Brenda Joyce, Terri Brisbin, Michelle Willingham

by Highlanders - The Warriorand the Rose; The Forbidden Highlander; Rescued by the Highland Warrior

  She smiled back. Her heart turned over as it always did when she first saw him, after not seeing him for a few hours. Perhaps it was time to admit that she had truly become fond of him. “Then everyone will be pleased. Alasdair—have you seen Roger?”

  “Isn’t he with the other children?”

  “I have just searched the entire castle—if he is here, he is hiding. But perhaps he is outside.”

  He was bewildered. “Why would he hide?”

  “He has started to behave oddly, with distress—he has been asking to go home to his father.”

  An odd look that she could not decipher crossed his face. “I’ll help ye look fer him.”

  They went outside into the bailey, Alasdair telling her to search the area by the front gates. As they headed off in opposite directions, Juliana became dismayed when she saw the front gates were open. But even a small boy would be remarked if he walked out of Dunyveg—surely.

  Another hour passed, in which Juliana became extremely alarmed. No one had seen Roger, and she had searched every nook and cranny of the bailey. She asked a passing lad if he knew where Alasdair was, and she was told he was in the stables.

  Trying to reassure herself, Juliana hurried across the bailey and into the stone stables. It was dark within, smelling pleasantly of hay and horses. As she entered, a dog ran up to her, its tail wagging, and several mares nickered.

  Alasdair stepped out of the shadows and placed a finger upon his lips, then nodded to his right.

  Juliana rushed forward. Alasdair took her arm and guided her to where an old mare was stalled, a young foal suckling at her side. Roger was curled up in the chips and hay, in a far corner of the stall, asleep.

  She inhaled in relief. Alasdair put his arm around her and pulled her close. She looked up at him, feeling a rush of gratitude. “We have to wake him. I’m surprised that mare allowed him inside with her colt.”

  “Let me do it,” he said.

  Juliana assumed that he did not want her to go within, in case the mare decided to behave protectively towards her foal. She watched him step inside, pat the mare, then carefully sidestep her and kneel by Roger. He lifted him into his arms and carried him outside.

  As he did, Roger awoke.

  Alasdair smiled at him. “Did ye come to see the newborn colt?”

  Roger became widely awake. His eyes huge, he shook his head.

  Alasdair stepped outside the stall, closed it, and set Roger down. “Did ye think to find a horse, then, and ride away?”

  Juliana started. Why would he ask such a question!

  Roger was tearful and belligerent. “I don’t like being a hostage.”

  “I ken.” He stroked his hair. “No one likes being held hostage, but it’s the way of men.”

  Roger shook his head fiercely. “I hate it here!”

  Alasdair knelt. “I ken. But ye have a duty to yer mother. Ye frightened her, Roger, hiding as ye did, and thinking to run away. Ye frightened yer aunt. Yer duty is to be strong and brave like yer father. Do ye not wish to be like William?”

  “Yes,” he finally said, his gaze riveted upon Alasdair. “Will I ever go home?”

  “Of course ye’ll go home. But until ye do, ye must take care of yer mother. Ye canna worry or frighten her again. I ken, ’tis hard being brave. Even when yer grown like I am. But a man dinna have a choice, Roger. Every man has a duty to his kin to be strong and brave.”

  Juliana was moved. She had not known Alasdair could be so gentle and kind with children.

  Roger continued to gaze keenly at him. “But you’ve never been afraid. You’re Alasdair Og!”

  “Sit with me.” Alasdair sat down on a bale of hay, and Roger sat down beside him, enraptured. “A long time ago, when I was much younger than ye, I was sent away from my mother and my father. I was a hostage too.”

  Juliana started. She had never heard a word of this before!

  Roger’s eyes popped. “You were a hostage?”

  “Aye, the King of Scotland held me hostage, for he was very angry with my father. I was sent to him with only a maid.”

  Roger bit his lip. “You did not have your mother?”

  Alasdair laid his hand on his shoulder. “No. But ye have yer mother, yer aunt, and yer brothers with ye. Ye must remember that.”

  Roger nodded. “Were you scared?”

  “Yes. It was very hard being strong and brave.” His regard serious, he added, “I dinna ken I would ever go home, but I did. And as soon as yer ransom is paid, ye will go home, but ye must vow ye’ll not run away again.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” Alasdair stood up. He suddenly started, as if he’d forgotten that Juliana stood there.

  She could barely breathe. How was it that he had never mentioned this to her before?

  He smiled slightly at her, allowing Roger to precede them out of the stables. As they crossed the bailey, Juliana’s mind raced. She finally took his arm and halted; he faced her, his expression wry.

  “I did not know you were a hostage when you were a child!”

  “My father went to war for the King of Norway and Haakon and he lost.” He shrugged. Then, “I ken what the boy is feeling.”

  Her heart raced. “How old were you?”

  “Almost two.”

  He had been sent away as a hostage, without his mother, at the age of two? Of course he understood Roger.

  “Dinna look at me that way,” he warned, but mildly.

  “How long were you held hostage?”

  “Close to three years.”

  Juliana bit her lip, tears rising. She seized his hand. “Your poor mother! You must have been so frightened! And to be kept hostage for so long!”

  “Dinna feel sorry for me.” He shrugged her off, his look filled with warning. “Little boys grow up.”

  Of course she was stricken—and she felt sorry for what he must have endured. But Juliana found her composure. “Alasdair. Thank you for being so kind to Roger.”

  He softened. “Did ye think I’d be unkind?”

  “I didn’t know,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A MESSENGER FINALLY arrived—with letters from the Earl of Buchan and Alexander MacDougall.

  Juliana was in the great room with her sister and Lady MacDonald, seated before the hearth, sewing. Roger and Donald were outside, playing on the beach, and little Thomas was asleep upstairs. The moment the men came inside, their loud voices and heavy booted steps could be heard. Alasdair walked in first.

  Juliana saw that he was holding several rolls of vellum, and that a man she did not recognize was behind him with Angus Mor. That Highlander wore Buchan’s green-and-red plaid.

  Word about their ransoms had finally come. She slowly got up, her heart thundering, as Alasdair walked directly to her. “Yer brother has written us both,” he said.

  She could barely look away as he handed her the roll that was hers.

  “And William? Did he send me a missive?” Mary cried.

  Alasdair handed her a parchment roll. “Aye, that is from William. But before ye read it, Buchan has agreed to pay yer ransom, Lady Mary, and ye will probably be free by June, as soon as the payment is made.”

  Mary nodded, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. “June,” she whispered. It was April the second now.

  Juliana tore her gaze from Alexander’s. June was not far away, and would she be free then, too? And if so, why did she feel an odd dismay?

  Juliana glanced at Mary, who remained seated, and was now eagerly reading William’s letter. Tears fell from her eyes. Juliana hurried to sit beside her, still clutching her own parchment roll. “Is everything well?”

  She looked up, nodding, as she wiped at her tears. “He is fine. He misses me. He misses the boys. He has been told I am in good health. And he does not say a word about the war that will surely come soon.”

  He did not want to worry her, Juliana thought. “June is not far away,” she said, patting her hand.

  “I will no
t see William in June. The baby is due in July. I will not be able to travel.”

  Juliana twisted to look at Alasdair, darkly. He was reading his letter, but he glanced across the room at her. She knew he understood her meaning—he should release Mary now, so she could have her child at home.

  “What does our brother say? When will you be released?” Mary asked softly.

  Juliana unrolled the parchment and smoothed it out upon the table. Mary set a taper closer, so it was easier to read.

  “‘My dear Juliana,’” he wrote, “‘It aggrieves me to no end that Alasdair Og attacked Lismore behind my back, taking you, Mary and the boys prisoner. Buchan has agreed to pay the sum demanded for Mary’s release and I am thankful for that. Your ransom is another matter. Alasdair Og has demanded more gold for your release than I have, and I must beg for help from our allies. I do not know how long it will take to raise the funds. I have been told you are in good health, so I beg you to be patient. God keep you well. Your brother, Alexander MacDougall.’”

  Juliana was in disbelief. She looked up. Alasdair had been watching her closely and their gazes met instantly.

  He had asked for a reasonable ransom for Mary, but an excessive one for her? So excessive that her brother needed to seek help with the payment from their allies? She realized she was standing—and that she was shaking.

  “Juliana?” Mary asked with alarm.

  She somehow smiled at her sister. “I do not know when I will be released. Alexander does not have enough gold to pay my ransom. Not now, anyway.”

  Mary gasped. She glanced sharply at Alasdair. “How much did you ask for her?”

  Juliana also stared, but coolly. “Yes, how much did you ask?”

  Alasdair’s face had become an impassive mask. “I have asked for a ransom commensurate with yer value to me.”

  Juliana became aware that everyone in the hall was staring at her, and their regards were oddly knowing. Angus Mor seemed pleased.

  What did everyone know that she did not? And was this truly possible? She had trusted Alasdair to ask for a simple ransom—she had, until then, believed she would be justly released when it was paid! Had she been a fool?

  Mary put her arm around her. Juliana shrugged her off. “My head hurts terribly. I am going to lie down.” Not looking at anyone now—and especially not at Alasdair—she strode from the room.

  She was angry as she climbed the stairs, enough so that she shook. Had he asked for an exorbitant ransom because he did not want to release her? Because he wished to keep his mistress? Was that even possible?

  She enjoyed being in his bed. She enjoyed his company, even when they were not in bed. She had become fond of him—she dared admit that, now. But she would never have willingly gone to him, if she had realized the price to be paid would be her freedom.

  She had trusted him—he had betrayed that trust.

  “Juliana!”

  She tensed, but continued to rush down the hall and into Mary’s bedchamber.

  Alasdair followed her inside.

  She faced him, but held up her hand, a warning he could not come closer. “You could have asked for a reasonable ransom, one my brother could immediately pay.”

  “Ye have a great value to me.”

  “Ah, yes—we get to the heart of the matter. I am sharing your bed, and you intend to keep me here—for how long? Six months? A year? Six years?”

  He was grave. “Would ye truly mind?”

  “I must go home, Alasdair!”

  “Why? Ye like being with me—yer well fed, well clothed, ye lack for nothing.”

  She was astonished. “I like being with you—but I lack my freedom.”

  “Ye come to me freely every night.”‘

  She laughed harshly. “Alasdair! I am eighteen years old! I was to marry Lachlan MacRuari last year! I must go home—because another marriage will be arranged for me soon, a good one!”

  He folded his arms across his broad chest and stared. When he did not speak, Juliana became uncomfortable. “I trusted you, but wrongly. I see that now.”

  “Ye could marry me,” he said.

  She was certain she had misheard. “What did you just say?”

  “Ye could marry me,” he repeated, his gaze piercing.

  She did not move, she did not breathe, not for a moment. “We are enemies,” she said. “My brother would never allow such a marriage.”

  He shrugged, the gesture indifferent—but his blue stare was anything but. “We could marry anyway.”

  Her shock increased. “If we married without his approval, he would not cease until he had killed you—or until you killed him!”

  Alasdair approached. “I think ye underestimate me—and even yer brother.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “If he agreed to the marriage, would ye agree?”

  “He will never agree!” Her mind was spinning. They were enemies—terrible blood enemies.

  Yet Alasdair was not a casual man.

  How her sister’s words now echoed!

  “You know I care about you, when I should not care,” she said. “And not just because you killed my bishop, seized my castle and took Achanduin Castle, too. And not just because I am your hostage—as is my pregnant sister! Alasdair. How many of my Dougall kin have you killed?”

  “I dinna keep count of those who fall to me in battle.”

  “It is impossible—a MacDougall marrying a MacDonald,” she said. But images now kept flashing in her mind—of Alasdair as she lay in his arms; of him smiling across the table at her; of him sitting with Roger in the stables, so kindly telling the child about being a hostage as a boy.

  “Nothing is impossible,” he said.

  “So this is why you asked for a ransom my brother cannot pay?”

  “Aye.”

  But he was mad—her brother would never agree. The two men would wind up killing one another over her.

  “If yer brother agrees to the union, will ye agree to it?”

  She stiffened. She tried to imagine what it would be like to keep his home, bear his children, and wait for him to return from battle, mostly against her brother and her MacDougall kin. She would be fearful for his life—and she would be fearful for the lives of every MacDougall in the field.

  If she and Alasdair married, would he still try to kill her brother when in battle? Would her brother still raise his sword against Alasdair?

  Weren’t they now on opposing sides of a war, her brother against Robert Bruce, Alasdair against John Balliol?

  How could such an ancient blood feud ever change?

  “So ye cannot answer.” Alasdair gave her a hard look before he turned and walked out.

  Juliana watched him go, reeling.

  * * *

  JULIANA WAS CURLED up on her sister’s bed when Mary came into the room with little Thomas in her arms, Roger and Donald racing ahead. They cried out when they saw Juliana and leapt onto the bed—onto her.

  “Aunt Juliana! It’s too early to sleep!” Donald cried.

  Juliana pulled them close, and smiled at her sister. “I am allowed to rest, am I not?” She kissed Donald’s red head. As she did, she thought of Alasdair’s proposal.

  Her heart hammered. He was mad, a war would come of this. Yet didn’t she want a pair of boys of her own—and a strong, handsome, brave husband? One she cared for?

  But her brother would never agree.

  Mary put Thomas down in his cradle, but he promptly sat up, sucking his thumb, watching his brothers with wide-eyed interest.

  “Are you sick?” Donald demanded. “You never rest!”

  “No, I am not sick.” Now, she kissed Roger’s head as well. And then both boys bolted from the bed, towards the carved figurines that had been left on the floor. The toys were from Alasdair. Her heart lurched as Mary came and sat down beside her.

  “What has happened?” she asked softly.

  Juliana seized her hand. “Alasdair suggested that we marry.”

  Mary paled.
“Alexander would never agree!”

  “I said as much. Mary—what can he intend?”

  “I believe he is truly fond of you—but he must want Lismore.”

  “Lismore is not worth the bloodshed that would ensue if we married without Alexander’s consent. And it is the most valuable part of my dowry.”

  Mary was aghast. “Is that what you will do? Marry without consent?”

  Juliana began shaking her head. “No, of course not.” She loved them both—she did not want either man to die! Then a thought dawned, one that was at once so simple and yet so complicated. “Mary, I do love him.”

  Mary pulled her close. “I know you do. It has been so obvious, for some time. And he loves you. I have no doubt. But our fathers—our grandfathers—have been at war, Juliana. And we are at war right now.”

  Juliana barely heard. She had fallen in love with Alasdair. It was wonderful to be able to finally admit as much to herself. The comprehension made her heart soar. But then, on the heels of such joy, there was abject despair.

  There would never be peace between their clans. Alexander would never allow their union. If they married without his consent, the blood feud would worsen—and she would be at odds, at war, with her own family. Because if they married, she would have to take her husband’s side, and not just against Alexander, but against Mary and all of her Comyn relations.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Juliana whispered.

  “There is nothing you can do, not now. You’re his hostage and Alexander cannot afford your ransom. Maybe that is for the best.”

  Juliana stared. Mary was right. She was a captive, and Alasdair was going to war. For the moment, she could only wait for this round of fighting to end—and pray for the welfare of all of those whom she loved.

  * * *

  JULIANA WAS ALARMED. She had been soundly asleep in Alasdair’s arms, but now, she was suddenly awake—and his side of the bed was empty. Yet it was the middle of the night.

  She sat up. Moonlight streamed through an open window, illuminating one side of the dark room. Alasdair was dressed and leaving.

  “Alasdair?”

  He half turned. “Hush. Go back to sleep. There is nothing for you to worry about.” He left the room.

  Juliana sank back down in the bed, now fully awake. What had happened? Why had he gotten up in the middle of the night?