Beloved Impostor

by Patricia Potter

  He tried to think as she did.

  Impossible. No one thought as she did. That provoked an internal smile. He even felt a peculiar twitch in his heart.

  It crossed his mind that it was rather frightening that he was starting to think like Felicia. At least he hoped he was.

  She was making him daft. She confused him, intrigued him, delighted him. She was imaginative and bold, and the unexpected became the expected with her.

  She would have to change clothes. Even Felicia would not risk traveling public roads alone. That meant stopping somewhere. Douglas had told him the ride had caught her by surprise, as intended, and so she’d had no time to prepare. She would have only what she wore, and the horse.

  The horse.

  She would try to sell the animal, or trade it. He was certain of it. And then what? She would probably try to obtain a lad’s clothing. With her short hair, she could certainly pass as one. She already had at least twice before.

  That meant stopping in a village or at a croft. There could not be that many between here and the road to Edinburgh.

  He wondered how best to use what little time he had. He could watch the road to Edinburgh, or he could stop at nearby crofts. The problem with watching the road was he might have already missed her.

  His heart pounded at accelerated speed. If he chose wrongly …?

  If he did not know her as well as he thought he did, she could be killed by thieves or footpads. Even worse, she might make Edinburgh and be given to Morneith.

  The thought froze his soul.

  He decided to leave the road and search for crofts where she might trade for what she needed.

  He only prayed that he was right.

  Chapter 27

  Angus Campbell was abed when Jamie returned with Lachlan.

  Jamie had carried the Maclean until he reached the castle, then a servant helped him to his rooms. Angus had a large room down the hall, next to the receiving room with the spyhole. Jamie’s was several doors down the corridor.

  They were all part of a suite of rooms made available to the king’s adviser. The rooms were small, though, cold and not very comfortable. Jamie disliked Edinburgh Castle and rarely stayed there.

  “Summon the physician,” Jamie ordered the servant.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “Has the king returned?”

  “They say on the morrow,” the servant said. “A messenger arrived to tell the kitchen to expect the royal party.”

  Was that why he was attacked?

  He had not thought Morneith would dare. The man was obviously more desperate than he’d believed. He had not so much as blinked during their meeting.

  Jamie knew he should be dead now. Probably would have been without Lachlan’s interference. He could take down three, but the fourth presented a problem. Unfortunately he had but two eyes, and none in the back.

  He looked down at the still-unconscious Lachlan. Despite the cloth cutting off the bleeding, blood still seeped from the wound. Maclean had lost altogether too much.

  Lachlan Maclean had been a puzzle. But there was no doubt now as to his courage.

  He would not die for it. Not if Jamie could prevent it.

  He looked at the wound. The knife had split his arm open. Nearly the length would require stitches.

  He got some water from a pitcher on the table and used a towel to wipe away some of the blood. He released the cloth he’d tied tightly above the wound, and blood ran heavy. He quickly tightened it again.

  Where in the blazes was the surgeon?

  As if summoned by Jamie’s thoughts, a knock came at the door, and a lean, cadaverous-looking man entered and went directly to the bed where Lachlan lay. He regarded the wound, then shook his head. “I should cut the arm off.”

  “Nay,” Jamie said.

  “A wound that extensive will surely become putrefied.”

  “We will wait.”

  “It could kill him.”

  “We will still wait,” Jamie said. The least he could do was to give Lachlan the chance to make the decision on his own.

  The physician shrugged. “I will have to cauterize it then.”

  “Do it while he is still unconscious.”

  The physician took a scalpel from his case and went to the fireplace and placed the knife in the flames.

  He returned. “Who is he?”

  “A man who has just saved my life,” Jamie said shortly.

  “I will do what I can, but I can promise nothing.”

  Jamie nodded, a sick feeling deep in his gut. He had underestimated Morneith, and Lachlan Maclean was paying the price. He vowed to make Morneith pay.

  The physician returned to the fire and retrieved the knife, then pressed it down on the open wound. Lachlan’s body jerked, though his eyes remained closed. A sweet, sickening smell of burned flesh filled the room.

  The physician put an ointment on the burned flesh, then took out a small bottle. “When he wakes give him a drop of this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Cannabis and saffron. The cannabis comes from India. It helps with pain.”

  Jamie nodded. Of course King James would have the most modern of treatments.

  “I will be back in the morning to see him.”

  “Thank you.”

  The physician closed his case. “My name is McCarty if you need me again tonight.”

  Jamie closed the door behind him and sat next to Lachlan. Tomorrow, he would send another note to Morneith. This one would be more harshly worded. If he did not receive a substantial amount of funds, he would go to the king and mention the penalty for attempted murder of a Campbell.

  Felicia found the croft she wanted. It was on Cameron lands but a distance away from the keep. The fields were neat, fat sheep grazed in the fields alongside two milk cows. Industrious people, she thought.

  She rode to the front of the croft. It was mid-morning, and she was famished. The smell of food came from inside.

  Her stomach growled.

  She probably looked like what she was: a fugitive on a stolen horse.

  A girl of five years or so poked her head out, and her mouth formed a perfect O. She scurried inside, and then a man appeared. His eyes narrowed as he saw her. His gaze wandered over her rich but torn gown, then her cropped hair. Finally, his gaze went to the horse.

  “Milady?” he said, a question in his voice.

  “Sir,” she said, “my father is very ill in Edinburgh. One of our retainers was accompanying me, and we were beset by brigands. My companion was killed, but I was able to get away.”

  The farmer listened without comment.

  “I could go back home but then I might not get to my father before … before …” Her voice broke off. “I must go on.”

  “Someone from the Camerons will aid ye,” he said. “I will send one of my lads with ye.”

  “Nay, I cannot wait. But I cannot travel like this, either.” Tears started rolling down her face. They were not that difficult. She had been on the edge of them all night.

  “What can we do, milady?”

  “A lad’s clothes, if you have them. My hair … I had a fever and lost most of it. ’Tis a blessing now. No one would look twice at a lad. You can have the horse in return for the clothes and some food.”

  “Ye do not plan to walk?” Suspicion had turned into sympathy.

  “Aye,” she said.

  “My lad will take you to the next village in our cart,” he said. “Ye might find someone going to Edinburgh from there.”

  “Thank you,” she said with heartfelt gratitude.

  “We canna take the horse. It is too grand.”

  “Then keep him until someone comes for him. They will repay you for your kindness.”

  “We will pray for your fa.”

  While a strapping young lad hitched the cart to a pony, she quickly changed into what must have been his clothes a few years earlier. She gobbled down a bowl of oatmeal and fresh bread and gratefully took a large hunk of chee
se. Her gown was neatly wrapped beside her. The crofter refused to keep it.

  Before long, she was bouncing up and down on the cart. The sun was shining. Her stomach was full. Her heart was dark, though. She had succeeded. But the success led to Edinburgh, an angry uncle, and Morneith.

  She folded her hands in her lap, forcing herself not to clench them into a fist. Her eyes closed.

  Lachlan woke to agony. When he moved, the fire in his arm spread throughout his body.

  “Do not move,” a voice told him.

  He opened his eyes.

  Jamie Campbell loomed above him. He put a cup to his lips.

  “Drink,” Campbell said.

  Lachlan obeyed. His throat was thick and dry. The liquid was bitter. He coughed.

  “The physician said it would help with the pain.”

  “My arm?”

  “Badly cut. The physician wanted to remove it. I said that decision belonged to you.”

  Lachlan nodded. His eyes went to his arm. It had not been wrapped, and it was black and ugly. “Where am I?”

  “Edinburgh Castle. In Campbell rooms.”

  Lachlan tried to grin. He feared it was more a grimace. “Your father?”

  “He has not wakened yet, and thus does not know. But he already believes you helped me escape from Inverleith. He will be grateful for last night.”

  “The attackers?”

  “Two were dead. The others badly injured. Morneith will have to find new villains.”

  “You wanted to see me tonight?”

  “Aye. To tell you about the meeting with Morneith. He was careful, but there was no doubt he has taken money from the English. Dugald Cameron listened in through a spyhole, but there is not yet enough to convince the king.”

  “Then what?”

  “I sent a note to Morneith this morning. He knows I know he tried to have me killed. He will be more worried now. And careless, I hope.”

  Lachlan tried to move, and pain savaged him.

  “The physician will return this morning,” Jamie said.

  “I do not want to lose my arm.”

  “I will make sure you do not.”

  Lachlan nodded, then closed his eyes again. A heavy drowsiness was moving through him. He welcomed it.

  Frustrtion drove Rory. The crofts directly along the way to the Edinburgh road had seen nothing of a young lady on a large bay horse. He finally found the gelding at midday. He recognized the large horse hobbled and grazing alongside a pair of sheep.

  The farmer was reticent. ’Twas obvious he had little love of the Macleans and was skeptical of his concern.

  “That is a Maclean horse,” Rory said.

  “How do I know that?” the farmer said stubbornly.

  “The lady had short, cropped hair,” he said. “She was staying with us.”

  “She said her fa was sick.”

  “Aye. We were going to send an escort with her, but she became impatient.”

  The farmer shrugged. “She said someone would be along to claim the horse and would leave something for the clothes we gave her. And the ride.”

  “What ride?”

  “My son took her to the next village.”

  “Is he back yet?”

  “Nay.”

  He was not too far behind. He took several coins from the purse hanging from his belt. “Here,” he said. “My thanks. I will take the horse and leave this one here. Someone will come for it. There will be more gold.”

  Then with a fresh horse, he started toward the village.

  Felicia thanked the lad and watched as he turned the cart and started home. She still had no money, but in the village she could barter her locket for a few coins.

  It was still a long way to Edinburgh. A very long way.

  She went by a bakery and asked if anyone would be going to Edinburgh or a village on the way. She offered the locket for a few coins.

  “’Twas my puir mother’s,” she said, hoping she sounded like a country lad. “Jest buried her, I did, and I am going to Edinburgh fer a job.”

  But her story did not work this time. She was regarded with suspicion. “Did you steal that?” a woman asked with a frown.

  “Nay.”

  “It looks too fine for the likes of you.”

  She drew herself up straight. “It is mine.”

  “Indeed it is,” came a voice from behind her.

  Her heart lurched. Her legs started to give way.

  “Oh, my lord,” the woman said, fumbling with her hands.

  Felicia started to turn and bumped into him. She took a step back. Rory Maclean looked every inch the lord in his plaid and jeweled leather belt with the crest.

  His gaze on her was amused rather than angry. He grasped her arm in a firm hold. “My nephew,” he explained. “He keeps running away. His mother died a few months ago, and he misses her.”

  The woman’s face creased in sympathy, all suspicion gone.

  “And he will keep the locket,” Rory said.

  He purchased two meat pies, then steered her out the door. She went obediently enough. At least for the moment.

  They reached the horse she had left at the Cameron croft. He mounted, then offered her a hand and helped her swing up behind him. Without another word, he guided the horse out of the village.

  Rory was awed by Felicia’s creativity. She’d had nothing when she had left Inverleith. Nothing but the horse she had taken. She had made her way through Maclean land, past guards, had managed to obtain food and clothes and a ride.

  He silently vowed that he would strengthen the guards along the border.

  He felt her arms around him as he walked the horse through the village and out into the wooded countryside. They had tightened more than necessary for balance. The warmth of her body spread through his.

  Rory looked for a private place to stop. He left the road and rode up a hill cloaked with heather. He had taken this road before, and he remembered a glen, and waterfall.

  Several minutes later, he found it. A waterfall tumbled down a craggy mountain into a pool below.

  He stopped, slipped his right leg over the saddle, and dismounted, then he offered his hand to Felicia and caught her as she slid down. He held her for a moment, relishing the feel of her, tightening his embrace in thanks that he had found her unharmed. Thankful that the brigands who roamed the countryside had not found her. He had not realized how much he’d feared for her until this moment. He had not understood how deeply he cared.

  She clung to him, her body still, her weariness apparent in the sag of her body against his. He could almost believe she was relieved that he had found her.

  Knowing that he could stand like this forever, he gently disengaged her hold and stepped back. He tied the reins of his horse to a branch and took the sack holding the meat pies from the saddle, along with a cup.

  He put the pies down on a rock and studied her. Her eyes looked huge under the lad’s cap. Her face was smudged, and her clothes were too large.

  She looked beautiful.

  He touched her face, his fingers caressing her cheekbone. “You are a woman with altogether too many talents,” he said.

  “Too many?”

  “You are a very good liar?” he said. “A wizard at disguise. A competent swordsman. An adept horse thief. All of which worry me.”

  Her startled gaze met his. Despite his words, even he heard the love in them.

  “No honest talents?” she asked with a breathless catch in her voice.

  She had an abundance of those as well. She had a huge, courageous heart. She had a way with children.

  God’s eyes, but she had a way with him. He would have to tell her that … soon.

  He leaned down and kissed the dusting of freckles on the tip of her nose, then drew back quickly. For now he would have to tell her exactly what he, Lachlan, and her cousin had planned, and he knew she would hate him for it. But he knew now he must. She would keep running away, trying to save him and his people. And the next time she mi
ght not encounter people as decent as the crofters.

  First he wanted these few moments. He wanted to see himself reflected in eyes that now brightened with trust, and hope.

  He shook his head in dismay. How could one slender woman have wrapped herself so intimately around his heart?

  “How did you find me?” she asked.

  “I tried to think like you think.”

  She grinned at that. “It must have worked.”

  “Aye. It is frightening.”

  She laughed, a happy bell-like sound. He could not recall her laughing before. He loved the sound of it, even though he knew that in the next few moments she would probably hit him.

  He delayed an explanation a few moments longer.

  Instead, he offered his hand and led her to the pool. He scooped up crystal clean water for them to drink, then offered her a meat pie.

  She scooped up a bite with her fingers and ate. His own hunger was forgotten as he watched her enjoyment. He had never thought eating a particularly sensual activity before, but she made it one. She ate with relish, and little crumbs of pastry sprinkled her lips. He couldn’t help himself. He leaned over and tasted them.

  His lips played on hers with a slow sensuality as he licked every vestige of crumbs before indulging an appetite of an entirely different nature. Her mouth opened to his, and her hand went up to his neck, coaxing him nearer.

  Rory knew he would regret this. Worse, he knew she would regret it, once he told her everything.

  It did not matter at the moment. A bright sun bathed them with rare warmth. Birds sang in nearby trees. The laughing sound of the waterfall was a lullaby.

  She filled his senses.

  He felt the immediate reaction of his body to her, the swirling eddies of desire that overruled every warning. He felt her quickened breath, and his heart raced. His hand loosened the leather ties of the plain woolen doublet she wore. A rough shirt lay underneath, and he undid the ties to reveal her breasts.

  His lips nuzzled one, then the other until her nipples hardened and thrust outward. He felt the same hunger in her as that tormented him.

  “Felicia.” His voice was a groan that echoed throughout his being. It was part protest, part surrender. And all need.