Brenda Joyce, Terri Brisbin, Michelle Willingham

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

  She quickly slid from the bed, taking a fur with her, and went to the door and opened it.

  She could hear voices downstairs—several of which she did not recognize.

  They had company—in the middle of the night. No good could come of such a visit, she was certain. Only bad tidings would come at such a late hour.

  She did not fall back asleep and at dawn, she finally got up, washed and dressed. When she walked into the great room, she saw only her sister, the boys and Lady MacDonald at the table. Her heart lurched.

  “Where are the men? Who came last night?” Juliana asked, hurrying forward.

  Lady MacDonald was ashen. “Buittle has fallen, Juliana. Balliol and his supporters have taken it back.” She stared almost accusingly.

  Mary whispered, “Our brother fought with Balliol. So did Buchan—so did William.”

  “Bruce’s messenger arrived last night,” Lady MacDonald continued. “They are marching on Wigtown now, which Bruce intends to defend—which we must defend with him.”

  Juliana felt ill. She seized the edge of the table to keep herself standing upright. Hadn’t she known that just such a day would come? A day of war that pitted Alasdair against her family?

  John Balliol, the Earl of Buchan, William, her brother and various other warriors were attempting to restore the royal garrison at Wigtown. Bruce would be defending his conquest. He would need his allies to do so—he would need Angus Mor and his sons. “Where is Alasdair?” she heard herself ask hoarsely.

  “He is preparing to ride to war,” Lady MacDonald said. “And my husband is going with him! He is too old to go to war, I have said so repeatedly, but he has decided to go to this war, now, when he should let his sons do the fighting!” She was near tears. “The truth is, my husband loves war! He always has and he always will!”

  Mary put her arm around her, but she gave Juliana a frightened look. “William is with his father, Juliana. He fought at Buittle, and now, he will fight at Wigtown.”

  Julian felt sick. She knew her sister was thinking as she was—Alasdair would go to battle against William, her husband, the father of her children. It was horrific. “When are they leaving?” she managed to ask.

  “They intend to be gone by noon,” Lady MacDonald said grimly.

  Juliana leapt up and ran from the hall and outside. It was a beautiful late-April morning, but she did not notice. She only saw that the bailey was filled with armed Highlanders, their horses and wagons. There were siege engines and catapults. And the front gates were open. The army that was assembling would soon march.

  “Are ye looking for me?” Alasdair asked.

  She whirled. “Would you leave without even a goodbye?”

  He smiled, unclasping his brooch and removing his plaid, which he swiftly placed about her shoulders. “I would never leave without a goodbye,” he said softly.

  She felt like pummeling him. “What is happening?”

  He sobered, taking her hand and pulling her aside—into the stables. “Buittle fell. To yer brother, Buchan and their friends. Bruce needs us at Wigtown, Juliana.”

  She seized his wrist. “Will you be able to defend the castle there?” Bruce had seized it from the English in the winter. “Surely King Edward is on the march against you, as well! Surely King Edward wants his royal castle back!”

  He hesitated. “Yes, the English will march against us.”

  The English army was massive. “Alasdair! Is there any chance you will triumph?”

  “I hardly go to war to lose, Juliana,” he said, but he was solemn. “Ye should know—we have waited all month long for an army from Ireland, but de Burgh has failed us. They are not sending troops. To make matters worse, in the winter, we had the support of Scotland’s steward, but he has since gone over to King Edward.”

  “So you rebel against half of Scotland—and England—for naught?”

  “Bruce has a good claim to the throne.”

  “So does Balliol! So does that little girl—King Alexander’s granddaughter!”

  He reached for her. “The war is not yet lost. Scotland needs a king—not a child-princess.”

  But it sounded lost, and Juliana was afraid for him. She clasped his face. “Mary’s husband was at Buittle—he will be at Wigtown. And my brother, as well.”

  “I ken. But that is the way of war.” He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her. “I will miss ye, Juliana.”

  She could barely speak. “I want you to come home to me!” And how she meant it!

  His eyes widened. “Does that mean ye will be here when I return?”

  She started. “Do I have a choice?”

  He let her go. “Aye, ye have a choice. Yer sister is free to go home—and ye can go with her, if ye wish.”

  Juliana was stunned. It was a moment before she could speak. “Was Mary’s ransom paid?”

  He shook his head, watching her.

  She could not help but be thrilled, in spite of the cloying fear. Alasdair was releasing Mary, without a ransom, so she could go home to have her child. “You care about me.”

  “I care about ye—enough to free yer sister, as ye wish, enough to free ye, Juliana.”

  It struck her then, like a blow, that their affair was over. She was going home. There was no choice to make, as she could hardly remain at Dunyveg, a mistress awaiting her lover’s return from the war. “When will I see you again?”

  “I dinna ken how long the fighting will last. If Atholl and Lennox ally themselves with us, we could fight on until next winter.”

  “Next winter!” she gasped.

  He slowly smiled. “So ye will miss me?”

  She nodded, biting her lips. Tears arose. “I will miss you very much.”

  She realized she could not contemplate her life without Alasdair in it. “What will we do when you return?”

  “I thought ye meant to marry as yer brother wished?”

  She inhaled. “So it is over? Just like that? You are leaving in a moment—and I will never be in your arms again?”

  He pulled her into his embrace. “When this war is over, I am asking yer brother for yer hand. Will ye marry me if he agrees?”

  “He will not agree.”

  “If he does agree, will ye accept?”

  She somehow nodded, still crying. Scotland was always in the throes of one war or another, and they were enemies, on the opposing side of every battle. But she could so easily imagine herself and Alasdair as man and wife, united in their interests, in their love. She could so easily imagine fighting off every assault and attack that came their way, together. She could imagine them as true allies, until death.

  But Alexander would never agree to their union. She did not know why Alasdair was so confident about being able to persuade her brother to their cause. She was afraid that a marriage would be arranged for her once she returned home.

  “God keep you, Alasdair,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  His eyes widened, and then he kissed her, hard. “I go to war a happy man.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dunstaffnage Castle, Argyll, Scotland—May, 1287

  JULIANA DUG HER bare toes into the thick grass, wiggling them. She was sitting on a wool blanket with her sister, outside the castle walls. It was a warm, sunny spring day, the skies blue, the sun high, the hills covered with purple thistle and yellow wildflowers. Juliana almost felt like a child as she basked in the sun, briefly feeling lazy and without cares. Mary was as content. She lay on several pillows, looking as if she were about to have her child at any moment, when the babe was not due for five or six more weeks.

  Juliana smiled as she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth upon her face. But then Alasdair’s image came to mind and her heart lurched. After all, she was no child, no matter how unambitious her days, and the man she loved was at war. How she missed him, and how she worried about him now.

  They had arrived at Dunstaffnage almost a month ago. The journey by sea was a brief one, and had passed without incident. Juliana had f
ought not to cry—for as their ship sailed closer and closer to Argyll, she felt as if she were leaving Alasdair farther and farther behind. And it was more than the physical distance that separated them. She was afraid that the next time she saw Alasdair, if ever, she would be another man’s wife.

  When they had arrived, Alexander’s wife had greeted them, crying with joy. Juliana was fond of Jeanne, who was also a Comyn, and they had embraced for a long time. Jeanne confessed she had been so worried about them both. And she could not comprehend how they had been released when no ransom had been paid. She had then given both women chambers; Juliana could not return to Coeffin Castle, as it remained in Alasdair’s hands. They had then settled in to await the birth of Mary’s child, the end of this war, and the return of the men.

  How the future beckoned Juliana and frightened her, at once!

  She stared up at the blue sky, watching the passing white clouds. Her heart was racing. She had never loved a man before, and she loved Alasdair so strongly now. She could not contemplate a future married to someone else.

  “Are you thinking about Alasdair?” Mary asked, her small hands clasped atop her huge belly.

  The sisters had no secrets. Mary knew how she missed Alasdair, and how she worried about him. But Mary felt the same way about William. And the castle at Wigtown had fallen a few weeks ago; the fighting had moved to Dumfries.

  “Everyone says it is only a matter of time before Robert Bruce is defeated,” Juliana said, clasping her knees to her chest. Bruce and his allies had suffered a terrible defeat at Wigtown. Many men had died.

  But she had heard that Alasdair lived. One of her brother’s messengers had been certain of the fact. Her relief had known no bounds.

  “If Bruce is defeated, Alasdair can come home,” Mary said softly.

  “So can William,” Juliana returned. “And he will take you and the children home. But Alasdair will return to Islay—unless he comes here, first, to speak with our brother.”

  And if he came to Dunstaffnage, she would see him when he asked her brother for marriage. But Juliana almost dreaded that day, for when it came, it might truly end their hopes for the future.

  Unless she dared to defy her brother.

  That treacherous thought had occurred to her when she had left Dunyveg, and it had been recurring with more and more frequency—and with urgency.

  Mary tried to sit up, awkwardly, and Juliana rushed to help her. “We must both prepare for our brother’s fury, and then we must prepare to convince him to allow you and Alasdair to marry.”

  Juliana stared at her. “What would you think,” she finally whispered, “if I told you I might fight Alexander, in order to be with Alasdair?”

  Mary blanched. It was a moment before she spoke. “I would think that you love Alasdair very much, the way I love William.”

  Juliana was about to reply when loud, excited cries began from atop the ramparts. Juliana leapt up, turning. Men, women and children were gathering on the ramparts, shouting with happiness, some of the women waving plaids, others dropping flowers. And below the great stronghold, she heard the whinnies of horses and the sound of hundreds of approaching hoofbeats.

  She inhaled, whirling. Alexander had returned.

  He came into view, leading a hundred of his knights out of the forest, mounted on a great black warhorse. William rode beside him on a fiery red stallion, his hair bright gold in the sun. The red-and-green MacDougall banner waved above them as they galloped up the road.

  Mary cried out. Juliana helped her to stand up, and they stood back as the knights thundered up the road. Alexander saw them and waved. William veered away, cantering to them. He leapt from his mount; Mary rushed to him. They embraced, rocking back and forth.

  “God, I have missed ye!” William cried.

  Juliana turned away, teary-eyed. Alexander had trotted over the drawbridge and vanished into the barbican. Leaving her sister and her husband, she hurried back into the bailey. By the time she reached the hall, Alexander was surrounded by his three older children, aged ten to fourteen, and Jeanne, everyone wreathed in smiles.

  When he saw Juliana, his smile vanished.

  Her own faded, as well. “Brother.” She went forward and hugged him. “Thank God you are well.”

  “Robert the Noble is not so noble now,” Alexander said, his eyes dark. “He was on a fool’s quest and he and his friends have been routed! Bruce has fled to his estates in England, with his tail tucked between his legs.”

  Jeanne handed him a mug of wine. He smiled at her, accepting it.

  Juliana did not hesitate. “What about the rest of the rebels?”

  He was drinking from his mug. He drained it and handed it to his wife. “Ye mean MacDonald?” He was cool.

  She nodded, her heart racing. “Did Alasdair escape? Is he alive?”

  Alexander faced her, hands on his hips. “He fled with his brother and his father, Juliana, and they will remain far afield for a long time, licking their wounds, awaiting the return of King Edward’s favor.” He was pleased. “If it is ever returned.”

  Juliana averted her gaze. Alasdair was alive and he was safe, and for that, she was grateful.

  “Will Balliol become king?” Jeanne asked.

  He turned to her. “Margaret of Norway will inherit the kingdom, that much is likely, if King Edward and certain rivals have their way. I have heard that she will be sent for immediately, and a marriage arranged, perhaps to King Edward’s son.”

  So after all of this, the little girl—King Alexander’s granddaughter—would be regent after all, Juliana thought. And that meant that Scotland would be ruled by guardians until she came of age—encouraging men like Bruce and Balliol to continue to fight for the throne.

  “A child will really inherit the kingdom?” Jeanne gasped.

  “We will see,” Alexander said grimly. Juliana tensed, as he was staring at her now.

  He knows of the affair.

  “So he released ye and our sister—without any ransom being paid.” His hands fisted.

  Juliana nodded with dread. But she lifted her chin. “Yes, he did.”

  “And why, Juliana, would he do that?”

  She trembled. What should she say? And now, Mary and William had come into the room, Mary sending her a warning look. She rushed to them and kissed their brother on the cheek. “He is a reasonable man,” she told him, “and he did what was right.”

  “No MacDonald is just!” Alexander erupted, then faced Juliana. “I did not wish to tell ye until the negotiations were final, but I have begun to arrange a marriage for ye.”

  Juliana inhaled. “To whom?”

  “To whom do ye think? To Sir James, Sir Ingram Umfraville’s second son. The eldest is married, however, he does not have children and he is sick. There is every chance Sir James will inherit his estates.”

  Juliana felt ill. “I do not think I have met Sir Ingram’s son,” she began. Should she tell him now that she could not marry Sir James? God, was she going to have to ask her brother if she could marry Alasdair?

  “When will ye tell me the truth? What have ye been up to, Juliana?”

  “I...I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Are ye sure? Alasdair Og asked me for yer hand in marriage.”

  Juliana glanced at Mary, relieved despite her brother’s outrage.

  “He sought me out before I left the south,” Alexander cried, red of face. “Damn it! The man thinks to marry my sister? The damned son of my worst blood enemy?”

  “He is a good man,” she said. “He is brave, strong, and just.”

  “He is a murderer—with our blood all over his hands!”

  Juliana had expected just such a reaction. She dared not point out that her brother also had blood all over his hands—MacDonald blood. “Men die in war, as you know. And yes, our clans have been at war, for many generations. But that doesn’t mean that Alasdair Og isn’t noble.”

  Mary stepped between them. “He released us without a ransom because he
cares for Juliana.”

  “He released ye because he has been in bed with yer sister.”

  Juliana flushed. “Will you listen to gossip?”

  “Will ye deny it?” Alexander shouted.

  Jeanne rushed between them. “It’s not true, Alexander,” she began. “It cannot be true. Juliana is a lady.”

  He did not look at her, but stared furiously at Juliana.

  He knew the truth and Juliana could not refute him. “I cannot deny it.”

  “I should throw ye away, Juliana, I should send ye to the nuns in France.”

  “I love him,” Juliana said tersely. “I did not mean to fall in love, but I did.”

  His eyes widened with disbelief. “Ye cannot love that man. Ye cannot love the enemy. Are ye with child?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Alexander,” Mary cried, rushing to him. “Did you not hear her? She loves him. And I have seen them together. He cares for her.”

  “He cares for Lismore—he cares for Achanduin Castle—he cares for St. Moluag’s Cathedral!” He stalked away from her, his gaze cold and hard.

  Mary followed him. “And what if he brings peace to our families?”

  Alexander turned. “So ye ken he made me promises only a fool would believe—promises he will never keep?”

  Juliana whispered, “What did he promise?”

  Alexander whirled to face her. “He vowed that he will not raise arms against me—after he offered to trade ye for Coeffin Castle! He must truly think me a fool. If he supports his father and brother, of course he will raise arms against me! And Coeffin Castle is yer dowry—he cannot take ye without it!”

  Had Alasdair truly offered such a truce? Had he really meant to hand back Coeffin Castle, if Alexander agreed to their union? Juliana knew that her future hung in the balance. She slowly approached. “Brother, I have come to know him well. He does not dissemble and he does not make vows lightly. If he made vows, he means to keep them.”

  “If ye think he will keep a peace with me, then yer the fool, Juliana.”

  “But what if he does keep those vows?” Mary asked. “Angus Mor is old. Alasdair will be chief of Clan Donald. And he will rule as he pleases.”