man during his honeymoon.”

  Myles lunged to strike him in the shank, but Robert sidestepped.

  “We are adjusting. You know the circumstances, Robert,” Myles said. “She’s a Sinclair, for God’s sake.” He did not intend to admit so much, but Robert was putting him through his paces and the words had escaped before he considered them.

  “A Sinclair, you say. Are they as wicked in bed as on the battlefield?”

  This time his brother went too far. Myles swung his training sword with all his might and struck a fierce blow to Robert’s thigh. The contact was loud as a thunderclap and brought his brother to his knees.

  “Jesus!” Robert cursed, clutching his leg.

  It was a dirty blow, and yet Myles felt little remorse. “’Tis my wife you’re speaking of, little brother. You’d best watch your tongue.”

  “And your sword too, it seems, you miserable prick.” Robert glowered at him from the ground.

  After another second, Myles reached out his hand.

  “Is there a knife up your sleeve?” his brother asked, his humor returning.

  “Oh, stop complaining. I didn’t hit you that hard. And you deserved it. When you’re married, you’ll understand.”

  Robert shook his head but accepted Myles’s hand. “Marriage has made you testy.”

  Myles nearly nodded, for his brother was closer to the target than he knew. Still, he’d had enough of this conversation. “Do you want to stand here peeping like chicks, or are we here to train?” He brandished his sword once more.

  “Now that you’ve crippled me, you mean?” Robert rubbed his thigh.

  “Ah, I’d forgotten your spindly legs were fragile as reeds. I’ll go easier on you.” Myles smiled and took his stance, planting his feet wide apart.

  Robert did the same, smiling in return. “No, I’ll have your best and show you how inferior that is to my remarkable skills.”

  They fought fairly but with all their might until both were drenched with perspiration. Myles pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it into the dirt.

  “Ready to quit?” Robert teased.

  “Not until you’re begging for mercy.”

  And so they set to battling once more, back and forth, until a movement caught Myles’s eye and brought him to a halt. ’Twas Fiona crossing the bailey with Alyssa on one arm and a basketful of flowers on the other. Such a lovely, ordinary thing, and yet it set his heart in a spin.

  His wife looked over and smiled, her expression genuine and warm as sunshine. She gave a tiny wave, jostling the basket, and a few blossoms fell to the ground. When she bent to pick them up, the view of her backside punched the breath from him like no strike from Robert ever could.

  Or so he thought, ’til Robert plowed the handle of a training sword straight into his gut.

  Fiona had watched them train while she and Alyssa cut flowers in the garden. How ferociously they wielded their swords, neither giving ground to the other. She’d seen men train before, of course, but this was like a dance, for Myles and Robert moved in unison, so alike and yet so different. And when Myles pulled off his shirt, she stood gaping until Alyssa’s giggle cut through her thoughts.

  “Best close your mouth, Fiona, or a bee will fly in.”

  “That isn’t very nice,” she said, feeling heat that had nothing to do with the sun overhead.

  Alyssa was nonplussed. “’Tis true though. You look at him as though he’s a plate of marzipan.”

  Marzipan, indeed. Since reading the love-drenched letters from her mother, Fiona’s attitude had changed. She’d fought to resist Myles’s tenderness and his advances, but now, knowing her mother had wanted them together, there was less reason to deny him. And with the feud between their clans based on a faulty accusation, perhaps there was no reason to resist him at all. Perhaps her brothers had known something she didn’t. The very fact they’d given her over to the Campbells was evidence they sought this truce. It seemed she’d gone about this all wrong, for now she understood. She was always meant to be his wife, from the day she was born. The thought swirled in the base of her stomach, leaving her light-headed. Or perhaps it was just the sun after all.

  “Let’s go inside. I suddenly find myself quite thirsty,” Fiona said.

  She and Alyssa crossed the bailey, coming closer to the men, an
d Fiona could not resist giving her husband a tiny wave. But flowers fell from her basket, and so she bent to scoop them up.

  She did not see the blow but heard the grunt and thud as Myles hit the dirt. Unbidden, she rushed to his side, hauling Alyssa in her wake.

  “What happened?” she asked Robert as she knelt down by Myles’s inert form. He was on his side, but she rolled him easily onto his back and cradled his head in her lap. His eyes were pinched shut.

  Robert shrugged and leaned upon the hilt of his sword. “I bested him.”

  “You’ve knocked him unconscious.”

  He prodded Myles with the tip of his boot. “He did that to himself when he tripped over his own shirt. ’Twas his rock-hard melon hitting the ground that did him in. And might I add how clumsy he’s become? First the chair, now this. Maybe it’s marriage that has tipped him off-kilter.”

  “I saw you ram him in the belly,” Alyssa scolded.

  Robert shrugged again and looked up at the clouds.

  The other men had gathered round, some murmuring, others posturing to get a look at their chief’s son taken down by a mere training sword. Fiona looked down at her husband, noticing his shirtless, sweat-soaked torso once more. She’d blush later, when she thought of that again. For now, she thought only of bringing him back to his senses. She brushed the damp hair back from his forehead and patted him gently on the cheek.

  “Myles, can you hear me?”

  His mouth twitched, and she felt a tremor in his shoulders.

  “Myles?” she asked again.

  The tremor grew stronger, and the twitching of his lips increased. What was the matter with him? Then he opened his bruised eye to peer up at her. His smile broke free, along with his laughter, and he opened the other eye.

  “Oh! You’re not unconscious.” Irritation soon gave way to relief. It washed over her like spring rain, and her own smile could not be contained. “You’re not hurt at all.” She patted his cheek again, perhaps a bit harder than necessary.

  “Ach, woman. I will be if you don’t stop hitting me.” He raised his arms up to grasp her wrists and pull her closer. And she let him.

  “I thought you were truly wounded.” She could not hide the concern in her voice, and his eyes caught hers, the pull stronger than his hands.

  “I am wounded each time we part. But kiss me, and I’ll be well again.” He teased, yet she could see the longing in his expression. He’d forgiven her for her part of their discord last night. She could see it in his face. I’ll make no apologies for wanting you. Her heart fluttered as she remembered his words, and other bits quivered as well. A kiss. Such a tiny thing, such a minor request, and yet the two of them knew how much it meant. Fiona leaned in closer. She could kiss him now, and every day after, if she wanted to. He was her husband after all.

  Robert cleared his throat. “You think she’d kiss you like that, brother? With you stinking and dirty from the yard?”

  The men laughed. The spell was broken.

  Myles’s chuckle was good-natured, but his eyes remained on her.

  She bit her lip and leaned down farther still, until her lips were near his ear. “Take a bath, and I shall kiss you later.”

  Then she stood up fast, nearly dumping his head in the dirt, but he sat up on his own strength. Fiona smiled and nodded at Robert and the others. “Carry on, men. Please don’t let me keep you.”

  Without another glance at Myles, she turned and flounced away, hearing Robert say as she left, “Tame as a kitten, indeed.”

  CHAPTER 30

  EVENING COULD NOT come fast enough. Fiona’s declaration had shot through his chest and continued south. ’Twas only a kiss she’d promised, but her eyes spoke of more. Something in her mind had changed, and he knew one kiss, one delicious kiss, could light the wick of her desire.

  Back in their chamber, he washed and dressed at a leisurely pace, hoping she might arrive and forfeit that kiss immediately. But the time passed and she did not enter. He grew impatient at the thought she meant to tease him further. He’d be late to the evening meal if he lingered any longer, and so he made his way to the great hall and found Tavish, Robert, and his mother already there, waiting and dressed in their finery.

  His mother clucked over his bruised eye. “Oh, Myles. Is it painful?”

  “’Tis fine, Mother.”

  “Robert tells me you took some hard hits in the yard.”

  Myles cast a wicked glance at his brother. “Thank you, Robert. I myself might have omitted that.”

  Robert’s smile was banal. “I am ever the herald. Where is your lovely bride?”

  Myles turned and looked about the hall. “I thought she would be here. She did not come to change.”

  “Here she is,” his mother said, looking toward the entryway.

  And there she was, indeed.

  Vivienne was next to her, dressed in bold crimson, but all eyes must have been on his wife, for she entered the hall wearing a gown of palest peach, so pale one could almost not tell where her skin ended and the dress began. The kirtle beneath was ivory trimmed in lace, and swayed as she walked. She wore the emerald necklace, and his chest tightened at the sight of it. The crowd within the hall murmured their approval.

  Her hair was loose, cascading down in ringlets and caught up in the front under a beaded French hood. She was a goddess. He stood a little taller knowing she belonged to him, and tonight, he’d claim her once again.

  Fiona stepped onto the dais where they waited, her smile seeming shy and less certain than her appearance would suggest. She made her greetings, along with Vivienne, then looked to him, guileless and direct. She curtsied deep as if she thought to offer him a delectable view of her cleavage. “Forgive me, my lord. I have kept you waiting for too long.”

  He heard a chuckle come from Vivienne and wondered at Fiona’s meaning. He extended his arm, thinking just then how he’d love to press his lips against the curve of her neck. “Such beauty is worth waiting for. Shall we dine?”

  He didn’t want to dine. Food was furthest from his mind, but he needed this meal over and done with so he might take his bride upstairs and collect upon that promised kiss.

  He was dressed in shades of blue, with his dark hair combed and his face clean-shaven. Tonight, he seemed the rogue, mysterious and dark. An air of danger surrounded him, something raw and predatory. And intoxicating.

  Heat radiated from his torso as she accepted his arm and let him escort her to her seat. The others in the hall began to take their seats as well, and soon the hall was abuzz with the serving of the meal. Before them, servants set platters of roasted boar, mince pies, and breads warm from the ovens.

  The repast smelled divine, but with her heart thumping in her throat, Fiona wondered if she could eat a bite. She felt conspicuous in her gown, for she’d sensed the stares as she’d entered, had heard the pause in conversation, but Myles had looked at her in such a way she’d felt emboldened, if only for a moment.

  He looked at her that way again, saying nothing, only caressing her with his eyes until his gaze landed upon her lips and stayed. Her skin tingled from it.

  At last, he raised his eyes to hers and smiled. A more seductive look, she could not imagine.

  “You are beautiful.”

  “So are you,” she said, then gasped at her own foolish honesty.

  But he laughed, and so did she.

  Sitting on the dais next to Myles, she drank her wine and toyed with her food, but mostly she observed. There was joy within these walls, a kinship she had never witnessed at Sinclair Hall. These people loved one another, and they loved Myles. She could see it in their eyes when they spoke to him, and even once or twice, she felt their warm gazes fall on her. She was becoming one of them.

  An effervescent gladness bubbled up inside her breast, and she let it. For once, she did not strive to stuff it down and hide it behind querulous words or obtuse thinking. She watched her husband chew a bite of bread, the strong line of his jaw moving in a smooth rhythm, and s
omehow the motion made her flush all over. She looked away and smiled at her private thoughts.

  “Is something humorous?” Myles asked.

  “No, my lord,” she said, smiling.

  He took another tiny bite of bread, his gaze flicking over the gold and emerald at her throat. “You’re wearing your new necklace. I’m pleased to see it.”

  She ran her finger over the fine metalwork. “I’m pleased to wear it.”

  Her husband turned toward her a little, and she heard his soft sigh. Her heart spun at the earnestness in his expression.

  “’Twas a gift, you know, Fiona,” he said softly. “Not a trade. I would spoil you, if you would let me, for no purpose other than to please you.”

  “I know.”

  “Then ask for something so I may prove it.”

  His words stoked a fire low in her belly—no, lower, even. Not because she coveted jewels or a gown or any possessions, but simply because he offered them so readily. He had been unerringly generous to her from their first moment onward, even when she’d tested his every patience. Vivi was right. He was a good man. How could she not desire him?

  “I want for little.” That was a lie. She wanted much. She wanted him. “Although, there is one thing I would ask for. Something you promised me once before.”

  His eyes lit with hope.

  “I need something to ride.”

  His jaw went slack, and she laughed at his surprise.

  “Back at Sinclair Hall, you promised me a horse of my own. Do you recall?”

  He blinked once, slowly, as if to conjure up the memory. And then he smiled broadly. “Ah, yes. A horse. I do recall, and on the morrow, we shall find you one.”

  Christ, she was delectable, with her pale gown and her flushed cheeks. If he did not know her better, he would think she meant to flirt, the way she fluttered her lashes and teased as though she were some sought-after courtesan. Then she’d laughed and all the candles in the room seemed to dim at her brightness. The combination was beguiling. Bewitching.