Stuart, Elizabeth (50 page)

The
meal passed with an ease she had dared not hope for, the men treating her with
a gentle gallantry that made her comfortable at once. No one mentioned her
relationship to Glenkennon; she wondered if Francis had forbidden it. Conall
and the handsome young MacPhearson laird fought good-naturedly over the right
to pour her wine, while from across the table the older Walter MacLeod
entertained her with stories of her father and the MacKinnon clan.

Excusing
herself after the meal, she left the men to talk more comfortably of weapons
and war. Francis promised to come to her, but to her impatient heart it seemed
hours before his step sounded in the corridor.

"Sweet
Jesu, I thought I'd never get away!" Francis said, striding impatiently
through the doorway. He drew her into his arms and kissed her at once, his
hands sliding down her back to mold her against him.

His
kiss sent her head spinning, and the feel of his arms drew the breath from her
lungs. It had been days since they had been alone together. Her fingers curled
tightly against the rigid muscles of his shoulders; her lips moved eagerly
against his own.

All
too soon the kiss ended, leaving her shaken and wanting more. Ducking her head
against Francis's chest, Anne marveled at her feelings. What had come over her
these last few days? It seemed Francis had but to touch her and the very bones
of her body turned to water. She knew too well the heights to which he could
take her now, and she stepped away from him quickly before she could be further
bewitched by his touch.

"I'd
at least a couple of reasons for wanting to see you tonight, lass,"
Francis teased, "but now I can think of but one. I'm loath to be parted
from you another night—I'll have Kate move your things into my room now."

Her
eyes flew to his. "No, Francis, please... not before these lords."

He
raised one dark eyebrow in surprise. "I'm not much of one for patience,
lass, and I'm loath to exhaust what little I have awaiting a minister. Nor will
I play a ridiculous game slipping back and forth from your room in my own
house. I'm no' such a hypocrite," he added coolly.

"But
Francis, it's just a night or two at most." She colored slightly.
"It's... it's difficult for me, too, but you must see how it is. Those
men, your friends, treated me tonight with all the respect due a lady. God
knows I've little enough honor left, but I'd not have them turn my name into
that of a whore."

Francis
shifted uncomfortably before her steady gaze. She was right. God knew she was
right, though his body ached for the physical aspects of her love. He'd never
been one to worry over much about the rigid doctrines of the Kirk—he'd even
been openly contemptuous of some of the dour, canting Presbyterian ministers
who stopped at Camereigh. Yet he could not openly flaunt Anne as his mistress
before these lairds.

Closing
his eyes, he took a deep breath. "Very well. Remain here till the minister
speaks over us—but God grant he rides a fast horse!"

Anne
smiled. "Thank you, Francis. It'll not be long, I'll warrant."

Francis
moved to the empty fireplace, staring broodingly at the cold ashes behind the
grate. "There was something else I wanted to tell you, lass," he
said, frowning. "Campbell will not trouble us further. He's dead."

"Thank
God!" she whispered fervently. Her mind flew back to the last time she had
seen Campbell, when he had left her with a sneering promise to return. He'd
never touch her again... never! "How did it happen?"

"Your
brother slew him in a fight before several witnesses—apparently before he could
say aught of you, lass. No one knows the cause of the quarrel, but Charles put
it about Campbell was cheating him at cards."

Anne's
fingers clutched the bed curtains anxiously. "Was Charles hurt?"

"No."
He glanced up. "The lad must have learned the truth somehow."

"Bess
would have told him if she had the chance. I only hope she didn't endanger
herself by revealing what she knew."

Francis
clenched his fist along the carved stone mantel. "I wish Charles hadn't
been so quick with his sword. I've lived these last days for the thought of
sending Campbell to hell!"

Anne
rose and moved to his side, placing a hand on his sleeve. "Well, I'm glad
it's over. I was afraid, Francis; I was so afraid they'd destroy you. I even
wondered if Glenkennon had planned the whole thing to trick you out of
Camereigh."

He
covered her hand with his, bending to press a kiss against her forehead.
"You'll not be rid of me so easily, lass."

Straightening,
he glanced at the door with a heavy sigh. "I suppose I'd best be gone now
if you don't wish me to remain the night." He smiled slightly, touching
her cheek with his hand. "Try to get some sleep, lass. Kate'll have you up
with the dawn to see to our guests. From what Conall tells me, we've more
people than space."

He
let himself out into the hallway, quickly traversing the distance to his room.
It had been nigh on to a week since he had made love to Anne, and the hot
throbbing of his blood reminded him all too sharply of his need. He glared at
his great empty bed, loathing the sudden confinement of his chamber. He was too
restless for sleep. With a muttered oath, he spun on his heel and strode out
the door, jerking it shut with a satisfying slam that echoed down the corridor.

Hurrying
down the central stair, he moved past the entrance to the hall with long
deliberate strides. Conall and Robbie MacPhearson were still drinking and
dicing at a table beside the door. He swept by without a word.

Seeing
Francis stride by, Conall sprang up in alarm. "What's to do?" he
called.

"Nothing!"
Francis snapped back.

"God's
foot! Where are you going in such a pelter then?" Conall called, following
him down the corridor.

"For
a dip in the sea... if it's anything to you."

Conall
blinked at him in stunned surprise, then doubled up with laughter as
understanding dawned.

Swearing
furiously, Francis strode out the door and across the courtyard, Conall's
raucous laughter following him into the night. He moved quickly out the gates
and through the sleeping camp outside, damning his friend and all women
everywhere.

***

By
morning Francis's good humor was largely restored, and he rose and breakfasted
before dawn on a haunch of venison and a loaf of crusty bread from the night
before. There was much to be done, but first he would talk to Conall. There was
one matter still troubling his peace.

He
found his friend asleep in his bedchamber. "Roll out lad, I've need of
you," he called, entering the room.

Conall
groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. "Softly, Francis, for God's
sake. Must you shout fit to wake the dead?"

Francis
chuckled. "Don't tell me you tried to best Robbie with the dice last
night. He can drink any man under the table. All you'll get is a sore head and
an empty purse for your trouble."

Conall's
muffled groan sounded from beneath the pillow. "My thanks for the warning.
You're a few hours late."

Francis
moved to the wash basin and picked up the pitcher. Returning to Conall's
bedside, he jerked the pillow from his grasp and trickled the cold water into
his face.

"The
devil take you, Francis!" Conall spluttered, sitting up with a gasp.
"You'll pay for that!"

Francis
tossed his friend a towel, then settled himself on the bed. "Do you want
the rest of this over your head? Now sit up, lad, and listen. I must be off to
the MacGregor camp on the hour, but I'll speak with you first."

Conall
stared at him, suddenly alert. "Is anything amiss?"

Francis
shook his head. "No more than usual. There's something troubling me,
though, and I'd have your word on it before I ride out."

Conall
towelled his face and leaned back, waiting.

"We
both know Glenkennon's a canny devil, and he realizes we've men enough to make
a fight," Francis began. "I've no doubt we'll make a good showing if
Glenkennon fights fair. Trouble is, he's never been known to. He might as
easily have hired assassins in the wood as not."

The
two exchanged troubled glances. "If anything should happen to me, I want
your word you'll get Anne to France. Once she's there, we've friends who'll
protect her."

Conall
began to protest, but Francis cut him short. "I've sent men to ready a
ship. It'll be waiting on Dornoch Firth at that spit of beach we've used
before. Swear to me now, you'll take her and ride like the devil for Dornoch
the moment you see things turn for the worse."

"Let
Donald take her to France," Conall said, leaning forward. "If
Glenkennon brings you down, he'll not live out the day, though I crawl back
from hell to see him dead!"

"Donald's
a bit too old for my lass, don't you think?" Francis asked, his lips
quirking into a smile his eyes did not share. "I'm asking you to do it.
Would you refuse me, Conall? You know as well as I Anne would be better dead
than to fall into Glenkennon's hands now. It's a thought that keeps me awake
nights."

Conall
sighed heavily. "God rot the man! If that's what you want, I'll swear it.
I've followed your orders too long now to say nay to anything you ask."

Francis
smiled and rose to his feet. "I'd not ask this particular favor of anyone
but you, lad," he said softly. "I'll have Donald put together a heavy
purse and some provisions to be kept in readiness. You'll be able to ride at a
moment's notice."

The
two gazed at each other solemnly, then Conall's cocky grin materialized. He
leaned back, grasping the pillow to his naked chest. "I believe you're
getting cold feet at the idea of a wedding and would seek any way out," he
teased.

"Not
a chance! And I'll find you such a wench to lead you a pretty dance once this
turn up with Glenkennon is done."

***

Anne
leaned her cheek against the cool window glass in the empty parlor, wondering
if she would see Francis before evening. He had been gone by the time Kate
awakened her, and she had been so busy since, she did not even know if he had
been back to Camereigh.

A
weary sigh escaped her. She thought she knew the ways of running a large
household, but Kate was amazing. All morning, Anne had watched in awe as Kate
directed the army of servants about the endless tasks at Camereigh. No job was
too large or too small for Kate's investigation. She even checked the supply of
grouse and red deer the morning shooters brought in, helping cook decide what
supplies must be pulled from their own larders to augment the fresh meat. The
stores had to be husbanded carefully to see the Macleans through the coming
siege and the winter that would come hard on its heels.

Already
there was more of a nip in the morning air, though the warm sun of midday drove
all thoughts of winter from the mind. Autumn in the Highlands would be brief—a
glorious riot of color blazing red across the moors and gleaming every shade of
gold in the forests of sheltered glens. Those achingly beautiful images would
be painted again and again across the hills and in the shivering waters of the
mountain tarns until the harsh winds of winter sent the last quaking leaf to
its death on the frozen ground.

But
what would winter's icy breath bring for Anne? These next few weeks would mark
a turning point in the lives of all at Camereigh. Glenkennon would come, and
Francis and Conall would go out to fight him—of that much she was certain. She
pressed her hands against her eyes, wishing she could see the future.

Francis
had warned her they might have to flee, even if the tide of battle were with
them. The MacLeans would face the wrath of Jamie Stuart for daring to lift arms
against his authority in Scotland. Francis could be declared a traitor and
forced to leave Camereigh forever. But they would be together, she reminded
herself. She'd never allow him to send her away again.

The
noise and bustle of an arriving party of horsemen drew her attention to the
courtyard. Perhaps it was the Camerons! Francis had said they'd be there any
day. She searched excitedly among the arrivals for Janet, longing for the
companionship of Francis's sister.

Her
eager search was poorly rewarded. As she studied the little band, the hood of
one woman's light traveling cloak fell back, revealing the exquisite profile of
Elizabeth Macintyre.

Anne
groaned aloud. Of all the people she least wanted to see! Turning, she flew to
the stairs, calling for Kate. The woman appeared, huffing and puffing as she
rounded the corner from the direction of the kitchens.

"The
Macintyres have arrived!" Anne stated breathlessly, her heart pounding
unaccountably in her throat.

"Well,
is that any cause to be shriekin' about the castle, child? I thought Lord
Randall hisself to be at our door from the sound of ye."

"But
Elizabeth is with them," Anne said, gripping the wooden railing of the
stairs.

"Seein'
as how the lass is Sir Alsdair's daughter and him one with us, 'twas to be
expected," Kate said with a penetrating look at Anne. "Certainly you
knew she'd be stayin' here until the trouble's over."