by Paula Quinn
“How could you do it, MacGregor?” Geoffrey implored, even though Gillian could clearly hear the smug enjoyment in his voice. “How could you use her for information? Make her think you care? What did you promise her?”
He promised her everything. Everything.
“She told me nothing.” Colin’s eyes flicked back to hers for a brief instant and then cooled to a deadly frost on Geoffrey. “I offered her nothing in return fer it, save to get her and her son out of Dartmouth before I set hell upon it.”
Silence clung to the room, void of even the slightest snicker from Mr. Hampton as Colin’s words fell like stones at their feet, rattling them a bit from their foundations. Geoffrey’s blade trembled at her throat but did no damage, as his anger swelled away from her and onto the arrogant Highlander.
“Thank you for the warning, General MacGregor,” he chuckled, refusing to be outwitted by anyone. “I shall prepare for battle.”
Was that the hint of a smile she caught snaking Colin’s mouth? There he stood, his secrets revealed to his enemy. Exposed to the heart of the woman he said he loved, and yet, he stood boldly, so filled with self-assurance that he made certain everyone felt the conviction of his words when he spoke them.
“I’m afraid there won’t be enough time fer that.”
“Well,” her cousin countered, suddenly sounding less confident and a bit more desperate, “I will have defeated you in at least one of your endeavors. I dispatched a dozen of my men to Essex two days after you left.”
Gillian stiffened against him. No!
“To what purpose?” she heard Colin ask, his voice a low rumble.
“To dispose of her bastard and the men who made off with him.”
Gillian didn’t wait to hear what Colin would say or do. Her logic fled from the fury and terror rising up inside her. Dispose of her son? Why then, she had nothing left to fear. The game had just changed.
“Geoffrey, hear me, you vile son of tavern whore.” She gritted her teeth and held up her palms to stop Colin’s advance when the edge of his blade scraped her flesh. “If you’re going to kill me then you had better do it now. Because if you don’t,” she continued calmly, at the edge of madness, “if Edmund is harmed, I will make you suffer and die a terrible death. Whether on the tip of my dagger, in your wine, or in my own body, and I have to suffer and die with you. Rest assured, I will poison you.”
“Then I should simply admit defeat then, eh?” Geoffrey angled her head so he could smile at her. “If I can’t have you in my bed, what good are you?”
“None,” she promised, staring him straight in the eyes. “It’s me, or you, or both of us. If Edmund is dead, there is no longer a reason for my breath. So choose.”
He lowered his mouth to her ear and said in a quiet voice, “And relinquish my shield against a savage who wants my neck between his teeth? No. Instead, I think I will let you watch your false hero die.”
“No more threats, Geoffrey.” She shoved her hand into the fold of her skirts, produced her dagger, and without pause in her breath, jammed the blade into his side. “Only cowards make them,” she murmured, stepping away from him when he crumpled to his knees. “And I am done with being one.”
She spared Colin a brief glance to let him know his course was open and ducked out of his way. She hoped he would do whatever he meant to do quickly so that they could make haste and head toward Skye. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to save Edmund.
Chapter Thirty-four
There wasn’t time for Colin to pause to appreciate how incredibly braw his Gillian was. Hampton was coming at him, his heavy sword lifted high over his head, ready to strike. Colin ducked beneath the whistling slice of metal and came back up, feet braced, arms outstretched in opposite directions, and a pistol in either hand. One was tilted directly in Hampton’s face, the other aimed at Devon.
“Drop yer blade, Hampton. I’m feeling merciful today and may let ye keep yer head.”
“Kill him!” Devon screamed, clutching the hilt of the dagger buried deep in his side. “His flintlocks aren’t loaded!”
When Colin cocked both hammers, Hampton’s eyes opened wide, hopefully with the memory of Colin’s warning that he would keep his pistols ready at all times. The giant’s sword clanked to the ground.
“Get beside him.” Colin motioned Hampton toward his cowering master. Och, but he wanted to kill the arrogant Earl of Devon. Here. Now. His body trembled with the desire to cut open his throat. The bastard had sent a dozen men to kill Edmund. A dozen against four warriors from Skye. ’Twas almost insulting. Colin knew Edmund was safe, but that didn’t change the fact that Devon had tried to have him killed.
“Go ahead and shoot then,” Devon challenged from the floor. Aye, Colin thought, and alert the rest of the garrison to the solar. Night had fallen and most were likely too drunk by now to cause a decent stir, but with Gillian here, he wasn’t about to take that chance.
“I’ll come back and kill ye later.” He flipped his pistol over in his hand and brought the finely crafted handle down on Devon’s temple with a resounding whack. “Move,” he warned Hampton as he stepped away, “or I’ll kill ye now.”
He called Gillian to stand behind him while he pushed at Gates with the tip of his boot, his eyes darting to Hampton and then to the door. “Come now, friend. On yer feet,” he said when Gates opened his eyes and pulled himself to his knees. “ ’Tis time to go.”
He was about to lead them out of the solar when he heard sounds he was well familiar with coming from somewhere outside. The thunder of horses followed by shouts of command and firing muskets.
His army had arrived.
Hell.
Not now. Not with her here. He didn’t trust the king not to kill her. He had to get her away. Snatching her hand, he pulled her toward the door.
“What is it?” Gates asked, holding his hand to his head and following them down the hall with Lefevre hot on their heels.
How could he tell them? In his pursuit of his glorious war, he had sought the trust of many. Once he’d achieved it, he didn’t care what scars his betrayal left in his wake. But Gillian and Gates were not his enemies, and it tore at the fibers of his being to have to admit to deceiving them.
“I am…” He closed his mouth and began again. “My army arrives. A wee bit sooner than I had expected but here they are.” This wasn’t the time for apologies. They needed to move.
“Why are they here?” Gates asked him, keeping pace as Colin ran, pulling Gillian behind him, down another winding corridor.
“They are here to take Dartmouth,” Colin told him honestly, heading toward a hidden stairway. During his nightly investigation of the castle, he’d discovered every exit. The stairs around the next passage would lead them to the back of the castle, close to the smith.
“Then it’s true.”
Colin closed his eyes for an instant at the sound of Gillian’s voice, unsteady and unsure. He knew what she thought of him and he hated it. But there would be time later to convince her that she was wrong.
“Aye, ’tis true.” He tugged her down the stairs, scanning his eyes over the shadows cloaking the bottom landing. “But now, ye must be away from here. They will surely kill Gates and they will not stop when they get to ye.”
She stopped him when they reached the last step, her eyes wide and moist in the dim torchlight. “What about Edmund? He said—”
“Edmund is safe,” he promised her, swiping his thumb over her cheek. “My brother may likely have killed the entire dozen men Devon sent after them on his own. Either way, Edmund rides with the MacGregors and the Grants. Nothing will harm him.”
When she nodded, looking a bit more hopeful, he hurried her to the exit.
“This was all to stop William then?” Gates opened the door, spilling moonlight into the hall. “It should have been clear to me that you were no mercenary,” the captain told him as Colin passed him on the way out. “But you convinced me otherwise.”
Pausing, Colin turned to l
ook at him. They were friends. Colin suspected… he hoped they would remain so for many years. “Would ye have trusted me in getting Gillian and Edmund away from here if ye knew the truth?”
Gates stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and closed the door behind him. “But you should have told me nonetheless.”
“Where are we going?”
They all turned to see Lefevre waiting for direction.
Hell, another man Colin found tolerable and would prefer to see live. Still, he didn’t trust him enough to let him accompany them to Essex, and then on to Skye.
“We’re parting ways, mon frere,” Colin told him, patting him on the arm. “I suggest ye get yer horse and move yer arse in that direction if ye want to get out alive.” He pointed southeast. “I trained the men who are about to storm the castle.”
“How do we get our horses?” Gates whispered as the sounds of men’s voices drew closer. Soon, the army would surround the fortress. “The stable is in full view.”
“We have to run for it one at a time.” Colin surveyed the distance. “We’ll stay close to the shadows and walk the horses out. The men will be busy fighting. They won’t see us. I’ll go first.”
He sprinted close to the castle walls, avoiding the swath of moonlight illuminating the narrow path to the stable. Inside, he turned to watch Gillian make her way to him next. Behind her, the sound of battle drew his attention long enough to miss the movement to his right.
“What’s this?” Lieutenant de Atre swerved from his path to his horse and blocked Gillian’s advance. “Have your champions abandoned you?”
“As you are about to abandon your friends, Lieutenant,” Gillian accused quietly.
When de Atre reached for her, Colin forgot the army and everything else and strode out of the stable toward them.
“With all the clamor inside, no one will hear us,” the lieutenant snarled.
“De Atre!” Colin shouted, sliding his claymore from its scabbard. “What were ye told about touching her?”
The lieutenant whirled around looking somewhat startled, until he saw who it was. “Running off with the whore while the captain fights the king’s men? Clever.” He smiled. “But I’ll take her from here.”
“Draw yer weapon,” Colin warned him and then stepped back to wait.
De Atre laughed and freed his sword with gusto. “This time, I’ll give you no quarter.”
“And I’ll do the same,” Colin promised with a dark smile, then stepped aside to avoid a blow to his ribs. Och, how he wanted to take his time and convince de Atre that he was correct not to trust a Scot. But there was no time to waste.
He brought his sword down hard three times, twice on his opponent’s blade, lighting their faces with sparks, then deep into de Atre’s belly.
Colin watched the lieutenant’s stunned expression as his body slumped to the ground. He pulled his sword free and met Gillian’s horrified gaze.
“Move.”
She ran around him and he followed. A moment later, Gates joined them, cursing de Atre to Hades on his way to his horse. Lefevre left the shadows last and Colin watched to make certain no one saw him.
The clash of swords rang through the night, accompanied by shouts and screams as his army butchered Dartmouth’s garrison. He was supposed to be with them.
“Colin?”
He turned to Gillian, watching him from her place beside her mount. “Get your horse and let’s be away.”
He nodded, turning back to the fray one last time. He moved toward her, then stopped as a rider passed his vision in the distance. Colin knew him by the set and breadth of his shoulders and the swatch of gray hair, pale in the moonlight.
The king was here to watch the battle from the cliffs just beyond the castle perimeter. He was here, and he would be looking for Colin.
“Take her to Essex.” He spun around to Gates. “By now my brother knows that my identity has been discovered. He will send someone back to yer home to warn me.”
“You’re not coming with us then?”
He looked at Gillian but before he could answer her, she turned away.
“I understand,” she said quietly. “You fight for the king.”
“I fight fer my kin,” he said, moving toward her.
“Well, you got what you came here for. I’m indebted to you for all you’ve done for Edmund and me. Farewell, Colin.” She tugged on her reins, ready to go. Just like that.
He knew what she thought of him. He’d used her, and now he was done with her. Nae, he wouldn’t let her part from him believing that. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Aye, I got what I wanted, and now I know what it is. ’Tis ye, lass. I should have told ye who I was, what my purpose here was, but I was afraid.”
She looked about to weep all over him. He would have waited while she did. “You?” she laughed instead, the sound hollow and laden with misgivings. “Afraid? Come now, Colin, you can do better than that.”
“I was afraid of losing ye.” He pulled her back when she moved to leave yet again. Was she going to make him grovel at her feet? Hell, he would do that too. “Ferget why I came here, Gillian. Ye changed my heart and made it a better place.”
She looked up at him, clutched in his arms. “You lied to me.”
“ ’Twas the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But nae harm has come from it.”
Again she tried to wrangle free of his hold. “None that you can see.”
Och, hell. He knew he’d hurt her. Gillian needed to trust him, and he’d taken that from her. He would make it up to her if it took him the remainder of his days. “Listen to me, my love.” He took her face in his hands when she veiled her eyes from him. “I’ll never deceive ye again. I know I ask ye a difficult thing when I ask ye to let me be the man in yer life who never lets ye down again. The father Edmund never had.”
His heart sparked with hope at the tears running down her face and he bent his head to kiss her. Her mouth tasted of salt and uncertainty and it broke his heart that he had done this to her.
“I will need more convincing when you return to us,” she whispered when he withdrew.
He smiled, wanting nothing more in life than to spend every day with her. But there was something he needed to do first.
Chapter Thirty-five
James, king of the three kingdoms, sat in his saddle and gave the fortress before him and the surrounding countryside close examination. So, this was where William planned to land his ships. The estuary was large enough to hold an entire fleet. How many men would his nephew bring with him? Would he bring his wife, James’s daughter Mary? Or would she wait to return to England until her father was dead or deposed and the new king sat on the throne?
He shook his head as the roar of the surf blended with the sounds of battle in the castle ahead. If he lived to be sixty, he would never forget the pain of Mary’s betrayal. He knew he should never have married her to a Protestant, relative or not. He thought he could forgive her when proof of William’s intentions to take the throne had been brought to him. But she never answered his letters, and recently, he’d learned that she’d poisoned his youngest daughter Anne against him. He thanked the saints, as he often did, that Davina lived with the MacGregors, far removed from politics and the courtly life. Davina was his true firstborn heir, but she could never rule, especially with a Highlander for a husband. Imagine, a MacGregor ruling England!
Thankfully, James no longer needed Davina, for soon he would have a son to rule in his name. A son he would have to protect from William, and from his enemies in the church. Colin’s last missive naming the bishop as a traitor had been quite disturbing. He would have to mend relations with the Anglicans once this business was over. Thank the saints the French were on his side. The French, and Colin MacGregor.
James smiled in the moonlight, imagining that the screams coming from within the castle belonged to William’s men instead of Lord Devon’s. Soon they would, thanks to his clever general. The king wanted to be here when William land
ed and was met by the Royal Army. He would praise Colin for thinking of it later and offer him the Earldom of Essex for killing William with his own blade. A title would suit Colin, and once James was again secure on the throne, there were going to be many titles made available.
“Jameson,” he sighed, tired of waiting and eager for victory tonight, “go inside and see what keeps General MacGregor from coming to me with news and some heads.”
He watched his escort ride off into the dwindling melee, then startled at a sound to his right.
“D’ye truly think if I was inside, this fight would still be going on? My men are insulting me.”
James grinned at Colin, stepping out of the shadows. He wasn’t offended that the Highlander didn’t offer him the bow he was due. When he met Colin three years ago, the arrogant young warrior had remained stubbornly upright. It had been one of the first things James had liked about him. Thinking of that day and all the days since with Colin at his side filled the king with a measure of regret. With William gone and no longer a threat, Colin’s visits to Whitehall Palace would become less frequent.
“Do you know,” the king said, happy to see him, “you are the only man I have trusted since my brother Charles died?”
“And yers, my lord, was the only trust I truly sought since I left my faither’s home.”
The king nodded, accepting the compliment with grace, and then gave him a careful looking over. “Then tell me why you are not covered in blood and Dartmouth is still unsecured.”
“ ’Tis as good as secure. Devon lays wounded and likely unconscious in his solar, and most of his men are poorly skilled.”
“That doesn’t speak well of our soldiers,” the king snorted.
“Killing takes time.” Colin shrugged, setting his eyes on the castle, their color matching the torchlight that illuminated it on all sides in the darkness.
“How did you know we were coming this night?” James asked him, chilled suddenly by the cool disregard Colin offered the men he’d dined and drunk with for the last month and a half.
