The Blood of Roses (40 page)

Struan MacSorley, discovering the cause of the bouncing wagon springs and high-pitched shrieks of rapture, would have slain the pair of them at the height of their exuberant release if not for Aluinn MacKail’s timely arrival on the scene. He managed, with the assistance of four other clansmen, to disarm the golden-maned giant and persuade him to vent his fury by cleaving firewood instead of skulls.

Although the maps he was carrying were slightly crumpled, Aluinn left the ax-weilding Highlander under several pairs of watchful eyes and continued on his way to a consultation in Alexander’s tent. When he thrust the thin canvas flap aside and poked his head into the tent, after giving a cheerful hallo, he found a very pale, visibly distressed Catherine Cameron doubled over a shallow metal basin grappling with the shuddering after-effects of nausea.

He stared at her for several long moments before entering all the way into the tent. The worst of the spasms had passed and there was nothing he could do to help other than steady her back onto a seat on the cot and empty the contents of the basin. When he returned, she appeared to have calmed considerably, although her lips were still tinged blue and her hand trembled as she held a dampened cloth to her brow.

“Are you ill?” he asked, knowing the answer already, dreading its confirmation.

Catherine looked him straight in the eye and admitted, “I am going to have Alexander’s child.”

Aluinn’s gaze slid involuntarily to the bulky layers of woolen clothing she wore to ward off the chilling effects of the mountain air. “How long have you known?”

“Are you asking how pregnant I am? I cannot say for certain. At most, two months; at the very least, two hours.”

Aluinn’s cheeks reddened. “I’m sorry. I guess the question was a little blunt. I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

Catherine’s shoulders slumped. “I know, Aluinn. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap. I’m told women in my condition suffer irrational moods and tempers, but it doesn’t mean they should take out those moods on friends. Forgive me?”

He sighed and moved over to the cot, then sat beside her and took one of her ice-cold hands into his. “Does Alex know?”

“No. I wasn’t exactly sure myself until a few days ago, and since then, well, I haven’t quite found the right time or means of telling him. He has been so busy seeing to everyone else’s problems, I didn’t think he needed this one just yet.”

Aluinn raked a hand through his sandy brown hair. “If it were me, if it were my wife and child, I would want to know, Catherine. Right away.”

“I have every intention of telling him. I am not as brave as all that, you know; it isn’t something I want to keep to myself or deal with alone.”

He smiled. “You are not exactly alone. I can count at least a thousand men off the top of my head who would move heaven and earth to see that nothing ever hurt or frightened you again. And I’m not even talking immediate family. When Alex told Lochiel and Archibald what had happened to you in Derby, they were all for turning the whole army around and wiping out every last English militiaman in the county. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been right up there in the vanguard myself.”

A tear shone in the corner of Catherine’s eye as she leaned her head on Aluinn’s shoulder. “Deirdre is a very lucky lady.”

“I am a very lucky man. So is Alex. But then, I told him so at the very outset; he’s just a stubborn bastard, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed,” she murmured, twisting and worrying the edges of the handkerchief she was holding. “He will want to send me away again, won’t he?”

Aluinn circled an arm gently around her shoulders. “He will want to guarantee your safety. He will want to protect you and your child; can you fault him for that?”

“No,” she whispered. “It’s just … I’ve been so happy. He’s been happy, too, I know he has, but we’ve had so little
real
time together.”

“You will have the rest of your lives,” he promised sincerely. “This can’t go on much longer; it will have to be resolved, one way or the other, and soon. We just don’t have the momentum anymore. It was there for a while and we accomplished more than anyone thought we could or would in their wildest dreams, but now the men want to go home. They all have wives and families and farms that have been neglected too long and crops that have to be planted soon if the whole country isn’t to starve over next winter. Men are drifting away by twos and threes every day, still as loyal and willing to fight as they were in the beginning, but knowing that there just isn’t anywhere left for us to retreat. Even if the prince takes Inverness, there isn’t much he can do with it. The English navy has the entire coast blockaded; we can’t get anything in or out, whereas Cumberland has fresh supplies and troops landing almost hourly.”

Catherine looked up. “You think Charles Stuart should surrender?”

“If you are asking me if a surrender now would spare the Highlands, my answer would be yes: It is possibly the only thing that will keep Cumberland from razing us to the ground. If you are asking if Charles Stuart will see it that way, the answer is no. He likes the role he is playing too much to surrender it. He has been prince and regent and commander of a crusading army for almost six months now—an army that has not really tasted defeat, only suffered disappointment. If he gives up now, if he admits his dream can never be realized, even after the tremendous victories we have won, he knows he will never have the chance again. He knows he will never have as much power and glory as he has right now. Ignominy is a difficult fate to accept after you have captured the hearts and hopes of the world with your audacity.”

“The same could be said about Alex,” she pointed out softly. “After the life he has lived, the adventures he has experienced—”

“Is that what worries you?” Aluinn tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up to meet his. “Are you afraid Alex will not be content after settling down and forfeiting the role of legendary hero. Catherine … that’s foolish!”

“Is it? Look at him, Aluinn: He’s strong and vital and glowing with energy. He thrives on danger and excitement. He’s afraid of nothing; he lives and breathes pure undiluted passion. He became a legend at seventeen and hasn’t looked back or slowed down since. Do
you
really think he would be content as a fat and lazy country squire? Do you really think he wants a wife and ten drooling children hanging on his coattails?”

Aluinn was silent for a full minute, his gray eyes intent on hers, the muscles along his jaw tensing as if the words were there but he lacked the means or courage to shape them.

“Do you want the truth?” he asked finally. “Will you believe it and not hold it against me if I tell you the blunt and honest truth?”

Catherine held her breath and nodded.

“Very well then,” he said on a sigh, “I think you are almost as big a fool as he is. A lot prettier, to be sure, but every bit as blind and stubborn, pig-headed, and insecure as the man you profess to love.”

“Profess to—”

“Don’t interrupt. Just nod your head when I ask a question. Do you love him?”

“Of course!”

“Just nod!”

She nodded.

“Do you want him more than anything else in the world? More than the life you left behind? More than any guarantees of safety or comfort or wealth or social acceptance? More than you have ever wanted anything or anyone before in your entire life?”

Tears were flooding the drowning-pools of her eyes as she nodded, and nodded, and nodded again.

“Then why, in heaven’s name, can’t you believe he could feel the same way? Why can’t you believe he loves and wants you whether you come alone or with a passle of—what?—‘drooling children?’ He is not blind, you know. He can see what you have given up for him and what it is costing you in peace of mind to be here right now.”

“But … I don’t want him to feel he has to give up anything for me.”

“Rather selfish of you, isn’t it?”

“Selfish?” she whispered.

“Has it never occurred to you that Alex is tired of being the legend other people have made him out to be? Or the possibility that circumstances, not personal preferences, keep throwing him into this role he is playing? I have been with him for thirty years, Catherine. A lot of his restlessness, over the past dozen or so years, stemmed from his not knowing what he wanted, not caring. Now he does. While he has never actually confessed it in so many words, I truly believe he initially came back to Scotland because he was tired of being a rogue and a renegade. He wanted a home and a family, and a chance to find out the meaning of the word peace. If he seems more energetic and vigorous and impatient lately, it is because he wants this damned war to be over, and if it means donning the guise of the Dark Cameron one more time to speed things on their way, then, by God, that’s what he’s doing. He would like nothing more than to give it all up for you. Don’t make him think he has to keep playing this role or that you’ll stop loving him if he turns into that fat country squire.”

When Catherine made no response, he smiled and plucked the handkerchief out of her hands, using it to blot up the residue of tears on her cheeks.

“Of course, if I’m wrong, just tell me. If you will miss all of this when the rebellion is over?”

“No!” She gasped. “No, I just …”

“You just have to learn to trust your instincts. I trust mine: implicitly. They told me Deirdre was the best thing ever to come into my sorry excuse for a wastrel life, and did I question them? Did I give one moment’s thought to the trail of shattered hearts that will no doubt tumble all across the Continent and parts beyond?”

She looked up sidelong from under the wet fringe of her lashes and giggled. “Those were rhetorical questions, I hope?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, frowning.

“Oh, Aluinn,” she cried, flinging her arms around him. “You are a dear, dear friend. It doesn’t seem fair you should have to listen to everyone’s problems and solve them, too.”

He laughed. “Perhaps I’ve missed my calling. I should have been a father confessor. No matter … as long as I have helped to solve them?”

Smiling, she nodded vigorously, then startled and pleased him further by planting a warm, affectionate kiss on his cheek. He was blushing and she was laughing harder when they heard a familiar baritone.

“I trust I am not interrupting anything here?” Alex was standing in the doorway of the tent, scowling. “If I am, if you would like another hour or so alone, I would be only too happy to oblige.”

Aluinn loosened his arms from around Catherine’s waist but held her gaze long enough for a quick glance downward and a silently mouthed smile of congratulation.

“What do you think?” he asked aloud. “Will an hour be enough?”

“Mmmm—” Catherine tilted her head. “I don’t know. Maybe two. We would not want to have to rush through anything.”

“Quite right, how thoughtless of me.” He turned to Alex and held up two fingers. “Two hours, if you are certain you won’t mind.”

“I won’t mind,” Alex said evenly. “But how will Deirdre feel about wearing widow’s weeds so soon after becoming a bride?”

“Ahh.” The two fingers were hastily retracked. “I see your point. In that case, Catherine, I shall have to withdraw the offer. Perhaps another candidate might suit your needs? MacSorley, for instance—he’s honest, stalwart, and damned comforting on a cold winter night, or so I have been told. Or Fanducci? There is a man who could keep you from becoming bored.”

“He
is
rather handsome,” Catherine agreed. “Witty too. Charming. A very elegant dresser—he reminds me of someone, I cannot quite think who at the moment—but yes, he certainly has the manners and civility of a man who would gladly cater to. A woman’s every whim. I shall give the matter serious thought.”

“How serious?” Alex demanded.

Catherine stood up, walked over to where her husband was glowering by the center tent pole, and wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was long and meaningful enough to cause a distinct stirring beneath the folds of his kilt.

“About
that
serious,” she murmured, conscious of the increased pace of her own heartbeat. Alex was about to bend his mouth to hers again when Aluinn cleared his throat and collected up his maps from the cot.

“If you two would rather I leave you alone for another hour or so …?”

Alexander grinned and released Catherine with a quick, chaste kiss on the temple. “Work before pleasure, unfortunately. I take it those are the charts Colonel Anne drew up for us last night?”

“Aye. She swears they are accurate down to the last stand of trees. One of her men was also allotted the privilege of spending some time in a prison cell at Fort George and has returned the favor by providing us with detailed sketches of the interior buildings and armory.”

It never failed to surprise Catherine how quickly their mood of light banter could be transformed into one of deadly earnest. Sighing, she unwound her hands from Alex’s neck and planted them on her hips instead.

“Colonel Anne, Colonel Anne, Colonel Anne … her name is all I have heard lately. Should I be jealous?”

“No more so than I,” Alex replied lightly, “walking into my own tent, finding my wife clutched in the embrace of my best friend.”

“We were hardly clutching,” she said dryly. “We were … commiserating: over the multitude of broken hearts we have left behind.” She paused and reached for her cloak. “But perhaps I, too, could put my experiences to good purpose and petition some of the men like Colonel Anne did. I’m sure I could win a hundred signatures from a hundred clansmen willing to march behind me in battle.”

“They would not march very far with broken legs,” Alex advised blandly.

Catherine wrinkled her nose at the threat. “Did she really do that? Did she really go against her husband’s wishes by bringing her clan here to join the prince?”

“Considering her husband, Angus Moy, is a commissioned officer in the Hanover army, I would say she went against his wishes, aye.”

“She has a great deal of courage,” Catherine decided, lifting her chin so Alex could help button her cloak warmly around her neck.