by Paula Quinn
“They were long and tedious, were they not?” he teased. “It took you almost a month to hold a blade correctly.”
She kicked him under the table, but not too hard.
“Mum, can we look for frogs tomorrow?”
“Oh, Edmund, we have to travel all the way to the other side of the estuary for frogs.”
“We can do it,” her son assured her. “I won’t be tired this time, I promise.”
A thunderous roar stopped her from giving her reply. She sighed deeply and didn’t bother to turn to watch the men spilling into the Hall for their afternoon meal. But Edmund looked, and when he found who he was searching for, he called out.
“Colin!”
Gillian tugged her son’s sleeve to get him to face forward in his seat. “Mr. Campbell explained to you that he cannot—”
“Look what I found, Colin!”
Gillian kept her gaze on the table and on Edmund’s finger tracing the grooves in its surface. She didn’t blink, and for a moment she forgot to breathe when she heard his voice above her.
“Naughts and Crosses.” He was smiling. She could hear it. She wanted to look at him, but she didn’t dare. She already knew that his was the most compelling face at Dartmouth. Why torture herself further by looking at it? He was right to remain distant and aloof toward her and her son. She was grateful to him for it and angry with herself for not being as cautious. A sentiment she would rectify beginning now.
“Have ye been practicing?”
His husky voice sent fissures down her spine. She bit her lower lip to distract herself from the sensuality of it.
“Aye, with Mummy.”
A moment passed in silence, for she heard none but the two voices speaking, and they had both stopped.
“Lady Gillian,” the mercenary finally took the matter into his own hands and greeted her.
She neither spoke nor looked at him. She was afraid that if she did either one, she might not want to stop.
“Do you want to play with me, Colin?”
“Edmund.” Gillian tugged his sleeve again. “Captain Gates is going to play with you. Bid good day to Mr. Campbell and let him be on his way.”
“Lefevre, there you are.” George stood up and beckoned the Frenchman over. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.”
Damnation, not now. Gillian prayed for Colin to leave. She would hate herself if she interrupted George’s order to Mr. Lefevre to protect her and she turned to Colin and begged him to instead.
“You will be guarding Lady Gillian and her son in de Atre’s place.”
There. He’d said it, and she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Oui, Captain.”
Gillian looked up, swearing that if her new French escort was grinning at her like he’d just spotted the town whore she would tell him to burn in hell and then leave the Hall with Edmund. With or without George.
But Lefevre wasn’t grinning. In fact, he looked rather miserable. Gillian felt the same way and turned, before she could stop herself, to Mr. Campbell, who was still standing over the table.
“Was there something else you wanted?”
His eyes bore into hers. She watched his jaw go hard even as he severed their gaze to smile down at her son and melt her very bones. “Aye, there was. One game with Edmund.” He turned to George. “If the captain doesn’t protest.”
“Not at all,” George said, trying not to sound too relieved. “I’m afraid I don’t yet know how to play the game.”
Gillian shot her captain a glare and moved down a seat to make room for Colin. Margaret returned with a tray of bread and cheese, and Lefevre excused himself, preferring drinking with his friends to learning a child’s game.
“I saw de Atre speaking to Lord Devon earlier,” Colin said while he broke the bread and cheese into equal pieces. “Or at least, he was trying to speak to him.”
Gillian caught the furtive smile George tossed him. She wondered what her captain had done to his lieutenant and if Colin had aided him in doing it.
“I imagine speaking would be difficult with part of his lip hanging off.”
“Captain.” Gillian hushed him for Edmund’s sake. Dear Lord, his lip! Barbaric. “I will not sew him up. Let Margaret do it,” she added a moment later, remembering the lieutenant’s wet lips and hot, stale breath so close to her.
And what were these smiles being passed between George and Colin about? She thought George didn’t like the mercenary. He probably liked him now, she thought, simmering in her chair, knowing Colin was no threat to her or Edmund’s safety. She decided to ignore both men and watch the game until their food arrived, then she would leave and return with Edmund to his room.
She almost smiled twice when Colin pretended not to notice a move that would grant him the win. Damn him, why did she find him so likable?
None of them noticed Geoffrey enter the Hall and saunter toward them until he spoke.
“Gates, would you care to explain to me why you sliced open my lieutenant’s face?”
“Not at all.” George glanced up at him. “He made an advance on my charge while they were alone.”
Geoffrey offered him a rapier-thin smile. “Ah, ever the rabid dog, aren’t you?”
“It is my duty, if you’ll recall, my lord,” George reminded him with a thin smirk of his own.
“Yes, of course,” Geoffrey muttered, then turned his attention to the table.
“What’s this? Games?”
“Just something simple to pass the time, Geoffrey,” Gillian told him through tight lips. “In fact, Edmund grows bored with it. Come, darling.” She rose from her chair and offered Edmund her hand. “Let’s go do something else.”
“But Mummy, I am besting him.”
Geoffrey must have taken note of which edibles were whose, for he snatched up two nuggets of cheese, both in winning positions, and tossed them into his mouth. “The game is over and you have lost. Now get off your arse and do as your mother tells you.”
Gillian clenched her teeth and stared in mute fury at her cousin. “Edmund, meet Mummy at the doors, please.” She knew the wise thing to do was to keep her mouth shut, but she was past caring. The prince would be arriving in a few short months and then she could speak to him directly about leaving Dartmouth. “I warn you, cousin, mind your mouth. You might wish to wash it out, as well. I do believe your wench, Margaret, besmirched the cheese before she delivered it.”
She left the table feeling quite pleased with herself and with the horrified look on Geoffrey’s face. She didn’t pause while he shouted after her that she and Edmund would be confined to their rooms for the remainder of the day. Let him bellow. Let him try to take Edmund from her for her insolence. She would tear out his eyes and spit on his grave.
Chapter Sixteen
Colin didn’t see Lady Gillian or her son for the next two days. Devon had sent for her both nights at supper, but she didn’t attend, nor did she leave her and Edmund’s rooms. Her absence became a distraction to Colin more so than if she were standing between him and his opponent. She’d spared him a single scornful glance the last time he’d seen her, and it pricked his thoughts constantly that she had been angry with him. Was it because he’d refused Gates’s offer to escort her throughout the castle? She should thank him for keeping away from her.
He’d fought like hell for the last two days to keep her from his thoughts and listed each reason he should. He was fashioned for fighting, born to conquer. But he didn’t know how to fight himself. For truly, he was his own most grueling opponent, and late on the second night, while he and Captain Gates helped themselves to Devon’s finest whisky in the cellars, he threw down his shield and asked about her.
“She pretends illness to stay away from Devon, lest she fling a dagger at his heart,” the captain told him.
They both sat on the dusty floor, drinking and equally surprised to have discovered someone he didn’t mind sharing speech with for more than one day at a time.
“The dagger she
keeps hidden in her skirts,” Colin recalled with the slightest quirk of his mouth. “I saw her reach for it when she was alone with de Atre,” he hastened to add when the captain eyed him. “Does she know how to use it?”
“She does. She can defend herself if ever she needs to.”
“How is Lefevre doing?” Colin asked and sipped his drink. “No open wounds on his person then?”
“From what she has told me, he barely speaks to her. It’s a good arrangement. You have my thanks for suggesting him.”
Colin nodded, feeling like he deserved no thanks on the matter. If the truth be known, the longer he went without seeing her, the more he regretted his decision. He’d sentenced her to a companion who didn’t speak to her. Was that worse than one who wanted to hear her laughter again? He could help her. If he decided to give up his glorious war and help her and Edmund, Devon wouldn’t stop him.
He closed his eyes and downed his whisky. Dear God, what was wrong with him? How could he even think in such a way? Give up his war? Nae. Never. He was here for information. He’d won the captain’s favor. Why the hell was he sitting here asking questions about a lass instead of getting his new friend drunk and asking about Prince William? He was a general in the king’s army. ’Twas time he began behaving like it. His runner would be returning in a few days and Colin needed more information to give him.
“How much longer do ye think we have left to train?” he asked his companion casually.
“Until what?”
“Until our new king arrives.”
Gates shrugged his shoulders against the wall he was sitting against. “We don’t know. We won’t find out, I imagine, until he receives his invitation.”
Gates wasn’t telling him anything Colin hadn’t already heard from his Argyll cousin. The task was getting him to speak of what Colin didn’t know, and to do it without any sign of guile.
“How many more must sign it?”
“I’m not certain. One, perhaps two or three.” The captain yawned.
Colin filled his cup. “Are these men Catholics?”
Gates held his drink to his mouth and shrugged again. “From what I know, all but one are Protestant.”
He downed his whisky, then gave his head a vigorous shake to ward off its spirits. “You Scots certainly like your drinks strong.”
Colin cast the keg a disdainful glance. ’Twas piss water compared to his cousin Brodie’s brew back home. Still, after as many cups as he and Gates had already consumed, he was beginning to feel the groggy effects of it. He would be careful to drink no more.
“Sometimes,” he said, refilling Gates’s cup and holding his up, “potent brew is all a man has to keep the winter chill from his bones.” He watched his companion swig his drink, then set their pitcher down, along with his full cup, and stretched his legs out before him.
“Might I know any of them?” he asked more boldly, watching Gates’s eyes glaze over.
“You know one of them.”
“Lord Devon, of course,” Colin noted, pressing gently.
“I doubt you know the others, unless you’ve been entertaining with Lord Edward Russell.”
As a matter of fact, Colin knew Russell rather well. He was one of the first officers in the Royal Navy until he fell out of King James’s favor five years ago, after his connection to the Rye House Plot to murder King Charles and his brother James was discovered. “Who else?”
“I don’t recall.” Gates shook his head and then stopped himself when his jaw went green. “Devon’s been keeping the good stuff to himself. The bastard.”
“Aye, we should piss in the kegs before we leave.”
Gates roared with laughter, and so hearty was the sound that Colin found himself joining him.
“I haven’t laughed aloud in a long time,” the captain said, sobering and closing his eyes. “You are good company, Campbell.”
“Nae, ’tis the whisky.”
The captain smiled. “I haven’t been drunk in a long time either.”
“Proof that Devon, bastard that he is, chose the best man to protect his cousin.”
Gates opened his eyes and tipped his head at Colin’s praise. “A choice he regrets every day. I am no longer his man, but hers, and he knows it. He knows that if he touches her without proper claim, I will kill him.”
“Why hasn’t he simply relieved ye of duty?” Colin asked him.
“There would be nothing simple about it. He’d be dead within the hour, and any man along with him who came against me.”
Colin smiled, liking his confidence. “Ye’re that good then?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I did not see it,” Colin teased, after thinking about it for a moment.
Gates shoved him away and they both laughed and shared another drink.
“Tell me, Captain,” Colin said after a few moments, looking for, needing a reason to dislike his companion enough to fight against him and likely kill him when the time came. He could find nothing. “Why would ye fight on Devon’s side when ’tis clear ye would rather see him die at the king’s blade?”
“Because James is an unfair king.”
“How so?”
Gates didn’t need to think on it overly long. “He advocates tolerance for Catholics but that the persecution of Presbyterian Covenanters should continue. My wife is Presbyterian. Her father was slaughtered while attending a field mass in the Lowlands when Charles was king.”
“Yer wife is Scottish then?”
“She is. Her family still suffers much in her hometown. James purges from office anyone who thinks differently than he. I fear my wife’s family will soon be purged from their homes if James remains on the throne.”
“Prince William is just as zealous in his desire to purge the kingdom of Catholics,” Colin pointed out impassively. “Is it fair that they will suffer if he gains the throne?”
“Of course it isn’t, but the world is ruled by arrogant men, Campbell. We are merely their pawns who do what they command whether we believe it right or wrong.”
Colin remained silent, thinking about the captain’s words. Was it true? Was he merely a pawn? Nae, he believed in the cause he was fighting for. Didn’t he? Aye. If Prince William gained the throne, he would likely come after the MacGregors once he discovered that Colin had tried so vigorously to stop him.
“Will ye do nothing to stop William from coming here, knowing he will likely give her over to Devon?”
Gates looked up at him. “Are you asking me to consider her life above the lives of thousands? Would you?”
Colin blinked at him. Of course he wouldn’t. Many times throughout history innocents suffered for the good of many. As a soldier, he knew this better than anyone. But then, why couldn’t he answer? “Nae,” he finally bit out. “I would not.”
“She is like a daughter to me,” Gates admitted to him. “But neither would I. William must take the throne or my family will suffer.”
And mine, if he succeeds, Colin thought. They both wanted to protect their kin. But who would protect Gillian… and Edmund? Would she live out the rest of her life residing in a tower, cut off from the world like a melancholy princess in one of her child’s fairy tales?
“I feel like hell now.” The captain ran his hand over his head. So did Colin, and it had nothing to do with his drink. Apparently, it didn’t for Gates either. “We should go check on her.”
Colin shook his head and set down his cup. “What? Nae.” Hell, seeing her disheveled and sleepy would surely get him injured on the practice field tomorrow. “ ’Tis the middle of the night. We’re drunk.”
“We’ll bring the whisky.” The captain ignored his protests and tried to rise to his feet.
“She will be asleep,” Colin argued, watching the normally collected captain slip back down the wall. “Rapping at her door will frighten her,” he pointed out, hoping to appeal to Gates’s protective nature.
“I have the key to her rooms.” The captain shuffled through his pocket and grinned, p
roducing the proof of his words.
Colin suddenly knew how Adam felt when Eve offered him the apple. He wanted to see her, to know for himself that she and Edmund were unharmed… but creeping into her rooms while she slept…
“Captain, I don’t think we’re in the proper condition to enter a lady’s chamber.”
“We’re not,” Gates agreed. “But she will forgive such intrusion for the company of a friendly face or two. Believe me when I tell you that encased in her often icy facade, there beats the heart of a dove. Help me up, will you? I’ll go without you.”
Aye, Colin thought while he gained his feet and then reached down his hand to the captain. He saw her heart clearly whenever her gaze settled on her son. All the more reason not to frighten the hell out of her when she saw her captain as intoxicated as a sailor on leave of duty. What if Gates tried to kiss her? What man in any state, soused or sober, wouldn’t be so tempted?
“I’ll come,” he said, fixing his level gaze on Gates’s, “but remember tomorrow that this was yer idea.”
By the time they reached the ground floor of the square tower, Colin had almost talked himself into turning around and letting Gates go on alone. How had this happened? How had he let someone, a lass no less, crawl under his skin and veer him off his path? Aye, he pitied her, and pity often softened the heart. But he admired the strength in her silence and the bold defiance in her voice when silence was too difficult to maintain. The radiance of emotion that poured from her to her son attracted him like a moth to a flame. He missed home, his kin, and though Gillian and Edmund were but two, they shared a bond of love that took hold of his heart and made it ache for something more. Why now? Hell, why now?
“I will enter first and wake her,” Gates whispered while they crept up the stairs and then down the silent hall. “You look out for anyone. I’ll return for you after I wake her.”
This was madness, Colin reminded himself for the hundredth time, and looked around for any eyes watching them. He shouldn’t have fed Gates so much whisky. But, remarkably, the captain managed to walk with minimal stumbling, and he still knew enough to use caution. What would Devon do if he caught them in her rooms?
