Lord of the Highlands (Highlands #4)
Page 21Because it was his father most of all who’d deluded himself about Will’s injury. He never understood how so much more than his son’s leg had been crushed that day. Hadn’t understood why Will never chose to marry.
Their fortune would’ve found him any number of brides, but it was Will’s pride that kept him alone. He’d not suffer the snickers of a pretty young thing when his back was turned. Or gasps of horror when they saw his crooked flesh.
Pretty young thing. Clenching his eyes shut, he slammed his head back against the warped wood. What was he doing with Felicity?
Traveling with her had become pure torture. Renegade imaginings of the feel of her skin, or the curve of her naked body, had intensified. His fantasies darkening into pure, tor turous lust. He wanted to take her, have her. Bury himself in her.
Her teasing innuendo mocked him. She thought she wanted him. But she didn’t know. She was a pretty young thing indeed, carried away on her whims, taken with the magic and the unreality of the moment.
A pretty young thing who’d surely choose the next strapping Highlander to cross her path. He was sure he’d been chosen by the universe, in some absurd stroke of cruelty, to find Felicity just that: some braw hero to sweep her away. Like James did Magda, or MacColla with his Haley.
But Rollo? Such was not his fate. His fate had been written in this very stall over thirty years past. He was a broken fool who’d best remain alone.
The pretty young thing and The Fool, he thought, reaching for his sporran. Carefully he opened the pouch. Carefully removed the strange and colorful card. He’d secured it away, and it was as clean and unbent as the day he’d peeled it from Felicity’s arm. The Fool.
Him.
The universe didn’t get much clearer than that.
Footsteps sounded at the door of the stable. Swiftly tucking the card away, Rollo marshaled his features into a careful mask.
“Will.” The whispered voice was furtive, hesitant.
Rollo sighed, pulled away from the wall. Peering into the shadows, he knew whom he’d see. The figure was backlit, setting his red hair to a frizzy auburn halo.
“Ormonde.” Will shook his head. “Have you ever in your life made a conventional entrance?”
“But conventions can get so tedious, don’t you agree?” He strode to Will, clapped him on the shoulder. “Now tell me what has you sulking in a dank barn, friend. I’ve spied your woman up at the house. Not getting along with the dearest Lady Rollo, is it?”
“Oho.” Will gave him a small smile. “Is that why you seek me out here? You’re afraid to run into my mother?”
“Jamie’s about?” Will’s tone grew hard. He was instantly on his guard, wondering just what would drive Ormonde to take such a risk. “What could possibly bring you here?”
“I suppose you’d not believe me if I said it was the pleasure of your company?”
Rollo’s eyes narrowed.
“Thought not.” Ormonde plucked a bit of hay from his sleeve, gathering his thoughts. “I need to ask you a favor.”
“A favor.”
“Aye. We need you to travel—”
“I’ll not go back to London,” Will stated simply.
“It would be but a brief stop on your way to Belgium.” Ormonde blunted his words with a smile. “I’ve found a man who’ll take you across the water, to Calais. You’ll need to dress as a fisher—”
“Belgium?”
“Our king is in exile there.”
“I know who’s in Belgium,” Will snapped.
“I’ve been ferrying correspondence between our men in London and Charles II, in Bruges. I’m afraid I can no longer make the trip. You saw firsthand what happened the last time I set foot in England.”
“This is too much, Ormonde. Spy games leave the taste of cowardice in my mouth. I’m a fighting man. I face my enemies in the open. I’ve battled for the King, and would go to battle again. But these intrigues? I am finished with them.”
Both men froze, hearing muffled sounds outside. The low chuff of a horse, an answering whinny.
“Away,” Will hissed. “Quick now.”
He heard boots hit the ground. A man dismounting.
“There’s a door,” Will whispered. “Through there.” Putting a hand to his friend’s shoulder, Rollo pointed to an abandoned tack room at the rear of the stable. “Best not come back.”
With a nod, Ormonde raced away, the dirt and dust of the old corridor swirling in his wake.
Chapter 13
Will walked forward, putting space between him and his friend. He wasn’t surprised when Jamie’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.
“I knew I’d find you in the barn.” Scowling, Jamie used his toe to scrape a chunk of mud from his boot heel. “Still haven’t grown up, have you, Willie?”
“Jamie.” The name echoed cold in the deserted stable.
The last time they’d seen each other, he’d freed Ormonde from under Jamie’s nose. Will imagined his brother had come seeking revenge, though it was audacious of him to appear in broad daylight. Jamie generally preferred skulking about in the shadows.
“I’m surprised you show your face here,” Will said evenly.
“Are you now?” Jamie sauntered down the stable corridor, mindlessly running his fingers along the wall as he approached. “I could say the same of you. ’Tis I who find a parent here, after all. Not you. Mother never could stomach your legs, now, could she?”
Standing erect, Will adjusted his grip on the handle of his cane, poised to fight if necessary. “Is that what you’ve come to say to me? My body’s destroyed and there’s no beast for you to maim, so instead you bait me with taunts of our mother?”
“Oh no, Brother dear. I know you better than that. I know you’re happy torturing your own damn self.” Laughing, he glanced over Will’s shoulder to the end of the barn. “I’ve actually come to make peace,” Jamie continued. “For Mother. Have the Rollo boys be as one once more.”
Will bristled. He edged down the corridor, closer to Jamie and away from Ormonde, hoping his friend had already fled through the tack room door. “Never have we been as one. What is it you really want?”
“You don’t believe me? I even brought your little cane with me. As a peace offering.”
Rollo noticed his cane for the first time—the one he’d abandoned at the Tower—dangling beside Jamie’s sword in the scabbard at his side. He’d had it specially fashioned, secreting a lethally sharp blade within a walking stick, creating a masterpiece among weapons.
His eyes narrowed. Jamie would know what it meant to him. The gesture would not be made without some hidden price.
“Take it then.” Jamie pulled the cane from his side, handed it to Will. “And we can be as brothers again.”
Jamie shrugged. “You wound me, Willie.” He glanced around, scowling, and muttered, “Christ, I don’t know how you can abide this stink. You always did love the fetid confines of the stable yard.”
He brushed the dust from his dun-colored britches as if all were settled. “Come now, Mother awaits.” Pinning Rollo with a searching look, he added, “As does that woman of yours. I saw her, you know.”
Anger erupted, molten steel in his chest. Felicity was off-limits. He’d not have her near his brother. Not have her be even in sight of him.
Will had to protect her, but carefully. If Jamie got even a whiff of jealousy, that would be it. His brother destroyed everything Will had ever cared about. Jamie had maimed his animal: what would he do to Felicity if he got the idea she were his woman?
Will kept his face a careful blank, and so Jamie continued, pressing, “Nicely done, that. She’s a luscious trifle of a thing, with a sweet pair of tits.”
Jamie began to walk back down the corridor, musing aloud. “Though generally I prefer a little more ass on a woman. Something to hold onto.”
Will’s body grew rigid, rage flexing his every muscle. Still. Be still and betray nothing.
“But what I’d like to know is why she’s with you,” Jamie went on. “I can’t help but feel she’s too . . . pretty for you. Where on earth did you find her, and pray tell, why is she with you?”
Will stood, frozen in place. His brother walked ahead, oblivious.
“It must be asked, is the girl a wee bit daft? She’s up there attempting conversation with our half-wit father.”
Will was seething now, imagining all the various ways in which he could murder his brother. He bore both canes now: his favorite, the one which hid his sword, and the one he’d bought as a replacement when he’d thought the other lost to the Tower of London.
He lifted them both from the ground. He’d had years in which to perfect the use of all manner of staves, rods, and walking sticks as weapons. Mapped into his brain were dozens of ways to maim, or to kill. A few swift motions and he could have Jamie cold on the ground.
Lash across the knee. The handle hooks the neck, reaps him down. A strike across the temple finishes it.
Jamie grew still. Enemies they may be, but first they’d been brothers, and brothers knew. He’d have sensed the change in Will, would be poised for his attack.
Will contemplated his brother’s stiffened back, gathering himself. He’d not sink to Jamie’s level. The man was naught more than a swine, and Will refused to roll about in the muck.
Taking a deep breath, he set the tips of his canes back in the dirt. Affecting a cavalier posture he didn’t feel, Will strolled ahead.