Return of the Highlander (22 page)

“
Bloody, bloody, bloody
,” Darach said, shaking his head at himself, for something was holding him back from continuing on his journey back to Kinloch. He’d be a fool to deny what it was—pure carnal lust for the sweet body of the woman he’d just made love to, for he could still smell her provocative womanly fragrance on his hands.

Or maybe it was just the memory of her smile that would be forever imprinted on his brain.

Either way, something was calling to him. All his muscles clenched tight with an inexplicable urge to go back. He felt a burning curiosity. What was occurring in Chatham’s chambers at this very moment? What if Larena had discovered he was not the man she’d imagined him to be? What if she needed Darach?

He had been very quick to leave when she’d asked him to. He hadn’t given her time to think it through or change her mind. What if the guard had never knocked on her door? Would they still be lying in bed, making plans to be together somehow?

Closing his eyes and bowing his head, Darach thought about all the perfect moments when he’d held her in his arms, and how badly he wanted her, still, despite everything.

How could he leave this place without being absolutely sure?

There it was then. He couldn’t ride back to Kinloch just yet. He had been wrong to let his jealousy and anger eclipse everything else. At the very least, he needed to assure himself that Larena was safe and content.

So he kicked in his heels and returned.

This time, he would enter more discreetly.

* * *

Gregory Chatham had long prided himself on the supreme powers of his intellect. As a boy, he had never been the fastest, strongest or mightiest, but he’d always known he was smarter than the others. In time, he had come to realize that he could use his brains to his advantage, even learn how to build muscle, and with the right tools and the body God had given him, eventually learn to fight faster and more efficiently.

He had his father to thank for that. The man had taken one look at him when he collected him at Leathan a decade ago and seen immediately to his physical training. All the while, he had permitted Gregory to nurture his mind as well. It had never been one pursuit at the expense of the other. Gregory spent equal hours with a sword or a book in his hand. And discipline toward either of those ends was, of course, always paramount.

But tonight, after the table was cleared and he sat before the blazing fire with a glass of brandy in his hand, a spark alighted in his mind. He was forced to question his so-called supreme intellect, for why had he not solved this puzzle sooner?

Rising from his chair, he strode behind the desk, then called out to Lieutenant Roberts.

The man hurried into the room and stood at attention on the opposite side of the desk. “Yes, sir?”

“What can you tell me about the MacDonald clansman?” Gregory asked. “Is he still here?”

“No, sir. I was informed that he left the castle a few hours ago.”

“You’re certain he’s gone?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Gregory slapped the top of the desk with his open palm. “Dammit. We should have held him here. I knew there was something suspect about him.”

“What is it, sir?”

“He’s not a MacDonald,” Gregory replied with a grimace of disgust. “He’s a bloody Campbell. I didn’t recognize him at first, but now I remember him, clear as day.”

Darach Campbell.
He was one of the former chief’s younger sons. They’d been a menacing pack of brutes. The worst of the lot at Leathan. A foul bunch of rotters.

How many times had Gregory woken up in a cold sweat during his childhood, suffering from endless nightmares about their teasing, beatings, and threats?

As far as Gregory knew, their father had never done a bloody thing about it. ‘Lads must have their fun,’ he’d probably said.

“Send troops out to find Darach MacDonald and bring him back here in irons,” Gregory said.

“Yes, sir.” Roberts hurried out.

Gregory returned to stand in front of the fire and stared down at the dancing flames.

At last
…some sport to be had here at Leathan after the disappointment of learning that half the clansmen he once knew had perished at Sheriffmuir—most notably the sons of the former chief.

Once Gregory invited Darach into his chambers, he would have a little fun with him. If Darach wound up on the floor, bleeding to death, it wouldn’t be a stretch to claim that he’d lunged at Gregory like the filthy savage that he was.

Although a public sword fight might be more satisfying—and a fine opportunity to demonstrate to the clan how he had learned to wield a saber with deadly efficiency. He wished for them to see him as a worthy and capable laird.

More importantly, he wished for Larena to see that. He wanted her to gaze up at him with awe. He had been dreaming of that for years.

He wondered suddenly if she had known about Darach’s true identity all along.

No, surely not. The man claimed to be devoted to his laird at the MacDonald stronghold. If she had known, she would have told him.
Wouldn’t she?

Unless there was some sort of secret affection between them.

Gregory sank down onto the chair, disillusioned and forlorn at the possibility that she might be concealing secrets—or worse, improper feelings for the former chief’s son. Did they share a history?

No, that could not be the case. Not his darling Larena. She would not do such a thing. Not after agreeing to become his wife. She couldn’t possibly know who Darach really was.

Why, then, did he feel such a deep and harrowing ache inside his chest?

He’d been so happy earlier when she sat down across from him at the table and asked about a possible date for their wedding. She was the most fetching creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

Now he felt only disappointment and grief—and a debilitating fear that she might not be his in the end.

But he had come so far. He had waited so long. Everything had fallen into place so perfectly.

Please, Lord, let it not end badly. I’ve waited too long.

Chapter Twenty-four

If only one had the power to turn back the clock and do things differently, Larena thought to herself as she trudged up the tower stairs to her bedchamber. If it were possible, she would go back to the moment the guard knocked on her door and she would ask Darach to stay and wait while she dined with Colonel Chatham. She would have assured him that she only wished to buy time until they could figure out what to do. How to be together. How to save her father. Surely there were options.

But when she entered her room and glanced at the clock on the mantle, it was still ticking steadily and showing the correct time. There would be no magic for her today.

With a sigh of resignation, she crossed to the window and looked out at the bailey below. She tried to imagine Darach emerging from the stable and riding to the gate.

Had he paused and entertained any second thoughts about leaving? Or had he ridden out with bitterness and hatred in his heart, without a single look back over his shoulder? Did he hate her now? Or was he in hell, like she was? Was he longing for her touch as she was longing for his?

Burying her face in her hands, she shook her head and uttered a few quiet oaths.

“What are you cursing about, lass?” a deep voice whispered in her ear. She whirled about in surprise.

“Darach
!
”

Was she dreaming? Or had her prayers been answered and the clock had indeed been turned back?

She threw her arms around his neck and stepped to the side as he slid her along the wall, away from the leaded glass, out of sight of the bailey below.

Suddenly his lips were on hers, crushing her mouth, claiming her with brutal, hungry passion. She dug her fingers into his massive upper arms, then reached up to pull him close.

“You came back for me,” she whispered on a sigh as he pressed hot kisses down the length of her neck and thrust his body against hers, anchoring her to the wall.

“But you were cursing just now,” he said. “Are you angry with me?”

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Angry with
you
? For what?”

“For leaving you.”

“No,” she firmly told him. “It was my fault that you left, and now that you’re here, I’m ecstatic. I’m so sorry, Darach. I was wrong to send you away. All through dinner, all I wanted to do was get up from the table and chase after you. I was a fool to think I could marry someone else.”

“Aye, lass, you were a fool. So you want me, then?”

“Of course I want you,” she said with a laugh. “Can’t you tell?”

He smiled down at her with that slow, lazy, heart-stopping smile, and she knew she was done for.

Again, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her ravenously until she felt as if she were drowning in a sea of happiness. A shiver of need coursed through her and she knew she would never have convinced herself she could live without him. Not in a thousand years.

He ran a hand down over her breast and moaned with desire.

“Take me back to bed,” she whispered provocatively, wanting nothing more than to satisfy her own lust when she’d thought she’d lost him forever.

“Nay, lass,” he replied, resting his hands on her hips and drawing back slightly.

“Why not? Are you angry with
me
?”

“Nay, it’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

Had he only come back to say good-bye? Or to claim one last kiss?

“I cannot stay here,” he said. “I’m a MacDonald now and I carry a shameful secret.”

“I would never tell anyone,” she assured him.

“I know that, and I would trust you with my life, but it’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me. For that reason, I must leave here and return to Kinloch.”

“No,” she pleaded. “Tonight I thought I’d lost you forever. Now that you’re back, I can’t let you go again.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” he said.

She inclined her head and regarded him with curiosity. “You have another idea? One that won’t send my father to the gallows?”

“Aye, lass, but it’s risky and it’s dangerous—and I don’t even know if it’s what you want.”

“Tell me,” she said, pulling him toward the fire and sitting him down.

Chapter Twenty-five

“What are you doing here, lassie?” her father asked, leaping off the cot as Larena pushed the prison door open and entered his cell.

She raised a finger to her lips. “
Shh.
There’s no time to explain now.” Grabbing hold of his hand, she led him toward the door. “We have to go.”

“Where?”

“I found out tonight that they’re sending you to the Tolbooth,” she said, “so we need to get you out of here.”

She peered into the passageway where Darach was kneeling before one of the Redcoats, checking the pulse at his neck.

“Is it safe to come out?” she asked.

“Aye, lass, but we must move quickly.”

“Who’s this?” her father asked, watching Darach rise to his full height in the torch-lit corridor.

“His name is Darach and he’s a friend,” Larena explained. “He helped me after we were ambushed on the road. Remember I told you about that? He wants to help.” She turned to Darach. “This is my father, Fitzroy Campbell.”

Her father sized Darach up from head to foot and narrowed his focus on the broach pinned to his tartan. “He’s a MacDonald.”

“It’s a long story,” Larena said, “but there’s no time to tell it now. If you want to avoid an iron collar at the Tolbooth, you must come with us.”

Her father considered it for a few brief seconds, then nodded his head.

“Help me put this man in your cell,” Darach said to him. “We’ll lock the door and with luck, no one will notice you’re gone until the shift changes in the morning.”

“There are Redcoats everywhere,” her father said as he helped Darach drag the soldier into the cell. “I hope you have a plan for getting us out of here.”

“He does,” Larena said with confidence, closing and locking the cell door behind them. “Just stay close.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Now that we’re hiding the bodies of dead soldiers.”

“Follow me, this way,” Darach said.

With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he led them back up the steps to the south corridor, then through the kitchen, and back down another set of steps toward the surgery.

It was nearly two in the morning so it was quiet in most areas of the castle, but they were careful nonetheless, at every turn, to keep an eye out to avoid any unexpected encounters.

When they reached the end of the arched passageway, Darach grabbed a torch from a wall sconce and used it to light their way across the surgery.

“Where are we going?” her father asked as they ventured through a back door and down a few steps into a lower storage room full of herbs, bandages, and bottles on shelves.

“I know a secret way out,” Darach whispered. He swung the torch around, sweeping light and shadows across the walls. “It’s right here….”