Beloved Impostor

by Patricia Potter

  Then he had ordered her from the room. She had obediently changed clothes and waited, praying that Jamie could weave a certain magic.

  Now she was back, and her uncle was no less fierce. James, standing at her side, winked at her.

  Her uncle glared at her. “Jamie tells me there is naught to do but marry him.”

  She was stunned. Her uncle advocating a marriage with a Maclean. She looked over at Jamie.

  “He does not want me,” she said.

  Her uncle roared with displeasure. “Of course he wants you. Jamie says he loves you. He was ready to defy the king for you. I will have the scamp’s head if he does not wed you after destroying your good name.”

  Jamie had woven magic.

  And yet he would have to weave more in order to convince Rory to wed her.

  Her silence obviously annoyed Campbell. “I will speak with him myself,” he said, his voice terse with annoyance. “A Maclean, my God. Could you not find anyone else to foist yourself upon?” Jamie had obviously told him that her abduction was really no abduction at all.

  “No,” she said. “And I will not force him into an unwanted marriage. Just,” she added defiantly, “as I would not be forced into one.”

  Baffled, Angus Campbell stared at her. She knew he was not used to being defied. And now both she and Jamie, his son, had done exactly that. He obviously did not know how to proceed.

  He blustered. “Whether you like it or not, I will have a word with the Maclean. You are dismissed.”

  His face was red, and she feared he might have an attack.

  “I will not,” she said. “Do as you like, Uncle, and so will I. You can never force me to agree to something he does not want.” She left, her small triumph overshadowed by a great hole in her heart. She wanted Rory more than life itself, but she would not force him into something he felt was wrong. And she knew how deeply he felt that he might have in some way been responsible for the deaths of two women he loved, and how he feared, above all, to be responsible for yet another.

  Rory paced the small cold cell in Edinburgh Castle. Now he knew how Jamie had felt, and he suffered regret at having held him in a cell. He prayed that Jamie had survived this night’s disaster, and that Felicia’s wounds were slight. Even slight, though, there was danger of infection.

  Since meeting Felicia, he had found himself praying quite often.

  He saw a light approaching through the window in the iron door and stood. He had no idea as to what might come. All he knew was that he had made a terrible mess of everything. Lachlan was wounded, as was Jamie, and Felicia … God only knew what her fate would be.

  The door creaked open.

  Jamie stood in the flickering light.

  There was something quite ironic about the situation.

  Jamie stepped inside with a torch and placed it in a sconce. He regarded Rory for a long moment. He looked wan, and Rory saw the large bump on the back of his head.

  “Do you love my cousin?” he asked bluntly.

  No comment could have surprised Rory more. “Aye,” he said, refusing to lie to Jamie.

  “She does not think so. My father says you must marry her, that she has been so compromised that no other man will have her. But she refuses. She says she will not force you into a marriage you do not want.”

  Agony sliced through him. “It is not a matter of what I do or do not want,” he said.

  “I should hate to have to defend my cousin’s honor,” Jamie pressed.

  “I have lost two wives,” Rory said, “and a child. I do not want Felicia to be a third.”

  “You surely do not believe in the curse?”

  Mayhap he did. It was easier to believe that than to believe that his acts of nearly fifteen years ago had brought an ugly retribution.

  “She loves you,” Jamie said. “She has fought for you, and now she is ready to give up her life for you. I would say you are thinking of yourself rather than her.”

  The observation hit Rory like a lance in the heart. Perhaps he was doing exactly that.

  “She is waiting outside,” Jamie said and stepped out, leaving the door open for Felicia.

  She was back in a gown, her cropped hair hid by a head covering. She did not rush into his arms, but stood in front of him, her face part hope and part fear.

  That he had caused her so much uncertainty made him wince. He had brought her little but heartbreak and danger.

  The last time he had seen her, she had thrust caution away and whispered words that had carved a place in his soul: “I love you.”

  But she had to know something else first. Then she would turn away from him.

  He sat down on the hard stone ledge that served as a bed and drew her down next to him. “It is not only the curse,” he said. “Years ago, I led a raid on Campbell property. I was young. I did not know how to lead. Women were killed, along with a child.

  “I know not whether the curse has affected Maclean wives, but I cannot help but believe my own actions that day might have doomed mine.”

  He waited for disgust to fill her eyes.

  “Did you kill any of them?” she asked.

  “Nay, but I should have been able to stop it.”

  Compassion filled her face, and she took his hand. “You believe that is why your Maggie died? And Anne?”

  He said nothing, the silence an admission.

  “I thought it was the curse, and I have had my own share of guilt for that,” she said. “It is time for all the hatred to end. I think my uncle is ready. He truly loves Jamie, and Lachlan saved his life. And despite his bluster, he knows he almost married me to a traitor because of his own ambition.”

  Rory touched her face. She was so earnest, and bonny, and enchanting. She thought she could change the world.

  A spark of hope ignited in him. Perhaps she could.

  But she was not finished. “And if it was the curse,” she said, “a marriage, a love, between the Macleans and Campbells could end it for all time. It is our duty to our country, she added solemnly. But there was a sparkle in her eye, and a grin beginning on her lips.”

  He looked down at the sudden mischief in her eyes. Then it fled. “I’ve had few choices,” she said. “Do you not know that I would prefer years with you, even months, than a lifetime without you? Do you not understand enough to let me make that choice?”

  Jamie’s words echoed in his mind. You are thinking of yourself.

  He was right! Rory realized he had been thinking of his own pain, his guilt, and never considered her own. He wrapped his arms around her, felt the warmth of her body, and feasted on the love in her eyes.

  “The king,” he warned, “might not feel so benevolent.”

  “If my uncle is considering a marriage, then he must know the king will approve as well,” she said wryly.

  He pulled her tighter against him. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps he would still be tried by the king, but Felicia was worth fighting for.

  She clutched at him as if her life depended on him. He suddenly realized that he felt the same way. Felicia had brought warmth and love and laughter into his life. He kissed her long and hard.

  When they finally separated, she looked up at him. “Will you take me on your ship with you?”

  He was going to say no. It was too dangerous. And then he looked at her face again and saw the hope and eagerness, the curiosity and intelligence. “Aye,” he said, knowing he could do no less, and he felt an exhilaration at the thought of having her beside him, of sharing all that he loved with the woman he loved.

  Her smile was brilliant. It lit his heart.

  He was learning to trust again. Trust Felicia. But most of all trust himself.

  The door opened again. Jamie stood there, and he looked at both of them solemnly, then smiled.

  “The king wants to see you. Both of you.”

  The audience was short.

  Angus Campbell sat next to the king. The king’s wife, Margaret, sat on the other side.

  Rory and Fe
licia entered, hands locked together. Felicia glanced around at the faces, trying to read the verdict. What if her actions had hurt the Maclean clan?

  Then the doors opened again, and Lachlan entered as well. His arm was bound against his chest, but his eyes were bright. She saw Rory glance at him, nod his approval.

  King James studied the three of them for several moments. She sensed that he enjoyed their suspense.

  Then he rose and approached them. “Ian Stewart and Dugald Cameron have informed me of everything they heard, and we have evidence from Jamie Campbell as well. In addition, one of Lord Morneith’s men was discovered searching James Campbell’s room while Morneith was meeting young Jamie at the inn. He has confessed to meetings with the English. A large amount of gold was found in Lord Morneith’s residence, along with a document from the Duke of Buckingham, promising him certain lands in exchange for special services.

  He waited a moment to let the words settle. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, and it would pleasure us if you accepted something in return.”

  “A marriage,” grumbled Angus Campbell. “The blackguard has tarnished my nieces’s name.”

  King James looked toward Rory in question.

  Felicia froze. Rory had not actually asked her to marry him. What if he resented being forced into something he was not quite ready for?

  But he did not. Instead, he turned to her. His tense lips gave way to a wondrous smile, one she had never seen before. He held out his hand to her. “Felicia, will you be my wife? Will you join with me in love to end the curse of fear and hatred and revenge that have divided our people?”

  She was stunned at the words, at the heartfelt intensity of them. It was the first time he’d mentioned love. Her heart started to swell. She saw his smile begin to fade at her apparent hesitancy.

  “Oh, yes,” she cried, and in front of uncle, cousin, future brother-in-law, king and queen, lifted on tiptoes and kissed him.

  Someone clapped, but he was returning her kiss, and she cared not who it was.

  “The lass has no decorum,” she heard her uncle mutter.

  Rory finally drew away, and she turned. The queen’s hands were clasped together, and Felicia knew she had been the one who had clapped.

  “The Campbells and Macleans,” the king said. “If only we could end every feud in Scotland in such a way,” he said. “I expect to be invited to the wedding.” He stood and held out his hand to his queen, his eyes warmly intent on hers. They left the room, hand in hand.

  Her uncle was left. He scowled as he approached them. He stared at them for a long time. “Cannot say I envy you, Maclean,” he said. “She will drive a man mad.”

  It was as much approval as Felicia thought he would ever get from the old laird.

  Rory only grinned. “I suspect you are right.”

  He took her hand in his and offered the other to the Campbell. To Felicia’s surprise, the man seized it. Jamie grinned, and Lachlan nodded his approval.

  Her heart sang. She reached up and kissed her uncle for the first time in her memory. He turned red, muttered, and looked flustered.

  Then she and Rory left, hands—and lives—entwined.

  They had a wedding to plan.

  Epilogue

  Rory heard the cry of a newborn babe.

  He did not wait a second longer. He burst into his wife’s room.

  The midwife he’d had in residence these last two weeks was cleaning the babe with a linen cloth. Alina stood beside her, beaming as if she herself was a mother. And she would be, if young John had anything to do with it.

  The midwife stood, cooing over the wriggling babe. “A lass,” she said. “A foine, healthy lassie.”

  Rory’s breath came back. Slowly.

  Felicia smiled wearily. She looked wan.

  Rory tenderly took his daughter in his arms, then sat on Fecilia’s bed and displayed the bairn to her mother. Felicia investigated every inch, down to the smallest toe. Her smile would light the darkest night.

  “What shall we name her?” he asked. It was too bad Felicia was already taken. Felicia meant happiness and that was what she had given him in full measure. He wanted the same for his daughter.

  “I like Margaret,” she said. “You told me your Maggie loved to laugh. And smile.”

  His heart moved inside his chest. He had told her about Margaret—Maggie—and she had listened without the jealousy he had felt when he thought she cared about Jamie in ways more deep than friendship. Her heart was huge, and she harbored an empathy and compassion that never ceased to humble him.

  He nodded, unable to speak.

  She smiled wanly. “You have a daughter as well as a son. Two healthy bairns.”

  “And my wife?”

  “Content. And ever so happy.” Her eyes glistened with tears, but he knew they were happy ones.

  He felt the tension within him fade. Despite the fact that first birth had gone easily and young Jamie was thriving, he felt fear when she’d told him she was with child again.

  Their first years together had been beyond his dreams. Lachlan had earned the respect of the Macleans and had stayed at Inverleith while Rory had returned to the sea, his wife beside him. His crew had been dismayed at first, afraid she would bring bad luck, but the voyage had been successful beyond their expectations. Each member had come to respect Felicia, who never complained and tended even the lowest member with great care and gentleness.

  They had traveled to France, then Venice, and he would always remember the pure joy in her face as the wind caressed her face on board and the wonder in her eyes as she saw new lands.

  Now she glowed with love, and the wonder was for her children. Their children. She reveled in motherhood, and every time he saw her with his son, he melted inside.

  For her sake, he had tried to smother his fear when she announced she was with child again. He had declined to go to sea and, instead, sent Lachlan in his place. The castle he’d once hated had become a haven. He and Jamie had found a deep friendship, and Jamie’s father had gradually, though sullenly, accepted the marriage and the end of the feud. It had bought a new peace to Maclean lands, and both crops and livestock were flourishing. For the first time in his memory, fear among the Macleans had seeped away, and marriages, once rare, were becoming commonplace.

  Although his arm would always be stiff, Lachlan had readily taken to the sea. It suited his personality far better than Rory had ever hoped, and his half brother continued the seagoing tradition that had brought Macleans wealth.

  None of that mattered now, though.

  Alina leaned down and picked up the baby. Felicia knew it was only a matter of time before Alina and young John wed. John had a crippled arm and Alina a crippled leg but their love, youthful as it was, made everyone else seem crippled instead.

  “Now you know the end of the tale,” Felicia said to her. “The prince came from the woods. He did not want to be a prince but he could not avoid what he was.”

  Rory now knew the tale she had started long ago. The whimsy that had a delayed ending.

  Felicia reached out a hand to him, and he took it, clasping it tightly. “It is gone,” she whispered. “The curse is gone forever.”

  Lachlan entered after a small knock. Just returned from a voyage to be by his brother’s side during this event, he had been hovering outside. He held young Jamie, who, at eighteen months, was scrambling to be put down.

  “See your sister,” Lachlan said, leaning over so the lad could get a better look.

  Jamie grabbed his sister’s tiny hand, and wee Margaret’s fist went around one of his fingers. Jamie grinned happily.

  His heart brimming over, Rory watched as his wife put her hand around both her children’s hands. She would protect them as fiercely as she protected all that was dear in her life.

  He knew then the curse was gone, destroyed by her great spirit.

  And a love that he knew now could conquer anything.

  Turn the page to continue reading from the Scottis
h Highland series

  Chapter 1

  Flodden Field, England

  September 9, 1513

  Kimbra Charlton steeled her resolve as she accompanied the women who combed the fields of dead. Dressed in her mourning gown, she huddled against the side of the pony cart with other reiver women.

  Cedric Charlton, her late husband’s cousin, had ridden to her cottage hours earlier to say that tens of thousands—both Scots and English—lay dead on Flodden Field. They had to rush to beat other reiver families if they wanted the best that could be gleaned from the battlefield.

  The Charltons had been called to fight with the English, but Cedric had no wounds, no blood on his jack. She suspected that he, and most of the reivers, had left the field before the battle, only to return later to rob the dead and dying after the battle was spent.

  She concentrated on the squeaking wheels and tried not to cough in the acrid smoke that grew denser with every turn of the wheels. She inched away from the other women who talked excitedly about what they might find. She didn’t share their anticipation.

  How much lower could she sink?

  She tried to think instead of better days, of riding with her husband, Wild Will Charlton, on raids across the border. It had been rare, a woman riding with reivers, yet Will had been an unusual man. Reiver through and through, he’d been bemused by what he considered her adventurous nature, had given in to her pleading and taught her to ride and aim an arrow.

  He’d never known the fear inside her, the knowledge that someday she might have to run for her life, just as her mother had fled many years ago. She’d never shown the fear her mother had taught her.

  He might never have married her if she had.

  Though she had learned to enjoy the raids, the freedom of them, to her they were not the game they were to others. She’d picked up a bauble here and there for herself and had hidden them away. That was something else her mother had taught her.