As High as the Heavens (6 page)

Especially, Heather belatedly and quite reluctantly
admitted, one who exuded such a powerful animal magnetism. One who was so finely wrought in face and form,
even if in some wild, untamed sort of way. He frightened her, threatened something deep within her. Even now,
Heather didn't understand all that had passed between
them when they had first locked gazes. All she knew was
he was danger personified, yet a danger she was drawn
to nonetheless.

Her father wouldn't be pleased to hear the truth. She
knew he wished for Duncan to be attracted to her in
order for her to more easily manipulate him to their
plans. She doubted, though, that he wished, or even
expected, his daughter to fall so quickly under such a
crudely arrogant man's spell. Nay, Heather thought with
a sinking feeling, he wouldn't be pleased at all.

Yet dare she admit to such a thing, dare put to words
strange, roiling emotions she had yet to sort through or
understand? It was more than likely she'd appear the
fool, and for reasons, when exposed to the harsh light
of reality, that were silly, inconsequential, and easily
subdued. A brief instant of illogical attraction, of simple
admission that the Highlander was a proud, powerful,
appealing young animal, did not-and never wouldmake for the same kind of love-struck yearning Janet
Mackenzie shamelessly evidenced.

At the realization, Heather's cheeks warmed in embarrassment. She understood now the reasons for her
cousin's reaction to Duncan Mackenzie. The lass, however, was but fifteen years old. She, on the other hand,
at the decidedly mature age of nineteen, was far more
educated and worldly wise.

Relief filled her. The solution to her brief flare of fascination with Duncan Mackenzie was simple and obvious.
Look past the outward form and into the man-a man who had already revealed himself to be coarse, cocky,
and far too outspoken for his own good. A man who, she
reminded herself belatedly, she must mold into something he would probably never wish to be.

"Well, Father," Heather muttered beneath her breath
as they drew up before the library where Robert Gordon
and Angus Mackenzie were visiting prior to the supper
meal, "ye've gone and done it this time. And I've most
assuredly found the solution to my winter doldrums."

"What did ye say, Heather?" Janet inquired, shooting her a quizzical glance. "I didn't quite catch all the
words."

Pasting on a falsely bright smile, Heather turned to
her cousin. "Naught, Janet. I was but muttering to myself." She reached for the brass door handle, but Janet
stopped her.

"Please, a moment more, before ye enter the library.
About ... Duncan."

"Aye, what about him?" Heather's smile faded into a
thin, tight line and her hand dropped back to her side.
"He was rude and far too full of himself. I can't say I
care for him overmuch."

Janet exhaled a deep breath. "Aye . . ." she agreed
slowly, "he is full of himself, and no mistake. But Duncan's really not a bad sort, once ye take the time to get
to know him. He has a good heart, and he wouldn't hurt
a soul. And, for all his manly blustering, he has never
forced himself on a woman." She giggled. "Even if he
weren't already so God-fearing, he has no need to. Eventually, all the lasses throw themselves on him."

"God-fearing indeed!" Heather rolled her eyes. "He's no different than any other man I've known. Most of
them, be they nobleman or commoner, have such inflated
opinions of themselves that if they don't get their way,
they turn quite nasty and dangerous." She placed a hand
on Janet's arm. "Have a care with this man, cousin. Ye
may not know him quite as well as ye think. Ye haven't,
after all, the years of womanhood that lend the caution
around men we all must eventually gain."

Anger flashed in the girl's eyes. "I may not have yer
fine learning or advanced age, Heather Gordon, but I
know Duncan's heart. And I tell ye true, he is a good
man. Just because he's not some high and mighty nobleman doesn't make him less worthy of consideration and
respect." She studied Heather closely, and the light in
her eyes suddenly turned wise beyond her years. "But
it's easier for ye to consign him to his proper place well
beneath ye. That'll make for less difficulties in the end,
won't it?"

Startled by the unexpected accusation, Heather's
hand dropped from Janet's arm. "I don't know what ye
mean. The man was rude and spoke to me in a way no
gentleman speaks to a lady, and now ye upbraid me for
being unfair to him? Truly, Janet, ye need to overcome
this blind affection ye have for the man, before it's yer
ruination."

"Must I now?" Janet tossed her curly red mane in a
gesture of defiance. "Well, I won't stand here and discuss
this with ye further, or I'll risk insulting a guest. Besides,
I must help Mither with the final preparations for supper.
Best ye hie yerself to the library. There, at least, ye'll find
the quality of men ye're more suited for."

With that, the girl turned on her heel and flounced
away. Heather stared after her, torn between outrage and
amusement at her cousin's high dudgeon-and all in the
defense of some Highlander's all but nonexistent honor.
Well, there was nothing more she could say to convince
Janet to walk carefully about Duncan Mackenzie. The girl
was far too gone on him. But, in time, Heather decided,
it might be wise to broach the subject of her daughter's
infatuation with Jean Mackenzie. Perhaps her mother
wasn't fully aware of the extent of Janet's hero worship
of the big Highlander.

That thought in mind, Heather turned and entered
the library. The most private room in the tower house
with its thick oak doors and two walls lined with tall,
sturdy wooden bookcases, it smelled of spice and pine
logs snapping in the hearth. That many of the shelves
were empty of books and decorated, instead, with small,
bronze-bound chests, extra pewter ware, parchment
scrolls neatly tied with ribbon, and an assorted collection of framed Mackenzie family miniatures was ample
testimony to the fact that, though learning was evidently
revered in the laird's house, money was lacking to buy
sufficient books.

Her father and uncle were seated before the hearth,
Robert Gordon lounging sideways across the length of
a high-backed, oak settle made soft with cushions. Her
uncle sat in one of the two chairs placed at right angles
to the settle. At her entrance, both men glanced up and
smiled.

She closed the door and made her way to the other
chair. Only once she was seated did Heather note the pewter mug of warmed, mulled wine flavored with cinnamon and cloves her father dangled carelessly from
his hand.

Heather frowned. In the past few years, her father had
acquired the disturbing tendency of imbibing a little too
freely of his favorite liquor. Though, as one of Queen
Mary's trusted advisors, he'd had many cares and concerns of late-the queen's growing difficulties with her
Lords of the Congregation, her marital problems, and
the troublesome interference of the ever-present and
vociferous Reformation preacher John Knox-still, turning to drink was never the best way to deal with things.
Far better to engage him in stimulating conversation
and distract him, Heather decided.

"So," she began, glancing from one man to the other,
"have ye determined the easiest way to get this Duncan
Mackenzie to help us? From what I've just seen of him,
the man's monumental self-absorption will preclude the
necessary transformation."

Angus Mackenzie, who had just raised his own mug
of wine to his lips, choked on his drink. Heather turned
to her uncle.

"Are ye all right, Uncle Angus? Should I come and
clap ye on the back?"

"F-fine," he sputtered. "I'm fine. J-just give me a moment."

"I think ye startled yer uncle," her father said with a
chuckle. "Yer most unflattering assessment is greatly at
odds with the man he was, just before ye entered, extolling to the high heavens."

"Indeed?" Heather smiled grimly. "And precisely what positive attributes does this Highlander possess, aside
from a cocksure opinion of himself with the ladies?"

"Och, more than ye might realize, lass," Angus was
finally able to reply. "He's a braw warrior, always at the
forefront of any clan skirmishes. And he's a hard worker
to boot. His father's cattle are some of the finest in this
region, and they've one of the largest herds, too, and
that with only the two of them to care for the beasties
and bring them to market."

"From the way he talks," Heather muttered, "I'm surprised he could spare the time from his skirt chasing."

Angus laughed. "Och, Duncan manages that well
enough, too, though most likely not frequently enough
to suit his tastes, what with all the work he has to do."

"Well, be that as it may," Robert interspersed, pausing to take another deep swallow of wine, "I've yet to
convince Angus of the grave necessity of keeping the
secret of Duncan's birth from him, much less come to
a decision on the best way to broach the subject of the
plot to the lad."

"I, too, had misgivings about that-hiding his true
heritage from him, I mean," Heather said, glancing at
her uncle. "But Father assured me the secret must be
kept until we've rescued the queen. Then time enough
to tell Duncan, and no sooner."

"But the lad's as loyal as Ito the queen," Angus protested.

Heather turned to her father, a slender brow cocked
in query. Robert shook his head and sighed.

"Mayhap he is, Angus. But Duncan is too vital to our
plans to risk him riding off in a huff, or deciding first to seek out his newly discovered kin. Once they meet
him, the element of surprise in substituting him for his
brother at Lochleven is lost forever. Nay, I'm verra sorry
to use the lad so, but the queen's welfare must come
before his."

The big, black-haired Scotsman eyed them both for
a long moment, then sighed his acquiescence. "I suppose ye're right," he said, stroking his bushy beard with
a great paw of a hand, "but I still don't like it. And his
father, Malcolm, won't like it, either."

Robert leaned forward, suddenly tense. "Ye told Malcolm? I told ye not to tell anyone, Angus, not even his
foster parents!"

"Och, dinna fash yerself, Robbie, my man." Angus
held up a hand. "I haven't told them aught, save that the
babe was an orphan when I first gave him to them. And,
even then, I didn't lie, for his mither was already dead
and his father died soon thereafter. I only thought it was
finally time at least for Malcolm to know. Heather wasn't
far from the mark in doubting whether Duncan would
be willing to learn to play the foppish nobleman"-he
grinned sheepishly-"present company excepted, of
course.

"And why is that?" Robert relaxed and leaned back in
his chair, sipping carefully from his mug.

"Because Duncan, like all Highlanders and especially
the Mackenzies, is a proud man." Angus paused for an
instant, a look of indecision in his eyes. "Ye'll pardon me
in the saying, but we don't hold much with the prim and
mincing ways of the nobility. I can't see Duncan-loyal subject that he is-agreeing even to pretend to manners
he holds in the highest disdain."

In the wake of Angus's statement, there was a dead
silence. Then a fire-eaten log crashed to the hearth. Robert Gordon began clicking his finger against the side of
his pewter mug, and Angus shuffled uncomfortably in
his chair.

"We must all compromise and sacrifice to save our
queen, Uncle," Heather finally said, irritation at the Highlanders' contempt for noble ways threading her voice.
"Do ye think I particularly relished traveling halfway
across Scotland in midwinter, or leaped for joy at the
idea of playing tutor to some big, lumbering lout of a
Highlander, if yell pardon me in the saying?"

"Heather," her father interjected warningly, "no good
is served insulting yer-"

"Nay, Robbie, let the lass speak her mind. I must accept
blame for being the cause of her anger." Angus grinned
at Heather, his teeth a white slash in a swarthy forest of
hair. "Do ye know how much ye sound like yer mither,
the saints preserve her, when ye get riled like that? It's
good to see, lassie. Many are the times I've wondered if
Margery passed on even a drop of her Highland blood
to her bairns."

"Well, she did, and no mistake," Heather assured him,
once more in control of her temper. "Mayhap I worded
it poorly, but my point was that we all must be willing
to do what needs to be done. Our selfish desires can't
enter in, no matter how strongly they drive us. If this
Duncan truly is the man ye claim him to be, then, with
yer help, we should be able to convince him to do what must be done. But ye must be with us in this, Uncle, or
I fear we'll never succeed."

Once again, Angus stroked his beard. "I'm with ye,
but I don't have to like it, do I?"

"Nay, ye don't, Uncle," Heather replied softly. "But
the victory, in the end, isn't so much in the liking as in
the doing, is it?"

A knock sounded on the door. "Enter," Angus bellowed.

Janet's head peeked around the thick wooden portal.
"Mither says for ye to come now to table, or she'll feed
it all to the livestock."

Angus stood and set aside his mug. "Are Duncan and
his father finished with their baths, then?"

"Aye." Janet swung the door open, taking great care
not to meet Heather's gaze. "They await us, even now,
at table."

"Then come." Angus gestured to Heather and her father. "It's past time we feasted on my bonny Jean's victuals. Afterwards will be soon enough to hunker down
to the real purpose for yer visit."

Aye, Heather thought as she rose and followed the two
men from the room. We'll all hunker down and turn our
efforts to winning over a certain pigheaded Highlander.
Yet, despite my fine words to the contrary, I can't say I'm
any more convinced that it's such a wise idea than I was
before.