The Renegade (The Renegade, Rebel and Rogue)

by Christine Dorsey

  “ ’Tis worse than I thought,” Keegan said more to himself than for anyone else’s benefit.

  “Ye could not have known, lad, being dragged off t’ London like they done. But as ye say times are rough for those of us who followed the Prince.”

  With a grunt Shamus reined in the small pony, They’d come upon a stream. Clear water sloshed over smooth moss-covered rocks, following the fretful channel toward the sea. There was no bridge, which left fording their only option.

  There’d been a time when Zoe would have balked, certain the frigid water would be her death. But now she merely sighed, resigned to being cold and wet... and somehow having her heart survive.

  As it turned out, Zoe was told to stay in the cart while Shamus held the reins and Keegan climbed down to lead the pony into the swirling water. “Watch yerself MacLeod, the current’s a mite rougher than ye think,” Shamus said with a laugh before the cart splashed into the water.

  “I always find meself a point to fix on.” The old man raised his voice to be heard over the stream’s torrent. “Like that rock yonder. Then I aim the pony’s ears on a straight course. Keeps us from goin’ too far downstream with the current.”

  Which was what Keegan was doing now. He seemed to have equal difficulty with the current and the pony. When he finally guided the pony ashore, Keegan announced he would walk for a bit. Zoe rested her head upon a sack of oats and drifted off to sleep, the chatter of Shamus fluttering in her ear, the vision of sunny blue sky above her.

  She woke with a start. The singsong tone of the old man’s voice was gone. In its place were terse commands. Commands that Keegan obeyed. He leaped onto the cart, burrowing down into the straw and ordering her to do the same.

  “What...? What is it?” Zoe batted at the straw and sneezed.

  “My God. Don’t tell me ye’re goin’ t’ start that?”

  “I can’t help it.” Zoe sneezed again.

  In the meantime Shamus was twisted around telling them to hurry. The sharp edge of fear honed his words. “Soldiers are comin’.”

  For a heartbeat Keegan stopped burying her legs beneath bags of oats. He looked up and their eyes met. They both knew how close he was to hanging from the nearest tree. Even if she didn’t call out to the soldiers.

  In that moment she wanted to reassure him.

  But it was too ridiculous to even comprehend it. So she said nothing, as did he. Then he was pushing her down, covering her head and his with a length of plaid, making a little nest for them beneath the straw. And all the time the cart rumbled along the rutted path.

  The sun was blocked beneath the wool, but she could still see Keegan in the dusty light. He lay beside her, his face turned toward hers. One hand rested beside her cheek as if he didn’t know whether to place it over her mouth or not.

  He did, the moment he heard a yelled command to halt.

  The accent was decidedly English, military in tone.

  “State your name and business.”

  The old man took his time responding. “I’m Shamus MacNair, and I be on me way to pay me rent t’ the new landlord.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Angus MacDonald. ’Tis him that lives in the castle now down by Firth Glenmorgan.”

  Zoe heard the hooves of horses as they pranced and when the soldier’s words came again they were even closer. “What have you here?”

  The cart jolted, obviously rocked by the Englishman. Zoe’s eyes widened, staring at Keegan over his hand. Her senses were flooded by him. She could feel the tension in his body, hear the pounding of his heart... or was it hers, as the minutes seemed to pile one upon the other.

  In the background she could hear Shamus listing the contents of the cart. “Oats, and beer, straw for bedding.”

  Zoe had no idea if the soldier believed that was all the cart held. She wished she could see his face. Wished he would give the order for the old man to move on. If he didn’t... if he decided to search the cart for himself, Keegan was trapped. A dead man.

  And then the tickle started. Deep in her nose. Zoe tried breathing through her mouth, but the Scot’s hand pressed firmly. Her eyes watered with the force of trying to avert the sneeze but she could feel it coming nonetheless.

  Frantically Zoe lifted her hand and clawed at his. Surprise, then anger darkened his eyes. But he was so taken off guard that his hand slipped a fraction. He expected her to scream. She could read it in the set of his features. But she didn’t. After taking a deep breath she pinched her nostrils, just before the sneeze trembled through her.

  There was a noise, a slight snuffling sound that the plaid and straw muffled even more. Apparently the English soldiers didn’t hear it. Within minutes Zoe heard the pounding of hooves as the soldiers rode away. And then the cart started moving.

  Zoe turned her head toward him. His hand no longer covered her lower face. He’d moved it as soon as he realized what she did. He looked at her now as if she were some strange being he’d never seen before. She knew he wondered why. Why, when her release was at hand, when she could have had her revenge against the man who’d kidnapped her, did she choose to protect him instead.

  Zoe wanted to explain it to him. But she’d have to understand it herself first.

  And at the moment she didn’t.

  The road no longer ran along the water. It now twisted and turned, climbing ever higher into the hills. Keegan was walking again, keeping a lookout for other details of soldiers from Fort William. Shamus had warned they were everywhere, a remark he repeated after their encounter.

  “I don’t know if I’d stay here, if I were ye,” he said now. “They must be lookin’ for ye lad. Word came that ye escaped before I clapped eyes on ye.”

  “Perhaps you should listen to him.” Zoe twisted on her knees in the cart. Keegan hadn’t even bothered to answer the old man, simply trudging on as if he hadn’t heard him. “You could go to France.” Shamus had told them that many of the chieftains whose land was confiscated had escaped across the channel. Many of the tenants, including Shamus, now paid two rents. One to the new English-appointed landlord, another voluntary rent to the laird across the sea.

  Keegan glanced over his shoulder. “Ye’d like that, wouldn’t ye? Anything t’ save yer brother.” Their gazes met but his expression turned sheepish and he went back to looking at the road before him.

  “I wasn’t thinking of Fox and you know it.”

  “Aye,” he mumbled. “Well, I can’t leave. Not without seeing how things are anyway.”

  And killing Fox, Zoe wondered. But she didn’t ask.

  Dusk settled quickly over the Highlands veiling them in tones of grey, softening the tumble of craggy mountains. Adding mystery to them.

  The air was clear and cold now that the sun hung low over the Atlantic, and Zoe was grateful for the wool plaid. She wrapped it more tightly about her shoulders wondering how much farther they were going to climb this day.

  As if in answer to her unspoken question Shamus reined in the pony. “ ’Tis as far as our paths are the same.” He climbed down from the rickety seat and stretched. “Ye know where we be, don’t ye lad?”

  “Aye. Castle MacLeod is t’ the northwest.”

  “Right ye are. I’d take ye the rest of the way meself but—”

  “You’ve done plenty.” Keegan clasped the old man’s shoulders. “I thank ye for it.”

  “There’s an inn down in the glen. If ye hurry ye should make the door before night overtakes ye. Knock on the back door and tell them ye wish t’ raise a glass to the king across the sea. Ye’ll have no problem.”

  Keegan nodded. “If there be anything I can do for ye...”

  “Ye needn’t finish it lad.” Shamus climbed back onto the cart. “These be trying times. Now be off with ye. And take care of the lass.”

  Zoe watched the cart roll away, then turned and scurried to catch up with Keegan. He had already started down the path. He surprised her by pausing till she caught up, then taking her arm. Mist rose in
patches at times obscuring the hem of Zoe’s skirts.

  They walked along a ridge, following a footpath that the cart could never have traveled. Zoe squinted into the ever-deepening night, trying to see some sign of an inn. But there was nothing. The wind rustled, and far off in the distance she could hear the roar of water, whether the sea or a river, she wasn’t certain.

  But for that, all was quiet with a silence and solitude like she’d never known. It was as if they were the only two people left in the world. The idea made her giddy—and started that odd ache inside her. But she knew better than to mention her discomfort. She knew better than to do anything but trudge along beside him.

  The inn was little better than the crude hovel they left this morn. Made of turf with a thatched roof, the whole was but slightly larger. However it did offer shelter from the misty rain that had begun to fall.

  Zoe stood behind Keegan, the plaid covering her head, as he pounded on the door. Several people were inside. Zoe could hear them singing as the portal opened a crack.

  “What be ye wantin’?” the landlord asked in a most inhospitable tone.

  “T’ tip a glass to the king across the sea,” Keegan countered and immediately the door opened wider.

  “Come in outa the weather, lad. Oh, what have we here?” The landlord’s gaze fell on Zoe.

  “We’re but weary travelers lookin’ for a place to lay our heads.”

  “I’ve a room. Galen Frasier’s me name.” His pursed lips seemed to disappear in his wide face.

  “Galen.” Keegan nodded his way. “If ye’ll be showin’ us—”

  “ ’Tis customary in the Highlands t’ give a name.”

  Keegan lifted a wet brow. “And here I thought a Highland custom was t’ respect a traveler’s privacy.”

  Several of the patrons seated round the white ash of a peat fire guffawed. Then one stood. Tankard in hand he approached Keegan, squinting in the poor light of a fir branch.

  “Ye be the MacLeod’s son. Keegan, that’s the one. Went off to London, ye did.”

  “And returned to fight at Culloden,” Keegan countered.

  “Aye he did at that. Got himself caught and sentenced to hang too.” The man lifted his mug and took a healthy drink.

  “Well, as ye can see I’ve escaped, and come home.”

  “Not much to come home to,” another of the patrons, a wiry man with pockmarked face, added. “They’ve confiscated yer land.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Zoe lifted her eyes enough to look at Keegan. She’d wondered if Castle MacLeod was no longer his. How long had he known? And if they weren’t bound there, then where?

  “Do ye have a room for us or nay? ’Tis been a long day and I’m in dire need of a pillow t’ lay my head.”

  Apparently deciding they’d get no gossip from this MacLeod, the proprietor motioned with his pudgy fingers. “There be a hut out back. Inside is a sleepin’ box for ye and the lady. Are ye hungry?”

  They ate a supper of greasy mutton and hard-boiled eggs, then took a burning branch to the sleeping quarters. The rain fell harder now, blown into Zoe’s face like icy daggers. But the small hut was relatively dry and after Keegan used the branch to light the peat fire, it warmed quickly.

  Zoe stood near the fire wondering if it were possible to die of exhaustion. Her feet hurt. Her body ached and her head throbbed. But she knew Keegan suffered as much as she. Not that he complained. He simply stood, staring at her. The same expression on his handsome face that she’d seen often since the soldiers came upon their cart.

  Zoe unwrapped the plaid, shaking the beads of water from the wool. When she finished he hadn’t moved at all. Embarrassed, Zoe tried to walk past him. He reached out, hooking her arm, stopping her.

  He stared down into her eyes and “Why?” was all he said.

  Twelve

  She could pretend not to understand, but it seemed foolish. More foolish than her actions. Around the hut the wind churned the landscape, but inside it was quiet with only the occasional crack of the fire to break the silence. He was waiting for her answer, and for the life of her Zoe couldn’t give him one.

  “Have you never done something impulsively? Something you look back upon and wonder what possessed you?”

  “Aye”

  He answered her so quickly and with such assurance, that Zoe’s lips thinned. “Saving me from Captain Holt, no doubt.”

  “Actually, I was thinkin’ more along the lines of kidnappin’ ye in the first place.”

  Zoe smiled despite herself. “That was rather foolish, wasn’t it?”

  Keegan sat on the side of the box bed and pried off one boot. “I’ve made smarter moves t’ be sure.”

  “Well, I’d be glad to remedy that situation for you.”

  Keegan glanced up. “Can ye now?” She was angry. He could tell by her stance, feet spread beneath her tattered skirts and arms crossed. And by the delightful color that ripened her cheeks like fine peaches. She was bedraggled, and dirty, her fall of curly hair tumbling down her narrow back, but she was an appealing woman. The eyes, large and grey, reminded him of the girl he’d taken from her home by force, but the rest of her had changed.

  “I can,” she said, as she paced to the far edge of the hut, a mere rod or so. “As a matter of fact I think we’d all be better off if you’d simply let me go.”

  The other boot plopped to the soft dirt. “And how do ye figure that?”

  “As you said, the entire kidnapping idea was mad.”

  Keegan leaned back on his elbows. “I don’t recall saying that.”

  “But you must admit it was.” She wished he wouldn’t recline like that. The position made his chest seem even wider than it already was. And she could see the outline of the bulging muscles in his arms. Zoe took a deep breath. That uncomfortable ache was starting again. “So you see, if you let me go, everything will be as it should.” He didn’t say anything—which Zoe took as a good sign. “I shall go home to London and you can...”

  One dark brow arched.

  Zoe sighed. He didn’t seem to have a lot of choices. “Go to France,” she finally said.

  “And have the crofters send me a voluntary rent on top of the one they owe the factor so I can live the life of a dilettante in exile?”

  No, Zoe admitted to herself, he didn’t really seem like the kind of man to do that. “Then what of the New World?”

  “What of it?”

  “You could go there. Start a new life.”

  “I like Scotland.”

  Zoe crossed her arms. He was being stubborn. “It seems to me you should look to the future.” She lifted her hands in a shrug. “But there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  “Are ye forgetting yer brother?” His tone was mild, but Zoe noted the gleam in his narrowed eyes. “Besides,” he said, pushing to his feet, “I’m not sure ye actually wish t’ be free of me.” Keegan followed his announcement with a lift of her chin with his thumb. She really did have the most incredible eyes, wide and serious one moment. Stormy the next. They were definitely stormy now.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Then why didn’t ye call out to the soldiers?”

  That question again. Zoe took a step back. “I fully appreciate the things you’ve done to save my life. Perhaps I was only returning the favor.” Her insides were in turmoil and her head dizzy.

  His breath wafted against her cheek. “So do ye consider us even now?”

  “Yes... no... I don’t know.” Zoe took a deep breath. “I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Ill again?” Keegan shifted her face to the left, then the right, studying the bright eyes, the shallowness of her breath. “What think ye the problem this time? Fever?”

  Zoe nodded. She definitely felt hot with him so close.

  “Nausea? Unbalance of humors?”

  Yes, yes, all that and more. Zoe swayed toward him.

  “And what of yer problem with rigid veins?” His own rigidity pressed against her as K
eegan pulled her closer.

  “Oh, yes,” Zoe agreed. “I definitely think I need a surgeon.” But the truth was, Zoe thought she needed something else more. His month, those strong, firm lips were only a breath away from her own. And she was sure she would swoon if he didn’t kiss her soon. It was all she could do not to beg, not to gasp, when the pressure finally came.

  Zoe’s arms hung loose, then seemed to take on a life of their own as they wound about his neck. And she was kissing him back as hard as she could. Trying to ignore the ache growing in her nether regions. Finding it impossible.

  The only relief she seemed to find was a certain way she wriggled about, pressing herself against Keegan’s thigh. He appeared to find the arrangement advantageous as well, for he lifted her higher, molding his hands over her bottom.

  His tongue brushed her lips, then inched its way inside her mouth. Bells seemed to ring in her head. One of his hands lifted, his finger tracing the outline of her bodice. Her breasts swelled.

  It was happening again. Her entire body felt light, so light she could float away. Her legs nearly buckled and if not for his support she would have fallen to the earthen floor. And her heart, it beat so fast, pounding in her chest that Zoe feared she might expire.

  But dying was the last thing she wanted to do. Because she never wanted this feeling to stop. She never wanted to be separated from the Scot. As if in an epiphany Zoe knew why she hadn’t called to the English soldiers. And the answer was too frightening to accept.

  “No, please.” Zoe twisted until her mouth was free from his. “This can’t be.”

  “Hell, Zoe.” His voice rasped in her ear, hardly more than a groan.

  “I’m sorry.” Her own breathing was thready. “This just can’t be.”

  “Now lass, I’m thinkin’ it can. We’ve a warm bed, and I’ve checked, there isn’t a bedbug or flea to be found.”

  What he had in mind came blindingly into focus. Which is not to say it wasn’t the same thing that had been on her mind. “I can’t.” Zoe shook her head and wriggled free of his knee. With a grunt and a curse he let her go.