Authors: Heartstorm
MacLean
helped Anne from her mount, then took her hand in a natural gesture, leading
her up the rocky face of a sloping cliff to the very summit of the headlands.
At the top, Anne caught her breath. The rugged coastline stretched away as far
as the eye could see in either direction.
"Gull
Point," MacLean murmured. "Where sea and sky and land all meet, and
wars and politics have no place in time."
She
nodded wordlessly, watching the snowy gulls hang motionless in the surging
updrafts sweeping about the headland. Leaning against the hard stone, she was
grateful for its protection from the fierce wind.
She
gazed thoughtfully at MacLean's strong profile. He was not the man to enjoy the
political intrigues her father seemed to thrive on. Ian had assured her that
only his concern for his family had made him stoop to her kidnapping. "I'm
sorry about the Camerons," she said softly. There, it was out. She had
wanted to tell him ever since she had learned the truth.
"Who
told you, lass?" he asked, never taking his eyes from the sweeping scene.
"It
doesn't matter."
"I'll
wager it was Donald," he said with a half smile. "The man's always
too busy about my interests."
Anne
studied him silently, an answering smile curling her own lips. "He
couldn't bear I should think so poorly of his Laird."
MacLean's
smile broadened, and he shook his head. "My people attach more honor to my
motives than I can justly claim."
"Your
people trust you. 'Tis no small thing when the welfare of so many depend on
you. The responsibility must be irksome at times."
"Aye,
but I'd no' have it any other way." He gazed out over the broad expanse of
rugged shoreline. "Do you realize there've been MacLeans standing on this
spot for over three hundred years? This was my father's land, and his father's
before him and so on back through untold numbers until the fourteenth century.
That's a heritage to protect, lass."
Anne
studied his proud, dark head and the arrogant set of his wide shoulders,
thinking the future of his clan was in very good hands. She leaned back
comfortably against the rocks, thankful he had brought her to this secret place
at the top of the world. If only she might have stayed there, away from the
loneliness and confusion below. Unwillingly, her thoughts turned to her father
and his treacherous dealings. "Why does my father hate you so?"
MacLean
scowled and the peaceful magic of the day shattered abruptly. "The man wants
the whole of Scotland beneath his heel. He tolerates those who cower and submit
meekly to his orders. But if a man stand up and dare to act a man, he's like to
find himself branded traitor or have his family dragged off to prison on any
trumped up charge."
Gazing
at MacLean, Anne couldn't imagine him cowering before anyone. The thought of
him in her father's power was like the sudden, sharp throb from a painful
wound. "Donald says my father plans to hang you," she ventured.
"Won't your raid give him added reason?"
"Glenkennon
needs no excuses for what he does. God's blood, if he gets his hands on an
enemy, he simply invents a crime they're guilty of! Convenient, is it
not?" he questioned with a harsh laugh.
"Will
he be coming for me soon?" Anne gazed across the rugged headlands, finding
the thought far more unwelcome than it had been just three days earlier.
"He
doesn't know where you are yet, lass," MacLean said low, the mocking smile
returning to his face. "I decided we'd let him fret a while before sending
him news you're happily visiting relations here in the North."
"And
if he harms your family meanwhile?"
MacLean
gave her a flinty smile. "He won't dare." Standing abruptly, he drew
her to her feet, steadying her with a hand against her shoulder. His
penetrating eyes scanned her face, an unreadable expression burning in their
depths. "You'd best be prepared to stay with us several weeks, Anne
Randall. Do you think you can stomach me?"
"If
you'll remember your manners, sir," she quipped, stepping back.
He
threw back his head with a hearty laugh. "I'll do my poor best, mistress,
but I make no rash promises." He took her arm as though to lead her back
to the horses, but for several seconds neither one moved.
Anne
met his eyes uneasily. As she explored their blue depths, the world around her
seemed to fade so that even the eternal sound of the wind ceased to be.
The
easy laughter disappeared slowly from MacLean's dark face. He leaned toward
her, his strong fingers tightening around her arm, drawing her closer. His eyes
half closed, their intensity shadowed by a sweep of heavy lashes no man had the
right to have.
For
a moment Anne was capable of no rational thought. Leaning forward
instinctively, she was aware only of the pounding of her heart and of a sudden
lack of air to her lungs. Then the feel of his hands on her arms reminded her
of another afternoon—another day on a windswept moor when she had skirted the
edge of disaster by a narrow margin.
At
the memory, a wave of suspicion swept her. MacLean was her enemy, sworn to
revenge against her father. And she was a fool for riding out with him alone.
Stumbling back, she jerked against his hold.
MacLean
released her abruptly. She backed away a few paces, gazing up at him with wide,
distrustful eyes.
"Forgive
me, lass, I'd no desire to frighten you," he said softly.
Seconds
passed. The silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He turned toward the
horses, casually holding out an arm. "Come lass, take my hand," he
said, matter-of-factly. "Your boots weren't meant for climbing, and we'd
best be getting back."
Returning
to Camereigh by another path, they traced their way through rich, pine-scented
woodlands. Golden sunlight filtered through the canopy of interlaced branches,
dappling the tongue-tied riders with scattered patches of light and shadow.
Francis
contemplated Anne's stiff profile as they came out onto the open moor south of
the castle. He'd not meant that scene up at Gull Point—but the girl's
loveliness made it hard to remember she was naught but a temporary guest.
Temporary,
he reminded himself. She would be gone once her purpose was served. Still, he
did not relish the knowledge that she was afraid of him. He had enjoyed those
peaceful moments with her far more than he cared to admit. Drawing rein, he cast
about for something to say or do that would wipe the dread from her face.
"What say you to a race, mistress? I'll give you a headstart to the bottom
of this hill and still beat you to the gates."
Anne
glanced up. "Done, sir." She sent him a quick smile, glad to feel the
strange tension melting away.
At
MacLean's nod, Anne put her heels to Cassie's sides. Despite the speed of the
mare and a generous headstart, the stallion caught her easily long before the
castle came into sight. They raced along side by side, checking slightly only
when they entered the narrow gates.
At
the stables, Francis swung down from the dancing stallion, laughter making his
face come alive. Anne could not halt the swift surge of her own blood or the
laughter that tumbled from her lips when he caught her from the saddle and
swung her down beside him.
"I'd
have caught you long before that damned ravine had I been on this black devil
the other day," he said with a laugh.
She
grinned up at him impudently. "But then you'd have missed the pleasure of
being so angry."
He
laughed easily, pleased to see the sick fear gone from her face. Tossing their
reins to a waiting stable boy, Mac-Lean took Anne's arm, and they walked
together through the narrow door into the hallway. Pausing in the entrance to
the great hall, he rubbed his chin. "I'm in a muddle as to what to do with
you, lass," he said with a slight frown. "I'd give you the run of the
castle if I could be sure you'd not attempt to leave us again."
His
right hand still rested on her arm. It was warm and possessive, and she felt
its power through the cloth of her habit. That warmth seemed to spread from his
hand to her blood, making it course through her body with a vigor that dared
her to step beyond her fear.
Thinking
quickly, Anne looked across the room. Once given, her word would bind her to
whatever choice she made. "I give you my word...," she began softly.
She glanced up, meeting his eyes. "I give you my word I'll not try to
escape—so long as you deal honestly with me."
MacLean
smiled. "Done, lass. We've a bargain."
In
that moment, Anne was aware of being unpardonably foolish, but she found, to
her amazement, that she didn't really care.
***
The
following morning brought a return of the dreary weather known as spring to the
inhabitants of the western Scottish coast. A dense fog rolled in from the sea
and the low-lying clouds trailed heavily across the sky, mingling with the fog
to shroud the upland peaks in silent mystery. A damp chill crept into Anne's
bedchamber, causing her to snuggle more closely beneath the covers on her bed.
A
sense of excitement filled her, and she felt fully alive for the very first
time. She thought with surprise of the remarkable change her life, aye, even
her personality, had undergone in less than one short week. From the sheltered,
uneventful existence of Lincolnshire, she had been thrust into this
unbelievable escapade—and was actually enjoying herself!
She
laughed aloud at the thought of what the very proper Philippa would have said
about the idea of Anne's sleeping on the moor with two men. Her girlhood had
been so confined. Few young men visited them in Lincolnshire, and she had
scarcely been allowed to speak to the ones who did without a chaperone in
attendance. But she had been aware, even then, of the interested looks, of the
eager glances cast her way by the young men who visited Lord Randall at
Rosewood.
Strangely
enough, not all the speculative glances of her English admirers had shaken her
as much as one boldly appraising glance from the MacLean chief. She shivered at
the thought of what might lie behind that look, wondering with the perversity
of her sex if she dared provoke it again.
She
swung her legs out from under the covers and danced over to the fireplace.
Quickly adding peat to the smoldering coals, she soon had a merry fire
crackling behind the grate. Would she ride with MacLean today? she wondered.
Did she dare—or ought she make up some excuse?
Huddled
in front of the fire in the sable-lined robe Kate had found for her, Anne idly
chewed a nail, trying to decide what intrigued her about MacLean. He frightened
her, she admitted. There was a feeling of inexhaustible energy about him, of
carefully leashed power held in check by a thin rein. She longed to catch just
a glimpse of the world she sensed he could show her—yet she was more than a
little afraid he might take her further than she wished to go.
Hearing
the muffled stirrings of her charge, Kate knocked softly, entering with a brief
curtsy. "Good day t'ye lass—though it be such a drear, cold marnin' I'd
hurry you back ta bed if you dinna look wide awake as the cat in the
kennel."
Kate
walked to the press, eyeing Anne's meager array of clothing distastefully.
"I suppose it'll be the green wool again today, though you've worn it
already this week like the others. Mayhap the girls will have finished the new
gowns by tomorrow. We'll have the fittings this afternoon, most like."
Anne's
head jerked up. "What new gowns?"
"Why
you dinna think we expected you ta wear these four makeshift garments forever
did you?"
"But
I'll not be here long enough to warrant having new dresses made," Anne
said. "Tell the seamstress to stop. Sir Francis may be angry."
"While
we've got ye here, you must be dressed," Kate said inarguably, "and
dressed as befits your station. Sir Francis himself ordered it," she added
as a clincher. She looked at Anne measuringly. "Aye, the gold silk will be
perfect. I'll be sure the girls have it ready for the festivities tomorrow
night."
Anne
glanced up. "What do you mean?"
"Sir
Francis invited the families within a day's ride of Camereigh here tomorrow.
They'll be feasting and drinking, aye, and there'll be music and dancing too.
You'll turn heads, lass, that's for certain," Kate prophesied with a sly
look. "I'll wager you'll not find yourself sittin' out many of the
tunes."
Anne's
mind whirled. A party was going to take place there—the following night.
"But my father may well be on the way with an army. How can Sir Francis
dare?"
Kate
chuckled and shook her head. "Those that live under Sir Francis MacLean
stopped questioning his crazy starts long ago. The lad'd thumb his nose at the
devil then outwit 'im behind his back. There's none of us as spend a sleepless
night with so canny a chief to lead us." She kept her eyes carefully on the
green dress she was shaking out. "He's even managed to avoid the
matchmaking skills of all the fond mamas—a feat that's no' so easy. Aye,
they'll be asimperin' and flirtin' in all their finery tomorrow atryin' to
catch his eye."