by Mary Wine
Besides, there was a bit of satisfaction in being able to take advantage of the lax nature of the Cameron retainers. They were too arrogant by far and too judgmental of women in general.
Coalan didn’t stop them until past sunset. The horizon was still slightly bright from the day, but with only the faintest of glows. Deirdre found herself anxiously awaiting the blackest hours of the night. Or at least darker ones. She doubted the Highlanders would rest the entire night through; their rest was for the horses, not the men who wore the Cameron colors so proudly. They lay down near their horses, only a few losing the draw to stand guard for the night. The last of the oatcakes were handed out, but Deirdre wasn’t interested in eating. She forced herself to consume the food given to her, because she would need the strength.
Her mind was too full for sleep, but she closed her eyes and listened as the camp became quiet. The horses shifted from time to time, and the wind picked up, but the breathing of the men became low and even. She forced herself to recite long verses from the Bible, quoting word for word to make sure enough time had passed.
She opened her eyes and searched the area around her. Simon slept closest to her, diligent even though she wasn’t his true mistress. She admired the man in spite of his English blood.
Deirdre frowned, shame heating her cheeks as she continued to scan the shapes of the sleeping men. She was the one being judgmental now. Where a man was born did not prove his strength when it came to upholding honor. Melor Douglas was proof of that. The man was Scottish and born of the Douglas clan, but she would never call him a Highlander. He was a liar and a cheat, no matter how fine he boasted his blood was.
She remembered to pull the excessive length of her underrobe up before trying to move. She crawled until she was behind a rock and then crouched behind it for several long moments as she listened to the men. Her heart rate began to accelerate, forcing her to seal her lips to contain her rapid breathing. There was no sound from the camp, so she began to move deeper into the forest, working her way slowly away from the Cameron retainers.
The sound of the horses diminished in the distance, and she could no longer see them through the tress. Her legs ached because of the low position she forced herself to maintain, but she continued several more paces before standing up. Her heart was racing, but hope flowed through her veins as she lifted her hems high and began to run.
A startled cry left her lips when she was jerked from her tracks by a hard yank on the back of her surcoat. She stumbled back, off balance, and collided with the solid body of a man.
“Now, I warned ye no’ to make me sorry I did nae tie ye up.”
Three
Coalan was angry with her, but Deirdre felt her temper burn far hotter. She turned and swung her closed fist at his head. She aimed for the side of his face, hoping to hit his temple and knock him senseless.
He moved, but not far enough, and her fist collided with his cheek. A dull flesh-on-flesh sound made her flinch, but she forced herself to send her other hand toward his opposite temple. Desperation lent her strength, and this time she hit her target.
“Christ Almighty!”
He staggered and collapsed to his knees while shaking his head. Deirdre grabbed the fabric of her clothing and turned toward the thickest part of the forest. She made it only two strides before Coalan hit her. The man lunged at her and tackled her to the ground with his entire body. The rocks scratched her unprotected face, and she cried out as something sliced into her thigh through the soft fabric of her garments.
“Do nae be thinking that whining will sway me thinking now.”
Coalan hauled her up but kept a hard hand on one wrist. She felt him loop something around it before he grabbed her opposite hand and lashed it as well.
“Ye’re going to me laird, and I told ye that ye’d best settle yer thoughts to doing that, or I’d turn mean.”
Her thigh burned, stealing any reply she would normally have made. Coalan pushed her back toward the camp, and several of his men watched from where they had stood up.
“Mount up, lads. I’ve a mind to be finished with this hellion.” He finished pulling her toward her mare and tossed her up onto the animal’s back before his men finished grumbling. Even in the darkness, she felt their glares on her.
But the injury to her leg pulsed with pain so brightly, clasping the horse took all her attention. She clutched at its bridle, leaning over the neck of the beast. The first few steps sent sparkling dots dancing before her eyes. She gulped deep breaths and forced them down to keep herself from sliding into oblivion. Succeeding at that allowed her to endure every moment of agony the wound on her leg inflicted.
The Cameron retainers all filed behind her. Coalan made their pace brisk, and dawn showed them the Drumdeer’s towers. Her Cameron escort all sent up a cheer, their happiness making her wince. It also drew curses from the English who had been selected by their mistress to remain with her. Deirdre discovered herself feeling better as she considered the soldiers. Her fate promised to be brighter than theirs. She should have felt guilty, for those men being pulled along in the midst of the Cameron retainers would no doubt be heading to the dungeon of Drumdeer.
Ye might as well…
She couldn’t help but shudder as that idea rose from her mind. It was actually more like her inner fears, but she shied away from admitting she was afraid.
Doing so would surely see her fate being something she did not like. The only way to claim victory in a game that included Quinton Cameron as a player was to be bold.
“Ye need no’ look so worried, lady. The earl is a fair man, but ye should know that since ye have met him at court.”
There was an edge of suspicion in Coalan’s voice. Deirdre raised her chin and ordered herself to remain silent.
She couldn’t expect the queen to give her a position if she did not earn it. Such was life. So she only shot a hard look toward the Cameron captain and denied him any answer that might betray the fact she was as Scottish as he.
“I suppose ye can be talking to him about whatever complaints ye have about me and me men, but he ordered me to bring ye back, and I’ll no’ be apologizing for following me laird’s instructions.”
A few of the other retainers were listening in, and they cast her hard looks. It was clear they expected her to whine to their laird about her treatment.
For God’s sake, she wasn’t so delicate. But her leg was throbbing once more. She looked down, wondering why it still pained her. A hard grunt drew her attention back to Coalan. The man was facing forward once more, but his expression was tight. Guilt began to twist its sharp point into her because she was causing him such unrest. The man fully expected her to whimper the moment she was near another noble.
It was for certain Coalan wouldn’t be very happy when his laird unmasked her.
She looked once more at the huge castle where Quinton made his home. It was built on an outcropping of rocks that rose up like a frozen wave. Towers overlooked the land below, and even from a distance, she could see that those towers were at least four stories high.
Her mouth went dry, and she counted the number of towers twice because her mind didn’t want to believe how many there were. But the second time she counted eight of them, exactly like the first time. There were thick walls between them, and as they rode closer, the very tops of roofs peeked out from inside those walls. That meant the castle was wide enough for building between the walls. It was the sort of fortification that would never fall. All around it, the land was being turned for planting. The sound of rushing water touched her ears as they passed rivers swollen with spring melt-off. Women looked up from where they washed clothing, their eyes widening when they noticed the gold signet resting on her forehead.
They rode through the main village, the people making way for the laird’s retainers. Children pointed at her, and the blacksmith stopped his endless pounding when Coalan tugged her mare past his shop.
But Deirdre was absorbed with watching the way the wa
lls seemed to grow higher and thicker with every step the mare took. Fear raced through her, and there was no way to master it completely. She forced herself to recall what the queen had told her. That Quinton wouldn’t want her, because she wasn’t in fact Joan Beaufort.
Truthfully, Deirdre had never been so pleased to know someone wouldn’t want her.
A steep road was the only way into the castle. It was well packed with dirt, but her mare still hesitated. Coalan turned and gently tugged on the reins to coax the animal through the huge gate waiting with its iron bars raised to admit them into the fortification. He frowned when he looked at her.
“Ye should have listened, lady.” He shook his head. “Now I’ll have to be explaining why yer face is marked. The laird will no’ be liking it.”
Coalan turned his back while still muttering beneath his breath. Deirdre failed to suppress a smile at the ridiculous nature of the moment.
She wasn’t marked.
She lifted her hands and brushed her face, there were only a few scrapes to testify she’d been shoved into the ground. It was nothing at all. Unless she was some English queen too tender for the Highlands. She choked back a laugh as she considered Joan Beaufort making her home with her new husband. It was for certain the queen would like Deirdre’s boots even more once winter set in, no matter how ugly she decided they were.
The inner yard was wide and filled with buildings. What shocked Deirdre was the attention to aesthetics. There were colored glass windows in the church, and several large bells hung in its steeple. Built down the center of the yard were wells. That surprised her, but it also sent a shiver down her back, because so many wells meant the castle was well supplied. The inhabitants might outlast any army besieging it.
The scent of flowers touched her nose, and she looked up to see long vines trailing down from the walls. Plants grew along the inside of the walls, like some castle she’d heard about in the Far East. A closer look at the plants revealed they were all fruit or vegetable bearing. With a continuous water supply, those plants would further help the castle outlast attackers. From the outside, no one would know they were growing food.
“Laird Cameron will be wanting to see ye straightaway. He’ll be breaking his fast in the main hall.”
Coalan led her mare to the far end of the castle. Men leaned over the wall to look at her, and women froze in their tracks as their mouths dropped open in surprise. More than one person lowered themselves as she passed, and guilt colored her cheeks. The queen had been correct; the clothing was convincing all that she was Joan Beaufort.
Quinton Cameron would know differently, though.
Her belly tightened, and her mood sobered. The confidence the queen had in Quinton releasing her wasn’t keeping her from dreading the coming confrontation with the man. She cast another look around the castle yard and shivered because she was truly trapped inside it. Without the laird’s permission to leave, she’d find getting past the gate difficult indeed.
“Here now. No need to look so concerned. The earl is a fair man.”
Coalan’s voice startled her. She’d been absorbed in her own thoughts and failed to notice the man dismounting. He reached up and grasped her waist before she finished focusing her attention back on the present.
There was concern etched into Coalan’s face, and Deirdre pushed his hands away from her the moment she touched the ground, because she couldn’t afford to weaken. The look in his eyes made it too simple to allow her own fear to grow, so she lifted her chin and shot him a harsh glare.
He stepped back with his hands in the air. He pressed his lips into a hard line. “And right happy I am to be delivering ye to him.”
He reached out and clasped her bound hands. With a tug, he began to pull her up the stairs, but the length of her robes made her stumble since she couldn’t use her hands to catch them up.
“I need my hands.” Anger made her words come out too quickly to control her Scottish accent. Coalan frowned, suspicion brightening his eyes. Deirdre grabbed a hand full of silk velvet and climbed the stairs in front of him to escape from the scrutiny. She heard him snort before following her.
The hall had double doors that were open to allow the spring weather inside the stone room. The Camerons were not suffering a lack of profit for the hall was set with long tables that had plenty of food on them. The scent of bread, fresh from the oven, teased her nose. Her belly rumbled in response, but the sight of Quinton Cameron sitting at the high table distracted her from her hunger. His table was set up on a platform, and there was a carpet beneath it. Silver plateware sat on that table, and the Earl of Liddell drank from a silver goblet.
Quinton was deep in conversation with several of his captains, the pheasant feathers in their knit caps a clear symbol of their rank in a noblemen’s house. But those eating at the lower tables began to whisper, and the noise spread quickly up the entire length of the hall until he looked up to investigate what the cause was.
Deirdre held her chin high, determined to stand steady. There was one thing she was sure of—Quinton Cameron would not see her shivering with dread.
Even if her belly was knotted with it.
Quinton Cameron placed his cup on the table in front of him. The boy assigned to the task of looking after his laird’s drinking vessel had to climb partway onto the table to retrieve it, because Quinton was so focused on her. He planted his large hands on the surface of the table and stood up.
A shiver went down her back, but she stood firmly in place, refusing to allow the growing silence to make her buckle. The Cameron retainers grew pensive as they leaned forward to see what their laird had to say.
“Coalan, did she tell ye she is Joan Beaufort?”
Coalan turned his head toward her for a moment. Confusion appeared on his face while he considered his answer. Heat surfaced in her cheeks, but Deirdre did not lower her eyelashes.
“Coalan,” Quinton growled from the high table. “Did she tell ye she is the queen?”
The Highlander turned to face his laird. “No, she did nae say it, but ye’ve only to look at her to see her clothing befits a queen.”
“So it does,” Quinton agreed, but his voice was hard.
“We found her with an English escort as well and a saddle fitted with gold tassels.”
Deirdre felt every person in the hall assessing her. They stared at the rich velvet with its intricate trim sewn so carefully around the square neckline and sleeves. The pearls gleamed with the help of the morning light, and she saw several young girls eyeing the gems with envy. The gold signet band resting so lightly against her forehead drew the most attention.
“Bring her.”
Deirdre flinched, because Quinton Cameron spoke with a solid authority that made it plain he ruled the clan that surrounded her. His retainers instantly responded to his order, reaching out to sweep her forward.
She brushed off their hands with a harsh hiss that earned her dark frowns. “I can walk very well.”
In her agitation, her Scottish brogue began to reappear. Coalan looked suspicious, opening his mouth to ask her a question she didn’t want to answer. Reaching down, she grabbed the front of the overgown and lifted it enough so she could follow Quinton. The man had disappeared through an arched doorway behind the high table.
His men followed closely, but they didn’t touch her again. The arch led to a private solar, which was clearly the domain of the Earl of Liddell. Deirdre froze upon getting a look at the large chairs and weapons rack sitting in the room. The retainers behind her ran into her, sending her stumbling the last few paces.
“Leave us.”
Deirdre raised her eyes from the floor to discover Quinton staring at her.
“And close the door, lads.”
The skin on the inside of her wrist suddenly tingled. It was a horrible response to the man, and she lowered her eyelids to conceal it.
The door closed with a loud sound that sent her eyelids back up.
Quinton chuckled. “I was correc
t. Ye look quite fetching out of that nun’s robe.” His gaze traveled down her length, tracing the curves the court-fashioned robes outlined. Heat burned her cheeks instantly, and his eyes settled on the bright color for a long moment.
“I did nae tell yer men I was the queen.”
He sat down in a huge chair with a high back that was carved with the shield of the noble title he bore. Even sitting down, the man’s head was even with her own. It was unsettling, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.
“I believe ye, but that does nae absolve ye of the sin of dishonesty. Ye allowed them to assume ye were the queen.” He pointed at her. “And it’s clear ye have seen Joan Beaufort, for ye are wearing her clothing.”
He suddenly laughed. “But I find the idea of her wearing a bride of Christ’s robe rather entertaining. It’s for sure she has never worn something so humble before during her pampered life.”
Deirdre smiled, able to appreciate the humor of the situation. It was a mistake to let her guard down, for Quinton abandoned his lazy position the moment her lips curled.
“Ye’re a fool to attach yerself to this mess, Deirdre Chattan. A bloody fool who does nae understand just how lucky ye are it was my men who found ye.” He closed the distance between them and grasped her bound wrists. The morning light flashed off the polished blade of a dagger as he skillfully slid it beneath the leather binding her. A swift jerk cut through the loops, freeing her. He cupped her chin, forcing her to stare into his furious gaze.
“The Douglas would have slit yer throat in the hopes ye were the queen and killing ye would have ended any threat of her producing any more blue-blooded children.”
She gasped, horror flooding her. “Stop it. Ye are just trying to reduce me to a woman who will cling to ye helplessly. Well, I will nae. I made the choice to help Joan Beaufort, and I’ll no’ be listening to ye about the wisdom of it.”
“Well, ye sure as hell should, woman. Do ye honestly think the Douglas would nae have left ye to rot in a ditch?” His gaze lowered to the swells of her breasts, which were visible above the square neckline of the overrobe. “Mind ye, that would have been after they raped ye.”
