The Blood of Roses (68 page)

“There is a field about a mile from here,” Alex said. “Wide open. Neither one of us could hide a flea if we wanted to. If you agree to certain terms, we can have your rematch there, in plain sight of God and man.”

“Terms?” Garner queried warily.

“I have two. If you won’t agree to either one, I give the signal and it ends here and now, and to hell with the consequences.”

Garner studied the rugged features, but there was nothing in Cameron’s expression or his demeanor to suggest he would hesitate to carry through with the command.

“Name them.”

“First, I want your personal guarantee the women and children will go free and unharmed whatever the outcome.”

The major considered the condition, weighed it against his orders, the manpower he had at his call, and decided he could afford to be generous … for the time being. “Agreed. Second?”

“Second, you will bring Catherine to the field at dawn, and you will give me time—an hour, no more—to get her to safety.”

Garner’s mouth curved into a smile. “You must be joking.”

“I’m deadly serious. Those are my conditions; meet them and you’ll have your rematch.”

“How do I know you will not use the time simply to find a safe place for the two of you to hide?” he scoffed. “In an hour you could be halfway to the coast.”

It was Alex’s turn to smile sardonically. “I would expect a question like that from a pissant drummerboy, Garner. You have my word of honor I will be back on the field within the hour. By the same token, I will want your word—as an
officer
and a
gentleman”
—he spat the words scornfully—“that you will still be there to meet me.”

Hamilton quivered visibly at the insult. “I’ll give you more, Cameron,” he grated. “I’ll give you my word as an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons that if you fail to return within the allotted time, I shall personally oversee the destruction of your precious Achnacarry Castle. Every brick, every stone, every inch of mortar, and every living soul inside will be leveled to dust.”

“Agreed.”

“And agreed.”

Alexander cast one final glance toward Catherine, hoping she had indeed learned to read him well enough to see the message of promise and encouragement in his eyes. Then he turned and strode back to his men, knowing he had seventy-two hours’ worth of work to cram into the next twelve.

26

D
awn came early, yawning across the horizon, stretching fingers of gold, pink, and palest blue into the night sky to chase away the last few stars that hung over the mountains.

Hamilton Garner had marched his men to the appointed field well before dawn, but he was still not early enough to outflank the Highlanders. The Cameron men stood silhouetted against the mist like so many silent sentinels; only the occasional flutter of tartan or shifting of an arm or leg indicated they were hewn from anything but solid stone. They had taken the high ground and watched patiently while the dragoons filed into the lower rim of the meadow with their usual showy display of military precision.

Behind and above the Highlanders, the side of the mountain rose steeply up into the sky, blanketed under a dense forest of oak, yew, and pine trees, little of which could be seen through the clinging shroud of morning mist. The field itself shimmered under waves of dew-laden grass and silvered stalks of withered heather. Overnight, colonies of spiders had encased the weeds and low-lying shrubs in filaments that coated the branches and broken stems in gauze. Birds quarreled somewhere in the distance—impartial observers that seemed to be wagering excitedly on the outcome of the confrontation about to take place.

Garner broke away from his troop of men, cantering to a point midway across the field. In his hands he held the reins of a second pony, and, as Alex watched, wary of treachery even at this late hour, Catherine was set free and left to ride the rest of the way alone. She rode slowly, her head held high, wondering also if this was another of Hamilton’s cruel mockeries. He had not said one word to her through the night and had left her bound and gagged until shortly before taking to their horses.

As she rode toward Alex, she braced herself to feel the hail of bullets that surely would cut her from the saddle within inches of her goal. Her eyes did not waver from her husband’s face. If fate had decreed she was to die within the next few moments, she wanted to die with the image of the love in his eyes emblazoned on her senses. He was alive and unhurt. Nothing else mattered.

Twenty feet, ten feet … five feet and her heart pounded like a triphammer in her chest. She had vowed not to cry, but her cheeks were wet, her eyes streaming, and before the horse even had stopped completely she was falling down into Alexander’s outstretched arms, her face pressed into his neck, her body so depleted of its last reserves of strength she could not even muster a sob. Warm arms crushed her into an embrace. The low, trembling murmur of his voice was against her ear, but the words were unintelligible because of the roaring tumult of emotions rising within her.

Lips, desperate and loving, brushed her temple, her cheek. Hands that had not touched anything half so soft or silky in weeks twined into the tumble of her hair and tilted her head back so that mouths could come together, cling together, move together in tenderness, hunger, and relief.

“One hour, Cameron,” Garner shouted. “Beginning now.”

Alex tore his lips from hers and raised his head, his chest heaving, his eyes two beads of ebony, blacker than anything Catherine had ever seen, soulless, shot with sparks of pure, murderous hatred as he stared at Hamilton Garner.

Yet they softened to deepest, darkest blue as he looked back down into her pale face again, and he even managed a smile of sorts as he lifted her into his arms and settled her onto the back of his chestnut stallion. He swung himself up behind her, and, with Fanducci half twisted around in his saddle to watch their backs, he led the way off the field, the rest of the Highlanders withdrawing in a slower guard behind them.

“I was so frightened,” she began in a whisper.

“Hush. It’s all over now. I’m taking you where you will be perfectly safe.”

“Safe?” She said the word as if it no longer had any meaning for her.

“These mountains are riddled with gorges, caves, and passes too numerous and too well hidden for the English to search in a dozen lifetimes. Lochiel is there already; we moved him up the mountain during the night. Maura, Jeannie, Rose, Archibald … they’re all there.”

“You’ve abandoned Achnacarry?”

“Let’s just say we’re not taking any chances. I told you once, a castle is only as strong as the men who guard her walls. I should have amended that to: only as strong as her walls. Ours have always been strong enough to hold off arrows and pikes, but Garner has artillery with him and enough iron to bring down the walls of Jericho if he had to.”

Catherine thought of the rugged beauty of Achnacarry, the sheer towering strength of the battlements that had seemed to personify the indomitable spirit of the Highlands. If Achnacarry could fall …

“Oh, Alex,” she cried, burying her face against the warmth of his chest. “How could it have happened? Where did it all go wrong?”

“Man’s dreams are never wrong, Catherine. Only their methods of realizing them.”

She raised her head and fought the lurching angle of the horse’s gait to reach up and rest a small white hand on her husband’s bronzed cheek. There were so many new lines on his face, so many new scars.

“Aluinn is dead,” she whispered. “Deirdre is gone as well. So is Damien.”

He drew back sharply on the reins, staring at her for several moments before he could gather the strength to speak.

“Aluinn … are you absolutely sure? How …?”

In short, bitten phrases she told him, starting with the ambush by the shores of Loch Ness and their return to Moy Hall. Her voice was choked with tears long before she finished describing their horror at hearing about the defeat of Charles Stuart’s army, the fate of the wounded.

Count Fanducci had drawn up alongside and both men listened intently, their expressions grim and unmoving, as her words took them back onto the battlefield, and they witnessed Aluinn and Deirdre’s last few moments together.

“She loved him so very much,” Catherine concluded shakily. “I guess … she simply couldn’t bear the thought of living on without him.”

Looking down into his wife’s face, Alex stared at her hard for a long moment, then, without warning, dismounted and brought her roughly down out of the saddle to stand before him.

“If you even think of doing something as stupid and senseless as that, I’ll kill you myself,” he said, snarling, gripping her arms so tightly she gasped with the pain.
“You
have everything to live for: You have your life and the life of our child. Promise me—swear to me, Catherine, you will do nothing to jeopardize either.”

“But I …”

“Swear it, goddammit
, or I will wash my hands of you here and now.”

“I swear it,” she whispered. “I swear it, Alex, I—” He pulled her into his arms and held her as if he meant to make her part of him. In the next instant, he was gasping, releasing her as a jolt of pain shot through his damaged arm and exploded unexpectedly throughout his body. He stumbled back a pace, cradling his hand and forearm against his chest.

“What is it?” Catherine cried. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Alex muttered, his teeth grinding against the shock. “A souvenir of the major’s goodwill.”

Catherine stared at the injured arm, at the bright dots of crimson she could see staining through the layer of bandages, before Alex adjusted the sleeve of his shirt and hid them from view.

The count had dismounted alongside Catherine and Alexander, but he was no longer watching them. He was focusing intently on the forest path up ahead, on the crack of a twig and the shuffle of a hide-bound foot.

Walking toward them, picking their way carefully down the steep grade of the path, were six armed clansmen and, in their midst, looking even more serene and aristocratic than Catherine remembered, was Lady Maura Cameron.

“Catherine!” There were tears in Maura’s eyes as she rushed forward, her arms outstretched in welcome. Catherine went into them willingly, needing very much to feel the comfort and reassurance of another woman’s compassion.

“How dreadful this must all have been for you, child,” Maura said, her lips pressed to Catherine’s brow, her hand trembling as it smoothed over the long golden twists of hair. “And how well you look, despite everything. You are well, are you not? You and your child?”

Catherine nodded through fresh tears.

“You are safe now. You are with us—your family— where you belong.” Maura’s soft brown eyes met Alexander’s, and she added, “We’ll take good care of her, you may be sure.”

Catherine turned in time to see Alex unfasten his heavy cloak and shrug it from his shoulders. He withdrew the steel blade of his sword a few inches from his leather scabbard and tested the sharpness of the edge against his thumb.

Catherine turned slowly, fully around. “What are you doing?”

When there was no answer, she looked frantically toward the count. “Giovanni—what is he doing?”

“Signora
—” Fanducci spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Alex?” She left Maura’s side and ran back to him. “You’re not going back there! You’re not actually going back there to fight him!”

“Catherine … I have no choice.”

“No choice!” She gasped. “We’re
free!
You said yourself we can hide in these mountains forever and not be found. Please, Alex,
please
! There is no earthly reason why you should go back there and fight him!”

“I gave my word, Catherine,” he said quietly. “The bastard actually honored his half of the agreement; you can hardly expect me to do less.”

“Honor! Is that what this is about—honor?” She whirled away, then rounded on him again, her face twisted with despair. “If honor is so important to you, why can you not honor me or your son? You made us a promise, too, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“But playing at swords and games of male supremacy are more important?” “Catherine—”

“I won’t let you do it!” she declared fiercely. “I won’t let you die because of me!”

Alex reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. “If it was only for you, my love, I would gladly spit in Garner’s face and take my chances in the hills. But it isn’t just for you or for me. If I don’t go back, he’ll destroy Achnacarry.”

“He’ll destroy it anyway!” she cried. “Whether you win or lose, whether he lives or dies, they will destroy Achnacarry! Cumberland has given them specific orders to do so, and if nothing else, these bastards know how to obey orders! Alex! Are you listening to me? Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

He was looking at her, his expression calm, his eyes studying and committing every curve and contour to memory.

“Alex?”

“I’m listening. And I hear what you’re telling me. I just … don’t want to argue with you. Not now. Not when there is so little time left.”