by Paula Quinn
He was mad. She should pity him. But she couldn’t. “I will not wed you, no matter who commands it. I would rather die.”
“I could arrange a death if you wish, but not yours.”
Gillian closed her eyes to gain control over the fury and fear rumbling deep in her belly. He often threatened Edmund’s residence at Dartmouth, but he’d never threatened her son’s life before. She suppressed the bile rushing toward the surface and opened her eyes to look at him.
“Touch him and I will cut out the rancid heart beating worthlessly in your chest.”
“Could you do it, Gillian?” he sneered, doubting that she could. She had to change that misconception, and she had better do it quickly, before he thought to act on his threats.
“Aye, I could and I will. You must sleep at some point, remember.”
He laughed and whirled his lacy sleeves as he turned to leave her. “Well, now I know I must have you locked away at night when I’m done with you.”
Gillian watched him return to the Great Hall. At her sides, her hands shook. She wanted to run, but her feet did not obey right away. How would she escape him if the prince changed his mind after seeing all Geoffrey had done for him? How would she protect her child from him?
She turned, finally, and, swiping a tear from her eye, she ran for her rooms.
Chapter Nine
A few hundred yards from the castle, Colin waited in the shadow of a shallow cave along the shoreline. Behind him, the gently crashing waves soothed his anticipation. No one had seen him slip out of Dartmouth to meet one of the king’s messengers. ’Twas the middle of the night, with no men guarding the battlements. Even if they were, they would not have seen him. He’d traveled on foot, swift and limber along the rocks, keeping close to the shadows.
’Twas the appointed night, exactly one month from the day he had left Whitehall. He had arranged with the king to meet a runner from Somerset on this night and deliver to him whatever information he had gathered. The same meetings would take place each se’nnight after that, until Colin sent word to amass the Royal Army.
He tapped the folded missive against his thigh and thought briefly about what he’d written. So far, he didn’t have much. The prince did indeed intend to land in Dartmouth, but Colin had not yet discovered when. There had been no boats arriving to carry away letters to the Netherlands, so he’d written that the king should remain patient. Devon’s garrison was weak and ill prepared for a decent battle. Colin believed ’twas in their best interests to take them down before William arrived, but if they were rash in their endeavors it could put them at a dangerous disadvantage later. The invitations had to be sent. They should make no moves until then. He ended his correspondence with good wishes toward the queen and a request for pardon for the Earl of Essex’s daughter and grandson. They had no part in treason and should not be tried when the war was over.
He looked out over the coastline, seeking sight of his courier and scowling when he didn’t find him.
The runner was tardy, providing Colin with too much time to let his thoughts wander. And hell, but they’d been wandering all night. He couldn’t get Lady Gillian’s music out of his head. He heard it on the water, the gentle moan of the wind through the crevices around him. ’Twas soothing, so deeply moving it diminished the importance of everything else. He wished he’d never heard it.
She was angry with him, and he knew why. But he’d done the right thing in avoiding her and her bairn. He’d already used up too many of his thoughts on them. Still, her icy glare tonight had unsettled him a bit. It shouldn’t, of course. But it had. He’d discovered that he didn’t like being the object of the same contempt she offered Devon and the rest of the garrison. He did, however, enjoy the subdued pride in her chin, the boldness to hold his gaze, and och, the unearthly beauty coming from her fingers.
“General?”
Colin pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, cursing the distractions that made him miss the courier’s approach.
“Here,” he whispered, and then waited for the runner to dismount and enter the shadows with him. ’Twas Henry Hammond, a well-trusted servant who had been running for Colin for the last three years.
“The good king sends greetings.”
Colin nodded and peered out over the rocky enclosure, making certain they were alone. “What news of England?”
“The king has ordered seven bishops to read the Declaration of Indulgence in all Anglican churches. Being opposed to the toleration of Catholics,” Hammond added quietly, “they defied him and have been arrested.”
Colin’s jaw tightened. Hell. James was gaining more enemies each day, making this war harder to win.
“Soon, we will not have only the Dutch to fight, but all of England, as well.”
Hammond remained silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “General MacGregor, there are some who say that the king does not sincerely desire religious tolerance. But that, in truth, his purpose with the bishops was to seek to widen the division between the Anglicans and the Catholic governor.”
Colin was thankful that Hammond couldn’t make out his face, for the runner certainly would have believed such rumor if he could. Of course that was James’s plan. He spoke of tolerance from the left side of his mouth, and from the right, declared that every non-Catholic followed a false religion. The people would not stand for it too much longer.
“Yer duty is not to question yer king,” Colin told him sternly. Mutiny was the last thing the throne needed. “Let others say what they will, but keep yer own tongue still. Do ye understand?”
“Aye, General. Do you have a message for the king?”
Colin nodded and handed him the missive. Hammond would deliver the letter to another runner in Somerset and that runner would ride to Cheshire, and so on, until the message was delivered into James’s hand in London.
Colin waited until Hammond left and then pulled his hood over his head and returned to the castle. He walked slowly this time, wondering if his being here was a waste of time. Once the people began to clamor for a Protestant king, there would be little James’s forces could do to stop a deposition. But surprisingly, that was not what bothered Colin most.
He’d spent the first nineteen years of his life among Catholics, learning of their persecution. He’d fought alongside his Highland brothers, ignorant of the persecution of others. But he was no longer so innocent. James did not massacre defiant Presbyterians in the fields as his brother had done before him, but he denounced them and took from them their liberties. At first, Colin had believed him just in his actions, but what man had the right to deny another his rights and beliefs? Wasn’t he fighting for the same thing?
Colin didn’t want to see the worst in the man he admired and had sworn to protect. If he did, if his cause was no longer the right one, what was there left to fight for?
He slipped inside the castle, making certain first that the halls were silent. He looked around, granted the opportunity to do so now at his leisure. He took in every door, every curve that led down another shadowy corridor. Some he investigated, others he did not. He didn’t have all night. Risky was one thing, reckless, another.
Satisfied, for the time being, that he’d found three more ways in or out of the castle, he made his way to his quarters.
He heard a sound coming from the landing above and moved toward it. The sound came again and he pushed back his hood and inclined his ear. Someone was crying. ’Twas a child.
Edmund.
He raced up the stairs to the child’s door, but the crying had stopped. He shouldn’t be here. If Gates discovered him, he would likely cast him out of Dartmouth. He turned to leave but another sound brought his steps to a halt.
Music. More specifically, a lute. Was it real, or in his mind, refusing to leave his heart untouched? The sound echoed softly from high above, as if the heavens had opened to beguile his ears… and other parts of him he fought to defy. His feet, for instance, and his eyes. He looked toward the narrow
stone stairway leading to the battlements, and then farther up, to the turrets. He remembered the first time he ever saw her perched and windswept high above the world, looking like a lonely princess. Now she sounded like one, as well.
He didn’t move. What reason was there to go to her? He wasn’t one to offer comfort and there was nothing else he could give her. Nothing he wanted to give her. She wasn’t his burden.
Edmund wailed from behind his door, whirling Colin around on his feet. He plunged into the softly lit room, his fingers clasped around the hilt of his sword. His eyes found Edmund instantly, sitting knees to chin in the corner of his bed. He appeared unharmed, but badly frightened. Colin searched the shadows first, ensuring that no one hid in them, and then went to stand by the bed. “What is it lad? Why are ye crying?”
Edmund wiped his eyes with his fists and looked up at him. “I had a bad dream. I want Mummy.”
Turning to look at the open doorway, Colin thought about going to fetch her but when he moved to the task, Edmund called him back.
“Don’t go. I’m afraid.”
Colin frowned, turning back to the bed. What did he know about comforting children? The same he knew about comforting their mothers. Very little. Edmund sniffed and rubbed his nose and Colin scowled up at the heavens before he sat down on the bed. “I used to have them too.”
“Bad dreams?”
“Aye.”
“With monsters?”
“Aye, big, green ones.”
Edmund relinquished his corner and moved closer to Colin, his eyes wide as they came into the light. “Did they ever get you?”
“Never.” Colin glanced down at Edmund, then looked away before he was tempted to smile. Damn his feeble heart. “I had found a magic dagger in one of the mountains—”
“Magic?” Edmund asked, popping his thumb out of his mouth to gasp.
“Aye. ’Tis forged to kill all monsters should they dare get close to its owner.” Colin spared a brief look at the lad. “Would ye like to see it?”
Edmund nodded and moved even closer as Colin pulled the dagger King Louis had given him from his belt. It looked magical with its gold inlaid hilt sparkling in the candlelight.
“That is the magic dagger, Colin?”
“The verra one.” Colin turned the hilt in his fingers, staring at it as if contemplating something terribly difficult. “I have no more need of it.” He let out a gusty sigh. “I could give it to ye.”
“You could?”
“Aye.” Colin finally turned to give the babe a stern look. “If ye vow not to touch it until ye are at least six. It loses its power if ye but touch it once before then.”
“I will not touch it,” Edmund promised meaningfully.
Before Colin could stop it, he smiled at the boy. “Then ’tis yers. I will put it in a safe place fer ye.” He looked around the dimly lit room and rose to his feet. The high wooden cabinet partially steeped in shadow would serve well enough. Reaching up, he set the blade where Edmund could not reach it. “The next time ye have a bad dream, the dagger will protect ye.”
“Thank you, Colin.”
He should have nodded and walked out of the room. The lad was safe and no longer frightened. He shouldn’t have stayed in the room an instant longer than he had to.
“Are we friends again?”
Colin closed his eyes. Hell. He’d just given up his favored blade for a child’s dreams. Why in damnation did he feel like such a heartless bastard? He knew he was one. Oftimes, he prided himself on it. But not now.
“Edmund.” He returned to his seat and kept his gaze steady on the face staring back at him. “I am a soldier and I must prepare for battle so that I won’t be hurt.”
“Like when Lieutenant de Atre struck you?”
Colin nodded. “I have little time to play, but that doesn’t mean we are not friends.”
“Edmund!” Lady Gillian’s terrified voice startled her son off the bed and brought Colin to his feet. She ran to them and snatched the boy off his feet and into her arms.
“What are you doing in here?” she demanded, glaring at Colin.
“Edmund was crying. He—”
“Oh, my darling…” she cut him off, her tender endearment meant for her son and not for him, leaving him slightly unsettled. “Did you have another bad dream?”
When the babe in her arms nodded, she pulled him closer and cooed against his mop of curls. “Forgive me for not hearing you. Were you terribly frightened?”
“Aye.” Edmund yawned. “But Colin gave me his magic dagger.”
In the flickering light, Colin watched her eyes widen on him. She looked about to admonish him. What kind of mad savage gave a babe a dagger? But Edmund’s next cheerful declaration silenced her.
“Now, when the monsters come, it will chase them away.”
“ ’Tis there.” Colin pointed to the top of the tall cabinet to show her that he’d put the weapon where her son couldn’t reach it.
“I am not to touch it until I am six!” Edmund added, pulling his mother’s attention back to him. “Else it will lose its power.”
“Is that so?” She glanced again at Colin. He couldn’t tell if what he saw was a hint of a smile softening her features, but the alarm in her voice was gone. “I should like to hear more about this magic dagger tomorrow, Edmund. But now, the hour is late and you should be asleep. Would you like me to stay with you?”
“Nay, Mummy, I am safe now, aye, Colin?”
Hell, what kind of pitiful stuff was he made of that such an innocent query should hook him so deep in his chest? “Aye, lad. Ye are safe.”
“Bid good eve to Mr. Campbell now, dearest. I shall see you in the morning.” She moved closer to the bed—closer to Colin—and bent to return the lad to his mattress, but he squirmed to the right and into Colin’s arms instead.
For an instant, Colin was lost as the babe wrapped his arms around his neck. He’d been hit in the guts many times, but never like this. On his visit home to Camlochlin, he’d held his nephews and nieces in his arms, but he hadn’t saved any of them from monsters. He hadn’t felt the uncontrollable desire to protect them from traitorous earls who hated them because they had no fathers.
He looked at Lady Gillian, her eyes fashioned from liquid while she watched her son clinging to him. Hell, he should have left sooner. He should have ignored the lad’s weeping and gone straight to bed.
He closed his arms around Edmund and gave him a gentle squeeze.
“I will remember what you told me about us being friends,” Edmund promised, pulling back to slay what was left of Colin’s steely facade with a wide grin.
Colin cleared his throat, nodded, then tossed the boy onto his bed the way he’d done with his nephews when he’d visited home. Wee Adam and Malcolm would like Edmund. He couldn’t help but smile when Edmund squealed with laughter. “Pleasant dreams, Edmund.”
“Pleasant dreams, Colin.”
Colin turned for the door, ready to get the hell out of there before he was tempted to tell the boy a story next. Damnation, how could he be allowing this to happen? He couldn’t let himself go soft. Not now when his war was so close. A war, he reminded himself, he’d had to convince himself over and over in the past two years needed to be fought.
“Mr. Campbell, a word, please?”
He stopped, waited while Lady Gillian kissed her son good night, and then followed her out the door.
The hall was only a tad brighter than inside the room, but Colin had no trouble taking in the alluring glimmer in her eyes, the perfect shape of her mouth when she looked up at him after shutting the door behind her. In all his years at court he’d never wanted to take a lass in his arms and kiss her as badly as he wanted to do to Gillian now.
“I almost always hear him,” she said, looking miserable that this time she hadn’t. “I—”
“Ye play the lute beautifully.”
The soft blush that stole across her cheeks was replaced an instant later by worry creasing her brow. �
�You heard me then.”
“Aye.”
She looked away. “I should have been in bed, where I belong.”
“As should I,” he agreed quietly, catching and holding her gaze when she returned it to him.
“Why weren’t you?”
He shrugged slightly, reminding himself yet again how perilous letting down his guard with anyone here could be. “I couldn’t sleep. When I left my quarters on my way to the kitchen, I heard Edmund.”
“Mr. Campbell,” she began, and he realized ’twas the first time they were alone together, the first time she spoke his name. Only, it wasn’t his name.
“I would offer you gratitude for seeing to him. He has been inquiring after you constantly and I—”
“I’ve already explained my absence to him.”
“Oh?” she asked stiffly. “Well, would you mind explaining it to me, as well?”
Since when did he have so much trouble remembering his purpose? His duty? Since when did he regret either one—even for a moment?
“As a matter of fact, I would mind,” he told her truthfully, noting the fall of a certain tendril of hair along her cheek and wanting to reach his hand out to smooth it away. The quicker he got through talking to her, the safer it would be for all of them. “I’m not given to explaining myself to lasses,” he told her, a bit more gruffly than he intended.
Taking a step back, she folded her arms across her chest and cast him a frosty glare. “Is that so?”
“Aye,” he said, suppressing the urge to smile at the strength in her stance. She was a fierce lioness defending her cub and he admired her for it. He resisted the urge to offer her his aid at the task. A quick slice along Devon’s neck would end that threat.
“You will explain yourself to me, Mr. Campbell.”
“Will I now, Miss Dearly?” he countered, fighting to ignore the sheer pleasure he found in studying the shape of her mouth, the delicate angle of her jaw when she tilted her chin at him.
“If you intend to befriend my son and then break his heart, then aye, you will.”
