The Thistle and the Rose

by May McGoldrick

  Colin lifted his face from hers and looked once into her eyes. The clouds of passion that he saw there answered his unspoken question. Gently burying his face in her neck, he took her earlobe between his teeth and lips. His warm breath surged in her ear, bringing renewed shudders from her frame. Her smell was so fresh, so sweet, so warm and inviting. He traced a line with the tip of his tongue from her neck, along her jaw line, to her waiting lips as he reclaimed her mouth hungrily.

  Colin felt his own discipline crumble as passion ripped through him. He wanted to touch her completely, to feel her, to be inside her. Colin's hand ran the length of her side, rising under her elbow and gently caressing her full, soft breast. Her body responded to his touch, arching against his hand instinctively.

  But even as her body was melting into his, as her mouth yielded up its soft mysteries to his searching tongue, as her hands traced the muscular lines of his shoulders, of his back, something within Celia was alerting her to the line they were about to cross, a line that threatened the security of all who depended on her.

  Within her, a new life was awakening, a life she desired with all of her being, but a life that she also was fearful of embracing.

  Colin's impulse was to unfasten—no, to rip away—the clothes that kept them apart, to crush her skin, her breasts, her thighs beneath his own. Colin wanted to make love to her wildly, without reserve, to enjoy her mounting passions, her crowning ecstasy.

  But something in her resisted his impulse. He sensed this. It was almost a resistance that was growing in spite of her own surging desires.

  Colin paused, looking into her eyes for a sign that would let him sweep away her doubts, her fears, her past. Regardless of what was, Colin wanted this woman to want him now.

  Looking deep into the black sapphires of her eyes, he saw a look that told him...

  Bear's fierce growls had Colin on his feet in an instant, and Celia leapt up beside him. The dog's attention was directed to the crest of the hill overlooking the village. In a moment they could both hear the cries that had alerted the animal.

  “LORD COLIN! LORD COLIN!” the man shouted, running breathlessly into sight. His relief was evident when he saw the laird, but his pace never slackened until he panted up to them.

  “Lord Colin,” he gasped out, looking only at his master. “You must come... to the castle...Runt's been hurt...your guests...attacked!”

  “What guests?” Celia interrupted, her face going white.

  It cannot be, she screamed inwardly. It cannot be.

  “Your son, m'lady. The bairn!”

  Chapter 7

  These days I wander about in a fog, as if I were lost in some endless maze.

  The countryside is now completely deserted. There are no animals. We have slaughtered them all. There are no people. Those who escaped us have fled to the north. Those who did not flee will have no need of their livestock. They dream in another world.

  But who is this woman that is the cause of this nightmare of destruction? Who is this woman and child that we follow?

  “Oh, God! What have I done?”

  “They didn't get to the bairn, m'lady,” the servant continued. “Runt and your uncle stopped them. They're all back in the castle.”

  “How badly is Runt hurt?” Colin demanded, taking Celia by the arm, restraining her. She was edging away from him, pulling hard against his grip, ready to bolt. Colin knew that there would be no holding her back if he let go of her now. He had to somehow keep control until they knew more.

  “I do not know, m'lord. They took him right in.”

  “Take the dog. Go back through the village and get the priest,” Colin commanded, pulling Celia toward the cliffs behind them. “This way, Celia. It's faster.”

  Without any more explanation, Colin swept up the cloak and, gripping Celia's hand, began to run along the bluff toward the castle.

  Celia ran beside him, and the fifty questions shrieking incoherently in her brain shrank in an instant to one guilty thought...she hadn't been there! The knot that had formed in her throat upon hearing the serving man's words sank into her chest—clenching, squeezing her heart with fingers of white hot steel.

  Why wasn't I there? she moaned inwardly. If only I'd been there. Aye, if I'd been there...What would have been different? No, think straight, she told herself. Nothing would have been different. The baby is safe. Thank God they didn't harm him. But what about now? Now that they've found us. Damn them!

  Poor Runt. Hurt doing what I was supposed to do. Please, God, do not let him be hurt badly. Damn them!

  But he will not be the last. They know we're here, and they'll be back. Colin and his people do not know how devious a foe Danvers can be. And this has to be his work, she thought.

  And I cannot tell them what I know.

  And where is Father William? she thought. I've got to get a message to him. We cannot stay here.

  Celia and Colin were now an arrow shot away from the castle's thick outer curtain wall. Celia knew they still would need to go nearly halfway around the great fortress to enter. Suddenly, Colin slowed and moved to the edge of the cliff, working his way through some birch scrubs. Following him, Celia looked down the precipice to the surf crashing on the rocks far below.

  Colin jumped.

  Celia screamed.

  Dropping to her hands and knees, she peered wildly over the edge. There, perched on a narrow ledge nearly a lance-length beneath the apex of the cliff, Colin stood looking up at her.

  “Jump,” he said.

  Celia eyed the space in which she needed to land, and without a moment's hesitation dropped to his waiting arms on the ledge.

  Colin had been ready to coax Celia into lowering herself gradually to where he could reach up and minimize the drop. I should have known, he thought. The woman is fearless, and as lithe as a cat.

  But steadying her slender body, Colin sensed her agitation. He wanted to comfort her, to apologize to her somehow, but this was no time for it. He had a feeling that she probably wouldn't have stood for it anyway.

  Keeping a firm hold on her hand, Colin led Celia a few feet along the ledge, then dropped to his knees and crawled through a low cave opening in the face of the cliff. Celia followed him into the darkness.

  She was still on her knees when Colin struck a flint to a torch, lighting up the narrow cave. As Celia got quickly to her feet, her eyes adjusted, and she saw that the cave forked immediately beyond where Colin was standing.

  These tunnels must lead to the castle, she thought. Colin wouldn't have taken me this way otherwise. As they had gotten closer, as she had felt her heart pump with the exertion of the run, Celia had felt a sense of—what was it? – calm? trust? confidence that all would be well? Perhaps, she thought, but how safe is a castle with open caves for tunnels. Before he could turn down the right hand tunnel, the one that would lead in the direction of the castle, Celia put her hand on the warrior's arm.

  “Is this how you got into my room...the night you arrived home?”

  “Aye, through the caves and passages that lead under the castle.”

  “You mean anyone could come through them?” Celia knew what the answer was, but she needed to hear Colin say it.

  “Nay, Celia. Only the most trusted members of the household know about them, and even those people know only the way into the kitchens.”

  Colin understood why she was asking this. He knew he was responsible for their safety while they were guests in his home. What was worse, Celia had come to Kildalton seeking protection for herself...for her bairn. “I will not allow anyone else to harm you for as long as you stay at Kildalton Castle. I do not know what happened today, but I promise you, it will not happen again.”

  Even in the darkness of the cave, Celia could sense the intensity of his voice, his expression. She felt her heart warm at Colin's concern and at his promise. If she could only tell him the truth. Celia could see he was holding himself accountable for the attack.

  Celia slipped her arms around hi
s waist, hugging him fiercely and quickly releasing him.

  “I know that, Colin.”

  Colin peered at Celia in the semi-darkness. He was so surprised and moved by her simple show of affection that he hardly knew how to respond to it. For the first time since they'd met, Colin felt that she was displaying some kind of trust in him. He was not going to let this slip away. Turning, he moved rapidly down the passageway, with Celia on his heels.

  As Celia followed Colin, she noted that the cave walls quickly gave way to hand-hewn tunnels. In a few short minutes the tunnel split into three passages that had walls made of stone blocks, then split into three more that looked exactly the same. Suddenly Colin stopped and pushed at a section of wall, revealing—to Celia's amazement—a low opening into which the warrior ducked.

  Celia followed and found herself standing in a corner of the castle's great kitchen, shielded from the vast work area by a huge stone baking oven.

  A group of the kitchen workers stood huddled by a doorway that Colin and Celia crossed to. When the giant warrior was spotted, a babble of voices erupted, but the two passed quickly through into the South Hall.

  At the far end of the hall, a crowd gathered around one of the long tables.

  “What the devil happened?” Colin boomed, drawing the attention of startled faces in his and Celia's direction. Inside the opening circle of warriors, Celia could see Ellen sitting beside Runt and holding the baby tight to her breast. Lord Hugh, Alec, and Edmund stood beside them, and Agnes had her helpers scurrying back and forth with bandages. Runt's shoulder was wrapped, but still obviously bleeding. His face was pale, but he showed no other signs of the pain Celia knew he must be feeling.

  Celia went directly to Ellen, who stood and embraced her mistress. It was obvious that Ellen was greatly relieved to see her. Celia gently received the sleeping Kit.

  “They never touched him, m'lady,” Ellen whispered. Celia nodded, holding the baby tightly to her, as an overwhelming sense of relief washed over her. She glanced at the tired, grim-faced Edmund, who tried to smile at her. His look told her that they needed to talk.

  “Colin,” Lord Hugh responded. “I'm glad you're here.”

  “How could this happen?” Colin asked angrily, leaning over Runt and gently pulling away the dressing. The weapon had pierced the right side of Runt's chest, below the shoulder blade. From the narrow length of the wound, Colin figured Runt had been stabbed with a dirk, or a short sword. But whatever it was, the weapon had been thrust straight through, missing the vital organs.

  Aye, Runt should live if Agnes can get the wound to heal cleanly, Colin thought.

  “The bastards were waiting for them,” Hugh said bitterly.

  “Who were they, Father? Where did this happen?”

  “We were walking back from watching the master work the new falcons, Lord Colin,” Runt answered. Celia thought his voice sounded strong. “There were four of them hidden in the tall wood glade by the path to the mews. A lot of the staff went down to watch, so there were a number of our folk around.”

  Runt paused, clearly amazed at the assailants' boldness, and Lord Hugh took over.

  “Ellen and the bairn were walking back with Edmund and this young warrior, here, when this pack of wolves sneaked up from behind.”

  “Sir Edmund killed one right off,” Runt went on. “While he was fighting a second one, the other two went right after Ellen and Kit.”

  He turned his head to Celia. “They aimed to hurt the bairn, m'lady...I'm sure of it. They were looking right past me at him. If I'd been armed with more than my dagger, we'd have killed them all, though.”

  Celia felt her blood boil. Aye, she would have enjoyed killing the would-be assassins herself.

  “Easy does it, Runt,” Agnes commanded gently, replacing a blood-soaked dressing with a clean one. “You'll not stop bleeding, if you do not sit still.”

  “Runt took the sword in the shoulder and still managed to knock the two clear of Ellen,” Hugh said proudly. “Edmund finished off all but one, who ran across the moor.”

  “Did you get him?” Colin growled menacingly. “I'd like to...talk...to him.”

  “Nay, they had a boat and a crew waiting for them,” Hugh finished in frustration. “There was no time to get a boat out after them. They'd planned the whole thing out, including their escape.”

  “Who were these cowards?” Colin asked, glancing fiercely about. “Were they English?”

  “They wore kilts,” Runt answered. “But no plaid, and no sign of any clan.”

  “They were not English, nor Lowlanders,” Edmund said with finality. “Their weapons and the way they fought were definitely Highlander.” Edmund had spent most of his life training fighters. These men relied on strength over speed and were more willing to take a blow than avoid it. These were Highlander traits. They may have sold their souls to the devil himself, but they still owed their fighting style to the land that spawned them.

  “I want to see them,” Colin demanded. “Where are the bodies? I want to know where these gutless dogs came from.”

  Celia looked at the warrior before her. Despite his fierce anger and hard expression, Colin was in total control, and she could see his fighters already heading back toward the kitchens. She knew that he would do what was necessary to protect those who depended on him, but she also knew that she could not endanger these people any longer.

  “If you'll excuse us,” Celia interjected quietly, not wanting to interfere, “we'll be going up now.”

  Celia handed the baby back to Ellen and, leaning over Runt, kissed him on the forehead.

  “You did a great thing today,” she whispered. “More than you know. Thank you.”

  Runt nodded, and his eyes quickly found Ellen's.

  Celia took Kit back from Ellen and turned to leave the hall. As she did, she was startled to feel Colin's huge hand on her arm. Celia stopped and looked at him towering above her, surprised at the openness of his action.

  “I'll look in on you later,” Colin said, his eyes warm with affection, engaging hers. “I haven't even had a chance to meet this little fellow yet.” Colin's gaze dropped to the sleeping child in Celia's arms for a moment. A strange stirring occurred in the giant as he looked into the innocent face, snuggled so peacefully in the mother’s arms.

  The hush that fell over the room penetrated their momentary isolation. Colin was the first to recover, and his face darkened with seriousness as he continued. “Also, for the time being, I do not want you going outside the castle unescorted.”

  “That will not be necessary. I can—”

  “Celia, no arguments,” Colin commanded, his fierce scowl leaving little room for discussion.

  Celia paused, then nodded in agreement, and moments later left the hall with Edmund and Ellen trailing behind.

  When they reached the upstairs, Ellen took the sleeping baby into her room. Edmund stood by one of the windows of Celia's room, waiting for Celia to close the adjoining door.

  “We have to leave, Edmund,” Celia said, pacing her room with the energy of a caged tiger. “We cannot stay here now.”

  “I know, lass. But if we leave right now, we could be playing into their hands, whoever they are. That could be exactly what they want.”

  “Are you certain they weren't Danvers's men, Edmund?” Celia asked,

  “Nay, Celia, they were not,” he answered. “They were definitely Highland fighters.”

  “Then we have more enemies than we thought. Who would have put them up to it?” Celia asked. “Do you think it could be the queen?”

  Edmund's brow furrowed. “Highlanders working for the queen? It would truly have to serve their interests immensely for them to deal with her.”

  “She could reward them well,” Celia said. “And she's still the queen, even if she is the English king's sister. Until the coronation, she's still a power to be reckoned with.”

  “Aye, but we're talking about killing, here. And she wouldn't go so far, even with her English blood
.” Edmund was certain of that.

  “Then who's left?” Celia's frustration was growing.

  “I do not know,” her uncle responded. “Although I wish we could somehow communicate with the earl of Huntly about this. I know he wasn't expecting this. He’d only considered the English as a threat to us. I know he thought the Western Highlands would be far enough away. But he must be nearly finished with his business at court.”

  “Why can't we just go to Argyll now?” Celia blurted out. In her head she knew that leaving Kildalton Castle right now was probably not the best of plans. But with so many things pulling at her, Celia simply could not sit still. She was not built for waiting. “Edmund, I'm worried for these people. I want Kit to be safe, but I do not want to see anyone else hurt. These people are building something good here, and I'd hate to see the plots and the destruction that are following us ruin innocent lives.”

  “That's another reason I wish we could contact Huntly,” Edmund said. “If he'd known where Colin Campbell stands and what he's doing here, he would have chosen him to help us rather than Argyll. Not that I have doubts about Argyll, but Colin is a driver. He would have been involved at every stage. And he would have taken a personal interest in Huntly's plans. They're the same type of man. Colin sees his successes here as a model for the rest of Scotland.”

  “And these people are not isolated from Scotland's turmoil,” Edmund continued. “The Campbells see clearly what is going on around them, but their vision extends beyond that. They'll protect the present, and prosper by it, but they also plan for the future. They are true survivors. What happened at Caithness Hall will not happen here. Colin will not allow it.”

  “But unless Huntly agrees,” Celia said with resignation. “We cannot confide in them, can we?”

  “Nay, we cannot,” Edmund agreed. It was the earl of Huntly's game they were playing. It was his call to make. “We must continue as planned. We will know Huntly's plans when he arrives there just after Easter. But we need to be at Argyll for that.”