A Highlander for Christmas (10 page)

He turned and reached for the wine cask. While his back was to her she let out a silent breath of relief and sat up. Now to get him talking. He enjoyed talking about himself, didn’t he? He must.

“Tell me of your home, my lord. I know it is close to Eden Place but I’ve never seen it.”

“It’s three times the size of Eden, which, by the way, is ours, you know.” He held out a cup with deep red wine.

“Ours?” She felt genuine surprise. “How can that be?” Ruck was the eldest son and should inherit any estate her father had left behind.

He tilted his head in that strange way as his lips curved up in a joker’s smile. “When I paid off your father’s debts I bought it. It was part of our agreement, you and Eden. Your family is free to live there, provided you mean what you say.” His voice turned deadly.

Juliet changed the topic, not able to think about her family right now. “And your home. Are you there often or do you also enjoy a townhome in London? You mentioned balls. Do you enjoy the season, my lord?”

He chuckled and a deep shiver went down her spine that she tried to disguise by turning onto her right hip on the furs. “I have little use for balls or soirees. Parliament, though…I am”—his narrow chest puffed out—“one of the most influential members of Parliament.”

Juliet smiled. “I couldn’t doubt it.”

He turned toward her, a quirk in his brow. “Couldn’t you?” He smirked. “You were trying to run off not an hour ago.”

She bit down on her tongue. She mustn’t overplay this hand. She looked down, averting her eyes. “I was afraid.” Her voice was low and deep.

“Afraid of me?” He sounded offended by it.

“My lord, you forget I am only twenty and not used to such…powerful figures as yourself.” She thought quickly of Iain and hurried on. “The MacLeon was more my brother’s idea than mine, and the Scotsman didn’t even wake from the laudanum Ruck gave him until we were nearly at the church.”

“I don’t believe it!” He said the words but sounded pleased at the same time, as if he did believe it.

Emboldened, Juliet looked up and nodded. “It’s true. We panicked, Ruck and I, not knowing you. Pray forgive us. Let us start anew.”

“Anew?” His eyes took on a confused and yet intrigued light.

Juliet nodded. “A church wedding, as is proper. As you know, nothing has happened between the MacLeon and I. I’d have our lives start out as the church commands: blessed by the church, for our future and our future children.” She glanced down at the furs and said low, with conviction, “Not with violence to be punished by God.”

There. She had used an argument that he could not contend against. Like any good Catholic, Lord Malcolm might only fear one thing—the church and its laws and superstitions. She had come as close as she could to saying that if he forced her, God might punish him with a life without an heir.

She looked up to see him sipping his wine and giving her that long and uncomfortable stare.

Suddenly he threw back his head and roared with laughter. With one giant gulp he drained his cup and threw it aside. As if time were suspended, she watched the cup roll through the grass, her heartbeat speeding and speeding and roaring in her ears, like a pot coming to full boil and then boiling over.

Dear God, she’d failed.

The knowledge slammed into her as fast as he did. He rose onto his knees and lunged toward her, too quick for her to move.

She screamed as he fell on her. “Nice try, my pretty little conniving wench.” He grasped her hair and forced her head up toward his. Her gaze locked on his crazed one. She screamed again but not very loud as her throat was frozen in terror.

Chapter Ten

I
ain heard the scream and knew he couldn’t wait a second longer. He was crouched just outside the tent and knew his wife was in there with Malcolm. Where were those men with the distraction? He was going to have to go in alone and risk the plan coming apart at the seams.

Just as he rose from his squatted position, the sounds of horses whinnying and loud snorting sounded into the quiet of the night. He looked up and saw the shadow of one of their men untying a lead and pushing the horse toward the campsite. Thank God, it was beginning.

He looked expectantly at the tent where Malcolm held his wife, but the man wasn’t coming out to investigate. Other men in the camp were beginning to note the problem, however, and rousing themselves. A sudden shout went up and then several other men rushed to the center of the camp. Pistols and muskets were being loaded, but still no one seemed to be overly panicking.

He was going to have to do something…now.

Raising his pistol, he aimed toward the farthest wooden pole that held up the tent. It was dark and he was breathing heavily but he had to hit the pole; there was no room for error. He squinted down the sight on the barrel and pulled the trigger.

Smoke choked from the pistol, making it impossible to see if he’d hit it for a second or two, and then he heard a snap, a flapping of the tent side collapsing and a bellow of rage from inside the tent.

Malcolm came rushing from the entrance, one hand holding his neck, blood rushing from it. Had Juliet done that? He remembered the knife and grinned.

Malcolm started roaring demands. Iain could just make out the fact that his pants were unbuttoned. His stomach rolled. He was going to be sick…or worse, strangle the man in cold blood.

I want him alive,
the sheriff had said. It was the only thing keeping Iain from leaping out and attacking him that very instant.

Stick to the plan.

The words roared inside his head, but his body strained to leave the cover of the brush and rush to his bride.

He watched with held breath as Malcolm marched toward the commotion of the stamping, running horses and his men, spinning around, looking for the cause in the darkness. As soon as Malcolm reached the campfire, Iain took a deep breath, the first in minutes, and pushed gently out of the brush to pad across the short distance of grass to the tent’s entrance.

He pushed back the flap and rushed inside. “Juliet?” The tent was dark and half fallen in. He heard a sob and then felt her press into his arms. She was trembling from head to toe and held a bloody knife in her hand.

He squeezed her tight to him and whispered, “You stabbed him?”

She nodded against his chest, a sob escaping.

“Shhhh, it’s all right now. Let’s go.” He took the knife from her, wiped it in the grass, shoved it in his belt and took her hand. He opened the tent flap a little and peered out, listening. The commotion had been joined by the musket shots. “Stay down,” he instructed Juliet.

Crouching, they crept from the tent back toward the hiding place where Iain had been. Once behind the thick cover of branches, they stopped for breath. Iain turned to assess the situation. Malcolm was leading his men toward the hill and stream, looking for the sheriff’s men. Out of the corner of his eye Iain saw a dash of white and realized that Malcolm had sent one of his men back to the tent to guard Juliet. He motioned for Juliet to get farther down as the man ran into the tent and then out again. He would rush to tell Malcolm, and Iain couldn’t let that happen.

Leaning across the top of one dense bush, he pulled his pistol forth and stretched it toward the man. A sound of a blast came from their right side before he could take aim. The man fell to the ground. Darting around, Iain saw the sheriff perched on a small cliff just across on their right side. With a wave the sheriff let Iain know that he had been watching and that he knew Juliet was with him. He’d been covering them all along. Iain took a deep breath of relief and sank down next to his bride.

“Juliet, listen carefully.” He gently took her face into his hands and turned it toward him. Her eyes were wide with shock and full of tears. “Shhhh, my sweet, ’tis going to be all right, you know.”

She shook her head. “What do we do? There are so many of them.”

“I’m here with the sheriff from Gretna Green and a dozen militia. We can win this fight.” He squeezed her shoulder and pointed downhill, away from the camp, where they had first ridden in. “See that stream? We’re going to follow it back toward the road to Gretna Green. About two leagues is our camp; it’s hidden in the hallows of those foothills.

“You can’t send me there alone.” She clutched his arm with a desperation he’d never seen in her. Had Malcolm succeeded before she stabbed him? Just the thought made him want to retch, but now was not the time to ask.

“Nay, lass. I will take you there.”

He took her hand and pulled her behind him down into the valley along the stream, shots still ringing out behind them.

Dark, shadowy clouds moved with the wind, the moonlight coming and going, glistening over the stream as they rushed, their breath thick and heavy in the still night, away from the scene. As soon as they were far enough away to no longer hear the blasts of shots, Iain pulled Juliet to the side, to a large, flat stone and bade her sit down and catch her breath.

“But should we stop?” She was holding her side and he knew she had a stitch there.

“Just for a moment.”

She gulped air and nodded. When she’d caught her breath enough to talk, she rushed out all the questions she must have been thinking. “What’s to happen? Did the blacksmith survive? I feel so horrible.” She looked up at him with pain-stricken eyes, her skin luminous in the sharp light. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Aye.” Iain looked briefly away and wiped a hand over his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “The sheriff and the militia came to our aid because of the blacksmith’s death. They mean to see Lord Malcolm hang for it, though I don’t know that they have the power to hold him here in Scotland.”

“So it’s the blacksmith’s death that could save us.” She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “It’s not fair. I just… Ruck and I… Is Ruck with them?”

Iain squatted down in front of her and took her hand. “We ordered him to stay behind at the camp and hold it against any that might come by and discover us. He wasnae too happy about it, I can tell you. But if he’s obeyed me, then he is safe.”

“Pray God he listened.”

“Are you rested, then?” Iain pulled her up and into his arms, looking down into her face, her hair a disarray of long, dark tresses around her shoulders.

“Aye.” She’d taken his way of saying “yes.”

He wanted to ask what had happened with Malcolm, could hardly stop the questions from escaping his lips, but if she told him something he couldn’t bear, he didn’t think he would be able to stick with the plan. He would send her back to their camp alone and turn back, go and slit the throat of Lord Malcolm. He shuddered with the thought of it.

“MacLeon!” A whispered shout stopped him. He turned and reached for his pistol and then shoved Juliet behind him. They both turned toward the voice.

“Don’t shoot, for goodness’ sake!” Her brother came from behind a thick tree with his hands up. “It’s just me.”

“Ruck!” Juliet pushed away from Iain with a desperate sound coming from her throat and ran to her brother, throwing her arms around him and nearly knocking him to the ground.

Iain ran after her. What was the lad doing so far from their camp?

He answered Iain’s unspoken question as soon as Iain was upon them. “There was no one around for so long I determined the camp didn’t need minded after all.”

“Orders are not to be disobeyed, nor determined by your own judgment of the situation,” Iain said, his gaze sweeping the horizon for danger.

Ruck nodded and shrugged. “I suppose so, but I thought you might need me.”

He seemed so genuine, so young and eager, that Iain didn’t have the heart to upbraid him more.
Dear Lord, is this what it is going to be like? Having a younger brother?
He found there was already a special place carved out in his heart for the lad. A protective place, a fatherly place, a place that would grow and later also be there for his sons.

“I do need you,” Iain stated in a grave voice. He pulled out the knife that he had given to Juliet and handed it over to Ruck, hilt side out. “Take your sister back to the camp and hide her.” When Ruck started to protest, Iain took a step toward him and looked down at him with all the seriousness he had. “I would trust no one aside from myself the task. ’Tis as dangerous a mission as mine. They came for one thing and will want one thing if they overcome us. Juliet.”

Ruck’s face took on the gravity of the situation. “Do you fear defeat?”

“Nay, never fear it. Plan for it, aye. If we do not return…” He turned to Juliet and promised with deep conviction, “I will return.” To Ruck he finished, “If we do not return you must take Juliet to my home in the highlands. You must tell them what happened. They will protect you.”

“But how will I know the way?” Ruck asked.

Iain took strip of leather from his belt, where it hung ready to tie something to it. Next, he took a heavy gold ring from his finger, strung it onto the lace and tied the ends together. He turned toward Juliet and placed it around her neck, slipping the ring inside her bodice where it couldn’t be seen. “The MacLeon seal is engraved on the ring. It will keep you safe in Scotland and provide guidance.”

“But Iain…” Juliet reached toward him.

He took her by the shoulders and brought her close, looking down into her lovely brown eyes. “I told you I would come for you and I came for you. I tell you now I will be return. Faith…not fear, wife.”

He felt her stand straighter as an inner resolve struck her backbone. She nodded and reached up on tiptoes to kiss him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Ruck had turned away, which made him smile as he leaned down and kissed her back. His mouth moved over hers, tasting her, remembering her soft lips.

It was their first kiss as husband and wife and he vowed it wouldn’t be the last.

Chapter Eleven

J
uliet reminded herself several times over the next hour to have faith. She realized, sitting in the dark next to her brother, sheltered by an outcropping of moss-covered rock, that there might be many times in the coming years when Iain would have to leave for battle. Her father had never had to do such a thing that she could remember, so it wasn’t something she had watched her mother endure. She looked over at Ruck and knew that he too might have to go and fight for king and country some day. He was almost of an age to join a British militia, and he looked eager for it. It was the duty of the women to stay behind, keep the household running and hope and pray for their men to return alive. For her there would be a clan of other women and children left behind to keep at peace, to reassure, to comfort when things went wrong. As she looked ahead toward her future she saw that she was going to be a leader, whether she liked it or not.