The Blood of Roses (30 page)

“It does not matter,” the general said wearily, when the supposition was stated openly and bluntly by Lochiel. “Nothing matters but that we salvage what we can while there is still time. If he means to continue the march, we must do so at once to take advantage of Cumberland’s lack of readiness. If we are to retreat, we must commence the action at once, before Wade draws too close.” He paused a moment and for the first time allowed his bitterness toward the prince’s unfounded suspicions rise to the surface. “In the vent of a march forward, my men and I will form the vanguard. If the decision falls to retreat—and I pray God he sees the wisdom of such action—I and my Athollmen will be the last to march along the road, protecting the brave men who go before us. There will be no arguments, no discussions on this point. The decision is mine to make and I have made it.”

Alex, standing behind Lochiel, caught the general’s eye over the silence. “In either case, sir, it would seem to me imperative to know exactly where the government troops are and where they might conceivably be twenty-four hours from now.”

Lord George smiled appreciatively. “And have you someone in mind foolish enough to volunteer for such a task?”

“Two fools, actually. MacKail and I could be on our way within the hour. Give us a dozen or so men from the Manchester Regiment—Englishmen who could move quickly and inobtrusively through territory familiar to them—and we will gather all the information you need.”

“You understand the consequences if you are caught?”

“I understand the greater consequences if we try to move blindly in one direction or the other without knowing what is out there. As for your holding the rear-guard position, sir, I have at least five dozen men under my personal command who march very slowly indeed. We would consider it a personal favor if you could incorporate us into your own brigade—at least until we reach the border.”

Lord George regarded the tall, black-haired Highlander with a mixture of humor and regret. He suspected that if he’d had a thousand men like Alexander Cameron at his disposal, the question of retreat would never have entered his mind.

“Take as many men as you require, and … ahh, extend my heartfelt apologies to Captain MacKail. I’m sure he had better things planned for today than riding about the countryside peeking through hedgebrush.”

With a nod in Lochiel’s direction, Alex slipped quietly out of the crowded, noisy room. A second glance was exchanged almost immediately, and Struan MacSorley acknowledged the silent command from his chief, following Alex out into the cold, damp air.

Aluinn traced a strong, lean finger along his wife’s lower lip and smiled, if for no other reason than to keep himself from shouting his happiness out loud. Deirdre’s eyes were closed, her lashes still dewy with spent tears of wonderment; the skin across her brow and temples was still moist and slightly flushed from her exertions; the wet, clinging tendrils of hair glistened in the midmorning light.

A commotion of horses’ hooves out in the courtyard caused a brief distraction, but it passed, and his attention easily reverted to the moist and supple lips he so adored. Leaning forward, he kissed them tenderly and earned a soft, husky sigh in return.

Deirdre could feel the smoky eyes studying her intently. Her body still tingled, inwardly and outwardly, with the effects of his lovemaking, and she could barely muster the strength to lift a hand and stroke it gently against his cheek.

“Do you have any idea how happy you have made me?” he asked, his lips turning into the palm of her hand. “I keep thinking I will waken any moment and find myself rolled in a cold, coarse length of tartan on the hard ground.”

Deirdre smiled. She could hardly believe she deserved, let alone had won, the love of a man like Aluinn MacKail. Despite his confession in Blackpool—it seemed like years ago—she could never think of him as a tenant farmer. He had traveled half the world with Alexander Cameron, had visited with kings and queens, lived among the nobility of Europe.

Catching the glitter of the gold band on her finger, Deirdre stretched her arm to its full length to admire the acquisition. “When I saw Mr. Cameron in my mistress’s room the other day, I could not believe it. And when I saw you riding up the drive yesterday, I felt sure my heart would fly straight out of my breast.” Her arm was lowered again, curling possessively around Aluinn’s shoulders. “I love you, Aluinn MacKail. I will always love you, as long as there is breath in my body.”

“My love,” he murmured, his lips molding to hers. “And now my life.”

Deirdre moaned softly with the realization that he was still warm and hard within her.

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?” He chuckled, moving his hips in a gentle, languid rhythm.

Deirdre moaned again and shook her head in disbelief. It just wasn’t possible for a body to feel such happiness! It wasn’t possible to feel so fulfilled, so complete, so much a part of someone else.

“There?” he asked on a whisper.

“Yes … oh!”

She shuddered against the deep, repeated thrusts of his flesh and felt the fever rising within her again. Another impossibility, and yet the tremors were building, the flashes of heat and cold were closing together, one upon the other, tightening muscles, nerves, reactions until she was gasping his name, over and over, rising and falling on waves of rapture that came upon her so swiftly, and so sharply she could do nothing to temper them, nothing but ride the crests and swells and pray she would someday learn to give her husband one tenth the pleasure he gave her!

Had she not been too shy to ask, she would have known she had already accomplished her wish. She would have known that each sheet of fiery passion that engulfed her sheathed him in its grip, as well, and left him just as awed, just as dazed, just as determined not to fail her as a lover, a husband, a friend.

Gasping and sweat-slicked, they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, and it was only a soft, urgent tapping on the door that kept them from slipping into a pleasure-induced sleep.

“MacKail?” came a familiar baritone. “Are you awake?”

Aluinn took a deep breath and swung his legs over the side of the bed. It took several moments for the room to stop swaying, several more for him to curse through a stubbed toe and limp his way to the door. After a quick glance back at the giggling figure hurriedly covering herself with the bedsheets, he opened it a crack and glared out into the hallway.

Another round of curses was forming in his mind when he saw Alex’s broad back, but when Cameron turned around and Aluinn saw the expression on the rigid features, he became instantly alert.

“How long?”

“Five minutes. Christ, I’m sorry,” Alex said. “But I wouldn’t disturb you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”

Aluinn nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

Alex glanced along the hall toward Catherine’s bedchamber, and Aluinn was shaken away from thoughts of his own interrupted bliss by the look of complete helplessness on his friend’s face.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to say to her, Aluinn. I don’t even know if I can walk into that room and walk out again without her.”

Aluinn heard a rustle of linen sheets behind him and, a moment later, felt Deirdre’s cool hand on his arm. She gazed somberly up into her husband’s eyes before looking past his bare shoulder to where Alex stood.

“Deirdre … I’m sorry,” he began.

She blanched and tightened her grip on Aluinn’s arm. “Will … will you be coming back?”

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I honestly do not know.”

“I see.” Her face lost even more color before she spoke again. “Have you been to see my lady yet?”

“No. No, I … I was just …”

“I’ll tell her if you like,” she offered in a whisper. “It might be easier that way … for both of you.”

“I can’t just leave without saying good-bye. She would never forgive me.”

Deirdre saw the naked pain on his face and felt it beginning to tear at her own heart.

“No. My lady
would
forgive you. She’ll be angry at first—furious, I warrant—but then she’ll calm down and she’ll realize it was for the best. In the meantime, her anger will see her through the worst of it. Please, sir, she’s been so happy. Let her remember that as a parting.”

In the end, he nodded his agreement. “The longer you leave it, the better. Who knows, we might be back later tonight—” He caught himself from saying more, knowing the chances of their returning to Rosewood Hall were negligible. Aluinn had disappeared back inside to dress and Alex wanted to give them a few moments alone, but before he could leave, he took Deirdre’s icy hands into his. “When you do speak to her, tell her … tell her I will be back. I will come back for her, on my honor.”

“I’ll tell her,” Deirdre promised, the tears bright in her eyes. The door opened wider and Aluinn joined them at the threshold, still pulling on the last of his clothes and buckling his sword around his waist.

With a small cry, she turned to him and buried her face against his breast. Aluinn held her close, his own emotions stretched to their limit, and he knew if he did not leave quickly, he would not be able to leave at all.

“I love you,” he said tersely. “And I’ll be back for you just as soon as I can.”

“Take care of yourself,” she pleaded. “Take care of each other.”

Her lips were wet with tears as he kissed her, the sweetness and the bitterness lingering long after he and Alex had ridden away from Rosewood Hall.

10

C
atherine slept through most of the day. She wakened, briefly, when she heard the sound of someone moving about the room stoking the fire in the hearth, but when no warm body joined her between the covers, she merely sighed and drifted back to sleep. Deirdre, who had cursed her own clumsiness in dropping a log, waited on tenterhooks for Catherine to sit up and begin asking questions, so she was relieved to see her mistress fall back asleep. She was hoping against hope that their husbands would return before there was any need to break Catherine’s heart with the news of their departure.

Twice again, during the evening and late at night, Catherine bestirred herself from bed. Once, answering the grumbles of a very empty stomach, she ventured out of her room and went below to the kitchens. The house was dark and quiet—almost too quiet, she would remember later— and she raided the pantry of biscuits, cheese, and several thick slices of cold goose before retreating back to the cozier atmosphere of her room. After eating, she debated taking a. Long hot bath, but the thought of finding someone to heat and carry water up to fill the tub defeated her and she settled for a cursory wash in a foot tub.

She tried to settle herself by reading, but the adventures of
Joseph Andrews
seemed boring by comparison to her own and she found herself yawning and skimming past every other paragraph. Periodically she wandered to the french doors and gazed out over the courtyard and gardens. The Highlanders had constructed a small town of ridgepoles and sailcloth on the lower parkland; by daylight resembling whitecaps on a rolling green sea, by night, a cluster of twinkling campfires. There was very little movement that she could see from this distance and hardly any noise from the camp or the stables.

Finally, out of sheer boredom, she tidied the main bedchamber and affected some order out of the hurricane of discarded clothing that littered the floor of the dressing room. Several articles belonged to Alex—including the uniform he had worn the night he had first stolen up to her room. As she folded each garment on the shelves, she ran her hands lovingly over the fabric, imagining she could still feel the warmth from his body. One of his oversized shirts quickly found an appreciative new owner as she shed her frilly nightdress and donned the plain, soft cambric. The sleeves fell well below her fingertips and the hem was almost to her knees, but his scent was in the fabric and it stayed with her everywhere she went.

His tartan amused her for several more minutes. Fascinated at the ease with which he could spread the six yards of it flat, gather the better part into pleats, roll himself into it, and stand up belted and fully dressed within seconds, she tried it and became tangled in the folds of crimson wool, looking more like a sack of old potatoes than a Highland border lord.

It was well past midnight when she ran out of things to do. She debated searching for Deirdre until she recalled where the bride was, whom she was with, and what they were celebrating. With no other options remaining, she tackled Henry Fielding again. Although she had no intentions of doing so, she curled off to sleep within minutes.