Lord of the Highlands

“Beg pardon,” Jamie said in mock innocence. Though he knew he should proceed with caution, this little meeting had him feeling decidedly testy. “But we no longer call Charles II king, correct?”

“Spare me the academics.” Richard’s lip twitched in a petulant grimace. The man was silent for a moment, presumably deliberate, the intention for Jamie to feel his wrath. But Jamie found it had quite the opposite effect, almost comic.

Weak-chinned buffoon.

All had heard of Oliver’s attempts to discipline Richard, to train him, hammer a backbone into the man. But Oliver could lay in his deathbed and call his son a leader, and still it wouldn’t make him one.

“As I was saying, the death of my father gives these Royalists fresh hope. The people have gotten the idea they need”—he scowled—“representation in the Parliament. More and more rally each day to restore the King.”

“Englishmen do love their monarchs,” Jamie muttered. I could always flee to France. Escape the wrath of a restored king, should this half-wit fail.

“But I’d have the people love me.”

Or I could find myself an exotic whore and wait this out in the Indies. Jamie could barely conceal his disdain. “It’s not the people whose love you require. As I understand it, you’re finding few friends among the military.”

“And that’s where you come in, Rollo.” Cromwell’s eyes narrowed, and Jamie wondered where in hell this could be going. “If I were to bring down this secret Sealed Knot group, it would do much to earn confidence. Ormonde is a member, and it seems your own brother must be too. Both men were in our hands, and both you lost.”

My damned brother. Always it comes back to damned Willie. “It wasn’t my brother who was imprisoned. It was his woman.”

“Beside the point. I don’t understand why my father put up with you.” Richard shook his head as if disappointed in a willful child. “You were asked to keep a handle on Ormonde. He escaped on your watch, and now he ferries back and forth, easy as you please, carrying letters to and from Charles as if he were a goddamned pigeon.”

Jamie had to look away. He refused to suffer such scolding. Richard had been ineffectual when he was merely Cromwell’s third son, and Jamie couldn’t imagine he’d be any more capable now.

He glimpsed Richard’s lizard smile out of the corner of his eyes. The man thought he’d scored a victory, and it made Jamie’s blood boil.

“What’s important to you?” Richard pressed. “Because if it’s advancement, I suggest you do what you can to squash these Royalists. Retrieve your brother, retrieve Ormonde, get a handle on these things which have spun out of your control.”

Out of my control?

Jamie wondered about true leaders and what special quality it was that sparked fear in the hearts of their men. For though Richard was giving him a talking-to, Jamie couldn’t muster enough respect even to look the man directly in the eye.

“Your father doubted neither my commitment nor my abilities,” Jamie said coldly. No man, not even this fool, will doubt my abilities ever again. “I will do these things for you. I will bring you my brother.”

“Yes, you will.” Richard flicked his hair. “As I’ve said, his head will suffice.”

Chapter 27

“Don’t get me wrong.” Felicity adjusted herself on the thick blanket they were using in lieu of a saddle. When the Roman road ended and they’d emerged from the woods, Will left her to rest, and he returned having somehow procured a horse.

“I’m very happy to be off my feet.” She wriggled those feet, stretching her sore calves. “And,” she added, nestling her rump back along his belly, “I’m totally loving this riding with you thing.” And boy, was she. Being safely encased in the hard muscle of Will’s arms and legs was pure, delicious heaven. “But it seems to me you can’t just take someone’s horse.”

“ ’Twas borrowed from a Campbell. Believe me, love, the Campbells have coin enough for an entire herd of horses, straight from Arabia if they wished it.”

“Yeah . . .” she said hesitantly. She didn’t think she’d ever really get all the various clans and the seemingly irrational hatred some of them bore each other. “But it’s still stealing.”

“Then would that I could have stolen two.”

“Wouldn’t that just be twice as bad?”

He sighed deeply.

“What did that mean?” She reached back and nudged him with her elbow.

“It means you have much to learn about the ways of the Highlands.”

“Are you saying I’ll be staying?”

“You know I’m not.” He hugged his arms snugly around her belly in an effort to take the sting from his words.

“You’ll see. You’ll decide to let me stay.” She took one of his hands from her belly and brought it to her breast. “How’s about we take a little break so I can try to convince you again?” She wriggled her hips, grinding back in an attempt to rouse him.

“Och, woman.” Will nuzzled her from behind, trailing lingering kisses and nibbles along her neck. He gave her breast a gentle squeeze. “Would that we had time. But there’s no rest for us now.”

Her neck was cool as he pulled from her to take in the wide-open glen around them. The riding was slow going now, headed uphill.

“They’ll be after us,” he said. “We cannot risk getting caught. I imagine we’ll have riled my brother,” Will added with a low chuckle.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve told you. To Cameron country, to return you home.”

“Will we be safe there?” She still hadn’t gotten over the shock of being kidnapped, or of witnessing men go at each other so savagely. Though she wanted to remain with Will, her strong preference would be to stay clear of men with swords.

And ministers too, now that she thought about it.

“That’s the point of this exercise, love. I’d not have you anywhere that’s not safe.”

She leaned her head back, flush with the feeling of being loved, of being so cared for and protected, and in such a very literal way.

“I’ve got to know,” she heard herself ask. “Have you ever been in love?”

“As I also must know,” he replied quickly, “has anyone ever told you, you ask too many questions?”

“It’s the mark of an intelligent woman.”

“Oh indeed?”

“Yup. Come on, just tell me. You know I won’t let you rest until you answer me.”

If Felicity had thought about it beforehand, she probably would’ve been too nervous to ask such a thing. But now that the question was out there, she had to know the answer. Reaching her hand back to tousle his head, she tried to lighten the moment by telling him in a seductive snarl, “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

He was silent. Completely silent and still at her back. Just when Felicity thought she’d asked a question she maybe didn’t want the answer to, Will spoke.

“No,” he told her quietly. “You are the first. And the last.”

A part of her had known. And though something deep down had sensed how new, how novel, Will’s feelings were to him, his words resonated through her. She let them hang, stabbing her, leaving her unexpectedly gutted, and sad.

It felt like such a tremendous loss. She couldn’t bring herself to understand it. How could she have made such an extraordinary journey, come all this way to find love with this one man, only to have to say good-bye? She couldn’t accept that it was happening, that she would be leaving him.

They rode to the top of the slow- rising hill. Will pulled their horse to a halt and loosened the reins, letting him lower his head to graze. The animal’s coat was lightly damp from exertion, and it gave a twitch and shiver from the gentle breeze that swept the hilltop.

The Highlands rolled out before them. Uneven, tangled greens here, but rock there, gray and lifeless and ragged. Water like indigo glass stretched toward the horizon. There was the distant honking of geese, but an utter quiet also overwhelmed them, like the sound of stone and still water.

The view took her breath away. And it put a picture to all the emotions roiling in her. The not quite desolation, not quite loneliness that clutched at the edges of her heart.

She needed to hear his voice, and so with a nod to a far hill asked, “Is that where we’re going?”

“No, love.” He gathered the reins, and the horse tossed his head in protest. Will felt Felicity’s sudden melancholy like a winter rain. Though it was something he’d known was on the horizon, still it chilled him, stole something from his heart. “We’ve a long journey yet.”

Will needed only to think about moving to push his horse into a walk. He’d always felt at home on horseback. He was a cavalryman; he believed he’d been born thus.

Then the accident had happened, and great beasts like this one had become for him the strong legs he lacked. Many horses, just like this one, saving him in battle.

He let his mind drift, thinking on all those moments in his life when he’d cheated death. As a seven-year-old crushed by a pony. As a man lying broken and bleeding on the battlefield.

It had been Ormonde who’d helped him that day, when he’d been shot on the field at Philiphaugh. Ormonde had pulled him from a puddle of his own blood. Taken him to safety.

He’d been fighting by James Graham’s side. Will’s mind touched on his beloved friend and comrade. Graham was out there somewhere, with his Magda and a cottage full of daughters.

And now Will found himself again owing Ormonde. Will was indebted to him and Ormonde’s Sealed Knot men, and never did he turn his back on his friends. Never did Will forget an obligation.

Soon he would let Felicity go and would let his life be forfeit for the restoration of a king.

But first they needed to ride. Rough, hilly riding, until they reached Lochaber. He felt exposed on these open Highland passes and would feel this nagging danger at their backs until they found themselves safe on Cameron land. Until Felicity was safely returned home. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">