Return of the Highlander (29 page)

Fighting an onerous wave of apprehension, Larena hugged her arms around herself. “Will we even be able to reach Kinloch? It seems impossible from here.”

“Aye, lass, we’ll do whatever it takes.”

“And you’re sure Angus will help us? What if Logan has already returned and told him what you did?”

“I trust Angus to see that I was fulfilling my oath to him, no matter what the cost, even if it meant I had to snap my brother’s arm in two.”

She thought about that for a moment—the violence of him breaking his brother’s arm—then shook that thought from her head, like all the others. “But Angus might not be quite so pleased to learn that we helped my father escape from the English prison. He may resent you for causing trouble and raising the ire of the English, and bringing his own clan into the fray.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, lass.”

“If you say so.” She lay back down and struggled to find a comfortable position on the uneven ground. Saying nothing more, she tried to sleep, but it wasn’t easy when she felt as if her whole world and everything she’d ever loved had been ripped away from her in the most tragic way.

* * *

Not long after he fell asleep, Darach woke to the sound of a sniffle. He opened his eyes and saw Larena sitting against the trunk of the tree, hugging her knees to her chest, weeping quietly.

He leaned up on an elbow. “What is it, lass?” he gently asked.

She shook her head and wiped under her nose. “I was just thinking about my father, remembering happier times.”

Darach sat up. “He was a good father to you. I’ll give him that.”

She wiped a tear from her cheek. “How can you say that when you believe he murdered yours?”

Darach paused. “Whether he did or didn’t, all I know is that I don’t want to spend the rest of my life carrying a grudge against any man—especially one you care for so deeply.”

She rested her chin on her knees and seemed to be taking time to consider his words.

The nearness of her in the darkness caused a painful shot of longing deep in his core. His heart began to beat fast and he hungered to move closer, to touch her, to take her into his arms and comfort her.

“Would you like me to lie beside you?” he carefully asked. “I could hold you and keep you warm.”

“No, Darach,” she somberly replied. “Your touch is what got us into all this trouble to begin with. I should never have lain with you.”

The cold, sharp edge of her tone and the harshness of her words caused a throbbing ache to begin inside his chest, for she spoke as if she loathed him with every inch of her being. It broke him in two, and he feared that she would never forgive him for what happened.

God help him, he had murdered the love that existed between them in that moment her father fell upon his knife.

“Don’t say that,” Darach said. “You cannot regret it. I touched you because I loved you, and you loved me back. I know you did. What happened to your father was no one’s fault. It was an accident.”

At least he thought it was. Maybe Fitzroy had done it on purpose just to spite Darach and prevent Larena from ever surrendering her heart to him.

If that had been his plan, it appeared to be working. As far as Darach was concerned, there could be no worse torture, no worse punishment than what was happening here. It was the ultimate revenge, even from beyond the grave.

“Do not presume that I loved you,” Larena said. “I don’t know what it was. Lust, perhaps. But it couldn’t have been love.”

“Why not?”

“Because I hardly knew you. I still don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” he replied. “You’re just angry.”

It was too dark to see her expression, but he heard the soft sound of her frustration. “Go back to sleep,” she said, lying back down on the ground. “I’m sorry I woke you. I’m fine now.”

But she wasn’t fine and he wished he could ease her pain, yet he knew that he couldn’t. All he could do was stay by her side and give her enough space to nurse her anger and blame him for what happened. If that’s what she needed to do, so be it. He blamed himself, in many ways, but he prayed there would come a day when she would be ready to go on living and forgive him for what happened.

Because he had no intention of never touching her again. He loved her and desired her. His was a passionate, bone-deep need and he would do whatever it took to help her remember what they’d shared in those intimate moments when she had given herself to him completely.

He would do everything in his power to make her see the man he truly was—and realize that she loved him.

Chapter Thirty-two

Gregory Chatham sat down at his desk and listened to the faint rattle of the chains lifting the heavy iron portcullis at the main gate. Setting down his quill pen, he pinched the bridge of his nose, for he suspected that Larena had not been found. It had been three days since her unexplained disappearance, and every night, a battalion of soldiers returned to the castle with no news of her.

It was becoming increasingly vexing. If Gregory didn’t find her soon, he might go mad. And it was not simply jealousy that rankled him—although that was more than half of it.

There was also the additional problem of reporting these awkward circumstances to his father, who was not a forgiving man by nature. Gregory had already sent word to him that Fitzroy Campbell had escaped from a locked prison cell while under Gregory’s command, and had died shortly thereafter in an alleged knife fight.

His father would not be pleased. Evidently, elaborate plans had been made for the Scottish laird’s arrival at the Tolbooth in Edinburgh. Fitzroy was to be used as an example for other traitorous rebels in Scotland, and it was intended to be a gruesome and memorable spectacle for the people of Scotland.

But because of Gregory’s failure to keep the Campbell laird imprisoned, the pageantry would have to be called off, which would shine a very poor light on Gregory as a commander. He was a colonel in the British army, yet he had no control over the prisoners under his watch, or his future bride.

In light of that, how the devil was he to send a second report to his father and explain that his fiancée had also escaped his grasp? He didn’t even know if it was her choice to leave the garrison, or if that dirty Scottish rebel had returned, scaled the walls somehow, and abducted her against her will. Truth be told, Gregory didn’t even know if the man was dead or alive for his body had gone missing.

Either way it was an embarrassment.

And Gregory suspected the abduction theory was just wishful thinking. Larena had admitted openly that she had become infatuated with Darach during her journey from Fort William to Leathan.

There was a sudden pounding in Gregory’s ears as he thought about that. What exactly had happened between them? Had that despicable savage touched her? Defiled her? Had she welcomed it?

Fire burned in Gregory’s guts, and he wanted to smash something.
Damn!
How witless could he have been?

He’d foolishly presumed that if he didn’t push Larena too hard—if he was patient, gentle and understanding—she would appreciate his kindness and eventually forget about Darach and accept her position here in the garrison as First Lady of Leathan.

Gregory pounded his fist on the desktop, stood up, and with a bellowing roar, swept all the papers, the crystal wine glass, and inkwell onto the floor with a resounding crash.

Bloody hell.
He had not been aggressive enough. He should have bedded her right then and there after dinner that first night. He shouldn’t have allowed her to push him away when he kissed her. He should have staked his claim. Branded her as his own.

It was a constant battle, to become the sort of man his father wanted him to be. His polite decorum had always been his greatest shortcoming.

He had to get her back, and he had to deal with Darach—if he lived. Gregory had to prove to everyone—his father as well as every last member of the Campbell clan—that he was not to be underestimated and that he was fit to rule over them. They needed to know that he was not the timid boy he used to be. He had grown into a man deserving of their fear.

A knock sounded at the door just then. “Is everything all right, colonel?”

Gregory strode to the door and opened it. “What news is there?”

Roberts took one look at the papers and shattered glass on the floor and swallowed uneasily. “The men are back, sir. They found nothing.”

Gregory winced. “She couldn’t have disappeared into the clouds.” He turned his gaze toward the fireplace. “If that wretched Highlander is alive and has taken Larena with him, there is only one place they would go. One place where they would seek refuge.”

“Kinloch?” Roberts suggested.

“That’s right.” Gregory returned to his desk. “As it happens, the famous laird of Kinloch, Angus the Lion, is the son of a Jacobite traitor himself, and if he is sheltering the man who broke a known criminal out of an English prison, he must face the consequences. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Make the necessary arrangements and we will squeeze that Lion around the neck until he squeals. I’ll need at least twenty good men and we will ride out first thing in the morning. If we couldn’t make an example out of Fitzroy Campbell, I will bloody well capture a few other prestigious Scots and provide an even better show. I want both Darach and Angus the Lion, and needless to say, my fiancée needs to be rescued from their clutches.”

Roberts bowed and hurried out while Gregory strode with purpose to the fireplace.

There now.
That is how it must be done. I only wish I hadn’t waited so long. This time I won’t be gentle. This time I will force my hand, and Larena will finally see that I am a man to be respected and feared.

Chapter Thirty-three

“I didn’t expect to ever return here,” Larena said to Darach as they crossed the drawbridge and rode through the castle gates at Kinloch on the spirited gelding they had acquired along the way.

It had been a trying journey, for she had spent most of it grieving over the death of her father, while at the same time struggling to make sense of her feelings for Darach.

She had asked him on that first night to keep away from her, not to touch her. She had told him she wished they’d never lain together, and she had recognized the hurt in his eyes every moment since.

He’d been correct when he’d accused her of being angry. She was most certainly that. There were times she wanted to physically lash out at him with her fists and pummel his chest repeatedly. She suspected that if she tried, he would let her. He would simply stand there and take it.

Other times, when he wasn’t looking, she found herself watching him, studying the handsome, chiseled lines of his face and those dark eyes that communicated so much and yet so little. Whenever he gazed at her, she felt as if she meant a great deal to him and that he wanted her to know it.

Yet at the same time he was circumspect about the events surrounding her father’s death. He did not push her to talk about it or to forgive him. He did not try again to explain his actions or defend himself. Most of the time, it felt as if there were a giant wall between them.

Nevertheless, her body could not forget the passion they had shared. Whenever he lay down across from her at night and drew his tartan about his shoulders, she longed for the comfort of his arms. Her mind turned to memories of their lovemaking. Desire fluttered through her belly and her flesh grew warm as she recalled the pleasures of his touch.

She was lonely and heartsick over the loss of her father, but also from the lost intimacies with Darach, which at one time she had imagined would last forever. But that was all gone now. Shaken apart by violence, death, and loss.

Darach reined the horse to a halt in front of the stables.

An older groom approached. “Darach! Good to have you back, laddie!” He took hold of the gelding’s bridle. “Where’s Logan?”

Darach stroked the gelding’s smooth muscled neck. “I thought Logan would have returned by now. He’s not here?”

“No, sir. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of either one of you since you left.” He glanced curiously at Larena in the saddle.

Darach dismounted and helped her down as well, then Haggis led the gelding toward an empty stall.

“Haggis…?” Darach followed and spoke to him in hushed tones for a moment. When he returned, he led Larena toward the entrance to the Great Hall. “I told him not to mention to anyone that we’ve returned. We need to see Angus right away.”

An attractive, dark-haired woman appeared under the archway to the Great Hall and regarded them both with concern. “Darach, welcome home.” Darach approached her and she kissed him on the cheek. “You’re not alone, I see.” She turned to Larena and studied her up and down, from head to foot.

“May I present Larena Campbell of Leathan Castle,” Darach said. “This is Gwendolen MacDonald, Mistress of Kinloch.”

The Lion’s wife
. Larena dipped into a curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, madam.”

“And you as well,” Gwendolen replied. They all stood in awkward silence for a few seconds. “Well, then. You both look as if you’ve been through a war, and I suspect that’s not far from the truth. Won’t you come in? Angus will want to see you immediately.”