Authors: Heartstorm
The
looks that passed between them were not lost on Francis, nor was the passion
inherent in that first kiss of reunion. He stretched his long legs beneath the
table, then pushed back and stood up. "Well, lads, I'm for a bit of
exercise after sitting about all day. What say you to a ride and a bit of sword
practice?"
Evan's
blue eyes opened wide with delight. To get a lesson in swordsmanship from such
a master as his uncle was a high treat indeed. Glancing back at his mother, he
frowned abruptly. "But we shouldn't leave Mother so soon."
"Your
mother's weary after her long ride. She needs to rest and freshen up. And I'm
sure your father would enjoy some quiet conversation with her—just to get
reacquainted, you know," Francis added. He flashed a conspiratorial glance
at his brother-in-law.
Will
caught the look. Grinning, he added his mite to the conversation. "Well,
brat, you can sit here cooling your heels if you like, but I'll not miss a
chance to go a round with Francis."
That
was enough for Evan. His scruples overcome, he bounced down to the stables to
order the horses. Will kissed his mother before leaving, a twinkle in his eye
as he wickedly admonished her to rest.
Janet
flushed scarlet. "Francis, you're a wretch," she hissed at his
unrepentant back. As his laughter died away down the corridor, she turned shyly
to her husband.
James
Cameron gazed in amusement at his blushing wife. "A person'd think you
were a newly wedded bride instead of a woman well married these fifteen
years," he said softly. "Have you forgotten so much in only one
month, lass?"
"Of
course not," she said, tossing her head back in the saucy way he loved.
"Only we shouldn't be carrying on in front of the boys."
"No,"
he agreed, "which is why your brother has taken them off our hands."
He inclined his head toward the stairs. "Madam, shall we go upstairs and,
ah... rest?"
Taking
Janet's hand under his arm, he propelled her up the stairs and into his
bedchamber. Closing the door behind them, he turned to her with a look in his
gray eyes that made her heart race.
"I
really should freshen up—" she began.
His
hungry gaze slid over her. "Later," he said tersely, catching her
shoulders and pulling her against him.
His
mouth moved over hers, tender, compelling, speaking of emotions he could never
say aloud. His warm lips slid down her throat and across her shoulder. Janet
leaned against him, trembling in her eagerness, her body reawakening to the
magic born between them. Shivering with suppressed excitement, she guided his
impatient fingers as they tugged at the fastenings of her habit.
"I
can't count the times I've thought of you in my arms like this," he
murmured hoarsely. "That vision's all that kept me sane. Whenever the
hatred and fear began to eat at me, I'd imagine making love to you." He
laughed softly. "Sweet Jesus, I'm sure the guards thought me mad, sitting
in that hellhole with a smile of pure contentment on my face."
His
fingers tightened convulsively on her arms, and the garment slipped from her
shoulders, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap where it lay crushed and
forgotten for one suspended hour as a man and woman renewed the rapture of
their love.
Anne
huddled disconsolately before the fire, a borrowed cloak clutched tightly about
her drooping shoulders. She gazed vacantly into the crackling flames, a strange
numbness creeping over her, blunting the pain of betrayal and humiliation that
had knifed through her all day. As if some instinct for self-preservation now
deadened her senses, she felt nothing save an overwhelming weariness pervading
body and mind. Strangely enough, she no longer even felt the urge for tears.
The
sound of her name spoken in a pleasantly deep, male voice roused her. Lifting
her head wearily, she blinked at Nigel Douglas in surprise. "I'm sorry,
sir; I didn't hear you. Forgive me—my thoughts were elsewhere."
"Is
there aught I can do to make you more comfortable, m'lady?" Douglas questioned.
His dark eyes scanned her face. "Are you certain you're well?"
At
his look of concern, Anne forced a wan smile. "Your interest is kind, sir,
but I'm not ill, only tired. These last few days have been a strain..."
Douglas
nodded in agreement. Squatting on his heels before the fire, he shifted the
burning wood carefully. The flames licked greedily at the logs, sending out a
wall of heat that Anne's chilled body welcomed eagerly. Finally satisfied with
the fire, he shifted his attention to her.
"Are
you certain you weren't mistreated?" he asked with another penetrating
look. "You've but to say the word and I'll personally see the MacLeans are
punished to the man." He paused, carefully measuring her reaction.
"Sir Francis MacLean has a dangerous reputation, but he'll soon learn such
behavior is no longer countenanced. James Stuart is tired of these petty chiefs
and their petty rebellions. He has two bickering kingdoms to unite, and he
intends to see peace established in the Highlands... at the cost of the blood
of a few rebels, if necessary."
Anne
stared into the fire, remembering the cruel words that had shattered her world
just a few hours earlier. Francis MacLean had discarded her like a plaything he
had wearied of, and the thought of revenge was sweet. She would give anything
to see him brought to his knees.
Then
other faces intruded. Janet, Donald, Kate, and the host of others who had been
kind to her. She could not serve them such a trick because Francis had betrayed
her.
"There's
no need for that," she heard herself saying. "I took no hurt at the
hands of the MacLeans. I was treated with kindness by the household, more like
an honored guest than a prisoner. My uncle is a friend of the clan, and he and
the Lady Janet Cameron saw to my safety."
"James
Cameron's lady?" Douglas asked in surprise. "She was at
Camereigh?"
"Surely
you knew Janet and... and Sir Francis are brother and sister," Anne said,
stumbling slightly over the name.
"I've
only just come from England, m'lady, so I can't say that I did." His eyes
narrowed in speculation. "So the Camerons are MacLean's kinsmen..."
He
rose to his feet abruptly. "If you've no wish to press a complaint then,
I'll stop intruding and take myself off. Perhaps your brother may be of more
comfort than myself." Bowing slightly, he turned and disappeared into the
night.
A
great yellow moon was rising over the land, its golden light throwing soldiers
into stark relief as they spread their bedding upon the moor. Gazing miserably
over the scene, Anne compared this evening with the last night, the inevitable
rush of memories reawakening a throbbing pain.
Was
Francis walking the beach in the moonlight with another woman? She closed her
eyes, trying to shut out the memory of those moments in his arms. Did he lie
with another tonight—and were they laughing together over her foolishness? Why,
she choked, dear God why had he done this?
Opening
her eyes, she saw Charles moving toward her across the damp grass, two platters
of food balanced neatly in his hands. He dropped to his knees beside her.
"Anne, you're not coming down with the fever, are you? Nigel thought you
looked unwell."
"I'm
fine, Charles," she said, forcing a smile. "All I need is a meal and
a good night's sleep and I'll be good as new." Taking the food, she forced
herself to eat with the appearance of relish.
Charles
watched in silence, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'm sure
you're wondering why Father hasn't come."
She
stared at him in surprise. In truth, she had been so sunk in misery, she'd not
thought of Glenkennon all day. After the events of the last twelve hours, her
father had power to cause her neither dread nor joy. "I'd really not
considered it, Charles," she said lamely. "I suppose he's too busy to
attend to me as usual."
"He
was supposed to be here by now," Charles continued in a puzzled voice.
"He planned to leave his men and camp with us tonight."
"His
men?"
"Father
was certain MacLean planned treachery," Charles explained. "We
divided our forces. I led the smaller group—only about three score—while he
brought up a force double that. They stayed hidden a mile or so from Camereigh
while we marched into the open. If MacLean tried anything, I was to retreat,
leading him away from the castle while Father's men circled around to trap them
outside the gates. We would have had them easily enough."
She
stared at him in disbelief. "You planned to lure the MacLeans out so
Father could ambush an outnumbered force?" The food shifted uneasily in
her stomach, and she put her plate down in disgust.
"Only
if they tried some trick. Christ's blood, Anne, you'd think you were on their
side! You've acted damned strange about this whole affair."
She
uncurled her clenched fists and took a deep breath. "Of course, I'm not on
their side. I've just no wish for bloodshed."
"I
guess a woman can't be expected to understand strategy." A boyish smile
suddenly erased the lines of fatigue about his mouth. "I remember you
always were too tenderhearted. You couldn't even bear to have the foxes killed
that raided our poultry houses at Rosewood. Well, things are different here,
Anne, and you'd best get used to it. There's little law and order in the
Highlands, and force is often necessary. Especially with rebels like
MacLean."
At
her nod, Charles turned his attention to his meal with a gusto she envied.
Sopping up the last of his food with a crust of bread, he put down his plate.
"It's not that Father doesn't want to see you," he said, returning to
their original topic of conversation. "But he's always busy. He holds the authority
of the king here, and rebels like MacLean and Cameron make it difficult to
carry out his duties. Father's a very important man," he added proudly.
Anne
smiled at her brother's enthusiasm. "You needn't make apologies for him to
spare my feelings, Charles. Father's never cared much for me—I was reconciled
to that fact years ago."
"It's
not that... Father often has no time for me either. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a
disappointment to him," he admitted with a heavy sigh. "That's why
every command he gives me is important. I have to show him I'm fit to lead men.
If MacLean attacks us tonight, I swear I'll kill him with my bare hands if I
have to!"
Anne
glanced at her brother's eager face, at the length of his lean body sprawled on
the ground beside her. Francis would make short work of him, she thought
darkly. He would give no quarter—to any of them. She had certainly learned that
to her sorrow. "I'm sure you can take care of us," she said
soothingly, "and Father realizes that, too, else he'd not have trusted you
with the task. I know he's proud of you."
"He's
proud of the way I handle a sword," Charles said with a ready grin.
"Even Father says I'm 'damnably good.' He taught me himself, and there's
no better swordsman in all the Isles. You should see him, Anne," he added,
his voice quickening in excitement. "His blade's pure poetry.
He
broke off, leaning back with a sigh. "Those are my happiest
memories—working with him, learning from him. It's the only time I ever pleased
him."
"I'm
sure he just doesn't always tell you when he's pleased, Charles."
"Perhaps,"
he murmured, staring into the fire. Raising his head, he gave her a shy smile.
"I'm glad you're here, Anne. I've missed you—you and Mother." He drew
a deep breath. "I can't believe that she's gone—that I'll never see her again."
He grasped his knees tightly, speaking with an obvious effort. "I wanted
to come when she was taken ill, Anne, truly I did! Father and I had quite a
row. He said we'd go later—when she was better. Sweet Jesus, I'll never forgive
myself..."
Anne
caught his hand, feeling the clutch of his fingers about her own. For a moment,
he was still a small boy looking to her for comfort. "It's all right,
Charles. Mother understood," she said softly. "She knew Father far
better than either of us. She wanted to see you, but I know she
understood."
"Was
she in any pain?"
She
shook her head. "She just went to sleep. She spoke of us and of her
brother Ian. And at the very end she murmured a man's name... one I didn't
recognize. Then she was gone."
Charles
nodded his bowed head. "Good." He drew a long breath, then gazed
around the moonlit campsite. "I must see to my men now, Anne. See if you
can't get some sleep—we'll be riding again at dawn." Rising to his feet,
he strode away, as though embarrassed by the emotions that had almost
overwhelmed him.
Anne
wrapped herself closely in the too-large cloak, curling up into a tired ball
beside the dying fire. In spite of all her resolution, her thoughts flew back
to her brother's words. Perhaps Francis had known of that second force waiting
to destroy him. Perhaps he had learned of her father's treachery and for that
reason had sent her away. He could be waiting out there in the shadows, even
now planning his next move in this game of human chess he played with
Glenkennon.