Love Across Time (25 page)

Today they’d welcome the victor of the battle that had cost Scotland the privilege to rule itself. Many would call him traitor for not accompanying Prince Charles to Culloden, then a few days later welcome the Duke of Cumberland into his home. But if nothing else, he was true to his people and their survival.

He grunted under his breath at that simple-truth, and the knot in his stomach drew tighter. Sometimes the responsibility of his clan lay heavily on his heart.

As he scanned the rise to the north, vast numbers of soldiers lined the hill. His heart quaked at the sight. From the artillery rolling into view, the Highlanders hadn’t stood a chance against such a force.

The army began to make camp in the field. The bleat of sheep drifted in the air. Yesterday the herdsmen had taken the largest flock further into the mountains for protection. Foot soldiers began to chase down the old rams
—
which was all the herders had left in the pastures
—
and slaughter them to roast over campfires.

Peasants, servants, and men at arms loitered in the bailey. Their expressions varied from awe to anger. He ordered Rory to disperse the crowd. One wrong word and what few men he had could be murdered before Cumberland’s order died in the wind. Rory exerted little effort in empting the bailey. Everyone appeared more than willing not to encounter the English army.

He watched in outrage as ten red uniformed riders detached from the now stationary army and trampled the green pasture to gallop to where they stood. Horses skidded to a halt and sprayed clumps of grass in every direction.

Five men dismounted and tossed their reins to the other soldiers. A tall, burly man with a heavy English accent stepped forward.

“We secure this castle in the name of the Duke of Cumberland.”

Arrogant lout. He’d show

Margaret squeezed his hand, and he bit back the retort he longed to spew at these Sassenach devils.

“My husband and I welcome you. Our home is open to the Duke of Cumberland.”

He gazed down at his wee wife. Her eyes gleamed with a spark of anger. Had the soldiers caught her subtle hint that the rest of the men were not welcome? That she didn’t want a whole army tromping through her home.

Without a word about Margaret’s clever phrase, the men separated to scurry off into different parts of the keep. A quarter-of-an-hour later, they returned.

“We will inform the Duke of Cumberland.”

Mounted, they rode back to the army and conferred with their leader. Margaret gave an audible sigh of relief when the Duke returned with no more than twenty horsemen.

Liam stared at the man whom Margaret referred to as ‘the Butcher.’ The duke appeared no more than a year or two older than he was. But the man’s rigid jaw and steely stare warned him to remember the duke had ordered the slaughter of hundreds of Scotsmen and held the power of life and death over the Menzies clan.

As men dismounted, groomsmen rushed forward to hold their unwanted guests horses, then led them to the stables.

Liam stared at the Duke of Cumberland who stood before him, flanked by ten men on each side. It was beyond his comprehension that this overly fat commander had led a decisive victory against fearless Highland warriors. Even as the disparaging thought formed, Margaret stepped forward and bowed in a deep curtsy. He smiled inwardly, a perfect, deep curtsy. She performed so many things naturally that he failed to understand why she insisted she didn’t belong here.

“Welcome, My Lord.” Her greeting, given in a low composed voice held a definite hint of coolness.

He shook himself free of his musing and made the introductions according to Margaret’s instructions.

“Me Laird. I be Liam Menzies and this be me wife, Margaret Campbell-Menzies.”

The duke studied Margret. His admiring gaze flicked over her from head to toe. Liam bristled, but tamped down his irritation at the man’s bold stare.

“Campbell. Mmm. Do we not have a battalion of Campbell men in our service, Major General Bland?” The duke spoke to the middle-aged man at his side with cool authority, yet observed Liam closely.

“Yes, My Lord. Fought bravely by your side at Culloden.”

Liam stifled his first reaction of anger at the mention of his fellow countrymen’s deaths and responded in the same cool tone.

“Me wife’s kin no doubt.”

Somehow, Margaret had known who fought with the English and had counted on the name Campbell to influence the Duke’s decision on how he dealt with the Menzies Clan. Liam had seen a Menzies’ banner with Bonny Prince Charles’ army, and he knew his relatives had decided to fight for the Stuarts. His only hope of survival was that Cumberland would realize he hadn’t sent men to join his opposing army.

“Please come in, My Lord.” Margaret tugged him aside to allow the Duke and his men to enter the hall.

Cumberland’s gaze swept the large room. “This will do nicely. I will require rooms prepared for my captains before you leave.”

“Leave?” Resentment rose swift and strong at the Duke’s assumption that he would abandon his home. Margaret squeezed his hand. He glared down at his wife. If the lass didn’t cease squeezing his fingers so tight, the tips would turn blue. But he took the warning to heart and clamped his mouth shut.

“Everything be ready for your stay me lord. We will be gone within the hour,” Margaret said in a demur voice that didn’t fool Liam one bit. His wee wife was spitting mad.

His gaze tracked her up the stairs. Her back held stiff and her head tilted upward. When she reached the landing, he turned to his uninvited guests.

“Please be seated and a maid will bring ye something to drink. I must tend to me wife.” Liam raced up the stairs and entered his chamber. Margaret stood in the center of the room, hands on her hips talking to herself.

“I had forgotten that we were thrown from our home like scrapes with the slop.” Margaret said and glared at the stack of clothes on the bed before she tossed another dress onto the growing pile.

She mumbled something about Mrs. Bixby not telling her what a pudgy, arrogant, heartless man the Duke was. After a few more unflattering remarks, she wadded up the mess on the bed and dumped it into the trunk on the floor.

He grasped her shoulders, whirled her around, and found himself staring into eyes burning with anger. Pulling her stiff, unyielding body closer he stroked her slim back to ease the tension he felt vibrating through her.

“It be alright, me
gaol
. ’Tis best me warriors not be around Cumberland’s soldiers long. Hot tempers could flare, and that wouldnae bode well for me clan.”

She relaxed, slid her arms around to his back, and laid her head on his chest. The softness of her body melded into his. Breasts pressed against his belly.

Passion heated his blood, and he lowered his head to nuzzle her hair.

“Aye. Ye be right. They will eventually leave,” she murmured against his shirt.

“’Ere ye sure they willnae sack the castle and burn it to the ground.”

Head leaned back she stared up at him. Her slender fingers cupped his scarred jaw. “I be sorry. I be ranting and raving, and ne’er considered what ye might think would happen. Nae. The castle will stand, a little worse for all their slovenly ways, but nothing that cannae be repaired.”

“’Tis good to ken.” Crushing her to him, his mouth swooped down and claimed hers in a heated kiss.

Someone tapped on the door. The sweet warmth of Margaret’s lips abandoned his. She dropped her hand from his face, and whirled away, to cover her flushed cheeks.

“Enter,” he called.

Ursula ambled in, then approached Margaret’s trunk. Tsking about the muddle she’d made, Ursula began to fold and rearrange the trunks contents.

“I served those Sassenachs devils yer finest wine just as ye ordered.”

“Good.”

He didn’t miss her heavy dose of sarcasm. She had balked when he had given his instruction and wanted to serve the duke and his men their sourest ale instead. Ursula always did as ordered, but she never missed an opportunity to grumble about the chore.

“Did all the maids leave the castle?”

“Aye, early this morn.” Ursula cackled. “All that be left ’ere old crones. E’en a desperate man would think twice afore he tussled one of them to the ground.”

He eyed her sharply. “None stayed that werenae willing, did they?”

“It be such a long time since they had a wee tumble atwixt the sheets that they squabbled o’er who’d get to remain behind,” she snickered.

A loud knock interrupted his roar of laughter at the surprise that awaited Cumberland’s men. Conner stood in the open doorway. The broad grin on his face hinted that he’d overheard Ursula discussing her devious plot.

“I have mother’s trunks loaded in the cart and came to see if ye needed help. It might be wise if we made ourselves scarce afore the Duke’s men discover the servants ’ere not quite what they expect.” He strolled into the room.

“Ye be right, cousin.” The seriousness of the situation couldn’t erase his grin of amusement.

He hefted Margaret’s trunk over his shoulder. Connor carried the smaller one and led the way downstairs. Ursula trailed behind him with her neatly tied bundle.

On the last step, Margaret paused while Conner and Ursula rushed out the door. Her back moved as her chest expanded with a deep breath. Liam’s heart skipped a beat when instead of following his cousin she strolled over to where the Duke sat. Several men lounged in the great hall, some played dice while others whittled on soft pieces of wood. Conversation died as all attention centered on Margaret. The Duke heaved his rotund body from Liam’s favorite chair and waited for Margaret to approach. She halted a few feet away and curtsied.

“I hope yer stay will be comfortable, me lord.”

“I am sure it shall, mistress. Are there servants enough to see to mine and my men’s needs?” One eyebrow lifted.

“Many skilled servants with years of experience have offered their services. All ye need do is call; someone will answer. Others I have taken for me personal use. If that be all, I will bid ye good day.”

“Good day, Madam.”

With a small curtsy, she took her leave and returned to his side. Margaret had cleverly averted any complaints about the suitability of the servants by speaking truthfully. All were capable and willing to perform any service. As long as a guest’s
invited or otherwise
wishes were granted, no one could fault the mistress of the castle for protecting its young women, including Cumberland.

“Ready, husband?”

Something stirred deep within him when Margaret referred to him as her husband. Had she remembered? Had their nights of passion sparked some bit of memory of the love they’d shared? Hope flared. His smile held all the pleasure swelling in his heart.

“Aye, wife.” Leaned over he whispered in her ear, “Verra neatly done.”

She lifted her head and gazed up at him. The smile on her face was smug and radiant. “I thought so meself.”

The Duke returned to Liam’s comfortable chair and best wine. Liam almost chuckled aloud. They were the only comforts of home the Duke would probably be willing to receive this night.

Dugan and Conner took the forefront. Margaret reined her mare in behind them and plodded along between Liam and Rory at a steady, easy pace. Six men-at-arms followed, two abreast. Carts, filled with trunks and servants, trailed along in the rear. Mongrel trotted between her horse and Rory’s mount, and she glanced down several times to make sure no horse trampled him. Tongue lagging out, he appeared at ease among the many hooves around him.

The day had started out warm, but while they’d packed, a storm had roared and thundered its way over the mountains from the north. The wind had risen and held a bone-chilling sharpness. Dark clouds hovered over the land, and the smell of rain lingered in the air.

As they neared the English encampment, Liam signaled Ewan, his squire, into the position beside her and galloped to the forefront.

Their small troupe passed soldiers camped along the road. Men nestled around fires stared: some with curiosity, others with resentment. Women milled around the camp, toting heavy buckets and serving the soldiers. One buxom, young woman sauntered closer to walk alongside Liam’s horse. After a few exchanged words, she reached up and stroked his knee. Maggie stared in amazement at the woman’s boldness. As she looked on, the wench’s hand inched higher, to his thigh. Anger tightened her lips. What was the slattern going to do next, grope his crotch? Blasted camp fodder. Couldn’t the woman see he wasn’t interested?

Or was he? If a woman made herself available, wouldn’t a man accept whatever she freely offered?

She eyed Liam suspiciously. His hands clutched the reins. Did his horse slow? Back stiff, his gaze fixed straight ahead, he cocked his head downward to hear what the dark-haired beauty said. Was he arranging to meet the woman later?

Jealousy gnawed at her.

His horse slowed further.

Should she move her mare forward to ward off any undue attention? Was it even her duty to guard Margaret’s husband from unwanted advances; to assure he remained faithful to his wife?

Good grief, what was she thinking, he was being unfaithful to Margaret by sleeping with her. Of course, he thought she was his wife. Therefore, in his mind he had committed no sin. But that didn’t mitigate her guilty conscious. Yet, as hypocritical as it sounded, she could never regret the hours spent in Liam’s arms.