by Paula Quinn
“What about William?”
She looked up at him, wondering how he’d managed to conquer all her fears and doubts about a man, about love, and be so willing to cast away her pride to keep him. “What do I need of a prince if I had you?”
He smiled. Soothing and melting her heart at the same time. “I want ye, lass.” He drew her chin up for a kiss that moved her deep within and set flight to her heart. “I’ll work diligently on ways of convincing ye so that ye never doubt it again.”
Then he did mean to stay with her. Perhaps wed her. Relief flooded through her and she fell against him, his and his alone. “I would bear your sons, Colin. I would follow you to the ends of this earth.”
“ ’Tis where ye’ll be going, lass,” he told her, dipping his mouth to hers. “As fer bearing my bairns”—he pressed a series of slow, teasing kisses to her lips—“I’ll be happy with daughters. I already have a son.”
Oh, but how she loved… Edmund! “We must make haste!” She broke away from his arms and shot out of bed to get dressed.
On the way out the door though, she stopped one last time and turned to him. “Grant me one more thing.”
“Ask it.”
“That you will love me until the end of your days.”
He pulled her close and brought her hand to his lips. “I fear I will love only ye until long after that.”
She drew away with a smile teasing her mouth. “You fear much… for a Highlander.”
He took off behind her down the hall toward Edmund’s door. “I can assure ye that I fear less than many other men.”
She giggled in front of him. Such an arrogant man he was. “But much more than most when it comes to matters of your heart.”
He caught up with her and leaned in to her ear. “My heart has been newly awakened. It may take the rest of my life to grow accustomed to it, but the way it beats fer ye promises a swift victory.”
At his side, she closed her eyes and pinched her own arm. When she opened them again, George stood in her path. Or rather, in Colin’s. Without a word, his fist flew past her and felled Colin to the ground.
She was about to admonish him for his violence when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and then another on the other side. Rob and Will MacGregor moved closer, ready and quite able to take George down if he lifted his hand again.
Colin pushed to his feet and wiped a stream of blood running from his nose. “Leave him. He’s within his rights, fer now.”
“Ye mean ye’re no’ goin’ to hit him back?” Will’s handsome face contorted with disgust.
“Not this time,” Colin said, flicking a glance to George.
“Then you better have promised her something,” George warned, standing his ground, “and you better keep your word.”
“I did,” Colin tossed over his shoulder when he passed him and reached Edmund’s door. “And I intend to.”
“The lad breaks fast with the captain’s wife in the sittin’ room,” Rob told him when he and Gillian found Edmund’s room empty.
“Intend to what?” Will asked, loping behind them when they all headed down the stairs.
“We’ll speak of it when I return home.”
Rob and Will exchanged a curious look over Colin’s head when he bent to catch Edmund in his arms.
“Ye’re comin’ home?” It was Connor Grant leaning against the doorway who asked him.
“Eventually,” Colin answered, and then gave the rest of his attention to Gillian’s son.
Eventually. It could mean so many things, Gillian thought, returning Finn’s smile and following the rest into the sitting room. Eventually, after he rescued her from Dartmouth? Eventually, after a year or two of fighting in a war? She watched him set Edmund down on his feet, and then bend to tell him something that made Edmund’s head bob up and down. Edmund needed him. She needed him.
“We want to make an early start,” Rob said, tossing his thick plaid over his shoulder.
Lord, did she not even have an hour with her son then?
She scooped him up when he ran to her next and kissed his downy head until he squirmed in her arms. She was doing this for him, she told herself over and over while she gave him instructions on behaving properly. “Mind what you’re told by the chief and his wife,” she told him, kissing him again and finally setting him down, “and don’t forget your manners. Don’t chase Aurelius into any dangerous places, and eat all your greens. I’ve packed along your magic dagger so if you’re fright—”
“He’ll do fine.” Will took Edmund’s tiny hand. “If he’s frightened, we’ll see to him.”
It wouldn’t do for Edmund to see her cry, but the task became impossible when Colin squatted before her son.
“Take care of Aurelius. He’ll be depending on ye.”
“I will,” her son promised, sounding as determined in his task as Colin was in his.
“Yer mother will be along soon.”
“You too?”
“Aye,” Colin told him. “I’ve much to teach ye.”
Gillian held herself together while her son curled his chubby arms around Colin’s neck and held on while Colin kissed his head.
“Go on with ye now.” Colin rose to his full height and watched while Will led him to the door.
Rob was the last to leave and he stopped to assure her one last time that no harm would come to Edmund.
Colin followed them out, turning to look at her, knowing what he saw in her eyes was about to erupt. When he shut the door, it did. George was there, holding her in silence when she wept. She needed no more assurances. She simply needed to cry, and her dearest friend let her do it.
“Rob.” Colin stopped his brother before the new chief leaped into his saddle behind Edmund. “There is something I need to tell ye.”
After a dark, knowing glare, Rob folded his arms across his chest. “I thought so. My suspicion is that ’tis somethin’ I willna’ like hearing and that is why ye waited until now to tell me.”
“I nae longer support the king.” Best to just get it out there and deal with the outcome as it presented itself.
Rob stared at him as if doubting his ears, then he looked around at the others, who, having heard their exchange, appeared just as dumbfounded.
“Why?”
“Because his thirst fer power has poisoned him. Because he would murder a mother and her babe to invoke fear in others.”
He didn’t need to tell his brother which mother and babe he spoke of. Rob slanted his gaze to Edmund, who was waiting for him atop his horse, clutching Aurelius in his arms.
“Ye know this fer certain?”
Colin told him everything, and Rob considered it all before he spoke. He was about to make one of the most important decisions as chief of their clan.
“The king will not send men to Camlochlin to pursue me if I desert,” Colin told him confidently. He knew there was one thing that still meant more to James than power. ’Twas his daughter. “He’s bound to us by blood.”
“Aye,” Rob agreed and swatted him on the back. “But do yer best no’ to make enemies with him just the same. And dinna’ tell Davina yer reasons fer leavin’.”
His kin would stand by him. Colin hadn’t doubted it.
“And William of Orange and yer war?” his brother put to him, painfully reminding Colin of what he’d been preparing for for three years. “Will ye remain at Camlochlin when ye bring her home?”
Colin looked toward the manor house and tightened his jaw. “The prince is another matter. I don’t think he will ferget my service to James so easily.”
“Verra well, then,” Rob said, swinging into his saddle and lifting Edmund and Aurelius into his lap. “Do what ye must. Just stay alive.”
Colin assured him he would, then reached up and took Edmund’s hand in his. Hell, he didn’t want to say farewell to him. Of all the things he’d prepared for in his life, caring for a child so deeply wasn’t one of them. “Don’t chase Aunt Maggie’s animals.”
> “I won’t,” Edmund promised, swiping tears from his eyes.
Colin had never shed a tear a day in his life and he sure as hell wasn’t about to do so now. But his heart ached in a way it never had before. He smiled—lest, God forbid, he should do anything else—patted Aurelius on the head, and stepped away when Rob’s snorting mount sprang forward.
Passing him, Finn paused his mount and tossed him a resplendent grin. “Do not fret over the lady while ye’re off fighting. I will look after her.”
Colin cursed him as Finn dug in his heels and took off after the rest, his laughter filling the air behind him.
Like hell he would.
Turning for the house, Colin spotted Gillian at the door, her hands clutched to her chest. He could see her pink nose from where he stood and he knew how hard this was for her, how hard the days ahead would be for her. He would help her through them and crush anyone who tried to take her from him, including a silver-tongued, flaxen-haired bard.
When had he become a lady’s champion? Hell. ’Twas downright pitiful. He moved toward her, bending on his way to pluck a poppy from the grass.
Chapter Thirty-three
The journey back to Dartmouth was torturous for Gillian. Nothing could fill the gap of Edmund’s absence, and she traveled the first few days in silence. She liked listening to Colin and George talk about their families, and most nights she was able to fall asleep without weeping.
Funny thing about weeping. You can go for years without wasting a single teardrop on an undeserving soul. But let someone you cherish be taken from you and the floodgates crumble like leaves in the fall.
She missed Edmund’s voice, his sweet smile, the way he felt in her arms. George was wonderful, as usual, even refraining from speech when, after the first night, Colin lay down beside her and took her in his arms. He did the same every night thereafter, filling her embrace, and her thoughts, with something other than her son.
“Have I told ye about my sister Mairi’s courtship with Connor Grant?” His low voice soothed her nerves like a flagon of fine wine. “They loved each other as children and…”
He kept her from thinking about what she no longer had and made her long for her future in Camlochlin. By the end of their journey, she knew just about everything there was to know about the MacGregors of Skye. How they lived and loved, and what Edmund was likely doing at any given hour of the day.
It helped. Sharing clandestine kisses while George snored beside the fire helped. They did nothing more intimate than that, though on several occasions their desire for each other made it near impossible to resist. But they did—for her honor’s sake, Colin whispered to her while he tenderly kissed her eyelids, her nose, her mouth.
For now, being in his arms was enough.
She knew she would have to be strong in the coming days, but she didn’t want to release her sorrow completely. She would need it when she faced Geoffrey if all was to go according to plan.
Gerald Hampton and Philippe Lefevre met them at the gates. The former sneered at Gillian’s bloodshot eyes until she wanted to rip her dagger from her skirts and hurl it into him.
Followed by their escorts, they went to Geoffrey’s solar immediately to tell him the tragic news. Edmund had been kidnapped by a band of pistol-toting thieves. There was nothing any of them could do. Gillian wept while she begged her cousin to send his army to Essex to help in hunting the men down. Of course, Geoffrey refused.
“I need my men here,” he told her, feigning remorse. “We’ll send word to your father, though. I’m certain he’ll be eager to retrieve the boy.”
Gillian eyed him through her swollen lids, hating him more than she thought she ever could. Oh, but she was tired of him and his hatred for Edmund. This vile excuse for a man believed the Campbells of Argyll had taken her son. He’d helped arrange it! He sat here now thinking he’d won. He’d gotten rid of her child to make room for his own and his scant smile when he looked at her over his cup proved that he gloated over it.
“Of course he will,” she said in a low, scathing tone, finished with cowering. “For he loves Edmund as much as you do.”
His self-important sneer was like poison to her soul. It had eaten away at her for four years, always threatening to consume her. Edmund saved her from becoming what Geoffrey wanted. Colin saved her from becoming what she feared most.
“Why do you sound cross with me, Gillian?” Her cousin’s sharp gaze cut to Colin’s. “It wasn’t me who snatched your son. Was it, Campbell?”
It was at that exact moment that Gillian realized something was wrong. What had she done? Why did she anger him instead of sticking with Colin’s exact plans?
“They came in the night, my lord,” Colin said beside her, his voice unshaken, his expression impassive. “We don’t know who they were.”
“Precisely.” Geoffrey turned back to her and rose from his chair. “As terrible as this all is, we must find a way to put it behind us and start anew.”
Dear God, she was going to be ill. She closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, calling up her strength not to stick him with her dagger while he moved closer to her.
“You’re correct, Geoffrey,” she told him softly, taking a step back. “I’m not cross with you. I’m upset. Surely you understand. I would retire to my room and—”
“Gillian,” he purred from only a few inches away. “You’ll remain here with me. There are some things we need to discuss. I’ve waited patiently for your return and now I’m about to burst just at the sight of you.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Colin’s fingers inching toward the hilt of his sword when Geoffrey walked around her and stopped to inhale her hair.
“I thought seizing your letters to William was my crowning glory in breaking that inflexible spine of yours. But truly, I’ve outdone myself this time.”
“What you talking about, Geoffrey?” she asked, pulling away from his hand when he reached for her.
He glared at her a moment before his smile returned, bubbling into laughter. “You will never outfox me, Gillian. Neither with a prince nor a jackal sent by the king to deceive me.”
The scrape of Colin’s blade leaving its sheath snapped Gillian’s attention to him. She watched the claymore’s ascent and then its sleek metal flashing in the firelight as he brought it back down on the sword pointed at his back.
Mr. Lefevre’s arms shook at the impact. He paled, as if he hadn’t felt Colin’s strength a hundred times already in practice. Gillian realized he hadn’t.
“I am no fool, mon ami.” The French mercenary purposely dropped his sword and bowed out of the altercation.
“Gillian!” George shouted and rushed forward as Geoffrey moved behind her, his blade at her throat. A sharp blow from the hilt of Gerald Hampton’s sword stopped her guardian.
Gillian cried out as George fell to the floor, unconscious. Colin eyed the tall man standing over his fallen body with a murderous glint in his eye that would have frightened an entire regiment of men.
Hampton winked in response.
Fear engulfed Gillian, but she had to keep her wits about her before anyone else was injured. She didn’t think Geoffrey would kill her. He wanted her in his bed, not buried in the cemetery. It was Colin’s reaction that frightened her more. He dropped his claymore and stilled his arms at his sides.
Behind her, Geoffrey cursed Lefevre, then drew her head back with a tug on her hair. He dipped his lips to her ear, turning her stomach when his hot breath touched her. “I’ve halted yet another one of your devious schemes, my darling betrothed.”
She nearly fainted at the frantic pace of her heart. Did he speak of Edmund and Skye? No. He couldn’t know. “Geoffrey, I beg you, explain.”
“Explain?” Geoffrey pressed the edge of his blade to her throat. “I would prefer to convince you.” Thankfully, he didn’t spend much time sharpening his weapon the way Colin did with all of his. “Make another move,” he warned when Colin inched forward, “and you will be sh
owered with her blood.”
Colin didn’t need a weapon in his hands to look deadly. His body was as tight as a bowstring, his eyes sharp, and his senses honed to perfection. But he obeyed and didn’t move, or speak, or seem to breathe.
“Now let’s see,” Geoffrey sang, victory won, “where shall I begin? How about with John Smithson? Gillian, dear, you wouldn’t know him, but your Highlander might.”
“I don’t,” Colin growled.
“You met him at Kingswear. He is one of my guardsmen. He certainly knows you. He says he fought at Sedgemoor, on Monmouth’s side. Most of his battalion was slain under the command of a most ruthless Catholic general, a MacGregor, who, according to field gossip at the time, was a personal favorite of the king’s.”
Gillian blinked at Colin. Damn it, but they had been fools to underestimate her cousin. He knew Colin’s true identity. He knew… Did he say a personal favorite of the king’s?
“You were quite clever, General,” Geoffrey continued, keeping her close.
General?
“You almost had me believing you were doing all this for me and the good of my name. I imagine my lovely cousin believes the same. Tell me, Gillian”—he pressed his mouth against her ear—“did you know he is a spy for the king? Sent here, I assume based on the questions he’s asked of the other men and myself to gather information about the prince’s arrival? Did you lure him to your bed with information about the prince? The names on the invitation, perhaps? Or did he fuck it out of you? I understand he’s very good at gaining the information he requires. His expertise, I am told, is gaining the trust of his enemies.”
Gillian kept her gaze steady on Colin. Her knees nearly buckled when the warrior retreated and the man looked away. Was it true then? Was he a spy for the king? What had she told him? Her vision blurred with the sharp, familiar hook of doubt and disappointment she was used to. She’d told him everything she knew. Was that all he’d wanted from her?
Colin, look at me! She wanted to shout at him. Information couldn’t have been all he desired from her. She’d looked into his eyes while he’d made love to her. She’d seen beyond his cool veneer to the passions that fired him from deep within. She desperately needed to see that now.
