Conquered by a Highlander

by Paula Quinn

  Gates’s sword slowed enough to give Colin plenty of time to sidestep another attack.

  “Her and Edmund’s safety is fast becoming more important to me than anything else. I know ye’re angry with me because ye fear fer her, but I will keep them safe. I would not be willing to risk their lives if I wasn’t certain of it.”

  Gates paused in his attack to stare him in the eye. Whatever he saw convinced him of Colin’s sincerity. “She will always be my charge, Campbell. No matter what Devon orders.”

  “I expected nothing less, Captain Gates.”

  Gillian’s champion finally lowered his sword. “How would you keep them safe?”

  “With an army more fearsome than anything in England or Holland, and with my skill.”

  Gates backed away and positioned his blade for a second assault. “Show me then.”

  “With wood, not steel.” Colin reached for the practice swords lined against the wall, and noticed the group of men who had sauntered out of the fortress to watch. Let them see. With five of his best men, Colin could take down this entire garrison, whether they were familiar with his skill or not. He tossed Gates a blunt weapon and, with no other choice but to reveal something more about himself, took position.

  They exchanged blows for more than an hour with Gates pressing hard and Colin meeting every strike and parrying every jab. Twice the captain swept him off his feet only to have him roll away and spring back up swinging hard. Colin was impressed by his opponent’s ability to remain balanced on his feet beneath the force of Colin’s arm. Gates’s stamina had also improved, but finally he gave in to a series of powerful, chopping assaults and held up his palm.

  “Have I convinced ye then?” Colin asked, tossing his sword away.

  “That you’re losing your heart to them? Yes,” the captain answered quietly enough for only the both of them to hear. “That you can protect them against a hundred men sent to retrieve her? No.”

  “That’s because I went easy on ye.” He smiled when Gates laughed, leading him back to the castle. “And my heart has little to do with this. ’Tis my head I can’t control.”

  “Mon frère.” Philippe Lefevre clapped him on the back as Colin passed him. “You were magnifique. When did you—?”

  “Practice, Lefevre. What ye should all be doing more of, aye?”

  Colin didn’t wait to hear whatever else Lefevre or any of the others had to say about his sudden mastery with a blade, but caught up to Gates, who was entering the castle without him.

  “Will ye still help me get her and Edmund out? I spoke to Devon and he is open to my suggestions.”

  “I never said I would help you,” the captain reminded him. “How am I supposed to trust you with her well-being when you can’t even admit to falling in love with her?”

  Hell. Was it true? He fell behind again, nearly paralyzed with the thought of being so lost. When Gates stopped this time and turned to wait for him, Colin wanted to tell him the truth about everything… everything, in order to remember who he was, what he was here to do. But he couldn’t tell anyone. He must remain Colin Campbell and see his duty through.

  “You knew about the letters she penned to William?”

  Colin nodded, happy for the change in topic, and picked up his step again to join his companion. “She told me of them recently. She’d hoped to convince the prince of aiding her when he arrived. I had no idea Devon had them until last night.”

  “She didn’t tell me,” Gates reflected quietly.

  “Mayhap she thought ye would try to stop her from sending them.”

  “I would have.” Her captain allowed a hint of a smile to creep around the edges of his mouth. “She may not appear to be, but she’s a force to be reckoned with, that one.”

  Colin agreed. When Devon had told her of her letters to William, Colin wanted to go to her… or smash her cousin’s skull into the nearest wall. He knew how difficult it had to have been for her to learn that all her work had come to naught. But she didn’t fall to pieces at Devon’s feet, as the bastard had hoped. She’d squared her shoulders and tilted up her chin and refused to surrender. God help him, but ’twas beautiful to watch.

  “Devon said the prince should arrive by summer.” As was becoming a worrisome habit of late, Colin’s thoughts returned to helping her. “That’s a pair of months away.”

  “And?”

  “And I plan on getting her and Edmund the hell out of here before then. I’ve already penned a missive to my kin telling them when they are to arrive. They will take Edmund into their care and bring him home. I’ll get Gillian out after that.”

  Gates eyed him narrowly as they made their way to the Hall. “You did this without even waiting for my approval.”

  “I told ye I would.”

  “Yes.” The captain thought about it for a moment and then sighed with something that sounded like resignation. Colin hoped it was. “You did tell me you would. All right then, how long do we have to get the boy to Essex?”

  “Three weeks. Mayhap a month.”

  “Why not do it sooner? It shouldn’t take the Campbells a month to get to Essex from Glen Orchy.”

  The captain was correct… if ’twere the Campbells who were coming for Edmund and not the MacGregors—who were arriving from Skye. When would Colin tell him… or the child’s mother where he truly planned to have Edmund taken? He guessed they would discover it on their own when his father and brother appeared at Gates’s door.

  “I still don’t quite understand how you’ll get Devon to agree to let me take the boy to my home,” Gates said. “In fact, I don’t truly understand why I even trust you.”

  “What choice do ye have?” Colin asked him on his way to their table. “I am her last hope.”

  “You sound so certain you can do this.”

  “I am.”

  “And what if he sends Edmund off with someone else? How can you be certain that he will do as you suggest?”

  “He wants my kin’s favor,” Colin told him and fell into his seat to await his drink. “To get it, he must keep mine.”

  Gates smiled at the server setting down his cup, then turned back to Colin. “Your arrogance can be dangerous, Campbell.”

  “My confidence will see me through it.”

  The captain studied him from across the table long enough to make Colin squirm in his chair. “So then, you’re done with trying to convince me that you’re not the most dangerous man ever to step foot in Dartmouth?”

  Colin offered him a furtive wink and reached for his ale when the server set his cup before him. “Aye, I’ve decided to stick with the truth if I am to gain yer trust.”

  “Arrogant bastard,” the captain muttered behind his cup. “God help us all if you’re not what you claim.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Gillian stood before the esteemed Earl of Essex in Kingswear Castle’s Great Hall, dry-eyed and as hard-hearted as his example had taught her to be. He’d aged. The strands of hair peeking from beneath his wig had gone silver and he didn’t appear as tall when he stood over her, looking down his nose at Edmund. Instead of speaking with her alone, he granted her an audience during the afternoon meal, which was every bit as lively as it was at Dartmouth. Their speech was curt and customary, her father preferring to hear about life at Dartmouth from her cousin rather than from her. George and Colin sat together, sharing few words and the same disgusted look on their faces when the earl pushed his chair farther away from Edmund’s.

  Gillian didn’t spare Colin a glance across the table. She was through wasting time trusting men. Any man.

  “I wish to share a word or two alone with you, my lord.” Gillian rose to her feet with her father when he finished eating. She wanted to tell him about what she’d written to the Dutch prince. About what she would tell William when he arrived.

  “Sadly, I cannot spare the time, daughter. Pen it to me. I’ll have your mother read it.”

  “As she has read my letters about Geoffrey’s lewd desires for me?
”

  Her father’s eyes hardened on her and she wondered how in the world her mother had remained wed to him for so long. “I’ve spoken to him about your accusations and he has denied touching you. Do you refute that?”

  “No.” She shook her head, glaring at Geoffrey, who was still seated in his chair. “But I—”

  “Then be grateful for him, Gillian. He’s the only man willing to take you in with a bas… a child attached to you.” He whispered the words and yet each one stung as if he’d slapped her. “Until you agree to let me find a home for the boy, you will remain here.”

  Gillian smiled, though it cost her almost more than what she had left. Her father wouldn’t protect Edmund from anything Geoffrey did to him. He wanted her child gone from her life as badly as her cousin did. “Then bid my sisters farewell from me, for I shall never see them again.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Gillian,” the earl ground out his warning, watching her take her son’s hand to leave. “Do you want to grow old and die alone, with nothing to your name?”

  “If my name was anything but Dearly, I would be content to die tomorrow. But I am determined to wed someone who does not share the same name as yours. Farewell, my lord.”

  She pushed past him and strode to the exit, pulling Edmund with her. To hell with Lord Essex. If this was what he wanted, than she had a father no more. She wouldn’t spend another minute of her life begging for his aid or even thinking of him. She would enjoy the rest of the day, and the different view she got to see a few times a year here at Kingswear.

  Edmund freed his hand from hers and ran past her, spotting something and practically squealing on his way to getting a closer look.

  “Gillian.”

  Someone touched her shoulder and she turned to find Colin there, his eyes laden with pity for her.

  “I’m fine.” She moved to turn away.

  “I would have a word with ye.”

  “Later, I—”

  “Campbell?” one of Kingswear’s guardsmen said, coming up to them and thankfully distracting Colin. “Where have I seen you before?”

  Gillian didn’t wait around for the answer but turned to follow Edmund. She saw the piglet, or rather she heard it, while it raced away from her son, down a ravine. Edmund gave chase and Gillian followed him through a stand of trees and back around. Or, at least, she thought they’d come back around.

  “Edmund!” she called to halt him from going any deeper into the forest. The piglet kept going, but Gillian picked up her son and looked around. She didn’t recognize the trees around her. How far had they gone? No need to panic, she told herself. Colin should be close by. She called his name and was answered by a single lark overhead.

  And then a twig breaking to her left.

  “Colin?”

  The man stepping out from behind the trees, a bit out of breath, wasn’t Colin. He wasn’t anyone from Kingswear, nor were the other four men who followed after him.

  Gillian clutched Edmund to her chest and yanked her dagger free. “Come no closer. The men of my garrison are but beyond those trees.”

  “We know where they are. We followed you from Dartmouth,” the first man said, slipping a dagger of his own from his breeches and smiling at Edmund. “Handsome boy, he is. Come here, little one.” He held out his arms and Gillian slashed her blade at him.

  One of the others caught her from behind. She screamed before his hand clamped around her mouth. She fought wildly when another man wrenched her son from her arms and handed him over to the first with the knife.

  “It’ll be quick, I promise.”

  She bit the hand over her mouth and rammed her heel into her captor’s foot. He let her go, but it was too late. She watched in horror as the blade flashed above Edmund’s throat.

  Something big whooshed by her and then dropped to its back and slid beneath the man holding Edmund. The dagger fell from the culprit’s fingers and Edmund followed shortly after. The man almost fell on top of him when he sank to his knees, blood gushing from between his legs.

  Gillian dove for her son, snatched him up off the ground, and ran behind a tree. After making certain that his tears were brought about by fear and not injury, she turned to watch Colin, back on his feet, a second man already dead beside them. She turned Edmund’s head away from the slaughter that ensued next, but found that no matter how horrifying it was, she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

  Colin wielded his sword with brutal force, cutting through flesh and bone and leaving his third victim screaming on the ground. Two more circled him, one to his left, the other to his right. He looked at them both, a purposeful, powerful warrior with cold death in his eyes. He moved to his left, kicked the knife from his opponent’s fingers, caught it in his hand, then flung it back at him, sending it through his throat.

  Without pausing to disarm the last man standing, Colin snatched him by the throat and with legs braced, pounded the hilt of his sword into the man’s face, once and then again, satisfied only after he heard his victim’s nose breaking beneath his fist.

  The man opened his bloody mouth and spoke something to Colin that Gillian couldn’t hear. Whatever he said seemed to enrage Colin further and before she had the time to close her eyes, he sliced his blade across the man’s throat.

  She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe, watching him. She’d never seen a man so beautifully lethal, so much more dangerous than when he fought against George. Where had he learned to fight with such skill? It terrified her and excited her at the same time.

  She breathed, and then stopped again when Colin dropped his blade and ran to her.

  “Are ye hurt?” he asked her, reaching to take Edmund from her arms. Whatever beast his fury had unleashed only moments ago was gone, and in its place stood a man whose fingers trembled as they brushed over her son’s head. “Are ye hurt, lad? Here, let me have a look at ye.” He held Edmund at arm’s length and examined him from foot to crown.

  “Are they gone, Colin?” Edmund wiped his eyes with his fists and waited while Colin nodded his head and swallowed back a well of emotions no warrior of his caliber was likely accustomed to expressing.

  A movement from within the trees propelled Gillian to Colin’s side; Colin pressed Edmund close to his chest and produced a pistol from his belt that he held cocked and ready to fire.

  George emerged slowly, holding up his hands. He must have witnessed the quick massacre because the color had drained from his face and had not yet returned.

  “Who the hell are they?” he asked, eyeing the scattered dead.

  “Thieves,” Colin told him, swinging Edmund around to his back rather than return him to Gillian. “Let’s get back.” He retrieved his sword without another word to any of them, then led them back to Kingswear.

  “Thank you, Colin,” Gillian said quietly while they walked. She didn’t realize her teeth were chattering or that her hands were shaking until he looked at her and then swung his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer.

  “ ’Tis over, lass,” he comforted tenderly, though his voice sounded as shaky as hers. “But ye will stay close to us from now on, aye?”

  She nodded, pressing her face deeper into his shoulder. He’d saved Edmund from certain death. Oh, dear God, what kind of monster would kill a child? Her knees nearly buckled beneath her at the thought of what would have happened if Colin hadn’t been there.

  “I’m all right,” she hastened to assure both him and George when they offered to carry her. She needed to walk off the hysteria lurking beneath her somewhat calm exterior. She looked up at Edmund and felt a rush of tears fall from her eyes at the way he clung to Colin, his little arms wrapped tightly around his friend’s neck.

  Colin had slaughtered those who would hurt him. The memory of it would haunt her dreams for years to come. She would never forget the fear in his eyes, the fury, and then the sheer relief when he knew her son was safe.

  “I was wrong to be angry with you,” she told him, trying with all her strength n
ot to fling her arms around his neck and hold him the way Edmund did. “Forgive me.”

  He looked at her, and for a moment, nothing else existed in the world but him. Every hard angle of his face softened with something that clutched at her heart. He smiled slightly, then ran his palm down the back of her head. A comforting, intimate touch that made them both catch their breath and left them longing for something more.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Colin sat by Gillian’s bed and watched Edmund while he slept. His mother had insisted the babe sleep where she could see him, hear him if he needed her. Colin thought ’twas a good idea. He would be happy never to have Edmund out of his sight again.

  He listened to the muffled voices coming from the sitting room, but did not join Gillian or Gates right away. He’d never felt fear like he’d experienced today. He never wanted to feel it again. When he couldn’t find them… when he heard her screams… Och, God, he’d nearly gone mad trying to find them. And when he did… He rubbed his palm down his face, fighting the fury renewed by the memory of what he’d seen. A blade held to Edmund’s wee throat. A look of terrible horror on Gillian’s face that he never wanted to see her wear again.

  Still, such a memory was better than the alternative. He shook his head to scatter the images of what he would have come upon if he’d arrived just a few moments later. They would have killed Edmund, and his mother after that, and Colin knew why. He still couldn’t believe it though. And he couldn’t tell the two waiting for him in the next room.

  “General MacGregor.” The last attacker had known him. He’d known Colin’s name. “The king ordered it. He sends a message…”

  Colin hadn’t waited to hear what the message was and ended his miserable life quickly. Too damned quickly.

  The king, his king, had ordered the death of a mother and her child. Why? He’d been agonizing over the answer since their return to Dartmouth. He would have refused to believe it if he hadn’t recently killed the proof. Closing his eyes, he ground his teeth until his jaw pained him. He wanted to ride to Whitehall Palace tonight, smash open the door to the king’s solar, and hurl him out the window. Whatever the reason James wanted them dead, he wouldn’t have known they resided here if Colin hadn’t told the first runner that he wanted safe passage for them.