A Highlander for Christmas (44 page)

“The gray trousers. They were your mother’s favorite, God rest her soul. And along with them the Fair Isle sweater that was your gift. And my ugliest brown shoes. The ones with the broken laces.”

Anyone could have known
, she told herself. Whoever had seen him leave or had been with him on that final flight. But her heart began a noisy, painful pounding. “Then why—”

“I’ve no more time for questions.” Across the line Maggie heard the low moan of a siren. “You’ve got to hide, Maggie. I’m onto two of them, and soon I’ll have the whole dirty network. I’ll contact you when it’s all over. Until then, go somewhere lonely. Use a different name and spend only cash. No credit cards that can be traced.”

“But when—”

“Just listen,” the voice said angrily. All the easygoing charm was gone now, stripped away from a voice of steel. “Do as I say. That Scotsman of yours ought to know someplace safe.”

He knew about Jared, too? “How did you know—”

“No time, little peach. There never was, was there? I was always coming or going. All my fault. I’ll make it up to you. But—go.”

~ ~ ~

Past the framed portraits.

Past the polished silver armor.

Maggie walked blindly, aware of all the questions that could no longer be silenced. Why was her father doing this? Why had he allowed her to think he was dead all these months?

The memories came then. Her mother at Christmas, crying with shock and pleasure at a necklace of pink pearls that Daniel had made. Her father performing his only magic trick, laughing while he made a cabochon emerald disappear into his fist, then emerge from Maggie’s ear.

Don’t go, Daddy.

Not long, little peach. Not long at all this time.

Voices came from the corridor, low and tense. Jared and Nicholas, she realized.

“There you are, Maggie. Nicholas was just telling me something, and you ought to hear it too.”

Dimly she heard Jared’s voice, felt his hand at her shoulder. “He called,” she whispered. “He said we were in danger.”

“Who called?”

Go away, Maggie. Go today, as soon as you put down this phone.

“My father. At least he said he was my father.” Her hands were shaking and her throat felt tight. “And heaven help me, I believe him.”

She felt the wall behind her, the cold wood of the desk beneath one hand. Suddenly there were different sounds.

Horses, Maggie thought. Black horses with long manes tossed back in the wind. She heard their angry gait, and she might even have heard the thunder that roared above them.

Or was it the lash of muskets?

Then gray bled over her vision, and she was falling toward the floor.

~ ~ ~

North they had taken her, north where treeless hills rolled down to meet a leaden sea.

At a thatched roof cottage above the loneliest hill they halted. Their leader freed her hands carefully and helped her down.

“What cause have you for care or comfort now?” she demanded as soon as her mouth was freed. “Your courtesies come too late after the battering I’ve had for two days.”

“’Twas never meant to harm you, my lady. Only to see you brought here safely.”

“Pray forgive me if I have my doubts.” She tried for the icy hauteur her titled father had taught her well, ignoring the bits of grass and twigs clinging to her hair. “A fine establishment. No doubt I shall be delightfully comfortable here.”

Something played in the man’s eyes. Humor, she thought.

“I await you, my lady.” He gestured her forward.

She caught her cloak about her and moved forward, stumbling after so long on horseback. Then the door was thrown open before her. A single candle burned behind, outlining a tall shape.

The candle cast golden light on high cheeks and chiseled nose.

Her heart twisted and pitched in her chest. “No,” she whispered.

“You knew me full well last year in Venice, my lady. “His voice bore the soft, rolling lilt of the Gaelic Isles, but his eyes were filled with wickedness itself.

“It can’t be.” She stood, wavering, her vision blurred with tears. “I do not believe what I see.”

“Believe,” he said huskily.

Then she was caught up in hands that were infinitely gentle.

“Do not look away from me. The vows we made in Venice before God are not to be so easily broken, my sweet Gwynna.”

“But how did you find me? When my father came to take me home there was no time. He swept me away before I could send you any word.”

“I have my ears,” the man who was her husband said. “And many eyes in England.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her heart seemed to slip in her chest. “You’ve found me,” she whispered. “I did not hope for such a miracle.”

“For you I’ll work miracles and more. But I am not your lord, Gwynna. Only your husband. And I would claim your rare skill for my country’s use now.”

~ ~ ~

As Jared fought her angry fingers, he picked up bits of broken words, and among them was the name Gwynna. With his hands on hers, the images flowed past, racing through her dreaming mind. With them came her terror and all her pain.

Had the past waited here for them, restless within the abbey’s silent walls? If so, was this a final chance to bring their sadness to an end?

He felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “You’d better go, Jared. I’ve spoken to Marston, and you’re to borrow his friend’s car, since it’s less likely to be spotted. Take the back road through the south wood, so you can avoid the drive. No doubt they’ll have it watched.”

Jared was glad for the cool, clear instructions. His own mind moved like a clock filled with rust. “We will. And thank you.”

“It’s for me to thank
you
.” Nicholas looked down at Maggie. “Take care of her. In some way she feels familiar … like my own family.”

~ ~ ~

They were halfway to
Tunbridge
when Maggie came awake in a rush of movement, one hand to the window and the other flung wide.

Jared ducked with a curse and barely hitting an overloaded lorry. “Careful, my love. You’ll have us both in a ditch.”

She blinked. “Jared? Where are we going?”

“There’s been a change of plan.” Without taking his gaze from the road, he found her hand and linked his fingers tightly with hers. “They’ve insisted that Nicholas bring you to London for questioning.”

“And they’d do more than talk, judging by your face.”

“It’s likely that it would be unpleasant. So they won’t find us, not for a while at least.”

“I never meant for you to be dragged in like this,” she whispered.

“Hush.” It was soft, but it was an order just the same. His smile returned as he wove deftly past an a school bus and two dairy vans. “There’s a box behind you that comes courtesy of Marston. Take out everything inside it.” There was the faintest lift to Jared’s lips. “Then you will kindly put them on.”

~ ~ ~

Twenty minutes later it was done.

Maggie’s face was hidden beneath a layer of white greasepaint, with two bright red circles at her cheeks. Her hair was caught up beneath a wig of carrot-red yarn, and Jared’s change was completed soon after.

An hour later when he slowed for a roundabout near Elstow in Bedfordshire, Jared noticed two police officers watching the flow of traffic, checking each car and its occupants against a photograph. No one looked twice at the car with the Elite Party Service sign. Nor did the officers pay the slightest heed to the smiling Raggedy Ann and Andy who waved from the front seat.

Hills of green bordered the twisting road. Fading sunlight brushed ruined castles and the walls of medieval abbeys. Mist crept over the wooded valleys as Jared left the main roads and wound north toward the Border country.

“This isn’t right.” Maggie’s shoulders were hunched and tense. “I should have stayed, Jared. I should fight these people face to face.”

“That might be honorable,” he agreed. “It would also be madness. Your father didn’t underestimate these men, and neither can we.”

Maggie made an angry sound. “I’m trying to do the right thing.”

Jared raised her palm to his lips. “Stop worrying. Your father appears to be a man who can handle himself.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so good at that intuition of yours.” Maggie sighed, staring down at their locked fingers. “What does it feel like, this thing you do?”

“Painful sometimes. Intrusive always.”

“And right now what do you see?”

“Just a shimmer of images in the back of my mind. Faint colors. Sometimes a ripple of sound, almost like voices in a distant room. I’m finally learning to turn down the volume when I need to.”

Maggie brushed his knuckles with her lips.
I love you
, she thought.
Madly
.

“The volume just spiked,” Jared said wryly. His voice deepened. “I love you too, Margaret Elizabeth Kincade. More than madly.”

“What happens next?”

“We drive and hope we’re not followed.”

Maggie took a breath, then let it out slowly. A silver river snaked past the broken wall of an old tower, each stone a dark giant in the fading light. “Tell me about this place where we’re going. Glenbrae, you called it?”

“It’s secluded and full of magic, according to Nicholas. Of course most of Scotland is magical if you have the taste for mist and green hills.”

Maggie turned her head at the tremor of longing she heard in Jared’s voice. “You miss that, don’t you?”

“Sometimes. But there was no longer anything to hold me in the village. Or anywhere else in Scotland.”

“What about your family?”

“My parents are both gone. My brother…” Jared stared into the dark line of the distant mountains. “My brother died at his own hand. The MacNeill gift was more than he could bear.”

Maggie’s fingers tightened.
I’m here
, she thought.
For as long as you’ll have me. Until forever if you want it.

His fingers laced with hers. “Forever won’t be half long enough.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Commander. Now tell me about this beautiful glen.”

“Green hills and fine dark woods above a pristine loch. The house is thirteenth century. A traditional Scottish tower house with turnpike stairways and all the usual fortifications.”

“Fortifications?”

“Window
slits. Gun loops and massive walls, built to hold out rival clans or generally nasty neighbors. Fighting was a way of life back then.”

Maggie hid a shudder. “No dungeons, I hope. And no wars now either.”

“Only the tourism wars, waged for hard cash. Glenbrae House does well enough in that area, I believe. Nicholas says that visitors come back again and again for its rugged beauty and the roses that bloom far into autumn. Thankfully, the owners are obsessive about period authenticity.”

“They’re expecting us?”

Jared nodded. “For safety, we’ll have to use different names, of course.”

“That’s what my father said.” More deception, Maggie thought. More danger to innocent strangers who shouldn’t be involved. She tried to calm her thoughts, knowing Jared would read her clearly. ‘‘Do you think Nicholas managed to cover our tracks?”

Shadows touched Jared’s face. “If not,” he said grimly, “we’ll know it soon enough.”

~ ~ ~

Hope O’Hara MacLeod stood in the sunlight beneath Glenbrae House’s high cantilevered ceiling. On the table in front of her, bows of red raffia twisted around wreaths of holly, and stockings of antique lace lay ready to grace the inn’s broad mantel. A fire hissed happily, casting golden light over the walls of her tiny office

Hope was well pleased with the inn she had made and well pleased with the happiness she had found in this quiet corner of Scotland.

Dozens of guests had stayed beneath Glenbrae House’s roof, but her favorites had been Nicholas Draycott and his family. Even now it was hard to believe a year had passed since their visit.